Madison ran a hand through her long dark hair. “They aren’t college dropouts,” she said dramatically. “It just so happens that their talent transcends the need for four years of dorm living.”
“Speak of the devil,” Park suddenly chimed in. “There’s transcendent Elijah talking to Coco, who looks pretty drunk from here.”
“What?” Lex said.
Park gestured her head to the right. “Over there. It’s Elijah. I recognize him from that whole spread he and Tallula got in Vanity Fair.”
Madison and Lex stared across the room. It was true. Huddled in a corner just to the right of the bar were Coco and Elijah Traymore, seemingly rapt in conversation. But it didn’t take a genius—or an artist of the transcendent variety—to deduce that Coco was trying her best to play the role of seductress: she was staring up at Elijah with wide eyes and pouting lips, and one of her spaghetti straps had slipped off her shoulder. The martini glass in her right hand was nearly empty.
Elijah didn’t seem to mind. Tall, lean, and definitely the artist in the room, he was dressed in paint-splattered jeans, a wrinkled black blazer, and scuffed black biker boots. His pale complexion was accentuated by messy jet-black hair and an assortment of silver chains dangling from his neck. If the girls weren’t mistaken, there was even a wee bit of black eyeliner around his blue eyes.
“Damn,” Madison whispered, instantly panicked. “We have to get over there. You know what happens when Coco drinks too much. I don’t want her on Page Six again.”
Lex and Park nodded. Coco McKaid was a dear friend, but booze played a wicked number on her. Two weeks ago, at a Jackie Collins book-release party in Beverly Hills, Coco had guzzled three too many drinks and ended up skinny-dipping in the pool with a former member of a popular boy band. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any photographers hanging around to capture the chaotic scene.
If Madison, Park, and Lex didn’t move fast, Coco would probably end up undressing right here in front of everyone.
“Look at her,” Lex said quietly. “She’s drunker than Lindsay out of rehab.”
Park tucked her purse under her left arm. “Come on. Let’s do this quickly.”
Madison led the way. In her typically staid fashion, she held her head high and smiled at the other, much older guests who turned to stare at her. In ten seconds flat, she, Park, and Lex made it to Coco’s side.
“Oh!” Coco said loudly when she felt Madison’s fingers curl around her arm. “Hi there!”
“Hello, dear.” In one smooth gesture, Madison whisked the martini glass out of Coco’s hand and gently bumped her friend against the bar. Then Madison looked up at Elijah. She smiled brightly. She extended her hand. And, in an incredibly dramatic tone, she said, “Elijah, it’s such an honor to meet you. I absolutely adore your work.”
Lex rolled her eyes.
Elijah Traymore, visibly flattered, set his drink on the bar and fixed Madison with an equally admiring stare. “Well, the Hamilton triplets,” he said. “I was hoping to meet you.” He took Madison’s hand and kissed it. And held it. “You look absolutely stunning. I noticed you when you first came into the room.”
Madison blushed instantly. “Well…thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Elijah said, a bit too seductively.
Madison cleared her throat as his eyes swept over the length of her body. She felt his hot stare everywhere. It was obvious that he came on strong and fast, and she had to actually yank her hand free of his.
Elijah quickly turned and stared at Lex, studying her with the same unabashed gaze. “You’re quickly becoming one of my favorite designers,” he said quietly. “And you’re even more beautiful in person than I expected.”
The spicy comment didn’t make Lex the least bit uncomfortable. “Aren’t I, though?” She tossed her head back and nudged him with her shoulder. If not for Park’s hand pulling her back, Lex would have taken Coco’s place close to Elijah.
“Hi,” Park said, stepping in between them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elijah.”
“No, Park. The pleasure is all mine.” He reached out and clasped her hand. His eyes locked on hers, and he grinned suggestively. “I just can’t wait to see you make your big-screen debut. I’ll bet your director can’t stop staring at you. Let me tell you—that Jeremy Bleu is one hell of a lucky guy.”
“Thank you,” Park replied coolly. She extracted her hand from Elijah’s, but she didn’t allow herself to appear rattled by his overt pass. That, after all, was exactly what he wanted.
Elijah Traymore wasn’t the kind of guy who dropped subtle hints. He genuinely thought he was beyond it all. Sudden fame could do that to people. Especially men. Public adulation and good looks coupled with one spread in Vanity Fair and a guy could easily lose his grasp on reality. Park didn’t have to get to know Elijah to make that assessment. It was obvious. And it was an instant turnoff.
She wasn’t flattered by his compliments either. Everyone was waiting to see her screen debut. For the past six weeks, she’d been working tirelessly on the set of Short Fuse, the big-budget action thriller starring her boyfriend, Jeremy Bleu. Not a day went by without a celebrity reporter sneaking past her trailer and snapping a pic of her in wardrobe. Park was enjoying herself, but talking about this new chapter of her life was somewhat scary. She had never intended to become an actor. She hadn’t really wanted to follow in the footsteps of her mother. She knew that most people—especially critics and celebutante haters—would be eager to completely trash her performance once the movie was released, and that very annoying fact was what forced her to push herself harder than ever. She didn’t see Short Fuse as a way to expand her fame; she saw it as a job for which she was being paid, a serious business venture that required the highest levels of professionalism and determination. She was going to make one hell of an excellent impression on-screen.
Though Jeremy always encouraged her to talk about the movie, Park preferred letting the mystery of her acting career thicken. If there was one thing she’d learned about growing up in the public eye, it was the Rule of Silence: the less you said, the more people talked about you.
“Tell me,” Elijah continued, locking his eyes on hers, “are there any parts of the movie that have made you feel…uncomfortable?”
What an arrogant horn-dog, Park thought. But she shook her head and said, “None at all. My role doesn’t require nudity. And I’m sure that’s what you’re referring to.”
He smirked. “I hope the thought of nudity doesn’t make a girl as beautiful as you uncomfortable. I’d love to sculpt you one day.”
“Sculpt me?” Park asked, sounding purposefully whimsical. “Why, I’ve never thought of that.”
“It takes a special kind of person to be an artist’s muse,” Elijah said, and winked. “And I think sculpting your body would be an incredible experience.”
Park chuckled. “I have a personal trainer for that, so you might have to find someone else to buff your clay.”
Lex, who had been watching the exchange intently, burst out laughing.
Madison cleared her throat and quickly regained control of the situation. “Speaking of sculpting,” she said, “can you tell us anything about your newest project, Elijah?”
“My latest sculpture will be unveiled in a few weeks,” he replied, reaching again for his drink. “Then it’ll go up for sale. Sotheby’s is handling that, of course.”
“Sotheby’s!” Madison’s voice hit a high note. She was shocked. “That’s so rare. Sotheby’s doesn’t usually work with such young artists. But it’s great news. I’ve acquired a lot of my art through Sotheby’s. I also enjoy the smaller galleries, though.”
“I saw you talking to Poppy van Lulu,” Elijah said suddenly. “Are you clients of hers?”
“Clients?” Madison laughed—she couldn’t help herself. “For God’s sake, no. She’s a total…a great patroness of the arts, but still a little…ya know…eccentric.”
“Is there anything to eat?” Lex asked, comple
tely shattering the art-snobbiness of the conversation. “I’m starving.”
Madison shot her a disapproving look.
“Hey!” Coco suddenly said. She bumped past Park and Lex, her head wobbling drunkenly. “I’d like to be sculpted. In fact, Elijah and I were talking about that before you guys interrupted us.” She hiccupped. “I mean, we were sort of discussing that. Or something like that. Or…” She glanced at her empty hands. “Hey, where’s my drink?”
“It’s gone, honey.” Lex took Coco’s limp hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “Just bottled water for you from this point on. The last thing you want to do is puke on that dress.”
“Anyway,” Madison said loudly, still fighting to salvage what was left of their introduction to Elijah Traymore, “I’m thrilled to hear that your fans have a new sculpture to look forward to. Can you give us a little hint about what inspired you?”
Elijah smiled—a gleaming, fake smile. “It’s dedicated to my girlfriend—Tallula certainly has it coming to her.”
“Absolutely,” Madison answered. “Her paintings are just extraordinary. She must be your muse every minute of every day.”
“You could say that,” Elijah said. “Tallula’s a unique person. I’ve known her for a few years and I can honestly say that she’s more mysterious than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s still upstairs getting ready. You’ll meet her in just a few minutes.”
“I can’t wait.” Madison gave her head another dramatic toss.
Elijah glanced at his watch. “I should go and give her a call. She’s always late. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.” He dropped his steamy stare to Coco. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Thank you.” Madison touched his arm, hoping to distract him from her very drunk friend. “I’m looking so forward to seeing your piece, Elijah.”
“And I’m sure Elijah would love showing it to you,” Park said, managing to keep a straight face.
Madison’s face flushed a vibrant shade of red.
Elijah Traymore turned and hurried out of the room.
“What a little creep,” Park said quietly. “The nerve of him, talking to us like that.”
“Totally,” Lex agreed. “At first I thought he was just coming on a little too strong, but if that was his way of introducing himself, I don’t want to see what comes next.”
“I hate to say it, but I agree.” Madison gave the room a quick scan to make sure no one else could hear them. “After that introduction, I don’t know what Tallula Kayson sees in him. How in the world did he manage to score her? He seems like the kind of guy who’ll sleep with anything.”
“Thanks a lot!” Coco snapped.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Madison assured her. “I’m just saying that Elijah isn’t the right guy for you.”
“He’s cute,” Coco said. “And he’s smart and funny and…a great artist. And we were getting along fine until you barged in on us.” She pointed down to her shoes. “And I even wore my Akiko Bergstroms. Five thousand dollars a pair, thank you very much.”
Madison made a sour face. “Please! As if he even noticed your feet. He practically jumped down Park’s dress right in front of you. Not to mention the fact that he’s very publicly involved in a very serious relationship. Did he mention that during your meet and greet?”
“Well…no.” Coco folded her arms over her chest and looked away. “But he did say that I have a nice body.” She hiccupped again. “And…I think he’s smart and mature and very worldly.”
“That’s just the alcohol talking,” Park said. “Sober, I can tell you that he’s an immature twenty-two. And he likes himself too much. Trust me, Coco—I know his type. And besides, he’s way too old.”
“But you said he’s immature, right?” Coco quipped. The words should have sounded angry, but they came out slurred and thick, as if she were chewing a big wad of gum. She leaned against the bar as the last punch of vodka chugged through her blood. “That should even out the age difference, right?”
Not for the first time, Madison studied her best friend and felt a stab of pity. Coco had everything going for her—an adorable body, a beautiful face, a great personality—but she never recognized any of it. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a scrawny girl with a flat chest and big feet. The really hot guys never went for her. In the society pages, she was always photographed beside someone else. It was always Hayden Panettiere with celebutante Coco McKaid, Emma Roberts with celebutante Coco McKaid, Princes William and Harry with celebutante Coco McKaid. It was never just Celebutante Coco McKaid in Zac Posen. Even at St. Cecilia’s Prep, Coco often found herself reminding classmates that she had just as much money as they did. The McKaid family owned the most successful wineries in the world, thank you very much. And so the result was a dangerously insecure sixteen-year-old who drank too much and gave herself over to the first guy who paid her enough attention.
Madison had tried talking sense into her on countless occasions. She’d sit her down and go through a list of things Coco had to be grateful for—her dress size, her flawless complexion, her parents’ summer home on the French Riviera—but the confidence induced by these nuggets would only last a week or two. Before long, Coco would be back to her old self, searching for acceptance in all the wrong places.
Now, as the drunken spell took a tighter hold, Coco looked like a little girl who had just lost her bid for emerald earrings at a Cartier fund-raiser. Her lips curled into a frown. Her eyes grew watery. And, in the most unladylike of gestures, she grabbed a cloth napkin from the bar and blew her nose into it; the accompanying sound was reminiscent of a gunshot. “I shwear,” she slurred. “Elijah liked me.”
Madison felt the last hour’s tension drain from her body. How could she go on worrying about this damn luncheon when her best friend was looking lower than the ratings on the CW? It was silly to put so much importance on matters that were ultimately trivial. Ambassadors for the arts. Yeah, she loved the sound of it. She loved being on the art world’s A-list. But in the end, Madison knew she was too smart to let superficiality overshadow her compassion. And she was already on enough A-lists to really care too much about one more.
She threw an arm around Coco and said, “You’re just feeling down because you drank too much. And you didn’t know Elijah Traymore long enough to actually like him. He’s a sleaze, and you deserve someone with way more class.”
“You also look way too good in that dress for a guy like Elijah,” Park chimed in. “He was dressed like a goth kid from the East Village. But not even in a cool way—in a stuck-in-the-nineties way. Your wardrobe completely outranks his.”
“And you’re going to inherit seventy percent of the world’s wine-producing grapes,” Lex added thoughtfully.
When the moments of commiserating were over, Coco looked up and nodded slowly. She blew her nose again. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I guess you’re right. Maybe…maybe I did have a little too much to drink. I’m just going to go fix myself up in the bathroom.”
“I’ll come,” Madison said, genuinely wanting to accompany her friend in her time of need.
“No, it’s okay.” Coco stood up rigidly, balancing herself on those expensive heels. “Besides, I think Mayor Mayer is looking for you guys.” She gave her friends a weary smile, then trotted, a little crookedly, out of the room.
Madison was about to follow her drunk friend, just to make sure she got where she was going in one piece. But when Madison turned around, she saw Mayor Mayer wave a hand at her, then indicate the podium at the very front of the room.
“Well, it’s about time,” Lex complained. “How long does it take the geriatric community to get a show like this on the road?”
Park couldn’t help laughing at the comment. Looking at Madison, she said, “That was nice of you—offering to go with Coco. She really shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“I know.” Madison drew a compact out of her purse and checked her complexion. “Thank God we came when we did. That oversexed biker was probabl
y trying to convince her to join him for a roll across the red carpet.”
“So what’s the plan, Madison?” Lex asked. “Once we’re called up to the podium, do we each have to give some sort of speech?”
“No, just me. Follow my lead and smile a lot. It’ll be in the Style section of the Times for sure.”
Ten minutes later, as Mayor Mayer was introducing them to the eager, albeit ancient, crowd, Madison did a quick scan of the room. She had everyone’s admiration and her place in the art world’s high society. Then it hit her.
Coco hadn’t returned from the bathroom.
3
Painting the Town
In penthouse four of the Waldorf-Astoria tower, twenty-two-year-old Tallula Kayson was readying herself for yet another public appearance. Her fourth in just as many days. She was exhausted. The frenzied publicity schedule had left her feeling less than adequate. Despite the crowd waiting for her downstairs in the Conrad Suite, despite the fact that her newest masterpiece would at last be unveiled to a rapt audience, she wanted nothing more than to grab a pillow and fall asleep. She always loved a party, but for some reason, this luncheon felt more like a chore.
It was early afternoon. Sunlight filtered into the bedroom in muted shades of red and blue, creating a stained-glass mosaic on the hardwood floors. The delicate colors accentuated the room’s ornate furnishings: a canopied bed with silk cream-colored sheets, a plush duvet, and half a dozen striped pillows; a mahogany desk; and a gilt-framed mirror that hung over the fireplace mantel. Just off to the left was a small nook occupied by an oversized chair. It was Tallula’s favorite piece in the room. Trimmed in red and gold fringe, an exquisite patterned throw draped across one arm, the chair resembled something out of King Arthur’s court. She had reclined on it several times since checking into the Waldorf four days ago. For some reason or other, it seemed to give her inspiration. When she rested her head against the soft upper pillow and closed her eyes, she imagined a blank canvas, big and square and empty. Then she imagined her hand guiding the paintbrush as she made the first delicate stroke on that field of whiteness. Soon, an image formed before her. Vivid blues and greens and yellows. The kind of painting that had made Tallula famous virtually overnight.
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