In the entryway of the Pacific Heights ballroom, Roger scanned Andy's card and put it in his pocket. PR? He liked Andy but couldn't imagine anyone associated with this fossilized place helping him with PR. And he was still having trouble visualizing the productions Mrs. Manchester spoke of as anything like Burning Man - dust storms, recreational drugs, experimental art, naked people, anarchy? But he would keep an open mind.

To him, this Pacific Heights mansion had the slightly mildewy, old-money scent of inheritance and parental control, while new money had none of that. Old money's problem: too much time spent on the society pages. Say what you will about the nerds in the valley, but they didn't have social hierarchies. Every day was a chance to prove yourself, but like every athlete, you were only as good as your last game.

The valley he knew had learned that, so snobbery was not part of the equation. His people could still survive there. Like the gold panners, the modern entrepreneurs were misfits. Not fitting in was a prerequisite for doing something.

As he thought about these different cultures, Roger noticed that the CEO of Mobster Inc., his 27-year-old rival, Jonathan Steeples, had cruised into the ballroom with a babe on each arm. There was nothing more alarming to Roger than the Suave Tech Guy - a rare animal and genetic freak. How did Jonathan get away with no tuxedo? His mop of tar-black hair, skinny jeans and tight blazer over a workman's checked shirt was inexplicably iconic. The society pages would eat it up.

"Hey, Roger, would you like a taste of my charity water?" Jonathan asked, holding out his drink. "I just brought a bottle straight from my well in Ethiopia."

Trying to ignore the spectacle, Roger stared straight up at the sun-colored chandelier that looked alike a cluster of tube-dwelling sea anemones. Kinking his neck and aiming his phone, he snapped a photo.

"Maybe later - got an important call to make," Roger said, thinking that only Jonathan could make BYOB come off as classy at a society party. Roger doubted that Jonathan had actually gotten the water in Ethiopia - it was probably straight from Mrs. Manchester's guest bathroom faucet.

Roger headed toward the ballroom door. He needed some fresh air.

"Where do you live?" Billy asked, sipping another drink in the ballroom.

"Church and 23rd," Andy said, annoyed that she could not keep him focused on a meeting with Roger Martin.

"Oh, the other side of the tracks," Billy said. "Tech central."

Andy forced a smile. It used to be, at least in the eyes of the Pacific Heights crowd, that Noe Valley was the place where people who actually worked lived. Now, because of the tech boom, residing there gave Andy a little cachet.

"Actually, I've done plenty of homes for the digerati around there. You know, your nose is really quite remarkable," he said.

Billy's attentiveness jolted her. He had an artist's sensitivity, sucking in every detail about her, so distinct from her banker husband. "Listen, I need to set up a meeting with you and Roger Martin - and me. He's interested in your work," Andy said.

"Nice," Billy said. "Let's talk about it when I run you home."

Ugh. She could not accept that she'd come this far, only to be undone by this cad.

"We could be to your place and back in 30 minutes," Billy said.

Andy took a deep breath. "Let me put it this way," she said firmly. "You need this meeting for your career if you're ever going to bust out of decorating and start selling your original work. Roger Martin likes your work. I know what you are, and I have no interest in that."

Billy was staring at her - not with disdain, but with a lusty, pouty-mouthed expression that said unequivocally, "You're hot."

Andy had definitely lied when she'd told Roger Martin that she found Billy "fantastic." She could not have been more turned off.

"Oh, forget I mentioned it," Andy said, regretting that she didn't have a drink to throw in his face. "This was such a waste of time." She made her way to the exit.

"Hey, Andy," Billy called.

Andy turned around and stopped.

"What can I do to help you with Roger Martin?" he asked, his eyes locked on hers. "Just name a time and place."

Wednesday: Beth meets Dr. D for a night on the town.


Heather Stallings is a Bay Area writer. E-mail: