On the Avenue

by Antonio Pagliarulo

  “Almost,” Clarence agreed. “But that blazer is in the trash now. And Jeremy Bleu probably won't ever remember that I'm the one who took his jacket from him and hung it up in the closet. He didn't even see me do it. He was too spaced out to notice.” He flicked ashes onto the floor. “Believe me, Madison—I never meant for it to happen this way. But you and your sisters—you started prancing around like little detectives. I never expected that.”

  Keep him talking, Madison thought. You have to keep him talking. “The Avenue diamond,” she blurted out. “Why'd you steal it? Where is it?”

  Another smile spread across his face. He reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled from it a black silk handkerchief. He unfolded it. He linked his fingers inside the chain and lifted the diamond up.

  Madison couldn't help but gasp at the bright shimmer of light it cast. It nearly transfixed her.

  “I never planned on this little baby,” Clarence said. “But after I finished with Zahara, I realized that after I disappeared, I'd need some money. You know how much I can get for this rock on the black market? A few million at least.” He folded the handkerchief over the diamond again and dropped it back into his pocket. “After I finish up my job here, I'm headin' for the airport. I'll be doin' the cha-cha in Argentina by the time they arrest Theo West for—”

  “For what?” Madison asked in an injured tone. She already knew the answer.

  Clarence sighed loudly again. He didn't meet her eyes. “For killing you,” he whispered.

  Madison's blood ran cold. She blinked back tears, determined not to cry. “How did you send those encrypted text messages?” she asked. “We all know your cell number. Did you buy yourself an extra phone just to send those cute little notes to us?”

  He nodded.

  Madison heaved a sigh. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest. Attempting to sound calm, she said, “I still don't get how you pulled it off. How did you kill Zahara without anyone seeing you?”

  “Oh, people saw me,” he said. “But they just haven't made the connection yet. Who the hell am I? A lowly little chauffeur among rich famous people who only have eyes for other rich famous people. It was easy, Madison. Easier than I expected. I swear, killing with a crowd nearby is the best way to do it.”

  She tightened her fingers around her purse, unable to think of anything else to say. She looked up, to her left and right. There was no way to escape.

  “Now come on,” Clarence said, his voice weary but firm. “Give me the purse and let's get moving.”

  “Here.” She flung the purse at him. “The camera's in there. Take what you want and just let me go.”

  “It's too late, Madison. I'm sorry. Really, I am.” He slipped the purse under his arm and, with his free hand, reached into his blazer pocket. He pulled out a small handgun. He held it out and leveled it.

  “No!” Madison cried, throwing her hands up in reflex. “Don't shoot!”

  “I won't. Not yet.” He motioned toward the scaffolding. “Get moving. Come on. Time is short.”

  As Madison turned around and neared it, she saw the steel staircase leading up to the top of the scaffolding. It creaked beneath her as she started up the first flight. She felt Clarence behind her, felt the muzzle of the gun digging into her back. Her entire body trembled as they cleared the first landing. She made the mistake of looking down and nearly lost her footing. They were high off the ground.

  What's he going to do to me? she thought. Is he going to kill me and leave my body here? People will find the text message and blame Theo. And what about Park and Lex? Will they get blamed for everything too? Will people take pictures of me when I'm dead—with my hair such a mess?

  The first tear streaked her face just as the doors two stories below burst open. The sound boomed through the entire warehouse.

  “Madison! Where are you?”

  It was Park's voice.

  Madison gasped, relief flooding her. Pressing her feet into the unsteady floor of the scaffolding, she froze even as the gun jabbed into her back. “I'm up here!” she screamed.

  “Shut up!” Clarence barked.

  A moment later, Madison dared herself to look down again. When she did, she saw Park, Lex, and Theo dashing across the wide ground floor of the warehouse.

  “Clarence! Stop!” Lex shrieked.

  The entire scaffolding creaked the moment Theo jumped onto the staircase.

  Madison screamed as Clarence's hand went around her neck. She felt herself being spun around, pulled toward him. She closed her eyes as the gun dug into her side.

  “Okay!” Theo shouted, throwing up his hands. “I'll stop. Just … just don't hurt her!”

  “Stay back, all of you!” Clarence's voice was desperate.

  “We know everything,” Park said, coming up behind Theo on the staircase. She reached into the purse, pulled out the compact, and held it up. “This is what you really want, Clarence. You took it when you killed Zahara Bell, and then you dropped it when you climbed back into the limo Friday night. You restocked the bar like you always do and it must've fallen right out of your pocket when you were leaning over. Madison picked it up off the floor of the limo by mistake when she spilled her own purse.”

  His eyes widening, Clarence took the purse Madison had given him and, realizing that it served no purpose, hurled it over the side of the scaffolding. “Give me that,” he ordered, staring at Park. “Give it to me or … or I'll kill her!”

  Madison let out a yelp as his arm tightened around her neck.

  Park reached past Theo and chucked the compact onto one of the stairs.

  “Let her go, Clarence,” Lex called out. “It's too late. You can't get away with this!”

  “Take the damn compact,” Theo told him, trying to sound calm. “But let go of her.”

  Madison held her breath. She felt Clarence's arm loosen slightly from around her neck as he leaned forward and grasped for the compact. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was straining to maintain his grip on both her and himself. The gun left her side for an instant. Now, she thought, do it. In a splitsecond move, she bit down on Clarence's hand and broke from his hold.

  He cried out. He stumbled back as his fingers grazed the compact. But his hand caught Madison's sleeve and shoved her forward.

  She slammed into the railing. The force knocked the breath from her lungs, and the dizziness that followed made her stumble and pitch forward as the scaffolding shook violently.

  Lex shrieked again.

  Park struggled to maintain her balance.

  And Theo dove toward Clarence.

  Their bodies slammed together like enraged bulls, crashing to the floor with a thud. They struggled. They wrestled. Theo jabbed Clarence with an uppercut to the jaw.

  Madison watched the fight as she regained her balance. With nowhere to go but up, she raced across the next landing and headed for the second staircase. But she was too frightened to climb it. She whirled around and saw Lex pushing past Park and powering toward the fight.

  With a roar, Clarence thrust Theo to one side and rose to his feet. Gasping for breath, blood trailing from his nose, he raised the gun and pointed it at Lex.

  She froze.

  Theo hoisted himself up and swept his arms across the bottom of Clarence's legs.

  “Watch it!” Park screamed.

  As Clarence stumbled, the gun in his hand went straight up and discharged.

  The boom of the shot thundered through the warehouse, sending a flock of pigeons scurrying across the ceiling.

  “Get down!” Madison cried.

  It was the moment Lex needed. She grabbed the magic purse from around her shoulder, raised it high, and swung it in typical propeller fashion. The full force of the blow caught Clarence squarely in the face.

  His head snapped back. His eyes rolled. He looked as though he were seeing stars and fireworks as he dropped the gun and pitched forward onto the railing. His body lurched precariously, and the black handkerchief fell out of the poc
ket of his blazer and into the air.

  “Park!” Madison wailed. “The diamond!”

  Her eyes blazing, Park flew down the stairs and across the ground floor. She looked up just as the black material unfurled. The Avenue diamond spun through the shadows, emitting rays of brilliant light and color. And Park literally took to the air. As if in slow motion, she dove forward, arms outstretched, hair fanning out behind her. She slammed to the ground an instant before the diamond grazed her palm. She closed her fingers over it. “Oh,” she muttered. “That totally hurt.”

  “Mads!” Theo ran across the landing. Despite the scaffolding's tremors, he reached out and pulled her to him, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

  Madison drank in the scent of him. She buried her head in his shirt and, for the first time in a long time, felt her body melt.

  “That'll teach you!” Lex's voice resounded through the warehouse. She was squatting down just behind Clarence's off-balance body. She kicked the gun away, grabbed his belt, and pulled him back with all her might.

  He slid off the railing like a bag of sand. He landed flat on his ass, then let out a bloodcurling scream as one of his diamond-shaped hemorrhoids burst.

  27

  Triple Threat

  For the second time in exactly one week, the Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was glittering. A fashion show not waiting for Fashion Week was unorthodox, and so the unveiling of the first Triple Threat collection had attracted massive amounts of press from around the globe. No expense had been spared in creating a truly elitist ambiance. Huge Andy Warhol-esque posters of Madison, Park, and Lex covered an entire wall. The Hamilton Holdings, Inc., insignia—three skyscrapers shadowed by the letters MPL—hung from the arched entryway. A long catwalk stretched down the center of the floor, rose petals scattered along its edges.

  In the last few minutes before showtime, Lex stood backstage, cuddling Champagne, watching as the customary chaos that comprised all fashion shows took hold: girls running half-clothed to their designated dressing stations, makeup artists frantically doing their final primps, stylists checking and rechecking wardrobe. As chief designer of the line, Lex wouldn't be modeling any of the clothes. She had, however, instructed Coco McKaid to round up nearly thirty of their closest friends from St. Cecilia's Prep to get the job done. The gene pool at St. Cecilia's ensured a better selection than any modeling agency in the city. And here they all were—freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors—eager to commandeer the catwalk in Triple Threat.

  Cuddling Champagne against her chest, Lex watched as Coco darted into the center of the crazed room and clapped her hands loudly.

  “Listen up, girls!” she shouted. “Five minutes till showtime. All of you take your damn places!”

  Lex stifled a laugh when Coco shook her head and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Hey, you're doing a great job. The girls look sensational.”

  Coco smiled. “I know. I'm so glad it all came together. And by the way, I'm so totally never serving as Madison's special assistant again. Next fashion show, I'm only modeling. I can't take all the stress!”

  “Deal.” Lex touched her shoulder, then scanned the room. No sign of Madison or Park. They were likely still getting touched up. She turned and walked out to the very edge of the threshold. Craning her head sideways, she was able to see the ballroom in its entirety. It was packed. The din of voices drifted on the air as people rushed to take their designated seats. High-profile fashion editors and celebrities occupied the first two rows on both sides of the catwalk, followed by assorted socialites and a handful of other celebutantes. Every major news organization was represented.

  And there, cordoned off to one side, was the Italian Fashion Power Club: Donatella, Miuccia, Giorgio, Domenico, and Stefano; seated smack in the middle of the stellar group was Venturina Baci. Venturina was wearing the only Triple Threat piece that wouldn't be modeled on the catwalk—an elegant figure-hugging black gown trimmed in lace. She clutched a framed picture of Madison, Park, and Lex in her lap.

  Smiling broadly, Lex cut her eyes to the opposite side of the room, where Trevor Hamilton sat waiting patiently for the show to begin. He was surrounded by his executive team: three personal assistants, two attorneys, his publicist, and several members of Hamilton Holdings' board of trustees. Yesterday, upon his return to New York, he had officially given the Triple Threat label his blessing.

  Excitement surged through Lex's body, but it was quickly eclipsed by feelings of gratitude and peace. After the ordeal of the past week, she was eternally grateful that Madison hadn't been hurt, that Theo and Jeremy had been vindicated, and that Clarence Becker had been hauled off to jail following extensive rectal surgery. There was still a lot that had to be figured out and dealt with, but she was determined to adopt Park's example of composure and utter coolness.

  The lights above her flashed. Showtime. Lex dashed through the backstage area and took an adjacent staircase down to the main floor. Quietly, she opened the door that brought her to the very back of the ballroom. Well out of sight, she stood pressed up against the wall, eager to see her dreams unveiled.

  The lights dimmed. A series of strobes blasted the catwalk. Then music cut up the air: trance and techno set to a backbeat.

  Coco opened the show. Dressed in a stunning lily-white party gown with matching lace gloves and a corseted middle, she powered down the catwalk with her arms flung out and her head bobbing to the beat. A cheer instantly went up in the crowd. Cameras flashed like wildfire. Two, three, four, five: it was model after model, exquisite piece after exquisite piece. Lex kept her eyes on the fashion editors, pleased when they nodded and quickly inked their notepads.

  Then it was Park's turn on the catwalk. She was clothed in Triple Threat day wear; her low-cut leopard-print jeans tapered down evenly to black stilettos, and a black tank top wrapped her upper body. She held a richly textured quilted bag with a gold chain strap. And there, sparkling at her neck, was the Avenue diamond. In gratitude for having recovered the rock, Tiffany had insisted that Park wear it. She was practically swooning as she stood there, enveloped by its magical light.

  Suddenly, a male figure came striding down the catwalk. It was Jeremy Bleu, in his first official public appearance since the scandal. He was dressed in the only Triple Threat menswear piece Lex had ever designed—a black double-breasted suit complemented by a sky blue shirt, silver cuff links, and a gold silk tie. A long black scarf hung loosely from his shoulders. He came to a stop directly behind Park, basking in the overflow of flashes. Then, in a purely sensational gesture, he yanked the scarf from his shoulders and slowly wrapped it around Park's neck. He planted a kiss on her bare shoulder as whispers fluttered through the crowd.

  It was Madison who closed the show. She drew the greatest round of applause, coming down the catwalk in a tan floor-sweeping gown that was both ethereal and bold; intricately detailed, it was a backless beauty that rose up and around her neck in a delicate swirl. The gown's frayed hem dragged over matching stilettos.

  Lex nodded proudly, then found herself scanning the crowd until she found Theo West. He was sitting in one of the back rows. He looked good but inconspicuous, and a bright smile played across his lips as he stared up at Madison. Lex felt a stab in her stomach. What would become of them? she wondered. How would their complicated romance play out? Would it survive the inevitable swells and dips— especially now, with Hamilton Holdings secretly and strategically plotting to take over the entire West empire? She decided that it didn't matter right now. In this moment, both Madison and Theo were as happy as they could possibly be.

  As the show drew to a close, a spotlight cut across the front row and illuminated the one chair that had purposely been kept empty. On it was a glossy issue of Catwalk magazine. The crowd rose to its feet in honor of Zahara Bell, who would surely have been present today.

  Lex ran back up the staircase and through the backstage area. It was time to take her bow. She stepped onto the catwalk as the spotlight brightened am
id waves of applause. Madison and Park were waiting way down at the end. Lex walked to them, smiling and waving to both sides of the room. They linked hands and posed for the cameras.

  When the music died down, a reporter in the front row called out, “So what's next for the Hamilton triplets?”

  Lex lowered her gaze and shot him a mysterious wink. “Don't you worry,” she said. “We'll be back very soon.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Talk about a cool job: I get to spend my days writing about fashion, diamonds, murder, and Manhattan. It's all good stuff, and none of it would be possible without some very awesome people.

  Michael Bourret, for his professionalism, encouragement, and steadfast support.

  Krista Marino, who edits with intelligence, enthusiasm, and style to spare. Thank you for shaping this manuscript into a book.

  Beverly Horowitz and the excellent team at Delacorte Press, for being the best.

  A special shout-out to Angela Carlino, for her seamless creative vision.

  And, of course, endless gratitude to my family: I am blessed to have you.

  Antonio Pagliarulo was born and raised in New York City and still calls the Big Apple home. He attended Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and the Performing Arts and SUNY Purchase College, where he earned a BA in sociology. Though he has never lived in a penthouse, owned a Chihuahua, or flown his private jet to Borneo, he does enjoy window shopping on Fifth Avenue and hopes to one day own a Dolce & Gabbana suit. The Celebutantes: On the Avenue is his second book for young readers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2007 by Antonio Pagliarulo

  Crest illustration copyright © 2007 by Christopher Sleboda