“Let me clarify that,” the man said. “He’s George Redman. I’m sorry, Leana, but you didn’t learn from him like Celina did. His hotels are among the city’s best. And may I remind you? The last hotel you opened was nearly blown up. You and your father were shot there. Louis Ryan died there. How is that going to play in the press should you decide to enter into the hotel business now?”
“Don’t you get it?” she said. “That’s one of the reasons I want to do this. People won’t expect me to go into the hotel business for that very reason. People will think it’s audacious. Probably reckless. For that reason, the press will pay attention, and the press will write about it, which you and I both know is gold.”
“Not if you don’t come through with the goods.”
She was unwilling to give up. “How about meeting me halfway? I may not have been an active participant in my father’s success, but I certainly paid attention to him and Celina when they were working on new projects, including his hotels. When I had the chance, I listened. Let me make an appointment to see the hotel. Then you can decide if I’m wrong about it.”
“Is it even for sale?”
“Thanks to Harold, I have enough money to make almost anything available for sale. Just humor me. Let’s take an afternoon and visit it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
They weren’t.
Within a matter of weeks, a deal was inked, the city approved the historic updates presented to them by architects her father himself used, and the painstaking restoration work began.
That was two years ago. Four months ago, branding the hotel began. They decided to name it The Park. Two months ago, the official website was launched. A month ago, a reservation system on the site went live. And now, in just four weeks, the hotel’s doors would open to welcome its first full house in over a decade.
The limousine swung onto Fifth and moved toward the Redman International Building. Her cell rang. She pulled it out of her handbag, looked at the number, but didn’t recognize it. With her staff working days, evenings and nights to finish the hotel in time, it could be anyone. She answered it. “This is Leana.”
“Leana Redman?”
She didn’t recognize his voice. “This is she. Who’s calling?”
“A friend.”
“Which friend?”
“The kind of friend who tells you that things aren’t going to go well for you. The kind of friend who tells you that before your death, things are going to take a serious turn for the worst.”
She looked up and saw the driver looking at her in the mirror.
“Who is this?”
“The end of you.”
“What did you say?”
“You’re a murderer.”
“I’m a what?”
“You’re a murderer and your own hotel says so. It’s there for everyone to see. I suggest you go and look at it for yourself.”
The line went dead.
Leana sat there for a moment, staring at the phone. They were nearing Redman International. She told the driver to take her to the hotel, then she called her father to tell him she’d be a few minutes late. “I’m stuck in traffic,” she said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Hands shaking, she called Mario and told him about the conversation. “I’ll meet you at the hotel,” he said.
When they turned onto Park, Leana could see the hotel in the distance. A group of people was standing in front of it, including the police, whose cars were pulled to the curb, their lights flashing across the hotel’s facade.
Everyone appeared to be looking up at the black tarp that protected the front of the building during construction. Most stared at it. Cars slowed while people paused to look at it. The crowds and the press took photographs of it.
As she drew closer, she noticed that two news vans were there. And then she saw Mario, who broke toward her into a run when he spotted her car. He held up his hands and motioned for the driver to pull over onto Forty-Eighth Street, next to the Starbucks. He opened her door.
“What’s wrong?” she said, stepping out of the car.
“The press is here,” he said. “Compose yourself. Expect the worst. Tell them it’s a prank. Play it cool.”
“Play what cool?”
“Just listen to me. It’s a prank. That’s what you’ll say. It’s just an unfortunate prank and you will have it removed immediately. You’ve got to listen to me now, Leana. It’s just some stupid prank. You’ll be shocked and hurt when you see it, but try not to let it show. Try to keep it light. You’re untouchable. Right now, I need you to act that way.”
She looked up and caught a glimpse of the tarp just as the media saw her.
As she came around to look up at it, the press charged forward and bathed her in what seemed like a thousand explosions of light. Time ground to a halt. Leana lifted a hand to her eyes so she could see, but the lights were too bright. The reporters started calling out her name. They shouted at her for answers she didn’t have because she couldn’t see what they were talking about.
It wasn’t until there was a break in the flickering deluge that she saw all of it.
Her hand dropped to her side. She felt Mario take her by the arm to steady her. The circus of voices, lights and cameras began in earnest again, determined to capture her at her most vulnerable.
Scrawled on the tarp in massive red letters were six words. She read them again and again as if she had to assure herself that this wasn’t real and that her family wasn’t being targeted again.
But it was starting again. Somehow, it was starting again. The words had been chosen for ultimate humiliation and degradation. She looked at them with a sense of foreboding and knew what was ahead of her.
“LEANA REDMAN IS A MURDERING CUNT!” the message said.
When one of the television reporters stepped forward to ask her if it was true, all she could do was hold Mario back and walk away with him in fear and disbelief.
CHAPTER SIX
When she and Mario were in the limousine, she called her father, told him what happened and that she wouldn’t be able to make it.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry for what? Have they removed the tarp?”
“I’m calling my crew next.”
“You should have called them first, so do it now and do it fast. The sooner it’s down, the better. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Call me when you’re ready and we’ll reschedule. But let’s do it soon. I need to talk to you about Pepper. You’ll get through this. Keep Mario close.”
She hung up, surprised by his concern and that he’d given her even a trace of advice, which was unlike him. She called her construction chief and told him about the situation, which he knew about. He informed her that the tarp already was in the process of being replaced. “We’re working as fast as we can,” he said.
“How did this happen, Harry? Someone inside should be paying attention to what’s happening outside.”
“I’ve got everyone on-hand working in the rooms,” he said. “Right now, a staff member is stationed outside the building. Someone will be there day and night until the hotel opens. This will be fixed quickly. Don’t let this get to you.”
“I won’t.”
But that was a lie. Already it was eating away at her. Tonight, she’d headline the local news, if not the national news, as well as the news and gossip websites. In tomorrow’s papers, her face and the portion of that message they could print would be put in front of millions of people who either liked the Redmans or hated them. The story would be picked up by radio and discussed at length on countless shows. She was sick at the thought of it. And she was scared to death of what that message could mean for her and her family.
Tonight was supposed to be a night to reconnect on some level with her father and a night to talk to the press about her new hotel. Now what was it?
An opportunity.
It was Harold’s voice. She ran a hand through her hair and considered the thought. She should be in front
of this story, not behind it. She should be standing up to whoever did this to her, not shrinking away from them. At this moment, looking weak was the worst thing she could do. The Fondaras party was the perfect opportunity to face this head on.
She looked at her watch and then at Mario.
“You up for a party?” she asked.
* * *
Within thirty minutes, they were out of their apartment, back in the limousine and off to the party.
Now, Mario wore a pair of jeans, Prada loafers and a pale blue shirt that was open at the neck. On his wrist was a massive nickel-plated watch that was nearly as bright as the diamonds he gave Leana. When it caught the light, the effect was dazzling.
“You’re sure about this?” he said.
“I’m positive about this.”
“I’ve got to say, you’re doing the right thing.”
She squeezed his hand.
“But be ready. The word is out. They already know what happened. Once they see you approaching the yacht, the press will swarm you.”
“Let them. I’ve got plenty to say.”
“What are you going to say to them, anyway?”
“You’ll see.”
* * *
The yacht was located in the North Cove Marina along the Hudson.
In their brief moment of anonymity, Leana and Mario took in the sheer size of Fondaras’ yacht and despite everything, couldn’t help but marvel at it. It was one hundred eighty feet long and it glowed bright white in the waves of swirling lights that shined upon it.
Other couples in formal wear passed them, but not without looking back to frown at their attire.
The men seemed especially displeased with their appearance. The women, however, drawn to Leana’s diamonds, couldn’t help their lingering gazes as they sized her up before their lips parted as recognition struck. Their eyes, once rooted to the diamonds, flashed up to meet hers. She smiled in return before she heard her name shoot through the crowd and ignite the ensuing melee.
The press was quick to react.
Leana steeled herself and continued to walk forward as they rushed to gather their equipment and hurry over to her.
Mario put his hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m perfect.”
“You’re weirdly calm.”
“It’s the diamonds.”
“The hell it is.”
“Get ready for the show.”
“Do you want me to stay here?”
“I think I’ll take them on by myself.”
He stepped aside with caution on his face. “Have at them,” he said.
Within a matter of minutes, she once again found herself at the center of a media frenzy. Cameras went off in rapid succession. The night sky popped with lights. People hurled questions at her. Some asked her to turn this way, that way, then forward again. She obliged but then held up a hand, which caused even more cameras to go off. “Come on,” she said to the crowd. “Give a murderer a break.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, but when she held out her hand to check her nails, she knew she had them. Some broke into laughter.
“Leana, what happened tonight?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I think we’ve all learned tonight that I can be one ugly, murdering runt.” She shrugged. “Or something like that.”
Again the cameras, in earnest.
She dropped her hand and became serious. “Look,” she said. “Tonight, we’re here to raise money for charity, which is a lot more important than what happened to me earlier. If you’d like, I’ll make a brief statement and then join our host, Anastassios Fondaras, to help support this event.”
“Would you be as detailed as possible, Leana?”
Leana looked over at the reporter who asked the question and said, “Of course. I was sucker punched by a prank. That’s all it was. Some of you know I have a new hotel opening in a month on Park Avenue called The Park, which apparently has made someone a little upset and angry with me. Maybe it’s the owner of a neighboring hotel. Maybe they heard my hotel kicks ass, because it does. We can talk about that later if you’d like. At any point during the party, just ask me and we’ll talk. But for now, who knows? On the tarp that’s covering the building, someone wrote in red spray paint that I’m a murdering...”
She stopped. “You’ll need to fill in that last word for yourself. I won’t say it because it’s offensive to me and degrading to women. Those who are interested will be reading about it in tomorrow’s papers and hearing more about it on tonight’s newscasts, so soon everyone will know what someone thinks of me. And I’m here to tell you—I’ve never been more flattered.”
“What’s happening now?”
“The police are looking into who might have done it and I have no doubt that they’ll succeed. They’re the country’s best. I also want to admit something. I may be taking this in stride now because I’ve had time to process it and dismiss it, but as you’ll see in the photographs and news footage that were taken of me when I arrived at the scene, I wasn’t so cool then. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that. At least not in spray paint across the front of a building. They got to me and it will show in the images. I took it hard and I regret it because I gave them the reaction they wanted.”
She reached out for Mario’s hand and pulled him close. “I’m only human. What I’d like everyone to remember is the big picture. There are a lot more important things to focus on in this world than someone taking a cheap shot at me. I’m fortunate. I know that. There are too many who have it far worse than I do. That’s why I’m here tonight, to support this event. But since I knew some of you would be curious about my reaction, I just wanted to say that I’m not taking any of this seriously and I hope that you won’t either. It is what it is and yes, it sucks. But frankly, whatever.”
Someone started to ask a question but Leana pressed on. “Just one more thing. I have a few dozen journalists in front of me and I’m not about to miss an opportunity to ask a question like this because you of all people will know the answer.”
She let a beat of silence pass.
“Where on that ship can a girl get a drink?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As she and Mario moved past the last of the reporters, she turned a final time to give them a shot with a different background, waved to them and then put her arm around Mario as they moved into the yacht itself.
“You were brilliant,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She winked at him and then heard somebody to her right say, “Look at them. They must be from California. Who dresses like that? Jeans and heaps of fake diamonds. Anastassios should banish them.”
Leana recognized the voice.
She stopped and faced Lady Alexa Ionesco of Spain. Once, she had been great friends with Leana’s parents before Elizabeth Redman was sent to jail for committing murder and society had a falling out with the Redman family.
Leana never cared about the circles in which her parents and sister once moved. It was fake, not her scene. She only had participated when she was called upon by George and Elizabeth to be at one of their events because at a young age, that apparently was her duty.
Back then, she could give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of her, especially someone like Ionesco, who probably got her title by opening up her checkbook and saying, “How much?” But now that she was going into business for herself, she knew better. She had to play the game. She had to work hard to get word-of-mouth going in her favor. And right here is where she could do the most good for her hotel.
“Lady Ionesco,” Leana said. “I thought I heard your voice. How are you? My God, it’s been years.”
Lady Ionesco, a tall reed of a woman with dark hair pulled back so tightly that it assisted her facelift, visibly blanched when she recognized Leana. She was holding a martini, wearing her trademark Chanel and standing with a couple whose money was so old, it had pushed down roots in New York c
enturies ago and had helped to build the city into what it was today.
Just looking at them made Leana long for Harold. She wished he was here because he knew the secrets these people kept as well as she did. At every party they attended together before his suicide, they made it a point to sit alone and dish about New York society, how ridiculous it was and generally, who was sleeping with whom.
Beside Lady Ionesco was Tootie Staunton-Miller and her banker husband Addison, or Addy, whose family money began in New York before it stretched deep into Philadelphia. Everyone knew that Tootie was Addy’s well-compensated beard. Their sham of a marriage began decades ago in a mutually beneficial celebration that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with concealment. Tootie would marry into one of the country’s most prominent families and enjoy all it offered, including secretive affairs on the side with a host of Italians—her favorite—while Addy would save face for his family by tucking his true sexuality into Tootie’s ever-loving arms.
The men Addy had gone through were legendary, but nobody said anything about his dalliances because every major family had their Addy, that one person who brought them shame and humiliation and had to be “dealt” with so nothing spoiled the family name or the illusion that the family itself was nothing less than perfect. For that reason, few dared to throw the first stone at the Miller family lest another stone be thrown at them.
Leana actually adored Addy, but then she liked most gay men because she shared a lot in common with them. For much of her life, she also had been an outcast, which was certainly something her gay friends felt at some point in their lives, whether from family members who thought they were going to burn in hell, or just from society in general. She ignored the too-blonde Tootie, who gave her the chills because of that tight, quick-flash smile of hers, and instead nodded at Addy. “You’re looking handsome tonight, Addy,” she said.
“And you look like you’ve come to cause trouble. Those are some diamonds, Leana.”
Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Page 4
