by Avery Aster
“I’m afraid I’ll lose the company.”
“Having your own business is similar to blowing a balloon into the air. You have to keep huffing and puffing to keep it up.” Lex’s losses were different than hers. Taddy had lost her shirt as a teenager. Lex, on the other hand, owned the whole enchilada, until two years before when her father killed himself and Birdie filed bankruptcy. Lex had grown up with comforts and luxuries Taddy’s parents had stopped providing.
“I’ve worked twenty-four-seven to build this year’s collection. Easton is all I have.” Lex squeezed her hand. “Same way your company is all you’ve got, too.”
“Right.” No argument there. “We both have to deal with our insecurities this summer. Mine is with a relationship, and yours is with money.” She studied her friend’s face. Something in addition to Easton’s runaway success worried Lex. “Anything else you wanna talk about?”
The color drained from her cheeks. Taddy hadn’t seen her friend so serious since Vancouver, when Birdie’s life was in question. “I didn’t come to talk about fashion. I’m trying to find some courage to tell you something. Hence, my rambling.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“I figured as much. Is Birdie okay?” Six months had passed since the fatal skin condition scare, and Taddy assumed they were due for another cray-cray spell.
“Mom’s great, and she says hello. Still sober. Easton’s success has given her this renewed energy and will to live. It’s a blessing.”
“Then what is it?”
Her friend reached into her black croc tote. “Vive gets why I’m here.” Lex pulled out a Farnworth Firewater bottle from her bag.
“Where did you get that from?” Taddy laughed.
“Vive suggested we do a shot first. Then I’ll give you the news.”
“You don’t drink.”
Lex’s forehead lifted. “This could prove a great time to start.”
“It’s a few minutes after nine. I’m not drinking anything but espresso.” Taddy gawked at her. She hadn’t seen Lex have a boozy drop since her father died. What the flip is going on?
“I have to.” Lex unscrewed the lid and threw back one chug.
“Lex! You can’t be serious.”
“Lord, that’s strong.” Her friend thrust the bottle in her hands. “Down one tiny glass. Then I’ll talk.”
Taddy wiped the bottle’s neck with her palm and sipped quickly. “Okay, spill it.”
“Your mother…called my mom.”
“Come again?”
“Irma says she has to see you.”
It felt as if cold water had poured over her body. “My…mother?” She gulped two more Farnworth Firewater mouthfuls. The liquor burned going down, making her eyes water. But Taddy knew her tears weren’t from the high-proof alcohol. Preparing for the details, Taddy sat strong.
“Irma rang my mom yesterday. She caught you on the financial news. Your France press conference aired globally. Irma told Birdie she must see you and quick.”
Suddenly, a sharp pain went up the side of Taddy’s neck. She cocked her head, swallowing back the bitterness coming up. The two sat speechless for several minutes. Aunt Muffie had come by her penthouse with her mother. Her mother had come to her door. But why? When Taddy was able to speak, she remarked, “I’m surprised. Birdie still talks to my mom after—”
“Mom hasn’t spoken to the Brillfords since you emancipated. She picked your side, as did most everyone, including the law.”
“I remember.”
“Irma is, and I quote, ‘the friend who keeps my mother’s secrets’,” Lex confessed. “It’s possible the Banging Birdie book didn’t tell the world enough. You all right?”
“No.”
With a hug, she offered, “Vive’s flying back from Chicago today. We’re here for you. We’ll go with you to see Irma, if you want. And if you decide not to contact her, we’ll support the decision. Mom told me to tell you she’d be more than happy to call Irma back and tell her to drop dead.”
“I must see what she wants.”
“Okay…Vive suggested hosting a girls’ night at her place when you get off work. I’ve already ordered the fuck-it buckets filled with our favorite Dylan’s candy.” Lex’s route to peace and happiness existed in filling large plastic containers with Swedish Fish, Sour Watermelon Gummies, and Mini Gummy Bears.
“I love you guys.” She pulled Lex in close to hide her tears.
“We’re here for you.” Lex gave her a squeeze. “It’s about time you leaned on us for a change.”
“Thanks.”
“Vive and I can handle it. We wonder what the hell Irma wants. You haven’t seen her in how long?”
“Since the emancipation hearing.”
A beep from her desk’s intercom sounded. “Miss Brill?”
“Yes?”
“Neve Adele is on line four. I’m putting her through.”
I miss Kiki to field client drama. “Be right there.” She dropped her voice and said to Lex, “Let me take this.”
Lex nodded in agreement. “I’m headed back to the showroom. I’ll see if I can get more dirt from my mom about Irma.” She handed Taddy a note. “This is the number Irma gave Birdie. She asked that you call her today.”
Taddy glared at the paper. Why wasn’t I good enough for my mother’s love? Taking the paper, she read the number, though she didn’t have to. Taddy knew the seven digits by heart.
Suddenly, she remembered the last time she’d called that line. Taddy had spoken to Irma on her sixteenth birthday. She’d called home to tell her mother she’d filed the legal paperwork separating herself from her parents. Helpless, her mother hadn’t said a word. She’d just held the line and sobbed. When Taddy heard her father shouting in the background, Irma hung up. The line went dead, as had their communication.
She placed the note on her desk as a reminder, but knew she didn’t need anything to prompt her to call home. “I have to put on my poker face and best PR voice for Neve. Will you excuse me?” Another tear fell down her face. She felt it bead over her chin.
Her friend nodded, knowing not to step closer and hug her again or for sure she’d lose it. Lex cupped her hands over her lips and slowly blew a kiss to Taddy.
Taddy sat at her desk and answered her phone. “Neve, darling, how are you?” Her mind wasn’t on Neve. As selfish as it seemed, Taddy didn’t give two shits and a fuck as to how this beauty queen, who wanted to be a handbag designer, felt. Countess Irma Brillford wanted to see her. She glanced at the time. It was 10:18 a.m. in New York, which meant it was 5:18 p.m. in France. Warner’s meetings should’ve been wrapping up. Taddy couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t called.
Neve’s voice broke through her subconscious. “Hello? Taddy? Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, darling, go ahead.” She put her head on her arms, realizing she’d missed everything Neve had said.
“I wanted to check in and get an update on my brand and talk to you about a PR idea I had.” Neve’s shrill voice, the one she never used when answering a judge’s question onstage, demanded answers. “We should use as many animal prints as possible. Leopard and cheetah fabric would be gorgeous.”
Hell no! “Interesting.”
“I told Blake—”
“He worked on your account all weekend. What did Blake say when you suggested this?”
“Blake mentioned animal prints are now passé.”
She skimmed over the Neve Adele account folder on her desk. “In his notes, it says you want varying shades of purple. We agree with your favorite color, wisteria.”
“It’s lilac.”
“Right, sorry! Anyways, our team presents to Lifestyle TV later this week. If they approve the inspiration boards, we’ll move forward with sourcing and manufacturing.” Holding the receiver away from her face for a second, she felt tempted to throw it out the window. Taking a deep breath, Taddy brought the phone back to her lips, summoning the strength to do her job. “How’s your reality show going?”
“Are you comfortable going nude?” Taddy didn’t think Neve had the guts.
“I loved your photos in Playboy. Your body is stunning.”
“Thank you.” Something had to pay for Columbia University’s tuition.
“I’d forfeit my Miss Glamour USA crown if I posed nude, so I can’t. My tiara and title are my greatest accomplishment.”
Stick a fork in my eye right now, Jesus. “I understand. We could do a philanthropic activity. Footage where you’re visiting women’s shelters wearing your crown and sash.” She tried not to laugh as Neve mumbled over her. Taddy added, “You realize, to drive ratings.”
“Being humane won’t work for this trashy network.”
“Then be yourself on TV, darling.”
“My idea was to sing a song at your Candy Land Ball,” Neve said.
“Sing?”
“Yup. I’ve been practicing this song I wrote called ‘I’m a Reality’. It’s good.”
Taddy hated when clients thought they should have iTunes hits. It drove her nuts. The girl had gone from beauty pageants to handbags to music. What next? Her own line of wine from Napa Valley? So she tested her. “Sing it.”
“Huh?”
“Right now, on the phone. To me.”
“Well…I can text you a link to hear it digitally.”
“Why?”
“My voice has to be mixed and stuff. You know, to the music.”
“Naturally, of course.” Figures.
Another beep came through her intercom and the receptionist alerted, “Miss Brill, Kiki is holding on line two for you.”
“Neve, I have to go. Send me the link. I’ll listen to it and call you later about Candy Land. Bye, darling.”
Taddy muttered a quick prayer that Neve would get some common sense. Then she picked up the other line. “Kiki, how’s Utah?” She closed her eyes.
“Miss Brill, my folks and I have been talking about whether or not I should come back to New York City.” Her assistant’s voice sounded shakier than usual.
“And?” After they’d talked in the car, she thought the air had been cleared, but Taddy realized her parents were influencing her. Damn Blake and his on-the-money assumptions about my assistants.
“We think it’s in my best interest if…I do return to New York.”
“YEAH!” Taddy cleared her throat, “I mean, I do, too.”
“But there’s one condition.” Kiki spoke as if her father had put her up to it. Perhaps he was listening in on the other line.
Sweet Jesus Jersey White Corn. “What’s your stipulation?”
“Dad, stop—” Kiki covered the phone and hushed a voice in the background. “My folks want me to leave Jersey City and move into Manhattan. They want me within walking distance of the office.”
“Agreed.” She opened her eyes and sat back in her chair. “You’ll receive a raise. We’ll retroact your paycheck so it goes into effect for the next pay cycle. I’ve got a great broker who can get you an apartment in midtown. I’ll even make your first month’s rent.”
“Honest, Miss Brill?” she asked in a choked voice.
“Tell your father I appreciate him coaching you.”
“Thank you,” Kiki sniveled over the phone.
“Please, don’t cry.”
“Waaaah. Suuh, suuh… “
“I’ll see you back at work, next Monday.”
After several sniffs, her assistant’s tears subsided.
“I’m glad to hear you’re coming back. Please, give your family my best.”
“Bye, Miss Brill.”
Taddy PR’d her way through lunch at her desk and listened to Neve’s song. To her surprise, “I’m a Reality” was good. It reminded her of “Tardy for the Party” and you could dance to it, which was all that mattered. Taddy agreed to let her perform at her Candy Land Ball. She glanced at her cell phone once. After two p.m. she elected not to check it again until her dinner arrived. She ate a tuna salad at her desk and didn’t hear a peep from Warner. At six p.m., she gave in to temptation and called his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. Either he wasn’t answering or he’d turned off his phone. Screw him and the having-a-man-in-my-life fantasy.
She wasn’t sure if she grew angrier at herself for having expectations that what they’d shared could lead to something, or for buckling under and calling him. She didn’t leave a message when his sweet voice came on the line, and promised herself she wouldn’t ring him again. Taddy couldn’t help but reflect back on her emotions from the week before when she’d thrown his number away over the misconception that he was engaged or, by that stage, married.
After swallowing another shot of Farnworth Firewater, Taddy dialed her mother’s number. She kept the trashcan by her desk in case she heaved.
“Brillford residence,” a man’s voice answered.
“Hello…is Countess Irma there, please?”
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“Mr. Constance, is this you?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Taddy.” Her voice sounded childlike. “I mean…Tabitha Adelaide, Irma’s daughter. Is my…mother there?”
Dom Perignon Rosé
Countess Irma was shopping downtown when Taddy called. Mr. Constance had been left with instructions to make sure Taddy stopped by the following day between ten and noon. She agreed to meet Irma the next morning at Irma’s apartment, the home she’d grown up in.
Taddy texted Vive and Lex, thanking them for the support, but she needed to be alone. She feared if she hung out with them, they’d put ideas in her head, angry thoughts based on resentment. Over the years, the Manhattan community had grown to despise Irma for her choices. A desire to see her mother with an open mind would be hard, but Taddy would do her best. Her friends agreed to be on standby after her visit.
She canceled José's car service for her usual late-night ride home. Slipping on a pair of sneakers she kept in her workout bag, she walked from her office at 42nd Street and 8th Avenue to 71st and Park Avenue. The distance was just over two and half miles. It was a stroll she didn’t take often, but when the moon was out like it was then, it was a wonderful way to clear her head. She was elated that Kiki was coming back to New York and also confident Lex would learn to enjoy her fashion empire’s success. Blake could work on Neve’s account. Money aside, tiara-wearing beauty queens were something she didn’t have the patience for—not at this stage in her career.
After turning the corner, she stepped up to her building. The graveyard shift doorman greeted her as she went into the elevator and pushed the button for the penthouse floor.
When she entered her residence, she spotted a large pink suitcase. Huh? It read ‘Dom Perignon Rosé Champagne’ on the lid. Taddy opened the case, recognizing its exclusivity. Designed by Karl Lagerfeld, it was used in the short 1996 film titled by its namesake. Aw, Warner must’ve sent this.
Unfastening the latches, Taddy saw six amber bottles of bubbly. An envelope inside was addressed to ‘My Red’. She opened the seal on the letter and a ticket stub fell into her palm. She flipped the tag over to read, “Barth/Red/Dec30/Vajazz.” Taddy recognized the paper. Its icon and logo came from Secrète de St. Barth. On the back, the tagline read, “A Warner Truman Property.”
Díma came from the kitchen to greet her. “Your guest brought the champagne. I’d put it in the fridge, but we don’t have room for all of these bottles.”
“Guest?”
“He’s waited for you for a few hours.” Díma pointed into the living room.
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Truman. He lost his phone charger.” Díma held his hands up in possible frustration. “We did not have one to lend him. I told him I’d go out and buy him one, but he said he’d wait ’til you came home.” A smile on her butler stretched practica
lly ear to ear. “Maybe he just wanted to surprise you, Miss Brill.”
Taddy walked in to the sitting room to see Warner sound asleep on the chaise lounge. His long legs, the ones that had carried her and supported her while he made love to her, were stretched out as if he owned the room. The arms he’d used to hold her at night, which had taught her how to be respectful to him, hung down at his sides. Those strong hands, which had cupped her face, caressed her body, and excited her sex, rested against the floor.
She looked back to see her butler staring in on her with a grin. “Thank you, Díma. Throw out whatever is in the fridge and stock it with the champagne.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Díma…why don’t you take tomorrow off?”
He whispered a thank you and added, “I’ve put the dogs in the kitchen for the night.” He headed to his quarters. Taddy took the envelope and walked over to Warner.
You’re here.
You came for me.
You kept your word.
Standing there for a few seconds, she stared at Warner, not waking him. Even asleep, he exuded power. She admired his beauty, his being, and how he’d kept his promise in coming for her. Careful not to let her shoes make a noise against the marble floor, she tiptoed closer. Leaning over him, she tucked her hair behind her ears and planted her lips on his. “Big Daddy,” she whispered.
Warner’s mouth curved into a smile and his hazel eyes opened. “My Red.” He pulled her onto his lap.
“What happened to staying in Cannes this week?” She ran her hands along the vertical white buttons on his shirt.
“I missed you,” he replied without hesitation, massaging her hand with his.
“Really?” She bit the inside of her cheek, stifling a grin as she wrapped her fingers around his.
“Smile. Your cheek-biting thing is getting old.” He laughed. Rubbing his hand along her jawline, he kissed her. “I packed my things and boarded the jet. We taxied halfway down the runway and experienced a mechanical issue, so I flew commercial to London only hours after I dropped you off. I thought about calling you from Heathrow airport, but wanted to surprise you. I couldn’t get a flight to New York. I had to layover in London first. No direct flights. Everything was booked up.”