The Search

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He had been hung-over most of the day and intended taking it easy that night. Then, just as he was beginning to feel better, his brother dropped by, kitted out in an off-white tuxedo, telling Walker to get changed and get a move on, he was coming to Charles and Margot Browning’s party.

‘I haven’t got a tux.’

‘There’s one in the car. Come on, we’re late. Let’s go.’

They were annual events, these parties, renowned throughout the bay area for the extravagant array of drink and food, the wealth of those invited to consume it. Walker had never been before and apart from his brother — who, it emerged in the car, had come by the invite indirectly — he knew no one. He stood drinking, squeezed into a wine-stained tuxedo, wondering why he had come. Photographers were prowling around, snapping anyone who possessed the distinctive complexion of wealth. No one had any interest in photographing Walker but several times he was caught in the blurred background of a smiling society couple.

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