Chapter Nine
The Case of Corea L.
It was the kind of party that a guy like me would never get invited to in a million years. You saw this sort of thing lot on the upper East Side, if you knew where to look: the rich and beautiful people, jet-setters, all dolled up in fancy evening clothes; gorgeous women, sleek and glamorous, in glitzy gowns, and plenty of good looking guys, smiling and Hollywood-pretty. Then there were others: so rich and powerful that they didn’t need good looks -- the movers and shakers of the big time television. Sometimes, you saw pictures of them on the evening news, getting out of their limos at some posh address, plowing through photographers and mobs of fans demanding autographs, to duck into a well-guarded Brownstone. The fans always seemed to be there, waiting
