The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  Harold grasped her by the hand and whirled her about the dance floor. Leana’s white sequined dress fanned out and she laughed.

  “I think you might need glasses,” Harold said. “I’ve never felt better.”

  “I’m glad,” Leana said. “You had me worried.” She looked around her. “Where’s Aunt Helen?”

  He gave her a look. “Do you really have to ask? She’s with your mother, gossiping. Sometimes I can’t pull those two apart.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go and have a drink. I haven’t seen or talked to you in days—and I want one of your martinis.”

  “Martinis!”

  They left the dance floor and moved over to the bar, which was handling the crowd with ease. She nodded at a young bartender who was so built, he should have been part of security. She had slept with him a week ago and he looked at her now with a knowing smile. “You know what we want, you big lug.”

  “The Leana Redman special?”

  She squeezed Harold’s forearm. “Things are looking up, Harold. My father has his own building, I have my own drink. That’s fucking progress.”

  While they waited for the drinks, she noticed Eric Parker leaving the dance floor with Diana Crane. Leana’s gaze followed them to the opposite end of the bar where Eric ordered a drink and Diana accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray. She finished it and was sipping her second by the time Eric turned to join her.

  “Here you are, Miss Redman.”

  “It wasn’t Miss Redman last week.” She winked at him as he blushed. “But manners matter. You’ve still got my number, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then use it,” she said. “Like, soon.” She accepted the drinks he offered and looked back over at Eric and Diana. They were standing in silence, both nursing their own drinks. Leana noticed that Diana seemed angry. She wondered why.

  She handed Harold his martini. “This will kick your ass to the moon.”

  “I know it will.”

  “Great. So, let’s kick our asses together.”

  They touched glasses and drank.

  “Can we talk in private?” Harold asked. He tossed back the martini and nodded toward Leana’s full glass. “You’re such an amateur,” he said. “Is that the best you can do? Drink up. Something tells me you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  They followed a wave of instant celebrities and old money past the candlelit buffet table. Ice swans filled with Iranian caviar gleamed orange in the flickering light and Leana could smell a tempting mixture of roast duck, Westphalian ham and salmon mousse. She lingered, but Harold embraced her arm and urged her forward. “This won’t take long,” he said. “You can eat later.”

  “I want to eat now.”

  When they were seated alone at Harold’s table, he turned to her and said, “Where were you earlier? You weren’t in the reception line when Helen and I passed through it.”

  So, that’s what this is all about. “I came late.”

  “Because of what happened with Celina and the man she helped earlier?”

  How well he knew her. “Well, this proves it,” she said. “It’s still not too late for you to make a career tossing tea leaves.”

  Harold sighed. Ever since Leana was a child he had tried to instill confidence in her. He had tried to make her see that she was not that different from Celina. Would he never be able to reach her? “Your sister is not better than you, Leana.”

  “You don’t think so? Then tell me why Celina’s on the board of this goddamned conglomerate and I’m not.”

  “Your sister has worked hard to get where she is.”

  “If I had been given the opportunities she was given, I also would have worked hard.” She lifted her head. “So, tell me, why was I shipped off to Switzerland when I could have gone to school here—as Celina did—and work for Redman International—as Celina did.”

  “You know I don’t have the answer to that, Leana.”

  “I know you don’t, but if we’re really going to have this conversation again, the story is the same. I’m tired of being the daughter who has accomplished nothing. I’m tired of people thinking I can’t accomplish anything. Just once I’d like to be the one getting the attention. Just once I’d like my parents to stand up and notice me.”

  “Then stop bitching about it and do something,” he said. “Do you honestly believe Celina has got to where she is today by sitting on her ass and complaining like a spoiled child?” He didn’t wait for an answer. The only way to reach Leana now was by getting her angry. “Of course, she hasn’t. Yes, George gave her a chance, but that girl has worked hard and she wouldn’t be on the board now if she hadn’t earned it. I know George. He wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “No,” Harold said. “I really think you don’t. I think you only see what you want to see—and that isn’t necessarily the truth.”

  Leana couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “Why are you saying this to me?”

  “Because I should have said it to you years ago, instead of comforting you with words that mean nothing. The only way you’re going to make something of yourself in this world is to make it happen yourself. Just because you’re George Redman’s daughter doesn’t mean you should be treated any differently from the rest of us. In fact, it probably means you’ll have to work a hell of a lot harder.”

  “Doing what? I have no skills.” She held up a hand. “Check that. I know what it takes to make a killer martini and I know how to get laid by strangers. Will that get me a job?”

  “Maybe on the streets. What you do have is a college education and interests. The world is yours if you’re willing to work hard enough. Your problem is that you’re lazy. You’ve always been lazy, Leana.” He checked his watch, hating himself for having been so hard on her, but also knowing this time he might have reached her.

  “Listen,” he said. “I have to go and find Helen. But I want you to come and see me soon—before Eric and I leave for Iran. Together, we’ll see if we can’t find something for you to do. You don’t necessarily need your father’s help to make your mark. Helen and I know most everyone in this town. Maybe I can introduce you to somebody who will give you a chance.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Leana said.

  “Leana, I’d give you to Anna Wintour.”

  She brought her hands to her chest. “Really?”

  “Or Putin.”

  “What’s the difference? They both love fur.”

  She hugged him.

  “Believe it or not, I love you, Leana,” Harold said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  From the bar, Diana Crane watched the couple leave the elevator and move through the crowd. She watched Celina laugh, watched the man at her side smile and watched their arms intertwine as they joined George and Elizabeth at the waterfall.

  The man was tall and built, his sandy hair cut short, his face ruggedly handsome. A few people recognized him along the way, but he didn’t seem to notice. She recognized him from the Journal article—Jack Douglas. His attention was on Celina and for that, Diana couldn’t have been more pleased or thankful.

  She turned to Eric and knew, by the surprised look on his face, that he had been watching them too.

  “How’d you like to get out of here?” she said. “We’ve made our appearance, shaken hands with all the right people. George won’t miss us.” She took a sip of champagne. “By the looks of things, neither will Celina.”

  Eric said nothing.

  “I have a car waiting outside for me,” Diana said.

  “I’m going nowhere with you, Diana.”

  “It’s just for coffee, Eric.”

  “I doubt that,” Eric said. “Unless you were planning to serve the coffee in bed.”

  Diana’s eyes were like a light turned to his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m tired of you chasing me,” he said. “If you think my seeing Celina with another man is g
oing to make me want to jump into bed with you, you’re wrong. I’m not interested in you. Never have been. Never will be. Now, why don’t you do yourself a favor and get lost? I’m staying here.”

  Diana placed her half-empty glass of champagne on the bar. “They’re a good looking couple,” she said. “I hope it works out for them.” And then she was gone, stepping into the crowd, ignoring Leana, who had been standing beside them, listening.

  “What was that all about?” Leana asked.

  Eric shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.” He tipped back his drink and studied Leana over the rim. She looked beautiful tonight. “What do you think of the party?” he asked.

  She couldn’t have heard him right. “What do I think of the party?” she repeated. “Eric, what do you think I think of the party?” She leaned beside him against the bar. From where she stood, she had a clear view of Celina, who was standing with her back to the waterfall, listening to Elizabeth, her red dress among the room’s stars.

  “I’m sorry,” Eric said.

  “Forget it.” She motioned towards Jack Douglas. “Who’s he?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “I just saw them leaving the family elevator together.”

  “So did everyone else. Think they’re seeing each other?”

  “No idea.”

  “Now probably isn’t the best time for me to find out, is it?”

  “If by that you mean going over there and asking Celina in front of Mom and Dad, then, no, I don’t think now is the best time to find out. But I would ask her. You have every right to know.”

  “Why haven’t you two ever gotten along?”

  Before she could respond, lights in the lobby dimmed, the room fell silent and her father’s voice rose above the crowd. Leana skimmed the sea of heads for him and found him standing in the center of the dance floor with Celina at his side.

  “Tonight’s a special night for me,” George said to the crowd. “Owning a building on Fifth Avenue has been a dream of mine since I was a boy. But dreams come hard and this dream wouldn’t have happened without the support of my wife and the help of my daughter, Celina.”

  He looked at Celina. “If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. “ He touched his glass of champagne to hers. “Here’s to many more years of our working together.”

  The crowd burst into applause. Just as Celina was giving George a kiss, Leana looked away and asked a barman for a bottle of champagne. When the man handed her one, she grabbed Eric by the hand and led him into the crowd.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  Leana’s answer was as clear as the hurt in her voice. “To get our minds off her.”

  * * *

  They walked down the hallway in silence, Leana slightly ahead of Eric, Eric glancing into the rooms that were on either side of them. They were in George and Elizabeth’s penthouse and as they passed one of the sitting rooms, lightning flashed, illuminating for an instant the family’s cat, Isabel, who sat poised and alert on an orange damask sofa.

  They stepped into the room that was at the end of the hall. Leana stopped in the doorway. She gazed across the library at her father’s desk, which was illumined by a green-shaded lamp. “I thought I turned that light off earlier,” she said.

  Eric brushed past her and moved into the room. He dropped into a chair and closed his eyes. Would the room never stop spinning?

  Leana remained in the doorway. “I know I turned that light off.”

  “Obviously you didn’t, Leana. The light’s still on.”

  “I don’t care if the light’s on. I was here earlier. Before I left with that man from security, I know I turned that light off.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “What do you think I’m saying? Somebody has been here.”

  “Big deal? It could have been Celina and her new man.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe.”

  “Would you please just open that bottle of champagne? I’m thirsty.”

  She crossed to where he was sitting and turned on the lamp beside him. Eric winced and brought up a hand to shield his eyes. “I think you’d better pass on the champagne,” Leana said. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel like heaven.”

  “Wait till tomorrow.”

  She went to the windows that were behind her. In the city’s deep glow, sleek black skyscrapers loomed dark against the sky. Eric settled further into his seat.

  “You know something, Leana?” he said. “You really are beautiful.”

  “You know something, Eric? You really are drunk.”

  “You know what my favorite memory of you is?”

  She looked at his reflection in the window. “No.”

  “You were fifteen years old, I had known you for maybe five months and you told me that you and your best friend at the time—what was her name? Asia Something—were planning on attending Christmas Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the nude. Wearing long jackets, of course.”

  She turned away from the windows. “Her name is Asia Ward,” she said, smiling. “And we’re still friends. But cut me some slack. That’s your favorite memory of me? If it is, I’m more fucked up than I thought I was.”

  “It’s one of them,” Eric said. “I can still remember you and Asia sitting between George and Elizabeth, red-faced, trying not to laugh, giving me the eye when no one else was looking. I remember thinking that Celina would never do this. It was then that I knew you and I would become friends.”

  Leana popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and brought the bottle to her lips. As she drank, she became aware that Eric was looking at her intently. “I have a favorite memory of you,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember all the letters you wrote to me while I was at school in Switzerland?”

  He nodded.

  “I was strung out on coke then and you knew. I’ve never asked you how you knew.”

  Eric hesitated, his mind fogged by the alcohol, but then he remembered and explained. “That week Celina and I visited? I needed a pen for something and found, in your desk drawer, beneath a pile of papers, a half-empty vial of coke.”

  Leana closed her eyes. “And you never told anyone,” she said. “Not Celina. Not Mom or Dad. You decided to let me handle the problem on my own—which I couldn’t. But you had faith in me that I could. All those letters you wrote, encouraging me, letting me know that you were there if I ever needed someone to talk to, did I ever thank you for them? And for keeping my problem to yourself?”

  “I’m sure you must have.”

  Leana smiled. “You’re being kind. I was so screwed up, I’m sure I didn’t. But I will now. It’s what we addicts are supposed to do. Thank you, Eric. Thanks for believing in me when no one else did.”

  She folded her arms and turned back to the windows. In the reflection of the glass, she watched Eric stand, uncertainly at first, but with greater control as he removed his dinner jacket and flung it over the back of the chair.

  Soon he was standing behind her, running his fingers through her hair, brushing his lips against her bare shoulder. Although she knew what was happening was wrong, that it would never amount to anything more than this, Leana didn’t resist him. In fact, she welcomed Eric’s touch. Right now, more than anything, she needed to be loved and held.

  * * *

  Across the room, crouched motionless beneath George Redman’s desk, Vincent Spocatti listened. The big leather wingback was pressed hard against his chest. His head was twisted down and uncomfortably to the side. His gun was drawn and ready to fire if he had to.

  He had been going through the files on Redman’s desk when Leana Redman and her friend stepped into the room, taking him by surprise. What infuriated him more than nearly being caught was the fact that he had found nothing here that would be of interest to Louis Ryan. Not one file on Redman’s desk had to do with the takeover of WestTex Incorporated.

 
But there were other ways to get the information Ryan needed. And if Ryan was willing to pay Vincent’s price, Vincent could get it for him.

  He strained to hear where they were in the room and could hear the sound of their kissing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay in this position. The muscles in his neck were beginning to knot, as were the muscles in his back.

  And then he heard footfalls on the carpet.

  He looked through a small crack in the desk’s front panel and saw a ripple of white cloth, a pair of tanned legs, moving in his direction. His hand tightened around the gun. The light above him clicked off. Spocatti tensed, ready to shoot. Leana said, “Remember that, Eric. I turned off the light. I’m not crazy.”

  “Yes, you are,” Eric said. “Now, come on. Let me show you how crazy I can be.”

  Spocatti waited until he was certain they had left the room before he pushed back the chair, stood and tucked the gun in his holster. As he smoothed his gloved hands down the front of his black dinner jacket, it occurred to him that that was twice this evening that Leana Redman had nearly blown his cover. He stretched his neck, tried to ease a cramp.

  Payback, he thought as he eased out of the room and stepped into the hall, is a bitch.

  * * *

  In the lobby, Spocatti stepped out of the elevator, looked for Celina Redman, found her near the buffet talking to a man and approached them.

  “Celina Redman?” he asked.

  They both turned to look at him. “Yes?” she said.

  He showed her his security card. “May I have a word with you in private?”

  * * *

  The elevator doors opened and Celina stepped into her parent’s penthouse. Why had Leana asked to meet here? What couldn’t be discussed in the lobby? She had promised Jack a dance and she wanted to get back to him.

  She could hear the sound of voices at the end of the hall.

  Celina moved in their direction, finally coming to a stop beside one of the bedroom doors. Although she could hear only pieces of what was being said, she recognized the voice as Leana’s and knew at once that she should not be standing here, that something was wrong. Still, she listened. Now the voice was clearer. “Please don’t be embarrassed. It happens sometimes. You’ve just had to much to drink.”