Maybe the good-byes weren’t such a good idea after all. After all, he’d already said good-bye to his secretary and given her a smashing bonus. Wonderful, loyal Margaret. But he wouldn’t miss her, and he wouldn’t miss anyone else, either. Why had he stayed all these years, working like a slave, getting by on only a few hours sleep each night? To prove what to whom? So much of his life was gone now, and while he couldn’t recapture the past, he could try to start a new life. In order to do that, he knew he had to start that life where his old life had ended—back in France. Whether it made sense or not, he had to go ahead with his plan.
First he had to clear out his desk, not that there was anything he really wanted…except for one thing. He might as well go there now and get it. One of the secretaries could pass on Jane’s message to Philippe; no need for him to deliver it in person.
Reuben whistled as he made his way to his office. He took the stairs two at a time and was barely winded when he reached the top. Margaret’s office was empty now, her desk cleared, waiting for the next secretary to take her place. He hoped she was happy in her retirement.
Shouldn’t he be feeling something? He wondered as he walked around his office. Anger or remorse? Or perhaps gratitude that he’d had the chance to make Fairmont one of the “big three” studios? No, relief, he decided. Now he had time to fill his life with sunshine. He certainly had enough money to last him three lifetimes. Everyone was provided for—Simon, Dillon, and, of course, Bebe, if she saw fit to avail herself of his generosity.
Once inside his office, he realized he didn’t want to go through his desk; didn’t want to touch any old memories, each with its own story worthy of a movie script. Let someone else do it. Hastily he penned a note and clipped it to his blotter. Throw everything in the trash. Done.
One last thing, the reason he’d come here. His hands trembled as he lifted the blotter from the desk and stared down at the winemaker’s calendar. He was holding it in his hands, trying to decide how to carry it home so that the brittle paper didn’t fall apart.
“Try this,” a voice said. Reuben whirled to face his son, who was holding a large cellophane envelope. A lump lodged itself in his throat. He didn’t attempt to speak, merely nodded. “Allow me,” Philippe said as he held open the envelope. “There are places that can preserve this for you,” he said with a catch in his voice.
“I know, but it wouldn’t be the same,” Reuben said. “By the way, Jane said to tell you both that the rest of the day is yours. She and Daniel went to the Lily Garden. I’ll be joining them. If you care to come along, you’re welcome. If not, bring Nellie home. Before midnight.”
“Oh, Uncle Reuben, I don’t have a curfew!” Nellie said, flushing.
“I’ll have her home on time. We’ll decide later about the Lily Garden. Will you be coming back here?” Philippe asked.
“Not on your life. It’s all yours…son. Yours and your mother’s.”
Panic rivered through Philippe. “There’s no reason…you don’t have to—”
“Yes. Yes, I have to do this. I’ll be leaving for France in four days. When I have news of your mother, I’ll send it on. If I can.”
Philippe felt sick to his stomach. “But the war…”
“I’ve been to war before. I know your country as well as I know my own.”
Philippe licked at his dry lips. When Nellie nudged him forward, he dug his heels even deeper into the pile of carpet. “Will you…can you…tell her…I’m…tell her I love her and I think of her every day. I don’t see how you can possibly find her with what’s going on. It’s impossible!”
Reuben looked his son straight in the eye, speaking slowly and distinctly. “I never make a promise I can’t keep. I never give my word if there is the slightest chance it will be broken, either by me or by circumstances beyond my control. If it’s humanly possible, I’ll find your mother. Now, you young people run along and enjoy yourselves.”
Philippe led Nellie down the stairs. “Did you see him, did you hear him? Who the hell does he think he is? He…I found out…never mind, we went through all this before. This is a hell of a way for us to start your first day here. Come on, I’m giving you a tour of the studio.”
“Philippe, I think he was waiting for you to…to…I don’t know, act like a son, I guess,” Nellie said. “How can you hold him responsible for something he knew nothing about? It’s not fair, not to him or yourself. I won’t say any more, but I want you to think about it.”
Philippe smiled sadly. “I’ll think about it.”
While her husband was happily toasting old memories with Reuben and Jane, Rajean Bishop was hailing a cab to the Waldorf-Astoria, where she’d called ahead to book a suite of rooms. Her eyes were glittering, her pulse pounding with exhilaration. She had eighty-five hundred dollars in cash in her purse, a new designer nightie, a daytime outfit the color of rich coral from the same designer, and a smashing evening frock in case Teddie wanted to take in a Broadway show. Already she’d made a serious dent in the money Daniel had given her.
As soon as she checked in and unpacked she would head for Tiffany’s to buy a present for Teddie, something absolutely outrageous and so meaningful Teddie would see once and for all that she was the one, the one who loved and wanted to commit until eternity.
Suddenly her exhilaration evaporated. Teddie didn’t know she was in New York. What if Teddie had other plans? Maybe she should have checked before she made the trip. But she so wanted to surprise Teddie! This way she’d stop by Teddie’s shop in the middle of the afternoon, after she left Tiffany’s. In the coral suit she’d be dressed to advantage, and Teddie would immediately know the Tiffany’s shopping bag was a gift. She’d pretend she was in town to shop, to take in a play. Then she’d casually suggest dinner at the Waldorf—her treat, of course. Dinner would lead to the rest of the evening and, possibly, the entire night. If Teddie wasn’t in the shop and she couldn’t make contact this afternoon, she would take a cab to the brownstone on East Seventy-Fourth Street that Teddie called home. She’d ring the bell, trill, “Surprise! Surprise!” and hold out the gift. Teddie did so love gifts. They’d have wine and cheese and talk and talk. Eventually she’d mention that she was considering a move to New York because Daniel was going to be generous with his divorce settlement. Of course, she wouldn’t say how generous and she wouldn’t mention the fact that she was going to keep the house in Georgetown. The designer nightie would be tucked in her oversize purse, wrapped in soft tissue, along with her small makeup case. Plan C…Plan C would go into effect if Plans A and B didn’t work out, and she didn’t want to think about that now.
“That’ll be two-fifty,” the taxi driver called over his shoulder, interrupting her reverie.
Rajean climbed out of the cab and handed the driver the fare and a dollar tip. He smiled his thanks as he looked into his rearview mirror, then frowned as he watched Rajean dance her way into the hotel. He’d seen enough broads in his time to know what she was here for. He’d also seen men like the one climbing out of the taxi behind him. A gumshoe; the city was full of them. For a moment he debated. Should he go in and warn his passenger? After all, she had given him a nice tip. Nah, he decided, live and let live, it wasn’t any of his business.
Rajean looked around the suite of rooms, impressed with the spacious luxury. What she should do, would do, was send herself some flowers on her way to Tiffany’s. Huge baskets of flowers, enough to keep the bellhops busy for a while, and she’d sign the cards with initials, as an indication that she had a secret lover. The flowers would add to Plans A, B, and C.
Champagne, of course, for either plan, in a silver ice bucket. She’d brought the Baccarat glasses from home, the kind Teddie adored, saying it was elegant and decadent at the same time when you drank from crystal with a name.
She lifted the silky nightgown from its nest of tissue and smoothed it out on the bed. Thin straps made of lace and ribbon, the bodice shirred in black organza, so sheer the nipples of her breasts would show thro
ugh. The Empire waist was cinched under the bodice with clusters of tiny satin rosettes set with pin-tip pearls. The skirt was a double layer of organza, the scalloped hem heavy with two rows of rosettes. It was positively wicked-looking. Rajean glowed when she remembered the way she’d looked in it. Of course, she’d paid far too much for it, but she wouldn’t worry about money now. Now she had to calm herself, freshen her makeup, and decide how much she was willing to spend for Teddie’s gift.
Two hours later she walked out of Tiffany’s with an exquisite statue of Aphrodite fashioned from Belgian crystal. It had cost her seventeen hundred dollars, far more than she’d wanted to spend, but there hadn’t been a thing in Tiffany’s aside from the statue that Teddie would like. When another customer—a rather shabbily dressed man—also expressed interest in it, Rajean decided she had to have it.
Now, should she walk or take a taxi? She glanced down at her fashionable high heels and decided to walk. That way her entrance to Teddie’s decorator shop would be breathless, more natural. Of course, she’d have to do some other shopping on the way. Perhaps a new purse and scarf, something to give her a few other parcels to carry.
Rajean made a second stop at a specialty store on Madison and bought a box of assorted candles of different colors and shapes, a beaded evening bag for twenty-five dollars, and a scarf for three. Her purchases were gift-wrapped, and she was given a small colorful satchel to carry them in. On her way up Madison, she found a florist and ordered two hundred dollars’ worth of flowers, demanding the tired clerk agree to deliver them by six o’clock.
“Sign them L. E.,” she said briskly. L. E. for love everlasting. She knew it was a silly thing to do, but she didn’t care.
By this time her feet were aching and she felt hungry, so hungry she knew she’d shortly be cranky and irritable. Maybe that was good: this way she wouldn’t take any nonsense from Teddie. She’d show some spirit, some guts, and not allow herself to be walked over. Thus resolved, she hailed a taxi and asked to be let out at the corner of Fiftieth and Second Avenue.
She’d never been to Teddie’s shop before; it was off limits. Teddie didn’t mix business with pleasure. But this was an exception, she told herself. Ten minutes later she thrust open the door emblazoned with gilt lettering that read INTERIOR DESIGNS BY TEDDIE—and gasped. This shabby, dusty, moldy shop was so unlike what Teddie had described, she could scarcely believe it was the right place. A wizened old man with gravy stains on his tie crept out from behind two rolls of purple carpeting. Rajean stood statue-still, not wanting to touch anything. “Is Teddie here?”
“No,” the man said curtly. “This ain’t Teddie’s day to come in. Try tomorrow afternoon.” He turned to retreat behind the purple carpeting.”
“Wait a moment. Where can I find—”
“I ain’t no one’s keeper. Teddie pays me to keep the name on the door and that’s all I know. I got a good Oriental I can let you have for three hundred dollars. You interested?”
“No,” Rajean said, and retraced her steps out the door to the rusty sound of the bell clanging overhead. Back on the street, she felt disoriented. Should she go left or right? Not that it mattered now. Teddie had lied to her; Interior Designs by Teddie was anything but famous and certainly not international. She was so engrossed in her unhappy thoughts that she collided with another pedestrian.
It was the shabbily dressed man she’d seen in Tiffany’s.
“Well, this is a real coincidence!” he boomed happily. “I was just going to go into that shop to see if I could pick up a good Oriental carpet. The purple kind. I just bet you beat me out like you did at Tiffany’s.”
“No, I didn’t buy anything. Look, if you really want this statue, I’ll sell it to you,” Rajean said desperately.
“Well, little lady, you’re too late. I bought another one. Don’t tell me yours has a flaw in it.”
How bright his eyes were, how inquisitive. God, maybe he was a lecher or a thief who followed women around waiting to snatch their purses. Fingers clutching her bag, she stepped away from him and out to the curb where she flagged a taxi. “East Seventy-fourth between Second and Third,” she told the driver.
When she rang the bell, Rajean knew Teddie wouldn’t be home, but she’d had to come, she didn’t know why. To beg, to plead, to pretend she hadn’t been to the shop, hadn’t seen the dirty old man with the stained tie, pretend that things were all right. She would slide a note through the brass mail slot. “Darling,” she wrote.
I came to the city to do some emergency shopping and stopped by, but of course, you weren’t home, hence this note. I’m staying at the Waldorf, Suite 1112. I’d love to see you before I leave for the West Coast on Saturday. Give me a call or stop by.
Rajean
She’d given herself an extra day, which was stupid. What was she going to do, sit around a hotel and suck her thumb, hoping Teddie would give her some precious time?
Rajean opened the door to her hotel suite forty-five minutes later and gasped. She’d had no idea two hundred dollars would buy so many flowers! They were everywhere—on the bureau, on the night tables, on the tables next to the sofa and chairs, on the floor, in the corners. Even the bathroom held two baskets of yellow-and-white pompons. The smell was so sickeningly sweet that she felt dizzy. And somehow the sight was depressing, not exhilarating, as she’d hoped; it made her want to cry.
For no matter how the cards were signed, the reality was inescapable—she had sent the flowers to herself. There was no secret lover, and even Teddie was beginning to tire of her.
Well, she hadn’t burned all her bridges. There was still Daniel. She could get Daniel back with a crook of her finger if she wanted to. Nellie would help her. She would call them in California, ask them about their trip, and tell them she missed them. That’s exactly what she would do. If things really didn’t work out with Teddie, she would join her husband and daughter in California whether they liked it or not.
Rajean picked up the phone and had the long-distance operator try the Tarz home in Laurel Canyon. There was no answer. When she called the studio, she was cut off in midsentence. Finally she called person-to-person and asked for either Reuben Tarz or Philippe Bouchet. When the boy came on the line, she identified herself and asked for Daniel. A moment later she was stunned when Nellie took the phone from Philippe, sounding faint and far away.
Rajean forced herself to sound motherly and concerned. “I’m trying to locate Daniel, Nellie, do you know where he is?”
“I sure do, Mother. He’s having lunch with one of the prettiest, smartest women here at the studio,” Nellie teased. “They went to the Lily Garden. If it’s important, I can have him call you.”
“No, it isn’t earth-shaking that I talk to him this minute, but I would like you to have him call back if he has time. No, no, better not have him do that!” Rajean said, remembering where she was. “I’ll catch up with him tomorrow or the next day. Enjoy yourself, honey….”
Rajean stared at the phone as though it were a coiled snake ready to spring—at her throat. The prettiest, smartest lady at the studio. That could mean only Jane Perkins. They were the same age, and she was as career-oriented as Daniel. They would have much in common…And where did that leave her? Holding a Tiffany shopping bag worth seventeen hundred dollars. She wondered if the prestigious store had a return policy.
Angrily, Rajean connected with the operator and asked for room service. She ordered a cheese sandwich and a bottle of gin that she didn’t really want, then removed her makeup and ran a hot tub. The hell with all of them. First thing in the morning she’d return to Washington. Somehow she’d find a way to regain Daniel’s interest.
An hour later Rajean realized her skin was starting to pucker. Quick as a flash she hopped out of the tub and kicked at the bathroom door with her bare foot; she had to get away from the nauseating smell of the flowers. Naked, she made her way to the bedroom of the suite.
The long evening stretched before her. She remembered her intentio
n of taking a sleeping pill. Instead of one she took two, swallowing them without the aid of water. The cheese sandwich stared up at her, the bread dry and curling around the edges, the cheese darker on the sides. She ate the sandwich because there was nothing else to do. It would take a while for the pills to work, at least an hour. The gin might help speed up the sleep process. She poured a tumbler full and added a single ice cube. While she gulped the fiery liquid she placed a call to Teddie. When Teddie’s voice came over the wire, she sat the glass down with a thump, the gin splashing over the sides.
“Hello,” she said throatily.
“Rajean, is that you? I just got in and found your note. It was sweet of you to stop by. I was out on a business call. How are you, sweetie?”
Sure you were. Sweet of me to stop by. Sweetie. God, she was a mess, no makeup and about to pass out from the pills. “I’m just fine and looking forward to California. I can’t remember, have you been there?”
“Several times. Did you get much shopping done?” Teddie purred.
“Quite a bit, as a matter of fact. I picked up a little something for you, that’s why I stopped by.” Fool, fool, fool! her mind screamed.
“Rajean, you are just the kindest person. Always thinking of me. What are your plans for this evening?”
Already the pills and the gin were starting to fog her brain. She sighed. “I was going to turn in early. Shopping simply wore me out.” Damn, she sounded as though she were in a tunnel. By God, she would not ask Teddie to stop by, she simply would not. “I know you must be busy if you just got in, so I won’t hold you up. It was nice talking to you, Teddie.” Rajean said from her tunnel.
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