Park observed the new little friendship from a distance. She was happy for Madison, and not altogether surprised: Madison and Tallula shared a voracious passion for art. But that, in Park’s opinion, was where the similarities ended. Tallula was elegant and beautiful and radiated a certain kind of mystery. She wasn’t the type of girl who just smiled and nodded and made small talk; she was the type of girl who studied you with her eyes and took mental notes on your character, your demeanor, your choice of dress. Park liked that—it showed a certain level of depth and intelligence—but there was also another, less flattering side to Tallula. The famous pop artist was hopelessly dramatic and downright bitchy. Park had spoken to her for a few minutes, and in that short span of time, Tallula had snapped at her assistant twice and blatantly stared down three of the waiters. She had also given a rather chubby female guest one of those cold you-don’t-belong-here stares. What was that all about? Park didn’t like it at all, which was why she had extricated herself from the conversation quickly.
Now Park leaned against the bar and listened as Beethoven played on the air. She observed Madison and Tallula, taking note of how touchy-feely Tallula was—tapping Madison’s shoulder, holding on to Madison’s hand, launching into a quick and giddy hug. They looked like long-lost sorority sisters. The spectacle disturbed Park as much as it intrigued her. Why was Madison so blinded by art fame? Couldn’t she see past the façade? All in all, Park pretty much felt like Tallula Kayson was full of shit, the kind of girl who chose to be your friend only after she calculated the diameter of your spotlight. Totally disappointing.
She was about to reach for her cell when she saw Lex walk into the room and head her way. “Well,” Park said, “that took you long enough. Did you find Coco?”
“No, I didn’t.” Lex shrugged. “I looked everywhere—the bathroom up here, the bathroom downstairs, the lobby, the gift shop. And her phone is turned off. She must’ve gone home.”
Home? That idea didn’t sit well with Park, and she knew Lex wasn’t buying it either. Coco had never ditched them. “That’s really weird,” she said quietly. “Why the hell would she turn off her cell?”
“Beats me.” Lex frowned. “But I know Madison won’t be happy about this failed mission.”
“Madison’s as happy as a fifty-year-old woman at a Botox party.” Park pointed to the Michelangelo table. “She and Tallula are now BFFs. And that girl sitting beside them, the one who isn’t talking to anyone—”
“Is Tallula’s assistant,” Lex guessed.
“Right. Her name is Ina. Very professional.”
“And very invisible. I don’t know how these personal assistants do it.” Lex shuddered. She had witnessed too many times the abuse that befell personal assistants. They got screamed at and things thrown at them; they were bullied and threatened on a regular basis. And then, after being fired, they usually violated their confidentiality agreements and sold ugly stories about their former bosses to the tabloids. That was precisely why she, Park, and Madison had opted not to have personal assistants: the cycle was just too vicious. She scanned the room, looking past Ina. “Where’s Elijah?” she asked.
“Not here.”
“Figures. How’s Tallula?”
“Eh.” Park made a sour face.
Lex knew what that meant. “Bad, huh?”
“You know the type,” Park said. “All girly and happy as long as she’s around other famous people. I know I just met her, but I think she’s kind of fake.”
Lex crinkled her nose. “Eeeww. But Madison doesn’t see it, right?”
“Nope. Not yet, at least.”
“Being blinded by art fame is totally rank,” Lex said quietly. “And can I just ask an important question? What’s with that ugly thing around Tallula’s head? She completely ruined that dress.”
“You know these modern-art types,” Park answered, her tone sarcastic. “They have to look a little crazy in order to be happy. But don’t tell that to Madison—she thinks Tallula’s a goddess.”
“In that getup?” Lex sighed. “Maybe Madison’ll snap out of it once I tell her I didn’t find Coco.”
“Did you try looking for her in the bar off the lobby?”
“Of course. All I saw were a bunch of businesspeople drinking, which completely amazes me. How do these older men get drunk so early in the afternoon?”
“They probably work in advertising,” Park said offhandedly. “Anyway, let’s get over to the table. They’re about to unveil the painting, and Madison will have our heads if we aren’t there.”
After the introductions—Lex complimented Tallula on her dress, Tallula complimented Lex on her shoes—Madison pranced happily across the room and to the podium. She clapped twice to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “it’s the time we’ve all been waiting for. In just a few moments, we will feast our eyes on Tallula Kayson’s newest masterwork.”
There was a round of applause as two men walked to the front of the room; one was holding a steel-framed easel, which he set down next to the podium, and the other carefully lowered a large draped canvas onto the easel’s edge.
The lights dimmed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Madison announced proudly. “I give you Tallula Kayson’s newest work, Blue Love.” She struck a pose, thrusting both her arms out like a hostess on The Price Is Right.
One of the men whisked the white drape off the canvas.
A flurry of gasps echoed through the room, followed by a round of spontaneous, sustained applause.
“Oh!” Madison cried. “Oh, how spectacular.”
“It’s extraoooooordinary,” a well-dressed elderly woman said.
“Truly remarkable!”
“Oh—look at the colors!”
Blue Love was, indeed, an interesting work. Brilliant, vivid colors. Wide strokes of black that blended into the edges of the canvas. A flurry of small dots that looked like blue snowflakes. But that was all. Typically abstract, the painting was a true example of pop art: there wasn’t anything visibly obvious about it, no landscape or figures or faces. No scene. But the painting had all the trademarks of a genuine Tallula Kayson: the pointillism, the shadowing, and the two oval-shaped orbs hidden strategically in the background that represented God’s eyes staring down at the majesty of it all. The somewhat eerie supernatural element was a staple of Tallula’s. “God’s eyes” could be found in every one of her paintings, but you had to study the canvas for several minutes to spot them. And once you did, there was no escaping their originality.
The second round of applause thundered through the air. Tallula nodded and smiled and waved as she walked to the podium. She hugged Madison. Then she assumed a graceful posture and let the photographers do their thing. The barrage of flashes lasted for nearly two minutes.
Lex leaned into Park. “Is it me, or does that painting look like a big, stained dish towel?”
Park bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “It’s called abstract art.”
“Well, then call me an abstract artist,” Lex whispered. “Because I could totally splash a bunch of things on a canvas and give it a silly name.”
Another round of flashes followed.
“Please,” Madison said over the din of voices and applause, “give us a speech.”
Tallula positioned herself in front of the podium. “Thank you all very much,” she began. “It’s a pleasure to be here, and an honor to unveil Blue Love in the presence of the Royal Crown Society of the Americas. Thank you, truly, for your support.” She stepped away from the microphone. “Ina, would you be a mouse and help me down?”
Ina Debrovitch scrambled toward Tallula, both arms outstretched.
Tallula followed Madison back to the table. Another wave of clapping broke across the room. People crowded around the painting and began chattering amongst themselves.
“Looks like you’re a hit again, Tallula,” Lex said, trying to sound genuinely interested. “I’m sure that beauty of a painting will create a fren
zy at auction.”
“All the money will be going to an orphanage in Connecticut,” Tallula explained. “The society will be handling everything, and now that you girls have been appointed ambassadors, you’ll be involved in that.”
“I can hardly wait.” Madison was still beaming. She looked as though she were about to move the tables and do a series of cartwheels.
Ina Debrovitch came to Tallula’s side. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you told me to tell you when it hit two-thirty. You have lots of phone calls and e-mails to attend to.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tallula sighed and turned back to the girls. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back upstairs. See you later, okay? Call me and let’s have lunch soon.” She turned around, locked her arm inside Ina’s, and together they strode out of the room.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Madison breathed happily. “She’s even cooler and more interesting than I thought she’d be.”
“What were you two talking about for the last hour?” Park asked. “You looked like a couple of prep-school girls who hadn’t seen each other for a whole summer.”
Madison reached for her purse. “It was just an instant friendship. I tend to get along right away with artists and people who have a high intellect.” She gave her head another airy toss, then looked at Lex. “Where’s Coco? Did you find her?”
“No, I didn’t. And I looked everywhere.” Lex did another quick scan of the room as guests continued mingling. “I have a feeling she met Poppy somewhere along the way and got too spooked to come back and join the fun.”
“Oh, God,” Madison moaned, her expression turning serious. “You really think that’s what happened?”
“It’s totally possible,” Park said.
Madison sighed. “Then we have to save her. Come on. Let’s go.”
It took another half hour to make an exit. A proper exit. They couldn’t simply walk out of the room. They had to say good-bye to every member of the society, thank the appropriate guests, pose for more pictures. As Madison had expected, polyester-for-brains Mayor Mayer was nowhere to be found; like Coco, he had apparently made a quiet departure. Those kinds of disrespectful infractions irked Madison tremendously—and she didn’t forget them. Next time she granted New York magazine an interview, she’d let an unfavorable comment about Mayor Mayer slip out. Oh, I didn’t get much of a chance to speak with him at the luncheon because he spent most of the afternoon at the bar. A nonchalant and seemingly innocent remark like that would have him fending off reporters for at least three days.
And as for Coco…well, Madison would have to take more drastic action. But finding her and making sure she was okay was the first order of business.
She, Park, and Lex did a second sweep of the hotel’s first two floors. They split up and each took a section. Forty-five minutes later, they met in the lobby, each of them empty-handed. Coco’s cell was still turned off, and a call to her parents’ apartment went unanswered. By that time, the luncheon had ended and nearly every guest had left.
“We’ve done what we could,” Lex said. “I’m sure Coco will call soon and apologize.”
They left the hotel through the main doors and scanned the busy stretch of Park Avenue. Donnie Halstrom, medical school dropout-turned-chauffeur, was nowhere to be found. Lex dialed him without having to be asked to do so.
It was a muggy afternoon. Smog cloaked skyscrapers and the air was heavy with exhaust fumes. Finally, they spotted their limo at the corner and began walking toward it.
But before they even made it to the curb, a scream rent the air, cutting through the cacophony of traffic like a clap of thunder. A woman getting out of a cab pointed frantically at the sky as several cars ground to screeching halts.
Madison, Park, and Lex looked up. And froze.
They didn’t know what was plummeting through the air until the body slammed into the pavement five feet from them with a resounding thud.
5
An Artful Corpse
Elijah Traymore had never looked so dead.
He had landed on his back. His skull was spouting blood across the pavement in torrents. His arms were outstretched and his eyes stared unseeingly at the sky. To make matters worse, he’d taken the plunge in a white T-shirt and shorts, and bright speckles of red created a ghastly polka-dot pattern across the front of his body.
The whole picture was unspeakably ugly. So much so that Madison, Park, and Lex remained frozen for several seconds, too stunned to breathe. All around them, chaos had erupted: the woman who had screamed was still screaming as she leaned against the cab in front of the Waldorf; people had emerged from their cars and gathered on the sidewalk; and two doormen were shouting commands from their posts at the revolving doors.
It was Park who took control of the situation. She grabbed Madison and Lex by their arms and pulled them back. She turned them around so that they wouldn’t have to stare in shock at the broken corpse. Then she inhaled deeply and said, “Madison, whatever you do, don’t look at the front of your dress.”
But the order went unheeded.
Madison looked down at the front of her dress. And there, in a messy zigzag pattern, was a series of ugly crimson flecks staining her one-of-a-kind McQueen. Upon impact, blood had sprayed from Elijah’s body and followed a very weird trajectory. When Madison realized that her dress looked as if it had broken out in chicken pox, she screamed.
“I told you not to look!” Park snapped.
“This is horrible!” Madison wailed. “I’m covered in blood! Ugh! This will never come out! Blood is worse than soy sauce!”
“Calm down,” Park urged her. “We’re surrounded.”
“I don’t care,” Madison carried on. “Lex, open the magic purse! Do you have any club soda? Oh! I can’t even stand here and look at myself!”
Instead of reaching into the magic purse, Lex laced her fingers around Madison’s shoulders and gave her a good, steady shake. “Stop it!” she barked. “First of all, there happens to be a dead body behind us. Second of all, people are starting to stare at you. And third of all, that dress is made from the finest silk, and club soda would be too abrasive to use on it. Now take a deep breath and maintain.”
Madison swallowed hard. She nodded and wiped a line of sweat from her forehead. “You’re right,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Club soda is a dumb idea.”
“Damn right it is,” Lex said sharply.
“Everybody, please stay away from the body!” Park called out, cupping her hands over her mouth. “Remain at the curb and do not come forward until the police get here!” She made clear gestures with her arms, instructing the men who had run out of their cars to take several steps back. “For those of you who may be feeling faint, please lean forward and breathe deeply. Do not be afraid to sit down on the street. I will pay for your dry cleaning bills personally. Please note that this ugly scene is an obvious tragedy and has nothing to do with any live person here.”
“And Hamilton Holdings is an equal opportunity employer,” Lex said to the gathering crowd, noting the strict professionalism of Park’s tone.
“What the hell happened?” Madison asked. There were tears in her eyes. “Did…did Elijah jump? Commit suicide? Oh, God—it’s just so horrible!”
“I don’t know if he jumped or what,” Lex answered. “But I guess we have to check.”
“Check?” Madison’s voice rose. “Do we have to? I totally don’t feel like scoping out a corpse today!”
“We have to move in and inspect the scene,” Lex shot back. “What if…what if by some strange twist of fate he’s still slightly alive?”
“Look at him!” Madison pointed to the body. “He may as well be a mannequin in a Macy’s storefront window. He’s practically headless! There’s blood everywhere!”
“Right now,” Park said evenly, “we’re going to handle this calmly and have a look-see. And because I know a Krispy Kreme shop opened yesterday on Third Avenue, it’ll take at least three m
ore minutes for the cops to get here. Besides, we’re good when it comes to homicides.”
“Homicide?” Madison blinked furiously.
Park nodded.
“What…how do you know it’s a…” Madison closed her eyes, shook her head, and took a deep breath. “Maybe he fell…or jumped on purpose! We don’t know that it’s a homicide!”
“I think I saw something on Elijah’s body I don’t like,” Park said. “And I’m pretty sure we’re looking at a homicide.”
“Oh, great,” Lex whispered. “I guess I’m not going to get any work done tonight.”
“Ignore the crowds and follow me,” Park instructed them. She led the way to the body. She mentally blocked out the people who had gathered all over the avenue and sidestepped three separate pools of blood. From this vantage point, she could see the blue-tinged pallor of Elijah Traymore’s neck, as well as the way the back of his head had literally flattened against the concrete. “Well, it’s obvious that he changed clothes after meeting us and leaving the luncheon,” she said. “He’s not in the biker outfit.”
Madison cupped a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed along her fingers. “The poor guy,” she whispered. “He probably died of fear before he even hit the ground. The adrenaline must’ve shot through him and totally wrecked his heart.”
Lex nodded. “I know. He might’ve been sleazy, but this is a horrible way to go. But I don’t think he died in midair, Madison. The fall was too quick. He died instantly from the blunt trauma of hitting concrete at a million miles an hour.”
“Right,” Park said. “But the cause of death is from internal hemorrhaging. Every organ in his body is oozing right now, not just his brain.”
“And look at his right ankle,” Madison said. “It’s all blue and broken. Isn’t that multiple combustion?”
“Multiple contusions,” Park corrected her. She pointed down to the front of the body. “But look very closely. Do you see what I’m seeing?”
The Celebutantes Page 6