I caught sight of myself in a pane of glass as we took refreshment during the intermission. For once in my life, I no longer recognized the reflection staring back at me. I shook my head in total awe at the transformation, of the dress and the necklace, the shoes, my complexion... This was not the old me. This was the new me, and heaven help anyone who stepped in my way.
Rota touched my elbow and guided me to a table. 'With all that has happened, I haven't asked you about your morning and the Foundation.'
'It has been a bit of a roller coaster today.'
'Yes, it has. I did hear that you were quite thrilled when you saw the property this morning,' Rota said.
'Well, yes, that building just oozes so much natural charm. I knew almost immediately that it was the place. We could keep everything low-key especially with the windows as they are, and have white leather upholstery in the lobby area. That would just look divine with the white maple flooring and dark mahogany balustrades and trims. We could also have a water feature, possibly a waterfall from the open mezzanine floor, tumbling down to a pool, with perhaps one or two of those ornamental carp and some greenery to accentuate the whole thing. The reception area need only be a desk and computer screen for one, possibly two, people. Oh yes, and one of those large Native American wall rugs to hang on the far wall. It's large enough to have at least four hologram suites on the ground floor and it is secure enough to house a hyperbaric chamber, consulting rooms and records. There is even room for a gift and accessories shop though, I think, on the first floor with the restaurant and juice bar,' I said. I was eager to put everything in place.
'You have already convinced me. So my dear, what about staff?'
'Well, I know that my daughter would like to be involved. She just loves that kind of thing, and I know my son would love to work on some of the designs I have in mind,' I responded. 'Of course, I would have to make sure that they were still interested, you understand.'
'And for the rest?' she asked.
'Ah yes, well, now... that I might need some help with since I'm a regular fish out of water here in New York,' I said.
'Then we shall hold an open day, and from those who attend, you will be able to make the final choice,' she replied. 'You will do well, so much so because your heart is in all that you aspire to be and do. I envy you and I will back you each and every step of the way,' she said. She clasped her hand over mine to seal her word on the matter.
Dominic and Reuben found us and escorted us back inside for the second half. The evening ended with a standing ovation for the actors, the writer, the producer, the orchestra... it was truly phenomenal.
It was over too soon and Dominic and Reuben escorted us back to the car before saying goodnight. Except for Rota occasionally commenting on how beautiful Dominic's eyes were, it was a quiet drive back to the hotel.
As we waited for the elevator, I noticed the early edition. The newspaper headline caught my attention. It read:
'Police Officers Killed In Tragic Accident.'
The photographs of a young Bristow and Neaser made me catch my breath. I felt the color drain from my cheeks. I picked up a copy of the paper and followed Rota into the elevator.
The overpowering fragrance of fresh roses hit me almost immediately as I stepped inside the room. I looked and there, on the dresser, had to be the single largest display of red roses I had ever seen in my life, along with a card. My room now looked like a florist's stall. I dropped the paper on the bed and walked across to the bouquet and read the card. 'Congratulations, C.'
Congratulations? For what?
Success
A knock on my door interrupted my musings.
'Come in,' I said.
'I am here to assist you, Louise,' Juanita said. 'When the roses came, I knew it would smell like heaven in here.'
'Yes, it does, doesn't it? I'm so glad you are here. Would you help me move all but one of these vases out into the other rooms, please?'
'Really?'
'Of course. While I love the smell, I can't see sleeping soundly in the overwhelming fragrance. Perhaps Rota would like a vase in her room? Would you like one in yours?'
'Oh, my, that is so kind of you.'
'Not at all, Juanita. You are such a wonderful help to me. I don't see why you shouldn't share in some of this, too. Now, how about moving a few of these. We'll be done before you know it and then we both can have a restful night.'
Juanita left and I settled in for the night. Though my eyes and brain were tired, I picked up the paper and began to read.
'Two city detectives were today tragically killed following a 'freak accident' when the driver of an 18-wheeler rig suffered a minor heart attack. His laden vehicle swerved and shed its load of heavy industrial piping onto their passing vehicle. The two police officers were pronounced dead at the scene, fatally injured as they traveled to a routine assignment. Our condolences go to their families.'
An accident? This was no accident. If anything it was a message directed at me or the police department. It was also an indication that the Carl had informants at the precinct. That, or the attorney had identified the two detectives who questioned me. Though accidents do happen, I felt that this accident was staged.
It made me think of what could have happened had I accepted their offer regarding protective custody. I knew my safety would rely solely on my ability to think on my feet until an opportunity presented itself so I could extricate myself from this mess. I shivered. I put the paper on the nightstand and snuggled deeper under the duvet.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned, pushing back the covers of the bed and stumbling into the bathroom in one fluid motion. The new morning arrived quicker than I'd hoped.
A light tap on my door and I knew that breakfast was served. I put on my robe, ran my fingers through my hair and emerged to the wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee. An assortment of fruit, yogurts, hot oatmeal, beautiful breads, compotes, skimmed milk and honey greeted me as the waiter left the room. The morning paper was folded neatly by the tray.
I filled a cup with coffee and grabbed the morning paper. A bowl of yogurt and fruit, a croissant and a serving of hot honeyed oatmeal would be a wonderful way to start my day. I picked up the morning paper and almost dropped the hot coffee in my lap as I saw a picture of myself on the front page.
The headline read,
'Wealthy Writer opens Well-Health Foundation.'
Wealthy writer, and socialite, Ms. Louise Deveraux, has chosen New York for the grand opening of the headquarters for her Well-Health Foundation. Ms. Deveraux (38)...
I had to stop there, for a moment, at least, as I had to mop up the coffee that had exploded from my mouth. I was certainly not that old.
Setting the coffee carefully on the tray, I had to read on: 'Ms. Deveraux plans to open the first Well-Health Foundation for those who wish to redefine themselves. The Well-Health Foundation will cater for everyone, transforming health, style and fitness, body and mind for those who wish to partake in its sumptuous surroundings and comprehensive offerings. This exclusive facility will be available to those who feel the need to recharge their ailing bodies, tone their inner confidence and project a new, brighter, self-image; revitalizing health, body, mind and soul. For more information, call... 1 800 IMMERSE
Apart from the slight misprint regarding my age, there was little else to fault. It was premature and the article took me by surprise. Then, I opened the paper fully...
I simply couldn't believe the photographs the paper had printed. The page was littered with so many distinguished faces. There I was, chatting to a former President of the United States, football pros, leading male film stars and gorgeous actresses. I was shaking hands, smiling or just socializing. How? When? I had no idea, no idea at all that someone was taking my photograph and then the phone began to ring.
'Hello,' I said.
'Ms. Deveraux, this is Samantha Fergusson of Time magazine. I was wondering when would be a good time to visit and bring along my photographer?' she asked.
'Samantha Fergusson, Time Magazine. We were looking to feature you on this month's cover,' she announced.
'Are you kidding me?' I asked. I couldn't breathe. I was hot, flushed, lost for words.
'We've already been told that today would be a good day to call,' she said. She was insistent and intent on keeping me on the line.
'I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me, but who exactly made this arrangement?' I asked.
'Let me see, it was a Mr. Carlos,' she insisted.
'Just Carlos, and that's it?' I asked.
'That is the name I was given,' she replied.
I could only shake my head in disbelief. Carl was going to keep me busy. 'Then perhaps two p.m.?' I said.
'I look forward to meeting you at two p.m.,' she replied.
I noticed an unusual 'click' just before I replaced the handset. The phone had never done that before.
I returned to the paper to study the photographs more thoroughly and read each of the comments. 'Ms. Deveraux talks to...' 'Ms. Deveraux meets...' I must admit, I did. But I had to scratch my head at the way the photographs and the captions had been used in an entirely different way, changing the whole context of the evening completely. It seemed as if the evening had been at my expense entirely, that the function was by special invitation only to help raise awareness to the causes the Foundation would be promoting.
'Good morning, Rota,' I said. Rota was already dressed and coiffed and full of energy.
'Hello my dear. I can see we are going up in the world,' she said. She looked down at the open copy of the morning paper and clutched a handful of color magazines I had yet to see.
'Sorry, you will have to excuse me. I'm in such a state this morning, what with last night, the roses, oh just everything,' I said.
She merely nodded and continued to read, shaking her head from side to side as she did so.
'What do you think?' I asked.
'I learned the hard way not to think, to question or to offer an opinion. Anyway, you have a busy day ahead of you,' she said. She tossed the paper into the trash can.
'I do?,' I asked.
'Definitely. We have a photo shoot planned in Times Square, at ten,' she confirmed checking the itinerary. 'Then we'll break for lunch, get back here for the magazine article and then we need to be at the radio station for the six o'clock 'drive-time' broadcast. Oh yes, one last thing, we also have you down for the Late Show with Donald,' she sighed. 'As I said, it's going to be busy, but we've done more in less time than that,' she said. She smiled at me and picked up the phone to order two bottles of champagne. 'Ah good, Juanita is here,' she said. 'Now, I have two very important errands to run, and then I'll be back, so be ready to go, and don't drink all the champagne!'
'Hang on, before you go, what shall I wear?' I asked.
'Don't worry, Juanita has it all in hand,' she said.
Exasperation threatened to overtake me. I sighed and puffed out my cheeks. Juanita worked my hair as I contemplated what the day had in store.
In no time at all, Juanita had worked the sow's ear that was my hair into a silk purse.
A knock on the door announced the arrival of champagne and I allowed the sommelier to pour a glass for me. A waiter remained to top up my glass. This was, most probably, the best way to relax before a hectic day began. I was putty in Juanita's hands and did not have a care in the world by the time Rota arrived.
Rota finally returned and shared a glass of champagne with me as she discussed what was to come. Juanita had packed a case and a very stalwart gentleman arrived carrying another case. We were set.
We took the limousine downtown and I was now able to see the picture the whole world sees when they think of the Big Apple.
The idea was that I walk down the center of the road, dressed in jewels and trying to look elegant, yet provocative. The cameraman would be pulled on a rig in front of me. To add to the look, they provided a makeup woman and a second who had armed herself with scarves, a fur muff, full-length coats and some summery hats, so that we could cover the last of the summer and the fall.
Curiosity grew and the area began to fill with sightseers. They began to take their own photos as I followed the photographer's directions. I had never done anything like this before.
Flashbulbs, the sound of the shutter, lighting rigs, reflectors, the noise of diverted traffic, horns, people talking, and the heat from everything overwhelmed my senses. I retreated to my portable changing room to sit for a moment to breathe. We had only until noon so my moment was just that, a moment to catch my breath.
While we were looking for something to add to my outfit, I was suddenly pulled forward and my necklace was ripped from my throat. A young thug darted out from the crowded sidewalk and quickly darted back in to the crowds. Too shocked to scream, I was able to shout as he tried to get away. I was shocked, violated and hurt. The back of my neck stung and I rubbed the it, half-expecting to feel blood where the clasp had been.
Some in the crowd whooped at the thief's audacity. They probably thought it was staged as part of this photo shoot. A man the size of a mountain emerged from the crowd and handed back the necklace intact, save a slightly strained clasp. I thanked him and watched as he turned to retrace his steps. He hadn't uttered a word.
As for the would-be robber, I dare not ask. I can only assume that he either escaped after discarding the gems or the great mountain man encouraged him to never steal again.
Thankfully, the clasp was soon mended and I was able to continue. I stepped back into the road to the applause of the huge crowds that had gathered. Word had soon passed from mouth to mouth that 'the Deveraux woman' was 'dancing with traffic.'
Most of the pictures were set to appear on billboards, others would be used in magazines and brochures. The time soon went much to the disappointment of the onlookers. There were so many, the whole area was brought to a standstill. As the photographer began packing his equipment and the rig was removed, I was left surrounded by a mass of autograph seekers.
It was only when I looked for help that I caught sight of Carl. He smiled, waved a kiss in my direction, and climbed back inside his limousine to be whisked away by his driver.
Murray quickly interceded and we made our way back to the hotel for lunch and the interview with the reporter from Time Magazine. That particular interview was over much before it had really begun as Rota produced a 'Press Pack' including a headshot of me. Once again, it was one of those photographs taken without my knowledge.
The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing for the Late Show with Donald. I was pampered and then poured into an evening gown. The ensemble was finished with a diamond necklace and earring set that was waiting for me when I returned. A card signed, 'Well done. C,' was attached. Hard work had its rewards and this one was very sparkly, heavy and expensive.
I was now ready. Rota quizzed me with the questions he was allowed to ask and some he might try to slip into the conversation. I was coached in what answers to give and encouraged not to stray far from the script. There was only one rule: I was not allowed to mention Carl's name. The Foundation was my idea, my money and my business.
We were escorted to the Green Room. Strawberries and champagne waited. The floor manager went through the running order. Two women checked my makeup for bounce and shadow and finally decided that my overall appearance was fine.
'Ms. Deveraux, five minutes,' a young girl announced. 'Will you follow me please?' She led me through a myriad of backdrops and cables until we reached the edge of the set. She pointed to a taped 'x' on the floor and told me to stand there until I was called. I could see a path of light leading to the set and waited for my name. My hands began to tremble. Moisture coalesced on my brow. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and slowly released it to settle my nerves.
'My next guest this evening is someone who has recently hit the headlines, has appeared on numerous billboards across the country and is now the name on everyone's lips. So, plea
se give a warm welcome to my next guest, the very beautiful Ms. Louise Deveraux, the person behind the Well-Health Foundation.'
My feet moved and my face appeared on the monitor. I was now broadcast into the homes of the viewing nation.
The studio lights glared. I tried to find Rota beneath the glare to settle my nerves and provide a backup. My eyes adjusted and I noticed her. She held up an idiot board to remind me to smile. The questions began.
By the end of the interview, I was wet with sweat and unable to remember a single word I had said. I couldn't even remember the questions. I did remember the audience and the standing ovation they were 'encouraged' to give. A large sign with the word 'APPLAUSE' written on it was held up by one of the floor staff as he paced in front of the studio audience demanding to be seen. The color rose in my cheeks and Donald took me by the hand to help me to my feet. I felt cheated.
Rota quickly whisked me out of the studio and Murray drove us to yet another gathering of the family. Carl had arranged this so we could all sit back and watch a recording of the broadcast. This, then, was the price of success. I was submerged in the surreal aspects of fame.
Kids
'We are moving today!' Rota said. She opened the curtains in my room to wake me up. It worked.
'What? Moving? Where?' I asked.
'It's a surprise,' she said. 'Come on now. Time to get up, grab a shower, get dressed and we will have breakfast in our new place.'
'Can I just breathe for a minute and wake up, please?'
'No time,' she said. 'Juanita? Juanita!' She left the room in search of assistance.
Juanita was there as I stepped out of the shower to help me dress and get my nest of hair into some sort of style. Rota was waiting in the common room.
'Right,' Rota said. 'Murray is waiting. Are you ready?'
'I guess I am,' I said. I turned to Juanita. 'Thank you, my dear, for all your help and support. You are wonderful!'
'Don't worry,' Rota said. 'Juanita will be joining us a little later today.'
'Thank you, Rota.'
Witness to a Murder Page 5