From Manhattan with Love: A Novella (The Fifth Avenue Series)

by Christopher Smith

  “You’ll notice that Lady Molesworth isn’t here tonight,” Frieda said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “I didn’t notice,” Leana said. “But I do hope she’s not making more telephone calls with that extra time on her hands.”

  A waiter tapped Leana on the shoulder and asked her to join the Millers and Jean-Georges Laurent in the Pool Room.

  “Looks like I’m up,” Leana said. “It was nice seeing everyone. I’ll send my mother your best wishes. I know it’s just an oversight that she hasn’t heard from you. She follows the papers and understands that many of you have been unusually busy.”

  She turned to leave and when she did, only one person bothered to speak to her.

  “Good-bye, Leana,” Count Luftwick said. “You always know how to make a dull group interesting.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Was any of that necessary?” Mario asked as they moved down the corridor toward the Pool Room. “We only went to Europe. We never went to Saint Petersburg or Beijing.”

  “I did it for my mother. It pisses me off that they think they’re better than she is when their own lives are in the toilet. They’re hypocrites and they deserved it.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I guess.”

  “Take the countess, for instance,” she said. “She’s known me for most of my life, yet every time I speak to her, it’s as if we’ve met only once before and she can vaguely remember me. That’s the difference between us. Old money, new money. They’d rather forget us, except when they have to use us.”

  She waved to Addy as they spotted each other. “He’s the exception. If it weren’t for Addy, we wouldn’t be here tonight.”

  When she walked over, the photographers immediately started taking her photograph. Mario hung back and moved to the side to allow her the limelight he felt she deserved. Those people who were looking at Tootie Staunton-Miller’s photo installation turned to see who was causing such a commotion. When they did, it was as if the photographs of her grand home on Fifth Avenue no longer mattered. Leana Redman hadn’t been seen in public since she was shot by Louis Ryan. Right now, she was the biggest celebrity in the room.

  “That dress,” Addy said as she came forward to hug him. “I can literally feel the envy in the room.”

  “Is that what it is? I felt something else. Like daggers in my back.”

  “You’re terrible and I love you for it.”

  “About the dress,” she said. “Tell me, is everyone shielding their eyes because of it? Are people falling into each other? Tripping? Walking into walls? Spilling their drinks? Have I finally succeeded in being too much for one room to handle?”

  They held each other for a moment. “I’d love to tell you, Leana, but I can’t see a thing. I think with that dress and those cameras, you’re blinding everyone. It’s like you’re a human disco ball.”

  “So, my plan worked.”

  They shared a laugh.

  He took her by the hands and stepped back to admire her. “Seriously, you look incredible. Better than ever. I know you’re going to get hammered with questions all evening, but I might be the only one who actually cares about the answers, so allow me to ask how you are.”

  They kept smiling in spite of the weight of their conversation. “It’s been a tough year, Addy.”

  “Your mother?”

  “I think she’s alright. She’s a good actress, which I think we all can agree upon by now, so it’s hard to tell. I think she’s managing.”

  “Give her my love, will you?”

  “When I speak to her, of course.”

  “Just one more question and my worries will be lifted. Are you alright physically? The papers said the bullet came very close to your spinal chord.”

  “Just three millimeters to the right and I’d be in a wheelchair, designed by Prada if I could get them to do it.”

  He ignored the joke because he didn’t find it funny. His only response was to shake his head. When he did, the photographers noted the grim expression on his face and immediately captured it.

  “They’re like leeches,” he said.

  She turned around and waved to them. “They always have been. Just one last question, Addy. Is my father here?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Did you have the sense whether he planned to come?”

  He put his hand on her shoulder and stood next to her. A ribbon of explosions shot through the crowd of photographers, bathing each in staccato rhythms of light. “I can never read your father, Leana. He’s one difficult man. But I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Leana was about to speak when an announcement was made that people should move to the Pool Room.

  Addy looked at his watch and then searched the room for Tootie, who never was late and was, in fact, now coming toward them. “There’s Tootie,” he said. “Just entering the room. Jean-Georges will make his own entrance, because that’s what Jean-Georges does. Why don’t you feed the press your presence while I grab a microphone?”

  Leana took a final step forward and turned in various directions as people called out her name. When she was finished, she held up her hand and smiled to the press as people continued to enter the room. When she went back to Addy, Tootie was there.

  “Hellohowareyou?” she said.

  “Hello, Tootie.”

  She looked with distaste at Leana’s dress. “It’ll be interesting to see how that photographs.”

  “Do you think there’ll be a problem?”

  “You might look like fireworks in the morning, dear. Just be prepared. Anyway, I think it’s best if you and Jean-Georges stand there, with your backs to that window so you’re facing the press and the crowd. Addy will speak, I’ll offer a few solemn words on the woes of suicide and then Jean-George will present you with the award.”

  There was a rush of applause as Jean-George entered the room.

  “Go over and give him a hug,” Tootie said. “People love meaningless little hugs. Smile, smile, smile. That’s right. Good.”

  “You look beautiful, Leana,” Jean-Georges said in her ear.

  “That’s good to hear. I was just warned by Tootie that in the papers tomorrow, I’ll look like fireworks.”

  “Who better than you?”

  She was surprised by his charm. He was a tallish man in his late fifties with a thick head of silver hair that complemented his tan complexion. “You were kind to step in for my father.”

  “A friend of mine committed suicide when I was young. I’m happy to do it and I’m planning to offer a donation of my own tonight.”

  They parted and Leana looked over at Mario, who was watching her. Even from here, she could sense him wanting to protect her. She waved at him from her waist. He blew her a kiss.

  Addy was coming at her with a microphone. As they passed each other, he winked. “I know these events are awful,” he said. “Give me five minutes. It’ll be over with sooner than you think.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With Jean-Georges Laurent in full view, Carmen and Alex felt more at ease to move into a better position.

  Only moments ago, Carmen made a call to her most reliable and efficient contact in Manhattan. What she requested of him would cost plenty, particularly given the speed with which he’d have to work to pull this off, but she and Alex agreed it was the only way to go if they were to create the kind of chaos they needed to create in an effort to stay alive.

  The complications were clear.

  Without the help of Carmen’s contact, the moment Alex pulled a gun on Jean-Georges, someone undoubtedly would see it and the place would be turned on its side. But with the help of the distraction her contact was offering, which would take the focus off him and place it elsewhere, that was a game changer.

  While fear reigned, Alex would be able to take out Jean-Georges and Leana Redman as the shock of what had happened fully registered. Then, he and Carmen would escape through the corridor, running from the madness as if they themselves were threatened by
it.

  Carmen looked at the time on her watch while Addison Miller started to speak. The award would be given out in minutes. Her contact promised he could pull it off regardless of the short notice, just as she knew he could because he generally had these sorts of emergency situations covered. He said he’d call her moments before he arrived. They wouldn’t talk. Her cell phone was set to vibrate. He’d allow for one vibration before coming through with what he promised.

  She watched Tootie Staunton-Miller take the microphone from her husband. She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek before she stepped in front of him.

  “Who among us hasn’t been touched by suicide?” she asked the crowd. “Maybe a relative took his or her life, a friend, an acquaintance. In the wake of this Wall Street disaster, which has robbed so many of our own in ways that are unconscionable, I can’t imagine that somebody here doesn’t know someone who has turned to a darker way out because of it.”

  She looked at Leana. “When Harold Baines took his life, Leana Redman felt the full weight of his grisly death and decided to do something proactive about it. She has gifted our organization fifty million dollars, which will go for support and education at our satellite organizations throughout the country. It’s an incredibly kind, meaningful gesture and I hope all of you will join Addy and me in recognizing the importance of stepping forward and doing the right thing when you have the means to do so. Leana Redman is one of those people and I want to say publicly to her, thank you. Thank you, Leana, for your gift of love, because I know that’s what it was for you. I can promise you that your gift will help others. What you’ve done will touch people you’ll never know, people you’ll never meet, but it will touch them. It will change their lives for the better. They will go forward because of you and for that, we all applaud you.”

  And they did.

  Carmen looked at Alex. His hand was resting inside his jacket and he was ready to take action when the time was right. They watched Tootie step over to Jean-Georges and hand him the crystal award for philanthropy she and Addy had formed years ago. When he took it, he seemed surprised by its weight, which generated a polite chuckle from the crowd. The award was tall and solid and gleamed in the light of the snapping cameras and the orange light filling the room. He took the microphone from Tootie just as Carmen’s cell phone buzzed in her hand.

  The next few minutes were a blur.

  Carmen placed her hand on Alex arm, giving him the signal.

  Beneath them on 53rd Street, at the entrance to the parking garage that was directly below the Pool Room, a car packed with explosives rolled inside and the driver ran out.

  Exactly only minute later, the car exploded just was Leana Redman was about to address the room. The explosion shook the building with such force, it blew out the windows and hurled pieces of jagged glass into the crowd, cutting them, including Leana, who fell to the ground just as balls of fire rolled into the room.

  Those who were close enough to the far right windows, where the car was parked below, were scorched by the fire. People shielded their faces and staggered back while others either screamed in fear or because they were hurt.

  Alex looked at Laurent, whose own hair had caught fire. He was spinning like a top near the windows, his hands batting at his head and trying to put out the flames while those around him did nothing so they could look out for themselves. The sound he was making wasn’t human. It came from his gut but somehow, on the way up, it managed to twist itself into a kind of girlish shriek.

  The moment he stopped turning, Alex removed his gun and pointed it at the man’s head. Jean-George’s hair no longer was on fire, but shock was setting in. When Alex fired, the man’s face took the impact, but it was his head that released the pressure. It exploded onto Leana and Tootie Staunton-Miller thanks to the hollow-point bullet he used, which expanded when it hit bone.

  It was over in an instant, but in that instant, Laurent seemed to stagger, his arms twitching at his sides while his ruined head let loose a torrent of blood that fountained toward the ceiling.

  When he fell backward, dead, Leana Redman moved away from him and screamed. Her face was awash with blood, bone and brain matter. Her silver dress was spattered with gore. The moment Tootie Staunton-Miller touched her own face, she smeared the clotted glop that covered it and fainted when she looked down at her hand. She collapsed on top of Jean-Georges, her face buried in what was left of his own.

  A beat of stunned silence passed before the press gathered themselves and started to take photographs. Smoke started to fill the room from the broken windows. The glow of the fire raged from below, making the room’s trees appear as if they were writhing in the shadows cast by the flames.

  Alex lined Leana up in his sites but a man came beside her and led her away. He fired, but missed when Carmen slammed into him thanks to the people shoving and pushing in an effort to escape through the packed corridor.

  “We need to get out of here,” Carmen said. “Now.”

  “Do you want her dead or not?”

  The car’s gas tank exploded and more windows blew into the room. Alex was knocked off balance again just as the room gave itself over to the pure panic of pandemonium.

  The place was starting to fill with smoke. People were shouting, screaming, gagging. Carmen looked up at the ceiling and saw the smoke roll above her head and spread into the room.

  Security was talking into their cuffs while an avalanche of people raced to the Pool Room’s exits. Some fled into the kitchen. Others pushed into the corridor.

  Alex looked for Leana and could see her moving toward the exit at the top of the staircase. She was one with the crowd, her head lowered, her dress the giveaway. He could get her. He knew he could. He shrugged off Carmen’s arm just as the masses reached the emergency exit up the stairs, the door to which wouldn’t open because it was bolted shut. Men started to throw their shoulders against it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Come with me,” she said to Alex. “If nothing else kills us, it’ll be the smoke. There’s still time.”

  But before she could say anything more, Alex started to fight his way through the crush of people now coming his way. He still could see her. That dress belonged to no one else but her. His gun was concealed. He was just another person scrambling to get out.

  Behind him there was another explosion, this one greater than the last, and it shook people to their knees while the smoke above them set off the sprinkler system. There was a series of pops as the sprinklers sprang into action and began to douse the room in ways that would make the floors so slick, escape would prove even more difficult.

  “Alex!” Carmen shouted.

  But he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He shoved his way forward, never losing sight of the silver dress. She was at the base of the stairs trying with others to get to the blocked exit above. Men still were pounding against the exit door, but because they were so closely packed together, there was no room for momentum to truly give the doors the push they needed.

  It was difficult to stand. The room was slick with water, which had smothered some of the smoke. People were calling for calm, but no one was listening. Jean-George Laurent had just been shot in the head. Tootie Staunton-Miller was still lying on top of him, her face squarely lodged into the hollow core of his meat face. Addison Miller was trying to lift her up. His face was grief-stricken, slick with water and shining because of it. There was a killer among them, people feared it and they wanted out.

  “This doesn’t happen to people like us!” Lorvenia Billiups screamed. “Why is this happening!”

  “It’s Leana Redman,” Frieda Zulrika Teeple said. “That bullet was meant for her. She’s always been trouble. She’s the one they’re after, just like last time. Keep away from her!”

  “Somebody help me,” Count Luftwick hollered. “I can’t see. You fucking people know I’m blind. Where’s my wife? Where’s the countess? Why isn’t she helping me? She wants me to die, I know it!”
>
  As ropes of insanity spun out to form nooses in the room, Alex inched closer to his mark, who now was washed clean thanks to the sprinklers. Her hair was falling down her back in thick wet curls. The man she was with earlier was assisting the others in putting all of his muscle behind the door, trying to force it open. Security was making an effort to gain some semblance of control, but they might as well have been talking into a vacuum.

  Alex looked at Leana and reached for his gun. If he held it low and concealed it against his side, no one would know it was he who shot her. There was too much confusion. He looked behind him to see his way out. With all the scrambling, it would be difficult to get to Carmen and the corridor, but not impossible.

  Leana Redman was thirty feet away from him. He removed his gun, held it low and was about to shoot when the room was plunged into darkness.

  Alex whirled around and waited for the generators to kick in. They didn’t, at least not immediately. Instead, the security lights flickered and dimmed as if a child was playing with a switch.

  Above the crowd, far to Alex’s right, a gunshot rang into the room, causing shrieks of fear as people either fell to the floor or tried to find a way out. It was Carmen. He knew it was her. She was calling to him. She was asking him to come with her.

  His hand was in the same position it had been when he had the gun poised at Leana. Had she moved? He wasn’t sure, but he nevertheless fired four quick shots in similar directions. He heard the buckling of knees, the falling back of those who were either injured or dead, and hoped that one of them was her.

  He turned around and took flight in the dark, shoving people out of his way as he neared the corridor and shouted out Carmen’s name.