The security men had advised against it. Or at least Greeley had. But Greeley advised against most things. Like taking walks, sitting by open windows, and eating in restaurants. He’d be against meltwater, Synthate shopping, and visiting pleasure parlors, if he thought anyone would pay attention. The secret to getting along with Greeley was to listen to his advice, nod, then do whatever it was you planned on doing. Only do it when he wasn’t looking. Greeley wasn’t looking now, so Martin Reynolds slid his hand around Betsy’s waist. “Don’t!” Her hand met his. “You’ll crush my wings.” “I’m sorry, my angel.” Her wings were little lacy ones, extending out from the back of her tightly fitted white dress. Reynolds slid his arm down the side of his wife’s thigh instead. The big clock on the wall chimed eleven, barely audible over the sound of the band. What Greeley had advised against was Seeks. A silly game, really, Reynolds thought. An adult version of hide-and-seek. One that rich people played at the lavish parties Bruce Livingston had been throwing inside his Fifth Avenue mansion for years. Reynolds had known Livingston since undergrad. Livingston had gone on to become a senator,…