“If she doesn’t call me by ten o’clock, I’m going to call her,” Heidi said.
“No, you won’t,” Johann said firmly. “She’s a young lady now. Don’t make her feel like a child.”
The telephone on his side of the table began to ring and he picked it up. “Yes?” he said into it. “Okay, put him through.” He covered the speaker with his hand. “It’s Carroll calling from Paris.” He took his hand from the mouthpiece. “Hello, Charles. No, it’s okay. I’m just having breakfast. Sure, you can talk.”
Heidi watched him while he was listening to the voice on the telephone. The maid came in and placed the ham and eggs on the table in front of him. Heidi took a cover and placed it over the plate so that it would keep warm until he had finished talking.
Finally he put down the telephone and, looking across the table, smiled at her. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, lifting the cover from his plate. “She arrived there safe and sound and Janette is having a small dinner party in her honor tonight.”
“Oh, my God!” Heidi exclaimed. “She hasn’t even got a dress to wear. I told her to take one with her but she said she wouldn’t need it.”
Johann laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that either. I’m sure that Janette would not let her come down to dinner naked.”
***
Lauren opened her eyes. The room was dark and strange and it took a moment for her to realize she was not in her room at home. She rolled over on the bed and saw Janette sitting in an armchair, watching her. She sat up on the bed, stretching, making no attempt to cover her nakedness. “I fell asleep,” she said half apologetically.
Janette smiled. “That’s normal. It’s jet lag. You looked so peaceful there I was wondering whether to wake you up.”
“Is it late?”
“No. We have plenty of time. It will be another two hours before any of our guests arrive.”
Lauren got out of bed and started for the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.” When she returned she was wearing a Porthault bathrobe she had found in the bathroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed facing Janette and lit a cigarette. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.
Janette shrugged. “Comme ci comme ça. There are always problems.”
Lauren giggled. “That’s what Daddy—Johann—always says.”
“He works very hard?” It was a question, the way Janette said it.
“All the time,” Lauren said. “Even on weekends and evenings, he always has a briefcase filled with papers that he has to go over. Sometimes I think he even takes them to bed with him.”
“And Heidi? What does she do?”
“She has things to keep her busy. You know, social and charitable things, plus the houses. And she travels a lot with Johann on his business trips.”
“I wonder why they never had any children of their own,” Janette said.
“She had two miscarriages,” Lauren said. “I don’t know too much about it. It happened when I was still a kid.”
“Too bad,” Janette said thoughtfully. “I always thought Johann would make a great father.”
“He has,” Lauren said. “To me.”
“I noticed that you called him Daddy. Do you call Heidi Mother?”
“Yes.”
Janette nodded. “Good.”
“That’s the way I think of them,” Lauren said.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong in it,” Janette said quickly. “They deserve it. They love you very much.”
“Do they have anything to worry about?”
“I don’t think so,” Lauren answered. “I cope.” She yawned again and stretched. “I can’t seem to wake up.”
“A hot-and-cold shower will revive you,” Janette said.
“I think a toot will do it quicker,” Lauren said.
“A toot?”
“A snort, coke, you know. Two toots and a red and you can take on the whole world.” She got out of bed and crossed to the dresser. She opened a drawer and took out a small cosmetic bag. She turned back to Janette as she unzipped it, the bathrobe loose and open. “Want a lift?”
“I can use something,” Janette said.
She took a small vial from the bag and knelt before Janette’s chair. She put a small plastic straw in the bottle, took it out and held it to Janette’s nostril. “Snort.”
Janette felt the coke shoot back into her head.
“Now the other nostril,” Lauren said, before Janette could speak.
Again Janette sniffed at the straw. This time she felt it go right up into her brain. “My God!” she exclaimed. “What the hell is in that?”
Lauren laughed. “The real thing. Pharmaceutical coke. Not the cut street stuff.”
Janette watched her do two quick snorts. She could feel the sudden awakening creeping through her body. The strains of the day seemed to disappear.
Lauren’s eyes brightened. She got to her feet and threw her robe on the floor. She held out her arms and suddenly danced around the room. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”
“What?” Janette asked.
“I’m in Paris. I’m really in Paris!” Lauren laughed. “And I’m with you. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of being here with you.”
Janette laughed. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “I only hope that neither Paris nor I disappoint you.”
The telephone next to the bed rang. Janette got out of her chair and picked it up. She listened for a moment, then held the receiver toward Lauren. “It’s someone named Harvey calling you from California.”
Lauren took the telephone. “Harvey, how’d you get my number?”
Harvey’s voice echoed in the line. “From your mother. She sounded p.o.’d. Like she didn’t want to give it to me. She also bitched because you hadn’t called her yet.”
“I forgot and fell asleep,” Lauren said. “Why’d you call?”
“My father said if I could get the money together I could go over to Europe in August. He’ll give me half if I get the other half. Will you still be in Paris?”
“I don’t know,” Lauren said. She looked at Janette. “Harvey wants to come over. Will we still be in Paris in August?”
“I have a villa in Saint-Tropez,” she answered. “We should be able to go down there by the tenth, after the collections.”
“Janette says we’re going to be in Saint-Tropez,” Lauren said into the telephone.
“Jesus!” Harvey said. “That’s where everybody is topless and Brigitte Bardot lives.”
“I guess so,” Lauren said.
“Would your sister mind if I showed up?” He paused a moment. “Wait a minute. Don’t ask her just yet. Let me see if I can get the money together.”
“Okay.”
“Is she as great-looking as she was in that picture I saw?”
Lauren laughed. “Better-looking.”
“Wow,” Harvey said. “Is she into anything?”
“She’s hip.”
“Great,” Harvey said. “Tell her if I come I’ll come supplied.”
“When will you know?” she asked.
“I’ll call you again in a couple of weeks,” Harvey said. “Was the stuff I gave you all right?”
“Super.”
“I’ve got a couple of new kinds I want you to try.”
“Okay. How does the project look?”
“We’re getting there. We’ll be rich yet.”
Lauren laughed. “Great. Just don’t get yourself busted.”
“I won’t,” he answered. “Keep cool.”
“You, too. ‘Bye.” She put down the telephone, smiling. She turned to Janette. “He’s crazy.”
“Your boyfriend?” Janette asked.
“Sort of,” she answered. “He’s a real head. But nice, if you know what I mean. He’s a vegetarian. He eats nothing but raw vegetables, wheat germ, vitamins and dope. He says he’s going to be a millionaire before he’s twenty-one.”
“How old is he now?” Janette
asked.
“Almost nineteen.”
“He’s not allowing himself much time.”
Lauren smiled. “He just might do it. He says four more crops and he’ll have the right strains.”
Janette was puzzled. “Strains of what?”
“Grass,” Lauren answered. “He and a couple of guys are working up in Humboldt County on a strain that will have nothing but buds, no seeds at all. If they pull it off, they’ll have nothing but money.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Janette asked in a puzzled voice.
Lauren shrugged. “Sure. But nobody seems to pay much attention to it.” She picked the bathrobe from the floor and put it around her. “Bobby gave me a few things from your closet. What do you think I ought to wear tonight?”
“Let me see what you have,” Janette said.
Lauren opened the closet door. The two dresses and the tuxedo hung there. She turned back to Janette.
“What would you like to wear?” Janette asked, looking at them.
Lauren smiled. “I’d like to wear the tuxedo, if you think that’s all right. I never wore anything like it before.”
Janette was silent for a moment. It wasn’t exactly the sort of evening for it. But if she wanted to wear it—“Okay,” she said. “Let’s both wear smokings.”
“Fabulous!” Lauren said. “We’ll do a real sister act. I’ll shower and get ready. Will I have time for a joint before we go downstairs?”
“What for?” Janette asked. “Won’t that bring you down?”
“Not a Harvey number five,” Lauren said. “It’s really mellow. Puts you in a good mood so that at least you can listen to all the bullshit that people keep laying on you without getting bored out of your head.”
Janette laughed. “If it really works, I can use some of it.”
“Great,” Lauren said. “You come back and do it with me. It will be great going to the party stoned together.” She hesitated a moment. “Is it all right if I give Mother a call? I promised I would call her when I got settled.”
“Of course,” Janette said. She started for the door. “Give them both my most affectionate regards.”
***
“She’s going to fuck me, I can feel it,” Philippe said, putting down the telephone and staring morosely across his desk at Marlon.
Marlon’s voice held no expression. “What makes you think that?”
“All the signs point that way,” Philippe said. “One, she practically threw a design collection at me, daring me to look at it. I didn’t, of course. But someone had to do those sketches. She said they were hers.”
“Maybe she did do them herself,” Marlon offered. “It wouldn’t be the first time she showed you some of her ideas.”
“Then the material manufacturers. It was as if they were all expecting my call. She had been in touch with many of them more than a month ago. They already had all the different swatches in red, which they will ship to me within a day or two.”
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it,” Marlon said. “She did ask you to do the collection. No one else.”
“Another thing,” Philippe said. “They told me that all the materials would be available in large quantities,” Philippe said. “We’re haute couture, not prêt á porter.”
Marlon was silent for a moment. “Maybe there is something to the talk we’ve been hearing about her and Bidermann.”
“Not Bidermann,” Philippe said quickly. “It’s the American, Carroll. You know Schwebel owns that company and he has an interest in this one. It would only be natural for him to want to put the two of them together.”
“I still don’t see anything to worry about,” Marlon said.
“I’m not Karl Lagerfeld,” Philippe said. “I’m not interested in being another Chloé or Céline.”
“Janette’s a long way from being there,” Marlon said. “Why don’t you just take it easy and do your thing? Just design the things so that they won’t be easy to reproduce on a mass basis, so that they will be too expensive to manufacture.”
“Easy for you to say,” Philippe said darkly. “You don’t know how good those people are at knocking things off. And for a price.”
“If you’re fucked, you’re fucked,” Marlon said philosophically. “You have only two choices. You either do the collection or you quit.”
“I can’t quit now,” Philippe said. “If I do, I’m finished in the business.”
“Then you have no choice,” Marlon said.
Philippe glowered. “That’s right.”
Marlon lit a cigarette and puffed on it silently.
Philippe got out of his chair. “I have a half a mind to call up and tell her I’m too busy to go to her stupid dinner party tonight.”
Marlon shook his head. “That would be the wrong thing to do. You have to go along letting her think that you’re cooperating. If she gets the feeling that you’re sloughing off, she’ll really lay it on you.”
“The bitch!” Philippe swore. “The conniving lesbian bitch!”
***
The telephone rang just as Janette entered her room. She picked it up. A familiar British voice echoed in her ear. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Patrick!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were on safari in Africa. When did you get back?”
“Yesterday,” Lord Patrick Reardon said in his rolling voice. “I thought we’d have dinner and I would show you my prize trophy.”
“You got your lion?”
“Hell, no,” he laughed. “My new houseboy. A black African whose cock hangs ten inches below his breechcloth. The minute I saw him I knew I had to get him for you.”
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“Am I?” he asked, chuckling. “You can’t say I don’t know what turns you on, love. The only way a man can compete with you girls is if he has a king-size banger. And you’ll never find one to beat this boy. It takes him four orgasms just to get soft again.”
“Patrick, Patrick,” she said. “What am I going to do with you? You’re so sick.”
“Aren’t we all, love? Come to dinner then. Just let me watch.”
“Can’t do it,” she said. “I’m giving a dinner party tonight.” She had an idea. “Why don’t you join us? If you like I can send the car to pick you up.”
“I’m in London,” he said.
“Then how did you expect me to come for dinner?”
“I was going to send my plane to pick you up,” he answered.
“Then you can come here the same way,” she said. “I’ll have René at Le Bourget waiting for you.”
“What time is this dinner of yours?”
“We’re having cocktails at eight thirty. We won’t be sitting down to dinner until nine thirty, ten o’clock. It’s just going on seven now. You can make it.”
“I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I know your town dinners. Usually very dull.”
“This one might be a little better,” she said. “My younger sister just got here from California. We haven’t seen each other for ten years. Sort of a reunion.”
“Is she anything like you?” he asked.
“Nothing at all. She’s your type. Tanned, blond and beautiful, just like all those Scandinavian girls you’re always running around with. And she’s only seventeen.”
“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said. “Since you won’t marry me, maybe she will.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“Have René at the airport at nine o’clock,” he said.
Lord Patrick Reardon, heir to the title and to one of the richest fortunes in Great Britain, had absolutely no interest in anything except the pursuit of his almost religious form of hedonism. She had often heard him say that he had no motivation for working and adding to the fortune that had been left him when he could not possibly live long enough to spend all that had already been accumulated, no matter how many ways he could find to disburse his wealth. And he had no opposition from the executors of the estate when
he had gone into the first board of directors meeting after his father’s death and told them so. They couldn’t ask for anything more than to be left in charge, and they happily made all the financial arrangements that were needed to keep him happy and them in control of the business.
Still, if she married him, and he allowed her to remain in her business, she would not have to make deals such as the one she was being thrust into with Carroll. Patrick could carry her business for a year with a check that amounted to a little more than one week’s income to him. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted her available 100 percent of her time, without any distraction, so that they could devote themselves to nothing but what he called their whims, fancies and fantasies.
She turned on the water in her tub and added the scented musk oil especially made for her at the parfumerie in Grasse. Quickly she got into the tub and leaned back, letting the water flow over her body. She loved the scent and the feel of the way the tiny bit of oil clung to her skin, making it soft and smooth, like silk. Soie. The thought came through her mind. Someday she had to put it on the market. All the couturiers had gone into their own perfumes. Dior, St. Laurent, Givenchy and on down the list. It was a tremendous market. But she would have to do it soon—if she waited too long it might be too late. Soie. Silk. There was no other material, either manmade or natural, that had the same sensuous feel against the body. Soie. Someday soon she would do it. Maybe once this collection was over she would have time to devote herself to it.
The telephone rang again just as she came out of the bath. This time it was Stéphane. “I wanted to know what you were wearing tonight,” her girlfriend asked.
“I’m wearing my smoking,” Janette replied.
“Good. Then I’ll wear mine.”
“No,” Janette said quickly. “It would be too much. My sister also wants to wear a smoking. You wear that beautiful yellow gown I gave you last week.”
Stéphane was silent for a moment. “Okay,” she said finally.
Janette detected the hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m jealous,” Stéphane confessed. “Before it was always you and I who wore the smokings.”
Janette laughed. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be jealous about. After all, she’s my sister.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Stéphane said. “My first affair was with my older sister. We were in love for years.”
Goodbye, Janette Page 22