“It’s a pleasure, Tank.”
“Please call me Mitch.”
“Why can’t I call you Mitch?” I asked.
“Because I’m your security detail,” he said to me. “Tank is more intimidating. I’m not protecting Lisa.”
“You can if you want,” she said.
That caused him to pause. He looked over at her with interest. “Do you need protection?”
“Right now? Just from myself.”
I’d seen it too many times to count, but Lisa’s skills at flirting never ceased to amaze me. She was nothing if not bold when it came to every factor in her life. “You’d never know it by looking at her,” I said, “but Lisa’s a best-selling writer of zombie novels.”
“You write about zombies?”
“I do. I write about the undead.”
“I’d assume that bringing them to life on the page is a challenge?”
“Sometimes, but I manage.”
“That takes a certain skill set,” he said. “I actually love zombie movies and horror novels. Dawn of the Dead is my all time favorite.”
“Get out! I have a signed and framed original poster for that movie in my bedroom. Alex got it for me as a housewarming present.”
“Who signed it?”
“Romero!”
“Why doesn’t Mr. Wenn give me gifts like that?”
“You need Jennifer to hook you up.”
I checked my watch and went in for the kill. Time to find out if this is just chitchat, or if he’s single and interested. “We should probably go,” I said. “Maybe you two would like to talk more about all things undead over coffee some day. If you’d like that, let me know. I can share each of your numbers with the other later if you’d like.”
He looked down at Lisa with a half smile. “Would you like to have coffee some time?”
Single. Interested. Bingo.
She shrugged. “I’m still fairly new to town and haven’t met many people my age or with my interests. That would be nice.”
“I’ll give you a call this week.”
“I’d like that. I work on my own schedule, so call whenever.”
“I’ll be in touch.” He looked at me and I could see a brightness in his eyes that hadn’t been there initially. “Ready to go?”
“The question is, are you?”
“How was that?”
I smiled at him. “Nothing.”
“We should get you to Wenn before Bernie calls wondering where you are.” He turned to Lisa. “It looks like you’re going out. If you’re going somewhere that’s on our way, I’d be happy to drop you off.”
She was such a pro at this that she didn’t even flinch. “I’m good,” she said. “I’m meeting friends later. I just wanted to make sure that this one was in good hands. She obviously is. So, I’ll hear from you soon?”
“Oh, you’ll hear from me,” he said.
* * *
In the car, we drove down Fifth toward the Wenn Enterprises building. It was still light out, but it was cooler, which was refreshing. I was nervous about the night ahead of me and wondered if I’d be able to handle it without Alex. But there was something about Tank that helped to put me at ease. He wasn’t Alex, but he was connected to Alex, and even that was something of a comfort.
In the car, I thought about the initial meeting between Tank and Lisa. I was nothing if not protective of Lisa, but the way he had behaved with her bordered on sweet. Though her nipples had been rock hard, there was not one moment that I saw him dip his eyes to gaze at them. That spoke volumes to me. Not to mention their mutual interests in the undead. So, at the very least, their initial meeting seemed promising. I was happy about that.
I decided to engage him to learn a bit more about him before I handed off Lisa’s phone number to him.
“It seems as if you and Lisa have a bit in common.”
His eyes flashed up to me in the rearview mirror, then focused on the road. “It does. How long has she been writing?”
“Since I can remember. She wrote her first novel when she was about ten, I think. It was a rousing success with the kids at school because it also was about the undead. More books followed. Then college hit, and she lost steam because of her courses and because she’s an overachiever. She wrote a book right after college, and tried to get it published in New York, but had no luck selling it. So, she went the indie route and self-published through Amazon. She hit it big. She’s written another recently, but I’ve been so out if it lately, I don’t know how it is doing. It was just published.” A thought occurred to me. “Not that I can’t check its rankings on my phone. Hold on.”
I pulled out my cell, pressed the bottom button, and spoke to Siri. “Amazon.com,” I said.
Siri’s mechanical voice said, “Searching the Web for Amazon.com.”
“I think Siri is the undead,” Tank offered.
I giggled at that. The site came up and I searched for Lisa’s new book. After a bit of clicking around, I found it—and was shocked. It was seventeen in the Amazon overall Top 100. Why hadn’t she told me that? That was huge news. “She’s got the number seventeen best-seller on Amazon with her new book. It’s only been out for a few days. She never told me, but that’s just like her. Humble to the end. I’m so happy for her!”
“What’s the title? I want to read it before we have coffee.”
Reading her book before coffee? Another point for you, Tank. “When Worlds Fall Apart.”
“Great title. What’s her other book?”
“When Worlds Collide.”
“Is this a sequel?”
“It is.”
“I have an iPad with the Amazon app. I’ll get them and read both before I call her.”
“They’re pretty big books.”
“I’m a pretty big guy, and I happen to read quickly.”
Noted. “Excellent. You’ll have something to talk about.”
“I have a feeling we’d have something to talk about anyway.”
This guy is totally scoring points. I need to ask Alex about him. Blackwell loves him, so that’s a plus. She’d castrate him if she didn’t like him. “Do I really need to call you Tank?” I asked.
“Not if you don’t want to, but it works in our situation. If you should ever need me and I’m not near you, call for me and say ‘Tank’ and I’ll know to bust my ass to get to you. It’s a kind of code between us. In a crowd, anyone could be called Mitch, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be the only Tank in the vicinity. That’s how I look at it.”
And that, I understood.
When we arrived at Wenn, I asked Tank to come up with me.
“I need a man’s opinion.”
“You have Bernie.”
“And I love him. But he’ll be less likely to criticize his own work. I need to know from a straight guy whether Bernie has hit the mark or not.”
“I don’t think Mr. Wenn would appreciate me looking at you that way.”
“Mr. Wenn is a businessman. I’m going into a serious business deal, one potentially filled with sharks. Blackwell isn’t here. I need a second opinion—your opinion. Will you help? It’s just an opinion.”
“Who said I’m straight, anyway?” he said.
I felt my heart sink for Lisa, but then he laughed. I met his eyes in the rearview and saw them crinkle.
“You’re too easy,” he said. “I’ll go up and give you my opinion so long as it doesn’t get back to Mr. Wenn. We all know how he feels about you, ma’am.”
“Please. Jennifer.”
“Jennifer.”
“And it won’t get back to him. But even if it somehow does, Alex is smart and confident enough to understand why I need your opinion. I’m meeting Henri Dufort tonight. I need to turn it out however I can. Hopefully my brain will be enough, but you never know. The right dress never hurts. Just be brutally honest with me, OK?”
“OK.”
* * *
Before I got out of the car, Tank made sure the sidewalk on Fifth was s
afe. He then swiftly ushered me inside while my heart pounded in my throat. Soon we were on the seventy-first floor, where Bernie was waiting for us and where I could relax.
Bernie was nothing if not a professional. He gave me a kiss on each cheek and shook hands with Tank. He told me that he and Blackwell had discussed what kind of event I was about to attend, and then he took me to our mock dressing room, where he showed me the dress Blackwell had suggested I wear.
It was bright red, plunging neckline, sleeveless, a wide band beneath the breast, pleated from the waist to the floor. It was beautiful, but I had obvious reservations.
“I cut my arm the other night. It’s kind of ugly. I don’t think anybody wants to look at that.”
Bernie removed from a hanger a dramatic red cape that seemed almost weightless. It was longer than the dress and it clasped at the throat. Together with the dress, the lot of it was stunning, by far my favorite since the Gatsby dress. I was tall enough to pull it off, but could I pull it off? It was almost like a stage costume.
“My dear, with that cape, they won’t being seeing anything other than a red exclamation point in the room. This will make you the star of the evening. I can promise you that. It’s Giambattista Valli Couture. Nobody will be in anything like it tonight because this is next year’s collection. It is on the cover of the fall edition of Vogue—the one on newsstands now—but no one can get it yet because it’s not available to the public. Well, most can’t get it. Tonight, you’re the prized exception. You’re going to be wearing the dress every woman of fashion has lusted over since that magazine hit the stands two weeks ago. The right women—which will be most of the women Peachy invited—will recognize it on sight. You’ll be fashion forward in ways that will strike envy and likely ire, but only with the women. The men will trip over themselves to get a look at you.”
“No pressure there. How did you get it?”
“Ms. Blackwell got it.”
“How did she get it?”
“Spells. Voodoo.”
“Seriously.”
“Does it matter? Now, get dressed. Undergarments are on the table. Shoes are over here. Tank and I will be out there. And then we’ll see how it all comes together when you’re ready for your hair and makeup. I’m thinking of doing something loose with your hair tonight. Smokey eye. Lips the exact color of the dress. Very simple jewelry—just a diamond bracelet and studs at your ears. Nothing should detract from the dress. Henri Dufort is no fool—he’ll see straight through this. But a confident, beautiful woman who has the sort of intelligence that can stand up to this kind of a dress also isn’t a fool. That would be you. You’ll impress him on all levels. And in doing so, you’ll smooth the way for Alex to seal the deal between Dufort and him.”
* * *
Later, after Bernie finished blowing out my hair and putting the final touches on my makeup, I stared at a person I didn’t recognize in the mirror. I stood up with an effort because my hip was so sore from sitting, let Bernie put the cape around my neck, and then turned to him and Tank.
“Well?”
“Well, indeed,” Bernie said. “I hope a doctor’s in the house.”
“Tank?”
He was looking at me as if I was otherworldly. “Keep your phone on the ready to dial 911. Bernie’s not joking. No one is going to come close to this, Ms. Kent.”
“I might trip over the cape,” I said. “It’s so long.”
“Here’s what you do,” Bernie said. “You use your arms to lift it up and pull it close to you when you walk. See. Try that. Right? Not difficult at all. If you want to be dramatic, and only if you have the room to do so, let your arms out a bit and the cape will flutter—flutter!—behind you. But here’s a warning—beware of other people who might ‘accidentally’ step on it. Try not to move around too much, or it could lead to disaster. As much as you can, just stay put. Remember, you’re the exclamation point. There’s no need to mingle—people will come to you. When you’re standing still, make sure the cape puddles at your feet. Keep it tucked in so no one trips and damages the fabric. OK?”
“All right.”
“It’s fucking couture after all.”
I smiled and shook my head at him. “I’ll be very careful.”
I turned and looked at myself again in the mirror. I didn’t even look like myself. What Bernie did was beautiful and outrageous, but was it too much? “This is pure sex, Bernie, mixed with a pretty big dose of ‘80s glam. Is that going to go over well at this sort of event? I don’t know her from Adam, but Peachy Van Prout sounds to me as if she’s in the book.”
“Oh, she’s in the book,” Bernie said.
“I don’t mean to doubt you, but this isn’t a look for the book.”
“You’re right—it isn’t. It’s a look that will cause a stir. People will talk about it. Since this is a charitable event and Peachy is nothing if not a media whore, expect to have your photograph taken. Some will say it’s inappropriate. Others will champion you for wearing it. Who cares what they think? Because that kind of look, Jennifer? And with that coveted dress? That’s priceless. This is your coming out party. This is you making a statement without Alexander Wenn on your arm. This is proving you don’t necessarily need him to represent Wenn. This is when people come to see you. Trust me on this. Blackwell and I put a lot of thought into it, and we considered all angles of what will happen. We decided on this look for a reason. Henri will be captivated. The rest will be talking about you—good and bad. But just wait until tomorrow. We’ll see who’s on Page Six then. And then we’ll see who Manhattan’s latest trendsetter is.”
CHAPTER TEN
Peachy Van Prout lived in one of the few remaining mansions on Park Avenue. It was on Sixty-Eighth Street, and was much wider than those townhouses on either side of it. And in the way it was lit with lights shining up along its lower facade, it was gorgeous. It was a brownstone, eight windows across and five stories high with a black iron gate in front and two topiaries on either side of a mahogany door. It seemed at once elegant and understated, which is exactly what I expected given Peachy’s lineage and the expectations that came with that lineage.
“This is it,” the driver said.
Tank looked at me. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
With Tank at my side, we stepped out of the car. A breeze caught my cape and whipped it to my right in a brilliant, billowing flash of crimson that rippled for several moments before I was able to sweep it down with my arm and get it under control. Turns out, that was my unexpected, yet dramatic entrance, as the few well-dressed people on the sidewalk who were waiting to get inside took immediate note and the buzz began. Tank came up beside me, put his hand on the center of my back, and soon we were inside with no further incident.
“That’s Peachy straight ahead of you and to your right, welcoming people,” Tank said. “Her husband’s name is Robert.”
“Why does he look familiar to me?”
“Former CEO of Citibank.”
“That’s right. I recognize him now.” I looked ahead through the crowds of people, who were moving through the amber lighting and climbing the grand mahogany staircase to the next floor. I assumed they were going to the second floor for cocktails, but I wasn’t sure. Who knew with this set? Not this girl from Maine.
In no time, I was beyond Robert, who was cordial yet boring, and upon Peachy, a tall, thin blonde who was likely pushing seventy, but whose plastic surgeon had skillfully lifted her face back to where it was at fifty. She was wearing a golden dress that winked in the light and complemented her skin. Despite all of the ugly things I’d heard about her, I thought that she looked beautiful.
But is she beautiful inside?
“Hello,” she said to me with an extended hand. It wasn’t exactly a handshake. Instead, it was a proffered hand, with fingers sloped gently downward. I took it and released it while she studied me.
“I’m Jennifer Kent,” I said. “I’m Henri Dufort’s guest tonight.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you, Jennifer. It’s a pleasure. Peachy Van Prout. You’re Alex’s companion, yes?”
“I am.”
“How is he? Robert and I read about what happened to both of you in the Times. It sounded horrible and we’ve been worried. You look healthy and, I have to say, very beautiful. How is Alex?”
“On the mend, thank goodness.”
“Then I’m glad you were well enough to come. And after what you’ve been through, the fact that you look well is an understatement. My dear, you look gorgeous. And I know that dress. I don’t want to know how you got it, but I have an idea it has something to do with a certain Ms. Blackwell. Everyone knows that woman can work miracles. And the cape—so dramatic. So pretty. So now. So perfect.” She leaned toward my ear. “This crowd is so old. We need young women like you to keep things hip among all the titanium hips. I’m delighted that you’re here.”
She actually was funny and nice.
She turned to Tank. “Is this your...?” She wasn’t sure what to say.
“After what happened the other night—”
Recognition flashed in her eyes and she shook her head as if to stop me. “Say no more. I understand and I’m relieved. I’m Peachy,” she said to Tank. “You are?”
He took her hand, which was dwarfed by his. “Mitchell.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mitchell. You’ll keep this one safe?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.”
“You look very handsome in your tux.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Cocktails on the second floor. Dinner in two hours on the third floor. Just fifty of us.” She shot a look of concern at Tank. “Oh, dear. But I haven’t planned for you.”
“No need to, ma’am. I’ll just remain on the second floor if that’s fine with you.”
“Of course it is. And you won’t go hungry. At the very least, dinner will be served to you there. I’ll make certain of it. And I feel guilty about it. I’m so sorry there isn’t another space at the table.”
Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series) Page 6