Movin' On Up

Friday night at National is all about the publisher parties, usually held off-site. Like last year, I scored an invite to the Bantam Dell/Ballantine party. Er, you may have noticed I don’t write for them (YET), but…well…let’s just say it pays to have friends in high places.

Anyway, appropriately gussied up, I met Brooke and Elizabeth in the lobby, and we walked outside to catch a cab (joining the zillions of authors, editors, and agents with the same urgent need).

Eeek. Judging by the commotion, we’d be lucky to snag a ride before the party ended.

Then, a bellman sauntered over. “Why don’t you take a limo?”

Me: “How much?”

Bellman: “Twenty bucks.”

Me: “Each?”

Bellman: “No, total.”

Well, crap. That was less than it cost to get from the airport to the hotel! SCORE!

Our driver, Earl, broke from the pack of poor, schlubby taxis, and pulled up under the portico, where we climbed aboard. Then off we went to the “Mansion on Turtle Creek” which is a famous hotel with an even more famous restaurant. (Okay, blogger isn't very caption placement-friendly, so here's the deal: that's Elizabeth with the flowered dress on; me with the black straps, and Brooke...well, Brooke is camera-shy, dammit.)

Check out the elegant entry and the undescribably gorgeous...uh...whaddya call it? Lobby centerpiece? Lobby floral arrangement? Whatever. They beat the ones I buy at Trader Joe's.

We found our way to the cocktail party and instantly met up with evil authors, Stephanie Tyler and Larissa Ione who also write TOGETHER as Sydney Croft.

I say evil because, although I'm sure they're perfectly lovely ladies in REAL life, in the writing world they're partly responsible for conning over 250 authors into a 70-day writing challenge. (Which is why for the FIRST TIME EVER AT NATIONAL, I actually spent some time WRITING...instead of BLOGGING.) Oh, and by the way, that guy Sven I added here? Their fault too. He's my "writing task master" for the duration. Since he must be Scandanavian, I've decided we were lovers in a previous life, so he'll have to go easy on me.

Okay, so check out the back of Larissa's dress. I don't know which I'd kill more for--the dress, or a body to fit IN the dress.

After the party, we called for our limo (I've always wanted to type that) and Earl took us to the next destination: our old stomping grounds at the Adams Mark from an earlier conference. Up to the 34th floor to our fondly remembered bar for cocktails, hors d'ouevres, live music and a few pix.

I truly can't explain what it is about that bar. It WAY outdoes the Reunion Tower at the Hyatt for magical ambience. Even when you're stuck with two other women (who I adore, of course, but still...). I'm putting it on my list (which is getting quite lengthy) of "romantic places to take a man...when I find Him.")

Eventually, we rounded up Earl again, and he got us "home" with a promise to pick me up on Sunday for the airport run. All I can say is alcohol imbibing resumed once we reached the Hyatt lobby and the rest of the night's a wee bit hazy.

Hey, what can I say? I survived another pitch appointment without anyone having to call paramedics. Worthy of a celebration, for sure.

Thanks for keeping us safe, Earl.