Helaine was finally getting used to Lydia’s new fame and it sometimes appeared that Lydia would, too. She wasn’t quite as careless in public as she had been only months earlier, though she still had no respect for reporters and dodged them whenever possible and she still couldn’t bear an ounce of bad press, something which everyone involved was aware of.
Helaine routinely pointed out that whenever Lydia came off as relaxed and open with the press corps she received flattering coverage from them.
“So?”
“So maybe we should examine your issue with reporters. Get some closure here.”
“They’re not reporters, Helaine. At best, they’re stenographers.”
“I see.”
It was a fame that contrasted sharply from Helaine’s, having more the elements of pop stardom and the kind of notoriety that rock stars earn as opposed to the status the president of a Fortune 500 company deserved. Perhaps that was Lydia’s major objection to it all, that it was attention she had not solicited, for qualities she had never invested much in and which she herself would never have thought to promote over and above her real talents. Maybe she felt diminished by the attention, by the constant buzz about beauty, charisma and charm. Maybe she resented Paula for shoving it to the forefront while at the same time pumping up her pretty princes with her quasi-feminist corporate rhetoric. Maybe at last she saw through shrewd Paula Treadwell and her Machiavellian ways, saw a woman as principled and as onerous as a pimp at times.
_____
“Your suits. And that’s it?”
“Venus–”
“What’s with the cognac?”
“Baby, please. I told you, I’m missing my fabulous girl.”
She bristled at hearing baby again and lord knows she didn’t need another bottle of cognac, but fabulous? Now who could turn fabulous down? “Come on in, Mr. Jones.”
_____
“Anna, I simply can’t do it.”
“Would she say yes or no?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is absurd, Helaine. Give the girl my number and ask her to call me.”
“Anna, can’t you find a way to accomplish this without me? You’re usually so resourceful at such things.”
“I certainly can. Give me her phone number.”
It was not done and she had no desire to do it. In any event, Anna didn’t need to add Venus Angelo to her already burgeoning list of conquests.
“You’re being selfish, my friend. Besides, you should be happy to get rid of her, if you catch my drift.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.”
“Okay, my perceptive friend. I’ll tell her when next we meet that you praised her highly. She knows where she can find you. Will that be sufficient?”
“And give her my number, too.”
“If she asks.”
“If she seems even remotely interested. We mustn’t make her ask.”
_____
“Helsinki, Oslo, Prague, Madrid. Oh, and London. And Paris, Munich. Beijing is still up in the air. Did I say Milan?”
“No, Madrid, I think.”
“Right….so…on to Milan and then to Berlin, Delhi, Tokyo…Moscow…Melbourne...” She cast an apprehensive look in Lydia’s direction, knowing that she was not too thrilled about the demanding itinerary and being parted from each other for so long. Weeks at a time, Lydia had at last reluctantly complained last night. Helaine had not wanted to dwell on this feature of the tour, but it was very different embarking on an endeavor like this now. So different than the other time, the pre-Lydia period of her life. She was not as famous then and there weren’t so many cities scheduled, no beautiful wife to miss. If, like then, it was only about the book she had penned then she wouldn’t dream of doing this, but now it was about the foundation, her life’s work. She was a goodwill ambassador on a worthy mission, not just an author promoting sales. “Seoul undecided, too,” she continued, a tinge of guilt threatening to spoil her excitement. “But it’s shaping up nicely and I’ve just hired a personal secretary–so yes or no, Venus?”
Paula had ripped Venus another asshole over it. Acting Executive Director of the Kristenson Foundation! She nearly had a seizure when she told her she was considering accepting the position.
“It’s only six weeks away,” Helaine reminded. “Have you made a decision?”
She had. “I’m scheduled for Saudi Arabia in two weeks, out of the country for three. After that you’ve got your Acting Executive Director.”
Kay was ecstatic. “There’s your Executive Director, Helaine!”
“In five weeks,” Venus inserted. “Does that help?”
Game theory, Lydia mused, reticent about the entire scheme, notwithstanding the acting directorship falling into Venus Angelo’s hands. She saw herself gazing at those hands as they absently toyed with a piece of silverware and, catching herself at it, looked away, past all of the animated faces of her elated breakfast companions, past the present, to focus on a not-so-distant future when she and Helaine would have to globe-hop to be together, when their marriage would be reduced to a handful of sexual encounters, when they both would have to zip back and forth through the clouds in order to meet their other pressing obligations. It would be months of madness she acknowledged grimly, finding herself once again studying Venus, one more time contemplating her peculiar brand of treachery and wondering what kind of woman this Claudine was and whether smug Venus Angelo had had the balls to bring her to their apartment in the Latin Quarter and do her on their bed.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Helaine said, clasping her hands together. “Thank you, Venus. I’m so grateful, so grateful. Robert, be a doll and ask Harry to break out the champagne for us.”
Venus would have to inform JP Treadwell of her new post herself, Lydia quickly resolved. Paula was not going to be a very happy camper when she found out about it and she was certainly not going to be fool enough to be the messenger of such unwelcome tidings. Venus gave her a tentative smile and Lydia smiled back at her obliquely, fingering her wedding band and watching from the corner of one eye as Harry scuttled about the dining room, his polished platters glittering preciously this morning, his shiny spectacles as bright as coins at the bottom of a pool.
Venus was caught up in the moment, shining, too.
Lydia gave her a drop dead glare.
_____
Venus had had it with the drop dead looks. She had had it with chastising herself. She had had it with feeling like an unfaithful lover. Complicating things for her was that the one qualified person she could discuss the situation with was the very last person in the universe she should discuss the situation with, and there was nothing in Dr. Kristenson’s book, which she had read in its entirety, that came even close to describing exactly what kind of situation it actually was.
The resulting impasse she was experiencing with Lydia, which she had hoped to cure on her own, was beginning to appear quite permanent, and reality, nay REALITY, was completely wrecking her fantasy life, which heretofore had been rich and rewarding.
So it was, Venus finally understood, just exactly as know-it-all Paula had suggested, totally unrealistic for her to even imagine getting with Ms. Beaumont again, let alone to dream of having her for a thirtieth birthday present, which was pending and had been her life plan ever since she had fallen in love with the–the–she stumbled over the words in her head. She was angry and frustrated today, sick of her domicile, the work environment…herself. The words that came to mind this afternoon were ugly ones. Words like arrogant and bitch.
Oh, man, was she glad to be leaving the country again.
“Hello?”
“Venus?”
“Mama–I’m late, I know.”
“Better get here, girl. Jasmine wants to see you. She’s sure happy with you these days.”
“The leather coat?”
“God no, that foundation thing you do that was in all the papers. Proud as a peacock and bragging up a storm about you. How
long you gonna be, honey?”
Go and figure. “Half an hour–what about the coat?”
“She doesn’t care about leather coats. Don’t you know that by now?”
Doesn’t care about leather coats? Shit no. Venus didn’t know that. This one was trimmed with mink. “Mama…you tell her I just made acting executive director of that foundation and I’ll be there soon.”
Chapter 28
Force
Her lower back hurt when she bent at the waist, the knee had flared up again, more grays in the mirror, crow’s feet just like her father’s developing around the eyes, reading lenses becoming a vital accessory to her wardrobe, new freckles and other sun damage that she didn’t need glasses to see, burst vessels here and there, especially in her tired legs. Lydia and Delilah were shopping for “sensible shoes” that would still look and feel sexy. If there was such a thing.
“Loafers?”
“Please, Del.”
“Clogs?”
“With a three-piece suit, with my lingerie?”
“Martini?”
Lydia scrunched up her face. It didn’t seem practical today. “Have you ever been in love, Del?”
“Uhhhhh…describe the sensation and I’ll tell you yes or no.”
“Never mind–are these hideous or what?” She forced her feet into a pair of square-toed flats and yanked them off in disgust.
“Yes.”
“Yes hideous?”
“Yes love, Liddy. Deep sexual love. Hideous is a pretty good description for that, too. I don’t think you’re going to find what you’re looking for here.”
“Have you ever been deeply sexually in love with two people at the same time?” Lydia ventured.
“NO.”
“Is it possible, you think?”
“Liddy, you…you should probably ask your doctor about that.”
“Never mind.”
_____
Martinis at the bistro across from Cicero’s.
“They say you plowed Silas Goodman under. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I don’t. Paula did it.”
“Ooh, better keep that under your hat.”
“I do.”
The waitress delivered two vodka martinis. “You’re her,” she suddenly blurted.
“Who?” Lydia asked, hoping to introduce some doubt.
“That woman, aren’t you? Beau-something? I know it’s you. You’re her.”
“Yes, yes,” Lydia said, her finger to her lips.
The waitress nodded understandingly. “Can I have your autograph?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Lydia sent Delilah a beleaguered look.
“Here,” Delilah said, offering a napkin.
“The napkin’s cool,” the waitress said.
Lydia signed it and pushed it toward her.
“Thank you.”
“Mum’s the word, right? Or Ms. Beaumont and I will have to leave.”
“Of course.”
_____
Vodka martinis and fried potato peels. Yum. Lydia watched the entrance of Cicero’s.
“Problems at home, Liddy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Bedroom–drink that.”
Lydia took a swig and gagged. “Definitely not.”
“Okay. Affair?”
“Del, never.”
“Okay. What then–good grief, why are we talking like this?”
“Like what?”
Delilah gulped down her martini and hailed the waitress over. “Cryptic.”
“That’s a drink?” the waitress asked.
“Not you–another, please.”
“Me cryptic,” Lydia volunteered.
“Oh,” the waitress replied. “Another for you, too?”
“Please.”
Delilah waited for her to leave. “What then, I said.”
“If not an affair, you mean?”
“If not an affair.”
“Nothing, just curious.”
“About who, Liddy?”
“I’m not going to say.”
“For Pete’s sake. About who?”
“You know who, Del.”
Gin martinis were better than vodka martinis. “Venus?”
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s done with, I thought?”
“It’s a little complicated.”
“Ho, ho–sounds it, Dame Beaumont!”
“And that’s all I’m going to say.”
“And that’s all you need to say.”
_____
“Darling, you’re smashed?”
“Nah, not really–ah, you’re living out of bags already.”
“Are you going to make it through this or should I hire a sitter?”
Lydia scoffed, considered the couch, reconsidered. “Implying what, Dr. Kristenson? That I’m being childish?”
Helaine gave her a bold look, the meaning of which eluded Lydia. “Implying what?” she asked again.
“Implying nothing, my love. Have you eaten anything today?”
“Yeah, I had some olives.”
Olives and booze. Helaine was perturbed. She had asked Lydia to take the time off to accompany her on the trip, but she wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave Soloman-Schmitt for that length of time, she said, not for five months. Helaine had put off her preparations for as long as she could but with only two weeks remaining before departure she could delay it no longer. This tour, she realized, was going to be their first significant collision and although Lydia had yet to come right out and shout about it, Helaine could see her resentment bubbling to the surface this afternoon. She watched with folded arms as Lydia inspected the contents of her luggage.
“This, Dr. Kristenson?” Lydia held up the objectionable item. “You’re bringing toys? What the fuc–”
“Lydia, come on now.”
“Aw, shit, I’m…swearing.”
“Because you’ve been drinking. Are you going to drink for the entire five months?”
“No, Dr. Kristenson, sometimes I’m going to be flying vast distances to meet my wife in strange, faraway places so I can get token quickies from her. I don’t know who’ll get her the rest of the time. Must need my head examined, right Doc?”
“I hope you don’t think this is charming behavior.”
“I never hope or think when I drink. It’s incompatible, Doc–”
“Stop calling me that, please. Come here. Let me make you something to eat.”
“I don’t want food. Why are you doing these things–that birthday thing and now this trip? Are you bored, Lana?”
“Oh, Lydia…please don’t.”
“Are you?”
She couldn’t determine whether Lydia was limping or staggering. “Darling, I know what you’re feeling. It’s a long time to be separated, believe me, I know. But we have a plan and we’re going to manage it…isn’t this what we agreed on?”
“I changed my mind. I can do that, you know.”
“Changed your–but I can’t, Lydia. I can’t change my mind. You know I can’t.”
“I know only that I don’t want you to go, not for even one day. Jesus, did I slur that?”
Everything had become problematic. The trip. The tripping. “A little.”
_____
If she couldn’t bear for even one day our bucolic countryside, its cow barns and cattle, its rednecks, what do you think Venus thought of spending weeks in a desert with oil rigs and jeeps and would-be sheiks? Here and there a sorry-assed camel?
“You will wear,” her guide demanded. “Face!” he shouted, draping the piece of cloth dramatically around his head and exposing only his eyes. “You,” he insisted, handing her the veil.
His English sucked, but Venus understood his pantomime. “Dude,” she said, “I don’t think so. You there, tell him no way, I don’t wear a veil. WON’T.”
Her interpreter anxiously translated for her and Venus saw the other man’s face grow dark with rage. He stepped menacingly into her personal space
and waved the veil at her again, this time spewing what sounded very much like epithets to Venus and kicking up the sand as he circled her.
“Go fuck yourself,” she finally said, grabbing from his clenched fist the keys to the dusty old jeep sitting across the road. “Tell him that,” she ordered the interpreter over her shoulder. “Tell him this woman says he can go fuck himself. You understand?”
“I–I cannot–you do not drive the jeep, miss. Cannot!”
“Oh, I can drive it all right,” she said, climbing over the door and placing herself behind the wheel. “I’m out of here,” she said, starting the vehicle and revving the engine. “Right now!”
The translator was beside himself and the guide, inconsolable, ranted off in the distance while onlookers discussed the scene amongst themselves and shook their heads reproachfully.
“Is forbidden, miss…the women…they do not drive. Cannot.”
“Really? Is that right?” And they cannot vote either she had learned only yesterday.
He nodded profusely, relieved that she seemed to be able to comprehend this. “Yes, sorry. Do not.”
“So what you got here isn’t so much a country as a country club, right?”
“Yes, yes,” the man answered emphatically, not understanding the distinction and deceived by her smile.
“Just one big happy fraternity,” she added.
His eyes narrowed. “Fra-tern-ity?” He wasn’t sure of that word. He reached into his robe for a pocket dictionary.
“And it would be a good idea to have you all neutered. Yes, yes?”
“Oh, yes, miss. Yes, yes,” he mistakenly agreed. “Fra…tern…ity…f…r…a…?”
She searched the glove compartment for a pencil. “Here,” she said, writing “neutered” out for him. “While you’re at it.”
He didn’t know this word either. “Ne-yu-ter-ed?”
“See ya,” Venus said, leaving him to ponder her lines in the sand.
_____
“Principles? Screw your principles, Angelo! You should have kept your mouth shut and asked to be driven back to the hotel. Now it’s a goddamned international incident! And after I just saved your scandalous hide, how could you?”
Fortune Is a Woman Page 17