TANYA
He looked up at Janette still standing in front of his desk. His first impulse had been to tell her, and he had telephoned her from the bank vault in Switzerland. But she had not been ready for him to come to the clinic. Only now, he understood why. What she had done was much more than just diet. But perhaps it was all for the best. There had been no need such as Tanya had mentioned. And Janette had her own idea of the direction she wanted to take.
“What are you going to do then?” he asked.
“I’ve already done it,” she said. “I have a job as mannequin for Yves St. Laurent.”
The name was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it. “Who is he?”
“The new designer at Dior. He took over when Dior died and he’s already at work on his first collection. He thinks I’m just the type he needs.”
“Good,” he said. Then he smiled suddenly. “It’s just as well then that I did not let Jacques go.”
“You were right,” she said. “I know now I could never do his job as well as he does. Besides, I want something else.”
What’s that?” he asked.
“What my mother wanted. My own fashion house. But it will take some time. I’m not ready for it yet.” She stepped toward his desk and picked up the picture in a standing frame, its back to her. She turned the photograph toward her. “Your wife?”
“Yes. Heidi.”
“She’s lovely,” she said, still holding the photograph. “When do I get to meet her?”
“Tonight at dinner, if you like.”
She nodded, returning the picture to the desk. “At home, at eight o’clock. I’ll have Henri do something special.”
“We’ll be there.”
“I’ll have Lauren wait up for you. She adores your wife. She speaks of no one but her.”
Johann smiled. “Heidi loves her.”
Janette smiled in return. “You are a lucky man. She must be a wonderful woman. Children have the greatest instincts. They’re like animals. They smell out the good and the bad. And if Lauren loves her, there has to be nothing but good.”
That was more than two years ago. There had been other changes since then. Six months after Janette had returned from Switzerland, Heidi had approached him with the idea of having Lauren come to live with them.
“I don’t know,” he had said thoughtfully.
“Why not?” Heidi asked. “She lives in that big house practically alone. She rarely sees her sister, only the servants. She needs more than that. She’s entitled to more than that. She’s a beautiful, warm, loving child with no one to love.”
“And you don’t think Janette is enough for her?”
“You’re not stupid, Johann,” Heidi said with a tinge of exasperation. “You know better than that. Janette is too busy with her own life. She hasn’t time to give anything to the child, even if she wanted to.”
He looked at Heidi. “You don’t like Janette, do you?”
Heidi didn’t answer for a moment. “That has nothing to do with my suggestion. It doesn’t matter whether I like her or not. I’m concerned with Lauren.”
“What if we have a child of our own?” Johann asked.
“It wouldn’t make any difference. I would still want to give Lauren a home. I love her and she loves me.”
He was silent for a moment. “If she does come to live with us, it may mean we could not move to America as soon as we had planned.”
“I know now, whether she comes to live with us or not, we have to remain here. This is where your work is, this is where your responsibility lies. So that wouldn’t make any difference.”
He nodded. “All right. I’ll talk to Janette tomorrow.”
In a way he thought he detected a sense of relief in Janette when he spoke to her. Heidi found a larger apartment in the Bois de Boulogne and two months later Lauren came to live with them. The first thing Heidi did was to discharge the nanny and take over the care of the child herself. And Heidi had been right. Lauren bloomed, the dark shadows disappeared from her eyes, and now she was always happy and laughing.
He took the magazine home with him that night and after dinner he showed the advertisement to Heidi. She looked at it for a moment, then up at him. “She is beautiful.”
“Jacques said the time has come to start a whole couture around her,” he said.
“What does she say?” Heidi asked.
“I haven’t spoken to her yet.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s risky,” he answered. “We’re not making any money with Shiki. But on the other hand we’re not losing. Jacques feels that Shiki has had all the chances and is sure that he’ll never make it. But I don’t know. It’s a hundred-million-franc gamble and if it loses, I’ve severely hurt the little one’s inheritance.”
“What about Janette?”
“In fact, I’m not responsible for her share anymore. She’s of age and can make her own decisions if she wants.”
“But she’s left that all to you still, hasn’t she?”
He nodded.
“I wonder why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “She knows of her rights.”
“If she took charge of her own affairs, could we then go to the States as we had planned?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “if I could work out proper safeguards for Lauren so that she would be protected no matter what happens.”
“My father said he was beginning to think of retirement. He would like you to come over and look into his business. He feels you would do well there.”
“He’s prejudiced,” Johann said. “Besides he wants his daughter home.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I happen to think my father is right. You would do well in America.” She paused for a moment. “Do you think if we did go, Lauren could come with us?”
“It’s possible. I am her legal guardian still, and if there are no objections raised, there shouldn’t be any problems.”
“Janette is the only one who could possibly raise objections,” Heidi said.
“It’s just possible that Maurice might be able to do something. I don’t know. But on the record he is her father. Whether he really is or isn’t might not be pertinent.”
“Maurice doesn’t give a damn,” she said.
“If he thought there was money in it, he might.” He looked at her. “But we’re way ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? Nothing has happened yet.”
She looked down at the photograph. “It may not be that far away,” she said thoughtfully. “Janette would not do something like this if she did not have a larger purpose in mind.”
He smiled. “Jacques feels exactly the same way.”
“Jacques is right,” she said. She looked down at the photograph again. “How big do you think that diamond on her finger is?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said.
“It has to be at least thirty carats.” She looked up at him. “Any girl that would pose nude with a thirty-carat diamond has to have big ideas.”
Louise came down to the mannequins’ dressing room just behind the atelier, flushed with excitement. She went directly to where Janette was sitting in front of her dressing table making up her eyes for the evening. “The old man is in a rage,” she said. “He just saw your photograph.”
Janette looked up at her in the mirror. The blond girl was almost breathless. “It probably turned him on,” she said.
“I was in Yves’ office,” Louise said. “And he came in screaming. He walked up and down in front of Yves’ desk yelling that it was all his fault, how could he allow you to do it? The whole thing was a put-down of the House of Dior, of the whole art of couture, the entire industry.”
“What did Yves say?”
“Nothing,” Louise said. “He just looked down at the photograph and smiled.”
Janette laughed. “I don’t think he really gives a damn. He knows he’s going into the army and he knows that Boussac is going to fuck him one way or the
other.”
“But what are you going to do?” Louise asked. “Yves goes next week, the old man’s going to fire you.”
“No, he’s not,” Janette said. “I’ve already handed in my notice. This is my last week here. Friday, after Yves’ farewell party, I leave and never come back.”
Louise’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “No?”
“Yes.”
The blond girl looked at her. “Do you think Yves knows that already?”
“If he doesn’t, he should,” Janette replied. “I gave my letter to personnel on Monday. That was two days ago.”
“You have another job?”
Janette shook her head. “No.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“First, I’m going to eat one good meal without worrying about my weight. I took a good look at that picture, and my hips are too bony. Another kilo won’t hurt. Then I’m going to take a vacation. Maybe I’ll go the States for a few weeks. I’ve never been there.” She finished her makeup and got to her feet. “I’ve got to run, I’ve got a cocktail date.”
Louise looked up at her enviously. “You’re lucky, Janette.”
“What makes you say that?” Janette said.
“You can do anything you like,” Louise said. “But I have to stay and take all this shit. They already made a date for me on Friday with that buyer from the Texas store. He’ll probably paw me all evening and by the time I get back to his hotel, he’ll be too drunk to even fuck, so I’ll have to go down on him to keep him happy.”
Janette laughed. “So what? Would you rather fuck him?”
“It might be nice for a change,” Louise said. “But all any of them seem to want is to get sucked.”
“C’est la vie,” Janette said.
“You can afford to say that,” Louise said. “You’re rich.”
Janette stopped and looked down at her thoughtfully for a moment. “That’s right. I’m rich.” Then she bent down and kissed her friend on the mouth. “And so are you, Louise. In your own way.”
Silently, Louise watched Janette go to the door. “Bon soir, Janette.”
Janette smiled at her from the doorway. “Ciao, baby.” For some strange reason there were tears running down Louise’s cheeks. Slowly she began to remove her makeup.
She parked the mini in front of the gray apartment building on the Ile Saint-Louis, facing the Seine. She pressed the buzzer on the door.
An old concierge shuffled to the door and opened it, peering out at her. “Madame?”
“Monsieur Fayard.”
He sniffed disapprovingly as he opened the door still farther. “Le penthouse,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase.
“What’s the matter with the elevator?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “C’est mort.”
“Merde,” she said and began climbing the six flights of stairs. There was just one door on the top landing. She pressed the doorbell. She could hear a chime echoing inside the apartment door.
The door opened and a young man stood there, his fair hair tousled, a T-shirt and blue jeans seemingly glued to his body. His eyes looked at her without expression. “Hello, Janette,” he said in English.
“Marlon,” she said, her eyes falling for a moment to the large bulge in his jeans.
He stepped back, letting her go into the apartment, then closing the door behind him. “Shopping?” he grinned.
“No,” she said. “Just curious. Is it all you in there or six handkerchiefs?”
He laughed. “It’s all me. Want to touch it to prove it?”
“No, thanks,” she said, returning his laugh. “I believe you.” She looked into the apartment. The living room was empty. “Philippe home yet?”
“He’s been home since lunchtime,” Marlon said. “He didn’t eat. Just went into his room and hasn’t come out since.” A note of concern came into his voice. “Is there anything wrong? He hasn’t lost his job, has he?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I asked him about buying an air conditioner for the bedroom. The sun makes the roof unbearable. He got angry and said we can’t afford it, there would be no more money for anything, we’d be lucky to have money to eat.”
She looked at him. “And if that were true, what would you do?”
“Start packing,” he said in a flat voice. “I didn’t come all the way to Paris to wind up on the same street corner I left in Los Angeles.”
She smiled gently, shaking her head. “You really are a whore, aren’t you?”
“I never pretended to be anything else,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I also fuck pretty good.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt that. But things aren’t radical enough for you to consider that yet. Now, tell me, which way to the bedroom?”
He gestured to a door at the far end of the living room and followed her as she walked toward it. She turned to look at him as she raised her hand to knock at the door.
“Tell me,” she asked. “Is your name really Marlon?”
He laughed. “No. I took it from the movie actor. All the guys like it better than Sam.”
She laughed and knocked at the door softly.
A muffled voice came from inside the room. “What is it?”
“Janette,” she said. “We had a date for a drink, remember?”
“Go away,” Philippe said through the doorway. “I don’t feel well.”
She glanced at Marlon, shrugged, then opened the door and went into the bedroom. She stood there for a moment. Philippe was stretched out on the bed, still in his clothes. She closed the door and walked toward him.
“I told you to go away,” he mumbled, without looking up at her.
She stood next to the bed, looking down at him. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“He doesn’t love me. Nobody loves me.” Philippe still didn’t raise his head from the pillow.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You know that Marlon loves you.”
He sat up suddenly; the tears had streaked the mascara from his lashes down his cheeks. “I know that Marlon loves me,” he said vehemently. “I’m not talking about him. I mean Yves. I tried to talk to him about what I would do there while he was in the army and he wouldn’t even answer me. He had enough of his own problems to worry about. And Boussac hates me, he’ll never give me a chance at Yves’ job. He’s going to bring Marc back from London. I know it, I just know it. And then I’m finished.”
“Why?” she asked. “Marc seems like a reasonable man.”
“Remember the fight I had with him last year when I went over there to help him with the London collection? He said I would never understand the modifications that would have to be made for the British taste and figure. He hates me. I’m finished.”
She was silent for a moment. “That’s right,” she said, turning and walked back to the door. “That’s why I wanted to meet you for a drink. I don’t hate you. I love you. I think you’re a genius. An even greater genius than any of them—Yves or Marc. And I have faith in you.” Abruptly she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Marlon was standing there. “How is he?”
“He’s all right,” she said, opening her purse and taking out two five-hundred-franc notes. She put them in his hand. “You’re working for me now. Whatever I tell him is the greatest idea you ever heard.”
The money disappeared under his belt. “Gotcha.”
She nodded. “Good. You’ll get your air conditioner after all. Maybe we’ll throw in a car for good measure.”
He smiled. “I’m a reasonable man.”
The door behind her opened. Philippe was standing there. He had washed his face, the traces of mascara were gone, and his hair was combed. “You really meant what you said?” He couldn’t keep his satisfaction out of his voice.
She met his eyes steadily. “I wouldn’t say if it I didn’t mean it.”
He nodded. “You had something in mind?”
“Y
es. Would you like to talk about it?”
“I’m always ready to listen,” he said. He looked at Marlon. “I’m hungry. Do you think you can fix me something to eat?”
“Ham-and-cheese sandwich? Ham and eggs?” Marlon asked.
“The sandwich. And a bottle of beer.” He looked at Janette. “Would you like something?”
“I’ll have a beer,” she said.
“Coming right up,” Marlon said, disappearing toward the kitchen.
Philippe led her to a small table near the window. They sat down and she looked out at a bateau mouche moving up the Seine. “You have one of the most beautiful views in Paris,” she said.
“Isn’t it?” he said enthusiastically. “I just love it. Too bad it isn’t warm enough to sit outside on the terrace. It’s really great then.”
She smiled. “It’s worth walking up the six flights.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “The elevator was supposed to be fixed last week.”
“It happens,” she said. She looked across the table at him. “I’m leaving Dior this Friday.”
“But you’re Yves’ favorite mannequin,” Philippe exclaimed.
“He won’t be there anymore, will he?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Besides I’m bored with it. I want to do something else. Being a mannequin does not appeal to me.”
Marlon came back, placed the sandwich in front of Philippe, put three glasses of beer on the table, then pulled up a chair and sat down with them.
Philippe took a bite of his sandwich. “This is just beautiful, darling,” he said to Marlon. “Just the right amount of mustard.” He turned back to Janette. “What do you want to do?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“I want my own fashion house,” she said.
He looked at her. “But you already have one with Shiki,” he said.
“That’s not mine,” she said. “It was started before I had anything to do with it. And it’s yesterday. I want something for today.”
“Then what will happen to Shiki?”
“He goes,” she said flatly. “The house stays and I change the name to mine. Not that there is anything wrong with my mother’s name, Tanya, but it is already identified too strongly with the passé. I’m not interested in yesterday fashions, only tomorrow.”
Harold Robbins Thriller Collection Page 67
