As the sky daricened beyond the window, the lights in the restaurant gradually dimmed, making more brilliant die lights below, on Sie streets and in the windows of Manhattan. Laura knew she had abeady gone beyond her desire for Owen*s hotels, even beyond the drive to settle her score with Felix. This is what I need, she repeated to herself with a silent toast to the glittering tapestry far below, and all Til ever need: to know I can take on any opponent, and win.
Ben had checked the story on landmark status for the Philar de^^ Salinger and reported to the board that he could find nodiing in it. "*! also talked to the reporter at the Globe,** he said at die board meeting. ''He claims he only wanted a statement on landmark status in general and its possible effect oo the Philade^ihia hotel if the commission changed its nund. I have no idea why he thought the commission mi^ do that, but if he had any reason to think so, it was a logi^ question to ask the owner of the hotel. He insists he never said that die status had been changed.**
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Judith Michael
''What the hell/' Cole Hatton said. ''Whether he did or not, Felix thought he did. I have no problem with Felix thinking this or that or any damn thing he wants to. Where I have a problem is Felix riding off in all directions without looking around to see if we're with him. You see my problem, Felix?"
A month later, when the board met again, the sale of the Washington Salinger was approved in fift^n minutes. "I don't give a damn what you think of her," Hatton said to Felix just before the vote. "Her money's good and ^e always pops up with it at just tiie right time. I'd like to meet her. She sounds like one tough, smart lady. And ten million is a decent price for a hotel that's got nothing going for it Anybody know what happened to the chef?"
No one knew. Felix had an idea, from the description the maitie d' had given of the woman who had dined alone and then talked to Lyon until well after midnight, but he said nothing. He cast his vote with everyone else for the sale of the Washio^n Salinger, his face frozen. But within, he seethed with frustrated fu^. She hadn't been stopped. Somehow she had arranged events to go her way. And the culmination of it had come widiin a month of his discovery of Ben Gardner's identity. It was no wonder he felt frustrated and ov^-£atigued. Anyone would be, surrounded as he was by enemies.
tfe would have to do something about both of them. Think about what to do, then arrange it. No matter how kng it took, he would think of something to make him once more victorious.
Ben had been watching Felix, noting how Felix nev^ met his eyes or addressed hmi directly anymcne, but when Asa introduced the new budget and the boanl be^ to discuss it, he let his thoughts wander. That tough, smart lady Hatton had talked about was his sister. Be tried to match the image of a savvy, hard-nosed businesswoman with the young gfi he'd last heard soMnng on the telephone becuise she thought he'd betrayed ber. How could it be the same posoo? He couldn't even imagine how she would look now; all he cookl see in his mind was his pretty httle sister, one of the most talented little thieves he'd known, who looked at him with ho* big eyes and thought he was wonderful. They'd h^ good tunes toother, he thought, turning to the next page of the budget so the others
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would think he was with them. Good, loving times. Until it all blew apart.
And he didn*t see how he could get it together again. Now less than ever before. Because even if he could think of a way to reach out to Laura, how the hell could he introduce her to his new family as his sister and expect to have the welcome mat put out, after she'd just shown them all up by getting most of her inheritance back, even though Felix had done his danmedest to stop her? And what would it do to his position in the family, to be connected to her? He knew how they'd reacted when they found out Laura had lied to them about herself; he could imagine how they'd feel about him. Introduce Laura as his sister? He might as well throw a bomb in the family's midst and watch the pieces fly.
He might be able to tell Allison, he thought that evening as he unlocked the front door of the house on Beacon Hill. He'd thought about it so many times, but every time he did, it seemed so complicated and unlikely that he gave it up. Laura was happy and getting what she wanted, and so was he. It was probably better that they stayed as they were.
**Mrs. Gardner is in the garden," the housekeeper said when he asked where Allison was, and he walked through the house to the back door. When he opened it, he stood still for a moment, watching Allison before she saw him. She sat on a low chair between beds of roses, nursing Judd. Her red skirt was spread around her like the petals of a rose, her breast was whiter than the white blouse she had opened, and Judd's blond head nestled against it with a burst of light. The sun's rays slanted low over the stone wall, bathing the two of them in a deep golden light, and, high above, a cardinal sang a long trill that floated with pure sweetness into the garden.
Ben held his breath, afraid to move. The scene was so perfect, like a painting of paradise, he wanted to fix it in his mind. But just then Allison looked up, her face bright. "I'm so glad you're here. Do you know you have a very greedy son?"
"He's only greedy because he appreciates his wonderful mother." He bent over her and kissed her, making himself part of paradise. He sat on the grass beside Allison, and together they watched their son, whose small mouth made litde suck-
Judith Michael
ing motions even though he had fallen asleep. "^He's getting big/' Ben said. "He'll be walking in a couple of months.'*
Allison laughed. "When he's six months old? Your inexperience is showing."
"You and Judd have a lot to teach me/' he agreed with a smile. He felt relaxed and content. "What did you do today?"
"Wandered around with Molly, looking for galleries."
A small frown cut into his contentment. "You're going ahead with that?"
"I think so. Yes, I am. I really want something to do outside the house, something useful and challenging. I know art, at least I know twentiefii-century, and Molly knows nineteenth-, so we're a good team. ..." When he was silent, she said defensively, "I have the time and the nK)ney, and I'd still be with you and Judd as much as I am now. . . . You don't really mind, do you?"
"Of course not. You shouldn't even ask. As you say, you have the money."
"Ben, don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Talk that way. In that tone of voice. We haven't worried about money for a long time."
"Yon never worry about money."
"I think about it; I don't worry about it. Why can't you do the same? What difference does it make if everything isn't equal? We're living on your salary, isn't that enou^? If I want to do something extra— "
"We have a lot of extras around here. Vacations, redecorating the house, giving parties on your father's boat, the car you gave me for my birthday ..."
"Oh, all right," she said, nervous and angry. "If it's going to be such an issue, I won't open the galleiy. Just, please, don't ruin things; they're so wonderful. ..."
"I'm soiry." Ben put his arm around her. "I don't want to ruin anything; you're right, everything is wonderful. And you'll have your gallery. I think it's a great idea. I'll help you all I can. Maybe I'll even buy something from you."
"I'll save you the best. If you let me give you a discount."
"I expect a discount. Won't I be a preferred customer?"
She smiled. "You're always preferred. It's so good having
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you back; I don*t like it when you travel. The house seems twice as big and five times as empty. Why can't someone else
gor
*Tour father wants me to go. It was one of Hnc prices for moving up to vice president for development." He wants me to slip up somewhere, Ben thought, and the European hotel maiket is confusing enough for an American that the chances are better there than here. "But it won't last long/' he said to Allison. **One of these days rU arrange it so I don't have to
go."
'*If you don't, I'll go with you," she murmured comfortably. '*Judd and nanny
and all."
He chuckled. ^There's nothing that will impress the Europeans more than a hotel man with his entourage." He bent his head and kissed her, his arm around her, his hand cupped over the baby's head, and they sat together, talking quiedy, until shadows filled the garden and the nanny came to get Judd. As they walked into the house, Ben lingered in the doorway, gazing at the lush roses beneath the pale sky tinged with pink and gray, hearing the echo of Allison's voice.
My home, he thought. My wife. My son. Allison was right. It was periect.
Though it would be even more perfect when he could also say: My company.
Clay sat cross-legged on the water bed, surveying his new home. Beyond the high windows were die renovated warehouses of SoHo and the skyscrapers of Manhattan; in the open expanse of die uncarpeted loft, strange furniture huddled in clusters, looking tiny and lost; a window air conditioner hummed and spat; and beside him a young girl slept, her bare bottom smooth and cool beneath his hand.
It was early morning. He had just awakened, and in that unfamiliar room, at a time when he was usually still asleep, he had a moment of dizziness and fright: he didn't know where he was. He didn't even know the name of the girl beside him. It wasn't Myma, he knew that; Myma was still in Chicago, giving him time to miss her so much he'd call her and tell her he wanted to marry her. And he did miss her. He might even call her. Everybody he knew in Chicago had been getting
Judith Michael
married the last few months heM been there: it was a rash, an epidemic, a kind of mass hypnosis. So he might call My ma eventually: she'd been faithful for a long time. But first he had to figure out where he was.
He sat very still; the girl slept. It was very simple, really; he was in a loft he'd sublet from a musician who was on the road. He had a place to Uve for a few months while he looked for something more permanent; he had furniture, even if it sagged and bulged like a has-been heavyweight; he had company, the little girl next to him, who modeled brassieres for Bloomingdale's catalogues and had a weakness for blond men with mustaches; and he had a new job.
Clay Fairchild, he announced with silent grandeur. Vice president for quality control of OWL Development. Citizen of New Yoric City. World traveler, for business and pleasure. Fabulous poker player. Lx)ver of women.
He grinned. Not bad for a kid who'd been picking pockets less than ten years before. Of course it was mainly because he'd been smart enough to stick with Laura, but that was all right: he gave his sister full credit. Terrific lady. Brains and looks and a hell of a cook when she had him over for dinner. He wouldn't be anywhere without Laura. Ginny Starrett kept telling him that, but he knew it anyway. Without Laura, he'd have spent a few years tagging along with Ben on penny-ante break-ins until Ben hooked up with Allison Salinger, and then that would have been it; no way would that conniving bastard have brought his little brother into that set-up; he'd want it all for himself.
So Clay owed everything he had to Laura. Well, almost everything. He had his own talents, too, and he was doing fine with them: he was driving a new Corvette, he had a stereo system that could knock over the Empire State Building, and on his last trip to Europe to check out some new ideas in hotels for Laura, he'd bought two Rodolfo suits that made him look like the high-powered executive he'd always known he was.
He put his legs over the edge of the water bed and heaved himseff out. The young girl made protesting noises as the waves he'd made tossed her back and forth, but she slept on, and she was still asleep when Clay had showered and dressed
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and left for his new office on the top floor of the New York Beacon Hill.
The minute he walked in the door, it was a real high. Everything was happening at once; walls were knocked down, floors were stripped to the bare concrete, old toilets and bathtubs lay in comers like porcelain corpses, Ught bulbs dangled, and a haze of dust hung over everything. Within half an hour, the luster of his Rodolfo suit had faded, his hands were grimy, his nose itched, and his eyes watered. But he was grinning because he loved it: things were changing before his very eyes, he couldn't predict today exacdy what everything would be like tomorrow, and there were mysteries—what*s behind the wall that's being torn down, or under the carpet that's being pulled up, or inside the closets being ripped out?
It was woncterful, and he hated to leave it to go to his office on the top floor, a dump if he ever saw one. He knew it was temporary and someday they'd have a decent place, but still it was a dr^ to go there and leave the bustling activity below.
He could hear them all day. While he and Laiura and the small staff planned the redesign of the Philadelphia and Washington hotels and the opening of the New York Beacon Hill by the end of the year, they could hear the workmen moving closer, one floor at a time. Now and then Clay cookln't stand it any longer, and he'd drag Laura with him for an inspection. They would check on the two- and three-room suites being put together from individual rooms; the double baths in each, of sea green marble with white fixtures; the sculptured pattern in the lobby ceiling that was newly traced m gold leitf, with a chandelier that had been rescued from some crumbling castle in England; the Victorian sconces found in a jumbled pile in the basement that had been polished and installed in the corridors where they'd been when Owen built the hoiei sixty years before. And they would end their inspection back on the top floor, half of which was being transformed into the dining room, a secluded pastel aerie, a French garden in the middle of the city.
By now the ideas were Laura's, going far beyond the ones she and Owen had worked on when they sat opposite each other at his Chippendale desk. Everything he had planned was being done, but it was not enough for her. She had been trav-
Judith Michael
eling about on weekends, staying in other hotels, studying them; she read hotel industry magazines; she dreamed of new fantasies that could become reaUty in her own hotels. As the weeks went by, the luxuries multiplied; so did the costs. And she was in a hurry; that sent costs up even more.
But it didn't matter. The stunning success of the Chicago Beacon Hill and her vision for her other hotels outweighed eveiything else. So far, when she'd needed money, she'd gotten it. She'd used it with great success in Chicago, and she would everywhere else, too. And when she needed more, she would find it.
It had become easy to believe the tap would never run dry.
"Reporting for duty," Clay said, walking into her office at exactly nine o'clock. He knew she'd been there since seven, sometimes even earlier, but she'd never asked him to show up at the crack of dawn, and so he didn't. He figured if he couldn't get his woric done in a regular day, he had too much work and ought to have an assistant. "You look beautiful and deep in thou^t."
She smiled at him as he kissed her. *'How was the movie last night?"
**Good. You should see it."
"I will sometime."
You don't get out enough." He sat on a comer of her desk. It isn't good for you to sit home and brood."
**I don't brood," she said with a laugh. "I woik.**
"You woric too much. Where's Wes these days?"
**On one of his consulting trips. I'll see him when he gets back."
"Is diat still onr
**What do you mean?'*
"Well, you don't date anybody else— **
"Yes, I do; I just don't talk about it."
"I know vihsu you do; you have dates for dinner parties and tbost fancy benefit parties you go to. I meant r^ dates— dinner and a nightclub and then bed. How many of those do you have?"
'^Dinner and a nightclub once in a while."
"That's alir
"That's all."
462
«4'
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**Wsll, that's what I meant. You don't date, you still go out with Wes when he's in town, and the two of you are sort of. . . close when he's in the office. So are you going to marry him one of these days after all?"
**No. But we are close—we've been together for a lon
g time—and it's nice to have someone to go out with." And sleep with now and then — even though I once said I didn't want to anymore — and talk to and share my worries with. "What about you and Myma?"
"I haven't decided. But if you're lonesome and want my scintillating company more than once a week, you can call me up, you know. I don't like the idea of you alone all the time."
"I'm not alone all the time, but thank you. Clay. You have your own Ufe; once a week with your sister is enough, I think,"
"Just let me know; I'm yours if you want me." He stood up. "I need some coffee. Is there anything to eat in that refirigera-tor of yours?"
"Sweet rolls and fruit. Help yourself. And then would you check these purchasing reports? They just came in from Chicago, and it looks as if Henry's using some new suppliers; you may have to go out there and talk to him." She pulled her desk calendar to fc^r. "I want you at a meeting with the lighting people at three; there's a problem with the fixtures we chose for the conference room. And at five we're meeting with Gerard about the dining room tables and chairs—did you say something?"
"I was about to conmient on the idea of having a meeting at five o'clock, but I guess you don't want to hear that."
She smiled. "I guess I don't. And I'd like you to go to Philadelphia on Thursday to talk to our suppliers—here's the list—anid make sure we're getting everything we ordered. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days."
"Great idea. I was thinking of it anyway; the architect's been calling with a lot of changes—not big ones, but they ought to be looked at. Then I may go on to Chicago for the weekend; see how Myma's doing. And then there's that quality control convention Monday and Tuesday in Denver. I could go there from Chicago."
*That sounds all right."
Judith Michael
"Good." He grinned. "You won't see me for a whole week. But ru caU in."
*'Just a minute, Clay, there's one other thing. Did you fire a security man yesterday?"
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