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“What the hell?” Brennan said under his breath.
“Alvin.” Malcolm waved his hand at the man giving directives to the dozen or so young men following him in, hands in the pockets of their khaki trousers, heads moving back and forth as if they expected to be hunted for their hides. “Over here.”
The large man acknowledged the welcome and delivered a tremendous smile at Malcolm before indicating the boys should remain where they were.
“Grandfather, what’s going on?”
The room grew quiet as the crowd registered the presence of the unexpected guests. Quickly they parted as Alvin approached, stacking up on either side, creating a path for the behemoth with the wide crocodile smile.
“Good, good. You’ve brought your young men with you.” Malcolm beamed and offered his hand to the man, shaking it vigorously. “This is my grandson, Brennan.”
Alvin extended a hand toward Brennan, who shook it.
“Alvin Dryer, the director of Hope and Grace Home for Boys. Happy to meet you,” he said as Brennan shifted his eyes to the boys still standing in the entrance.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dryer,” Brennan said.
Further introductions were made before Malcolm said, “Let’s bring the boys in. I’d love to introduce them as my special guests and talk a little bit about how Malcolm’s Kids will partner with your agency to create better after-school programs. Do you think the boys will mind saying a few words?”
Alvin nodded his head, looking more and more like an overgrown St. Bernard than the ferocious Doberman who’d split the room with his intense bearing and huge stride. “I’ve asked Samuel and Darian to speak about what Hope and Grace has meant to them and how added funding will help other kids on the streets.”
“Perfect.” Malcolm waved toward the boys, who appeared to be between fourteen and seventeen years old and not exactly happy to be there. Several of them jerked their chins in acknowledgment but their faces remained guarded.
Mary Paige snuck a glance at Brennan as the band struck up a KC and the Sunshine Band classic loud enough to distract several of the attendees, who still stared at the young men and their fearless leader. Brennan looked confused, and disappointingly, alarmed. He kept glancing about the room at the people whispering together and casting worried looks toward the new arrivals.
“Let me get the boys settled. Maybe get them some sodas or food. You said there was a special table reserved? Faster I get them out of everyone’s line of vision, the more comfortable they will be,” Alvin said.
It struck Mary Paige how rare it was that a man cared more about his charges’ comfort than the wealthy people holding wineglasses and eyeing the young men as if, at any moment, they might lurch toward the diamond necklaces and Rolex watches. Here was a man who had his priorities right.
“Please, do.” Malcolm gestured toward a table near one of the huge arching windows adjacent to the dance floor. “There is more than enough room. We’ll start the silent auction in half an hour, and I’ll introduce you and your esteemed young men at that time. Until then, enjoy the food and music.”
Alvin directed the young men toward the table. One boy who looked older and less intimidated inclined his head and muttered something to the others. They started forward, stoic soldiers among the coiffed, sparkling crowd.
“Nice to meet you folks,” Alvin said before moving to join his group.
“Are you insane?” Brennan whispered to his grandfather.
“What do you mean?” Malcolm’s silver eyebrows drew together.
“You invited street kids to the benefit? Doesn’t that seem ill-timed for a gala intended to raise money for our projects? Everyone looks wary. People don’t loosen their pockets when they feel uncomfortable, Grandfather. Though your heart might be in the right place, I think it’s a poor decision.”
“Do you?” Malcolm’s expression became serious with shades of disappointment. “I don’t agree. I think these jackasses need to be jolted out of their comfort zones. They need help seeing for themselves what the money we raise eating shrimp cocktail and drinking champagne does for the community in which weshare.”
“By bringing in kids who obviously don’t want to be here and forcing them to mingle with Boopie Charles and Trinity Van Pelt? Now everyone here, including Alvin’s boys are vastly uncomfortable.”
“Good,” Malcolm said, frowning at Brennan. “We grow in discomfort.”
Mary Paige stared hard at Brennan, wondering why this man intrigued her so. Could his own jackassery be redeemed? She wasn’t sure. She had the urge to do something to prove him wrong. To do more than stand there like a cow munching clover.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, handing Brennan her clutch as she slipped away from Malcolm and his thickheaded grandson and walked toward the group of boys at the immaculate, white-clothed table with the overdone bloodred roses clustered in the center.
“Miss Gentry,” Alvin said, setting down a plate filled with meats and cheeses. “Meet my boys.”
She smiled, taking in all the young men, some in ill-fitting navy sports coats, others in long-sleeve shirts anchored with striped ties proving they attended a school requiring a uniform. “I would love to meet your young men, but I’m really itching to dance. I’m kind of old-school and can’t sit out when they’re playing KC and the Sunshine Band.”
Alvin smiled and pressed his tie down. “Well, I guess I can let this here food set and give you a spin.”
“Oh, no. Sit and eat. I was hoping he would dance with me,” she said, pointing to the toughest-looking kid, who wore big diamond earrings in both ears and whose pants hung low. “Would you?”
