Fifth Avenue

by Christopher Smith

  As a boy, owning an apartment in New York City had been a dream. And while he felt that one day his dream would come true, never did he think he would be living on Fifth Avenue. Perhaps on the West side of Manhattan, maybe even in some obscure studio on the East side, but not Fifth Avenue. And never, never with a view of Central Park.

  He had paid $25 million for this view. He had handed Manhattan’s top interior decorator an additional $10 million so he could say to guests, “It’s Art Deco.” At the time, he had been convinced the expense was worth it. When you’re a senior executive at one of the world’s leading conglomerates--and sleeping with George Redman’s daughter--you believe your job is secure and that the money will last forever.

  Now that he was faced with the possibility of being fired, Eric wasn’t so sure of that.

  * * *

  The reasons why she hated him--or should hate him, if she could only bring herself to that level--were listed on sheets of white paper and taped to her refrigerator, her desk, her bedroom and office walls. She knew what she was doing was immature, but it was effective.

  She placed the notes anywhere she could easily see them. She had spent the better part of the night writing them and now, as Diana Crane taped the final list to her computer screen, she wondered again why she still loved the son of a bitch.

  She knew it didn’t have to be that way. She knew that other men found her attractive (hadn’t Eric told her so only last night?), and it was this knowledge that kept Diana going. She did not need Eric Parker. She just wanted him.

  She looked at the phone on the table beside her, considered calling him and rejected the idea. Leave it alone, she thought. You can do better.

  But she reached for the phone and dialed his number, anyway.

  Eric answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  He was home. She felt a rush and was about to speak when something made her change her mind and hang up. It was ridiculous, childish, and she knew it. Disappointed with herself, she left for the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but she wanted to keep busy, so eating was the logical choice.

  She was deep into a carton of choco-chunk ice cream when the doorbell rang. Diana listened, hoping whoever was there would go away. She was in no mood for company. She had firm plans to finish this ice cream and move on to a box of chocolates.

  But the doorbell continued to ring.

  She went to the door, knowing she looked like hell in her blue jeans and white sweatshirt, but she didn’t care. Whoever was there would have to accept her the way she was.

  She opened the door and found Eric Parker holding two champagne glasses in one hand, and a bottle of Cristal in the other. He smiled the same crooked smile that had won her heart years ago and Diana found herself hating him for it.

  “I came to apologize,” he said. “I was an asshole last night and I’m sorry.” He waited for a reply, but Diana stood firm. “All right,” he said, his smile fading a little. “What do you say about coffee here and then lunch in my apartment? We can talk things over, I can tell you what’s going on with me and Celina, what’s going on with me and you, and then--”

  Something caught his eye and he turned to the mirror at Diana’s right. Taped to it was one of her lists. Eric read the first few entries. He stopped cold at the fourth. “You really think I walk like I’m constipated?”

  “You’re so full of shit, how couldn’t you?”

  In the silence that passed, they looked at each other--and then began to laugh. Diana stepped aside and motioned for him to walk through. “It’s like I'm allowing a vampire inside,” she said.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse, but I have a stake in my bedroom, so I’m covered. Have a seat. You look like hell. I’ll find the Pepto.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  On Sunday, Celina reached for the phone and called her family's Connecticut estate.

  While she waited for the line to be answered, she moved across the living room, past the cardboard boxes stacked in the center of the room and stepped out onto the terrace.

  It was early and the church bells were ringing across Manhattan. She looked up at the high blue sky, felt the surprisingly fresh breeze on her face and watched the sun begin its slow ascent over the city. Although it had been daylight for hours, the sun was just now making its appearance in midtown.

  The line continued to ring. “Come on,” she said aloud. “Somebody answer the phone before I lose my nerve.”

  The line finally clicked. “Redman residence.”

  “Carlos? It’s Celina. Is my father up yet?”

  “He is, Miss Redman.”

  “May I speak with him, please?”

  Since she was a child, her parents always spent Sundays in the country. Some of her favorite memories were shooting skeet with them both on lazy summer afternoons.

  It was a moment before George answered. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday afternoon.”

  She was surprised by the urgency in his voice. “I’ve been here,” she said. “But I haven’t been answering the phone. Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? Yeah, you could say something is wrong. You could say something is very wrong. Things have fallen all to hell since I last saw you. How soon can you get here?”

  * * *

  When she arrived at the Connecticut estate, she found George seated alone in the sunlit breakfast room, sipping black coffee, facing the long array of windows before him.

  Celina removed her sunglasses and took the chair opposite him. “What’s the problem?”

  “Our deal with RRK? It no longer exists. I had lunch with them yesterday afternoon and they’ve backed out on us. We’re going to have to find somebody else to finance the deal.”

  She wasn’t surprised. The deal always had been shaky. “Did they give you a reason for backing out?”

  “They gave a whole list of reasons,” George said. “All them weak”

  “You don’t think they’re going to try a takeover of their own, do you?”

  “That would be stupid. RRK knows we have management. They know any hostile bid could be suicidal.”

  “That may be so,” Celina said. “But they also know we have inside information from your contact in the Navy. They know the only reason we want WestTex is because of that information and our deal with Iran. All of that has to be tempting. They could very well make an offer of their own. And don’t forget, they’ve already secured a commitment from Citibank to help with the financing.”

  George was quiet a moment, thoughtful.

  “It could happen,” she said. “I’m not saying that it will, but it could and we should be prepared.”

  “I know it could,” George said. “That’s why I called Ted Frostman at Chase. He'll be here at noon. I figured the three of us could talk over a game of skeet and see if we can work something out. What do you think?”

  After the past two days, the last thing Celina wanted to do was caucus with Ted Frostman over a game of skeet. She said nothing.

  George leaned back in his chair. “Spill it,” he said. “You left the party early. Your mother and I aren’t fools. What’s going on?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “There’s a reason you haven’t been answering your phone and why you’re so quiet now. That reason probably has to do with Eric. Did you two have another argument?”

  Celina moved to speak, but she didn’t want to get into this. Eric was like a son to George. She knew her father hoped they would marry and have children. She knew he hoped that one day they would head the corporation together.

  “It’s more than that,” she said.

  George held out his hands. Celina hesitated, but then she decided she had to tell him at some point and so she told him everything, her words coming in a rush. George spoke only after she was finished.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  He peered over his glasses. “That’s not what I meant, Cel
ina.” His voice was calm, but his face was flush.

  “I know,” she said. “Yes, I guess that’s it.” She turned to the windows beside her and waited for him to say something comforting. When he didn’t, when there was nothing but a heavy stillness between them, she looked at her father and was surprised by the anger she saw in his eyes. George was furious and Celina immediately regretted telling him anything.

  “I shouldn’t have told you any of this,” she said.

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “No,” she said. “It was a mistake.”

  “Where is Eric now?”

  “Dad....”

  “Answer me. Is he at home? In his apartment?”

  “I don’t know. Do you honestly believe I care where he is now?”

  “After devoting years of your life to him, yes, I do think you care.” He studied her for a moment. “You’re probably still in love with him.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course, I’m serious.”

  “Is your opinion of me that low?”

  “My opinion of you has nothing to do with this--”

  “It has everything to do with this. I caught Eric in bed with my sister. When you say you think I’m still in love with him, it makes me look like a fool. I’m no fool, Dad.” But even as she said this, she knew her father was right. She was still in love with Eric.

  “Look,” George said after a moment. “I’ll handle Leana and Eric. All right? I’ll take care of them myself. But right now, I want you to forget this ever happened.”

  “Forget this happened?”

  “Frostman will be here at noon. I need you at your best. If he doesn't feel comfortable with us, he won’t feel comfortable with this deal and he won't be able to sell it to the board.”

  So, it was WestTex that mattered.

  She pushed back her chair. “You’re incredible,” she said. She reached for her sunglasses and walked around the table. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  George looked up at her. “What’s your problem?”

  “Are you serious?” she said. “If you don’t know, then it sure as hell isn’t worth discussing.” She left the room and started walking down the long hallway. She was aware that he was following her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She wanted to put distance between them. She quickened her pace. “I don’t know,” she said. “To the self-help section at Borders?”

  “Would you stop for a minute? Please?”

  Celina kept walking until she reached the entryway. And then she stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  A thousand thoughts spun through her mind. “You know something, Dad? I called you this morning because you were the only person I could turn to, because I thought you could help. Never once did I think I’d be leaving feeling worse than when I came. I thought our relationship was a hell of a lot more important than any deal we might have with WestTex.”

  She went down the brick stairs and stepped into her car. George stood in the open doorway and watched her red Mercedes race down the winding cobblestone driveway to the black iron gates that were at the base of the hill.

  It hadn’t been his intention to hurt her, but he had and he was angry with himself. He could hear the sound of her car coming to a stop. He imagined the gates opening, welcoming her in a way that he hadn’t, and then he heard the roar of the engine as the car shot through.

  He wondered where she was going. If she didn’t come back for the meeting, he couldn’t blame her. He stepped back into the house and went to his office.

  * * *

  Across the room, on his desk, were three telephones. George chose one and dialed Eric’s apartment at Redman Place. The line rang several times before it was answered by a woman--a voice George didn’t expect or recognize.

  She seemed out of breath.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” George said. “I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  “George?”

  He hesitated. The voice was vaguely familiar now. Then he recognized it. “Diana?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And you didn’t dial the wrong number. I’m here with Eric.” She was talking oddly fast. “He needed legal advice on the presentation he’s working on for WestTex. I offered to help.”

  “I should hope so,” George said. “That’s your job. Could you put Eric on the line, please?”

  “Of course.”

  He listened to the muffled sound of a hand being placed over the receiver. There was a brief exchange of words, then Eric came on the line.

  “George,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

  “Is it?” George said. “Then let me give you another. I know what happened the night of the party. Celina told me everything.”

  Silence.

  “I want your ass out of Redman International by tomorrow morning. You’re fired. If you’re not out by noon, I’ll have you charged with trespassing. And then I’ll take it a step further.”

  * * *

  George climbed the stairs two at a time.

  Leana’s bedroom was on the second floor, next to Celina’s old bedroom. As he walked down the hallway, he could see the door to her bedroom was closed.

  Or so he thought.

  When he knocked on the door, it edged slightly open. George waited a moment, called Leana’s name twice and entered the room when there was no answer.

  Large cardboard boxes filled with his daughter’s clothes crowded the center of the room. Empty bureaus stood with their drawers open. Her closets and walls were bare.

  He moved around the room, glancing at each box as he passed it. She had packed quickly. Her clothes were stuffed into the boxes. It was clear that she planned on leaving as soon as possible.

  And why not? Leana knew there were no secrets between Celina and him. She knew that sooner or later he would confront her with what she had done. Of course, she wanted out. Ever since she was a child, she had dodged responsibility. And now, as George stood in the middle of her bedroom, feeling its emptiness almost as surely as he had felt for years his youngest daughter’s rage, he decided that if she wanted to be on her own, she would have to do it on her own. Not with his money.

  He came down the stairs and found Carlos, their butler, adjusting a flower arrangement in the entryway. He had worked for the Redmans for nearly twenty years.

  “Any idea where Leana is, Carlos? She’s not in her bedroom.” He had a feeling she might be sitting by the pond behind the stables. It’s where Leana went when she wanted to be alone.

  Carlos looked surprised. “She left last night, Mr. Redman, before you and Mrs. Redman returned from Manhattan. I thought you knew.”

  “No,” George said. “I didn’t know. Are you aware that she’s moving out?”

  He nodded. “She left yesterday. I offered to help carry her bags to her car, but she insisted on doing it herself. Before she left, she told me that she would send for the rest of her things tomorrow. She asked me not to touch anything until then.”

  Although Carlos would not tell George this, Leana also had hugged and kissed him goodbye. She told him how much he had meant to her over the years. She said that she felt closer to him than to her own father.

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “I asked, Mr. Redman, but she wouldn’t say.”

  “You’re positive?” George said. “Did she mention Manhattan?” It would be a place to start looking if she had.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Redman. She didn’t.”

  George sighed. “Tell me if she comes home. And if I’m not here when she comes--if she comes--see if you can find out where she’s living. Leana’s always trusted you and it’s important that I know.”

  “Of course--and Mr. Redman?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is none of my business, but I’m worried about Miss Redman. She wasn’t herself when she left here last night.”


  This was new. In all the years George had known Carlos, he couldn’t remember a time when he ever involved himself in a family matter.

  “How wasn’t she herself?”

  Carlos was silent a moment, the memory of seeing Leana when she returned from the party still fresh in his mind. He had been in his room reading when he heard the front door slam shut. Curious, he had slipped into his black alpaca jacket and went to the entryway. There he found Leana, leaning against the door, her clothes tousled and damp from the rain. Her hair wet, stringy. Her face....

  “Carlos?”

  The man made his decision and said, “It was her face, Mr. Redman. It was bruised and swollen. There were marks at her throat, her eyes were nearly shut and she was bleeding from her mouth. I checked her car, thinking she’d had an accident, but it was fine. I think she was beaten.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Leana awoke with a start. Someone was pounding on her bedroom door. She lifted her head from the pillow and winced, the sudden movement causing pain to course through her neck, shoulders and back.

  She sat up in bed.

  Tried to sit up in bed. The movement took unexpected effort and Leana soon found that her entire body ached. Eric, she thought.

  She laid back down and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. The red digital numbers were nowhere to be found. Neither was her bedside table. Puzzlement went through her. And then she remembered.

  She wasn’t in her bedroom. She was in a suite at The Plaza Hotel.

  Last night, before leaving home, she phoned The Plaza and reserved one of the permanent suites Redman International kept for visiting guests. It was here that she would stay until she found an apartment of her own.

  The hammering on the door intensified. Leana struggled into a seated position and listened. The sound was coming from the next room. Faintly, she could hear a man’s voice. “Open the door, Leana. Now.”