by Play Dead
“Don’t worry,” she said, opening her sparkling blue eyes with flakes of silvery gray. She gave him a look that could slice through solid steel. “I promise you’ll be well taken care of.”
He shook his head. “What happened to that business- first bitch I fell in love with?”
She placed her foot between his legs, probing. “She loves it when you talk dirty.”
“But—”
“Forget it, Baskin. I’m not leaving my husband for even a moment.”
He groaned. “Look, we have three weeks together. If I spend twenty-four hours a day with you for three weeks, you’ll drive me nuts. For my sake, go. Go to the meeting. You’re already getting to be a pest.”
“Smooth talker. No wonder I fell for you.” She leaned forward and massaged his powerful legs. “Did I ever tell you that you have great legs?”
“Frequently. And what’s with all the compliments? You trying to give me a swollen head?”
Her foot circled and then rested against him. “Feels to me like I already have.”
He looked properly shocked. “That kind of language from last year’s businesswoman of the year? I’m stunned, ashamed … and aroused. Mostly aroused.”
She moved closer to him, her full, firm bosoms pressing against his chest. “Why don’t we do something about that?”
“Only if you promise to meet with the Peterson Group afterward.”
Her lips found his ear. “Sometimes I don’t understand you,” she whispered. “Men are supposed to feel threatened by a woman with a career.”
“A very successful career,” he corrected proudly. “And if I was one of those men, you would have dumped me long ago.”
“Never,” she said softly, “but if I do go, how will you keep yourself occupied while I’m gone?”
He cupped her buttocks in his strong hands and lifted her on top of him, his lips inches from her nipple. “I’ll shoot some hoops,” he said. “Like you said before, I’m out of shape. Do you promise or not?”
She felt his breath on her skin. “Men. They’re always using their bodies to get their way.”
“Promise?”
His hardness was just below her. She ached for him, her body quivering. She was barely able to nod.
He lowered her onto him. She gasped and then cried out, wrapping her arms around his head. Her body rocked back and forth, her fingers digging into his hair, clutching his face to her breasts.
LAURA rose from the bed, gently kissed a sleeping David, and showered. She dried off her long, supple legs and began to get dressed. She wore very little makeup, just light touches around the eyes. Her olive complexion did not need cosmetics to enhance its God-given glow. Laura put on a gray professional suit bearing her Svengali label and buttoned her white blouse.
Laura was full-breasted—not what most would consider huge, but when she first began modeling ten years ago, she was considered almost too large for conventional modeling, except bathing suits and face shots. Her agency wanted her to strap down her chest during runway events, which Laura would not do, comparing it to asking a man to tie his testicles against his inner thigh. But once she appeared on Cosmo, nothing could stop her career. Laura was the face and body you could not see enough, and along with some of her colleagues like Paulina Porizkova and Elle Macpherson, she helped bring cleavage back into style—if indeed it had ever really been out.
David stirred, sat up, looked at his wife of four days. “The transformation is complete.”
“Transformation?”
“From nymphomaniac to business barracuda. I feel sorry for this Peterson fellow.”
Laura laughed. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.” She put on her earrings and walked over to kiss David. “Will you miss me?”
“Not even a little.”
“Bastard.”
David threw back the blankets and stood. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
She glanced over his rugged build, shaking her head. “Incredible,” she muttered. “You expect me to leave that body for even a little while?”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“Problem in the transformation, Captain. I still sense a few molecules of the nymph hidden under the business facade.”
“You sense right.”
“Laura?”
“Yes?”
David took her hand. “I love you,” he began, his eyes misting over. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
She hugged him, her eyes closing. “I love you, too, David. I couldn’t live without you.”
“Grow old with me, Laura, and I promise I’ll always make you happy.”
“You’ve got a deal,” she said gently, “and you better stick to it.”
“Forever,” he said.
Laura kissed him then, not realizing that the honey-moon was over.
“G’DAY, ma’am.”
“Good morning,” Laura answered the receptionist with a smile. They were staying at the Reef Resort Hotel in Palm’s Cove, about twenty miles from Cairns, Australia. The private resort was a quiet slice of Eden, a secluded paradise overlooking the Coral Sea. They were hidden within the century-old palm trees and lush bush of tropical northern Australia. Take a boat out in any direction and you would be mesmerized by the rainbow colors of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, nature’s most exquisite masterpiece of jagged coral and exotic marine life, an underground park that man both explored and preserved. Travel in any other direction and you would be wandering through green rain forests with cascading waterfalls, or the beginning of Australia’s famed outback region. It was like no other place in the world.
The receptionist’s voice was heavy with an Australian accent. “Your taxi should be here in a few minutes, ma’am. You and your husband enjoying your stay?”
“Very much so.”
“Lovely here, ain’t it?” he said proudly. Like most locals, his skin had a bronze-to-red tone from the constant exposure to the sun.
“Yes, it is.”
He began to tap his pencil on the desk, his eyes darting around the sun-drenched room. “Do you mind if I ask you a sort of personal question, ma’am?”
“I guess not.”
He hesitated. “Your husband I recognized right away from the telly. Even in these sticks we get some of your important basketball games—especially the Boston Celtics. But, ma’am, you also look a mite familiar. You used to be on magazine covers or something, right?”
“Used to be,” Laura responded, amazed at both how widespread certain publications were and how far the average person’s memory stretched. Four years had passed since Laura had been on any magazine covers with the exception of last November’s Business Weekly.
“I knew I’d seen you before. But don’t worry, ma’am. I won’t let on. No way I’m going to allow anyone to disturb you and Mr. Baskin.”
“Thank you.”
A horn honked. “That’ll be your taxi. Have a good one.”
“I’ll try.” She left the lobby, greeted the driver, and sat in the backseat. The air-conditioning was at full blast, making the car almost too cold, but against the outside sun, it was a most welcome change.
Laura settled back and watched the tropical foliage merge into a wall of green as the taxi sped toward town. Every once in a while a small building would pop out of the natural habitat, but for the first ten minutes of the ride, there were only a few hidden bungalows, a post office, and a grocery store. She gripped the briefcase that contained the catalogues of all the latest Svengali products. Her right leg bounced up and down restlessly.
Laura began modeling when she was only seventeen. Her Cosmo debut was followed by Mademoiselle and Glamour covers in the same month, and then Sports Illustrated ’s annual swimsuit issue made her name somewhat household. The cover photo was taken during a sunset on Australia’s Gold Coast about five hundred miles from Palm’s Cove. In the photograph, Laura was wading knee-deep in the water, her eyes staring into the camera as she pulle
d back her wet hair. She wore a strapless black one-piece that molded to her curves, her shoulders bare. It ended up being the bestselling issue Sports Illustrated ever had.
From there, the amount of covers and layouts grew along with Laura’s bank account. Sometimes she appeared on the cover of the same magazine four or five months in a row, but unlike other models, there was never a backlash to too much exposure, never an overkill. The demand did not let up.
It was all very odd. As a child, Laura had been fat and unattractive. Her classmates had teased her mercilessly about her weight, about her stringy hair, about her thick glasses, about her lack of makeup, about the way she dressed. They called her names and taunted her with the painful insults of cruel children. Their oral barrages never slackened or let up. In the cafeteria, in the hallways, in the schoolyard, in gym class, Laura’s classmates were relentless in their savage attacks upon their defenseless victim.
They made her childhood a living hell.
Sometimes, a group of the really popular girls would beat her up in the woods behind the schoolyard. But physical abuse never hurt little Laura as much as the cruel words. The pain of a kick or a punch went away. The cruel words stayed with her always.
In those days, Laura would come home from school crying to a mother who had to be the most beautiful woman in the world—a woman who could not understand why her baby was not the most well-liked girl in her class. Mary Simmons Ayars had always been unusually gorgeous, had always been popular amongst her peers. Girls had always wanted to be her friend; boys had always wanted to carry her books and maybe hold her hand.
Laura’s father—her dear, sweet father—would be heartbroken over the situation. It tore at Dr. James Ayars’s stomach to see his daughter spend every night crying alone in a corner of her darkened bedroom. He too tried to help, but what could a father do in a situation like this?
Once, when she was in seventh grade, Dr. Ayars bought his daughter an expensive white dress with a designer’s label on it. Laura loved the dress. She was sure that it was going to change her whole life. She looked pretty in it. Her father had said so. And Laura was going to wear it to school, and all the popular girls were going to think she was pretty, too. They would all like her—even Lisa Sommers, the prettiest girl in the class. They would ask her to sit with them during lunch instead of by herself in the back of the room. They would ask her to play hopscotch with them during recess instead of making her stand away from them where no one would talk to her. And who knew? Maybe Lisa Sommers would invite her to go over her house after school.
Laura was so excited, she could hardly sleep. She got out of bed very early the next morning, showered, and put on her new dress. Her older sister, Gloria, who was really popular with the boys, helped her get ready. Gloria brushed Laura’s hair out, curled it, and even added light touches of makeup. When Gloria was finished, she stepped back and let Laura look at herself in the mirror. Laura tried to be critical but she could not help it. She looked pretty.
“Do I really look okay?” she asked her sister hopefully.
Gloria hugged her and stroked her hair. “Just perfect.”
When she came down to breakfast, her father smiled. “Well, well, just take a look at my little princess.”
Laura giggled happily.
“You look lovely,” her mother added.
“The boys will be fighting in the playground today,” her father chipped in.
“Do you want me to walk you to school?” Gloria asked.
“That would be great!”
Laura beamed with joy as she headed to school with Gloria. When they reached the edge of the playground, Gloria turned to her little sister and gave her another big hug. Laura felt warm and secure in her sister’s arms. “I have cheerleading practice after school,” Gloria said. “I’ll see you at home later tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You can tell me all about your day then.”
Laura watched her sister start walking down the hill toward the high school. Then she turned and faced her own schoolyard. Laura could not wait to hear the comments of her peers when they saw the new Laura. Finally, it was going to be her day. With a deep breath she crossed over to where her schoolmates were playing.
The first comments came before the bell. “Hey, look! Tubby Laura is wearing a new tent!” Cruel voices came from everywhere. “She looks like a great white whale!” “Hey, Four-Eyes Fatso, since you’re wearing white, we can use you as a movie screen!”
Lisa Sommers walked up to her, looked her up and down, and then held her nose. “You’re disgusting!” she shouted with glee.
And the cruel laughter. The cruel laughter that scraped at Laura’s young heart like a jagged piece of glass.
She ran home with tears streaming down her face. She put on a brave face and tried to hide the rip that Lisa Sommers had made in her new dress during recess. But parents are very sensitive to the pain of their children. When her father found the torn dress, he was furious. He burst into the principal’s office to report what had happened. The girls responsible were punished.
And, of course, that only made the popular girls hate Laura even more.
During her anguished childhood, Laura studied as hard as she could. If she could not be popular or even liked, at least she was going to be smart.
And she had Gloria. Laura often wondered if she could have survived those long years without her only two friends: her schoolbooks and her older sister, Gloria. Physically, Gloria was the buxom bombshell all the high school boys lusted after. But she was also bighearted and kind to a fault. When Laura felt the world was coming to an end, Gloria would comfort her with warm words and warm hugs. Gloria would tell her that everything was going to be okay, and for a little while, everything was. Sometimes, Gloria even canceled dates with boys just to stay home and console Laura. She took Laura to the movies or to the big department stores or the park or the roller rink or wherever. Laura knew that she had the greatest sister in the whole world. She loved Gloria very much.
That was why Laura had been devastated when Gloria ran away from home and came very close to committing suicide.
Laura’s physical metamorphosis took place in the summer before her junior year of high school. Yes, she exercised. Yes, she started to wear contact lenses. Yes, she dieted (stopped eating actually). But that would not have been enough to explain the change. Those things may have accelerated the process, but the transformation would have occurred anyway. It was simply her time. She suddenly blossomed and no one in her school could believe their eyes. A little while later, a modeling agency spotted her and she was on her way.
At first, Laura could not believe she was beautiful enough to be a fashion model. Fat, ugly Laura Ayars a fashion model? Uh-uh. No way.
But Laura was neither blind nor stupid. She could look in a mirror and see for herself what everyone else was talking about. She soon got used to the whole idea of being attractive. By some queer twist of fate, the homely child had turned into a high-paid supermodel. Suddenly, people wanted to be with her, to dress like her, to be her friend. Just because she was now physically appealing, those who had wanted to spit on her and tease her thought she was something special. Laura became more than a little suspicious of people’s motives.
Modeling was easy money for Laura. She made more than half a million dollars when she was just eighteen. But modeling was not an occupation she particularly enjoyed. While the hours were at times grueling and tedious, the work was never what she would call demanding. There was little challenge to be found in posing for a series of snapshots. It was downright boring actually. She wanted to do something more but the world seemed to have forgotten she had a brain. It was all so ridiculous. When she was ugly with glasses, everybody thought she was a bookworm. Now that she was beautiful, everybody assumed she was an airhead.
Laura did not do many location shootings in those days—just the one in Australia and two on the French Riviera—because unlike many of her colleagues, she did no
t leave school. It was no simple task but she managed to finish high school and graduate from Tufts University four years later. Once Laura received her degree, she was ready to take on the fashion and cosmetics industries. The industries, however, were ill prepared for her onslaught. June 1983 marked her last cover appearance on a woman’s magazine as Laura retired from modeling at the ripe old age of twenty-three. She invested her substantial earnings to develop her own concept: Svengali, a company for the woman on-the-move, blending practical, intelligent, and sophisticated looks with the feminine and sensual.
The slogan: Be your own Svengali.
To say the concept caught on would be the fashion understatement of the eighties. At first, critics scoffed at the model-playing-business tycoon’s success, claiming it was just another in a series of fads that would disappear in a matter of months. Two years after promoting women’s clothes and cosmetics, Laura expanded into casual shoes and fragrances. By the time she was twenty-six, Svengali had gone public, with Laura the majority stock- holder and chief executive officer of a multimillion-dollar conglomerate.
The taxi made a sharp right turn. “Peterson’s office on the Esplanade, right, missy?”
Laura chuckled. “Missy?”
“It’s just an expression,” the cabbie explained. “No offense meant.”
“None taken. Yes, they’re on the Esplanade.”
Copycat corporations began to crop up like so many weeds beside her thriving flower. They were all vying for a slice of the profitable Svengali business, all searching for the secret of Laura’s success. But like so many other bothersome weeds, they were pulled out of the corporate world before they could truly take root. Laura’s close administrators knew the secret that competitors sought, the aspect that made Svengali unique: Laura. Her hard work, determination, brains, style, and even warmth steered every phase of the organization. Corny, yes, but also true. The woman was the company.