“Jack, I can’t. Stephanie would be very upset if she thought we were dating.”
“But we’re just two pals breaking bread together.”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“Another time, then?”
“Maybe.”
“A definite maybe. It’s a start.” Jack laughed, despite his disappointment.
When Gabrielle walked back into the kitchen, Stephanie was still at the table.
“That was Jack.”
“I know. I answered the phone,” Stephanie answered curtly.
“He called to tell me I was in the newspaper. Have you seen anything?”
“Nothing,” she lied. She’d ripped the tabloid to shreds while Gabrielle was on the phone. “Which paper?”
“Star Diary.”
“Nobody reads that rag.”
“The reporter said that I was Miguel’s latest find. They compared me to Tatiana and Eva G. If that were only true.”
Stephanie was having a hard time keeping her coffee down amid all of Gabrielle’s excitement. “Is that all he wanted?”
Gabrielle looked into Stephanie’s eyes for a moment and decided to tell her the truth. “He invited me to dinner. Just as friends,” she quickly added.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we were friends and I didn’t think it was a good idea. Stephanie, Jack told me you two broke up. I’m sorry.”
“Did he tell you why we broke up?”
“No, just that you had.”
In a flash, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed. She looked at Gabrielle and smiled. “I’m sorry about my bad mood. It’s just that I’ve been really upset about Jack. It’s so sad. He was crushed when I told him we should see other people. I think he thought I was the one.”
“He wanted to marry you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Gabrielle, may I share something with you? Something you swear you won’t breathe a word of to another living soul?”
“Sure. You can trust me.”
“I know I can, and that’s why I can tell you that Jack Hollis is gay.”
“No offense, but if he’s gay, why does he care if you two are together?”
“That’s what I asked. He said he thought that I could help turn him around, but I know I can’t. I’d always be wondering if the next guy he meets will be the one who comes between us. I had to break it off with him. To be jealous of another man is a very weird thing.”
“Don’t forget AIDS,” Gabrielle added.
“Exactly. I just can’t deal with it. That’s why when he called this morning begging me to reconsider, I suggested he talk to you. I thought since you two hit it off so well last night, that maybe you could help him get over me. But I couldn’t let you get involved without letting you know the complete truth.”
“Stephanie, this must be so hard for you. I know you really liked him a lot.”
“I still do. Promise me you won’t mention any of this to him. He’d be mortified if he knew you knew.”
“I won’t say a word. You can count on it.”
“I knew I could.” Stephanie smiled slyly. “Thanks. Now, let’s drop this sad subject and get going. I have to be at work in an hour.”
“And I have laundry to do. I’ll be in the basement if you need me.”
“Okay,” Stephanie answered, still smiling. As soon as Gabrielle was out of the room, her smile turned into a menacing grimace. She was beside herself with resentment and fury. How dare Gabrielle feel sorry for her. She didn’t need her pity. And how dare Jack call up and ask Gabrielle out one day after ending their relationship. Well, I fixed your little wagon, Mr. Hollis. Try to get next to her now that she thinks you’re a flaming fag.
Stephanie headed upstairs to her room to get ready for work. As she fished through a pile of clothes in search of a pair of pantyhose, the phone rang. This better not be that bastard calling to talk her into seeing him, Stephanie thought as she picked it up.
“Hello,” she barked.
“Gabrielle Donovan, please,” a male voice requested.
“Who’s calling?”
“Miguel Reid. She’s expecting my call.”
She certainly is. It took Stephanie only a split second to plan her course of action.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reid, Gabrielle can’t come to the phone right now. She’s in bed with a terrible headache—well, to be honest, a raging hangover. She was so excited about meeting you that she stayed out all night celebrating. But not to worry, this happens all the time. She bounces right back.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know how she does it. She can party all night long, every night, and it doesn’t seem to affect her looks at all. Of course, for the rest of us mortals it’s a mystery we’re dying to figure out. Would you like to leave a message? I’m sure she’ll be up and around by two or three this afternoon.”
“Tell Ms. Donovan I’ve had a cancellation, so I can shoot her at my studio tomorrow morning at nine.” Stephanie could hear the disapproval in his voice. “Tell her that if I don’t hear from her today by three, I will assume she’s coming.”
“Tomorrow at nine, call by three. Anything else?”
“Yes, please inform Ms. Donovan that if she’s serious about becoming a model to lay off the booze and night life.”
“Gotcha,” Stephanie said, smiling broadly as she hung up the phone. Immediately she wrote down the photographer’s telephone number and the message “Call today, before three, about a shoot,” omitting the advice about partying, and headed to Gabrielle’s bedroom. She walked across the room and stood in front of the mirror.
“She deserves it,” she convinced her reflection. Before she could change her mind, Stephanie dropped the note behind the dresser.
Payback is a bitch, ain’t it, Ms. Donovan?
11
“I’ll have her get back to you,” Stephanie said, trying not to yawn into the phone. She was exhausted. To avoid Gabrielle and any opportunity to relay Miguel Reid’s message verbally, she’d stayed out last night until well after 2 A.M. and was out of the house this morning before seven. She was tired as hell, but what was a little missed sleep when she had the sweet satisfaction of revenge?
Stephanie leaned back in her chair and smiled. The clock on her desk told her it was 9:47 A.M. If all was right, Gabrielle was sitting in the doctor’s office with Beatrice, blissfully ignorant that she was missing the opportunity of a lifetime, while Miguel Reid was writing her off as a beautiful but irresponsible lush.
Eye for an eye, Gaby. You took my boyfriend. I stole your chance at fame. Stephanie was still smiling as she answered the phone.
“I need to talk to Ms. Wilcot.”
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“This is Lexis Richards. If she’s there, could you put me through?”
“Okay, Mr. Richards,” Stephanie replied. “Felicia, line two.”
“Felicia Wilcot.”
“Lexis Richards here, calling to apologize.”
“You don’t say,” Felicia said before hanging up the receiver. Whether he was sorry or not, she had no desire to talk with Lexis Richards. She was still fuming over his behavior at the Montell Spirits party—behavior that had landed her in the tabloid press. Granted, Star Diary, with its band of storytellers loosely referred to as reporters, wasn’t taken seriously by anyone in her line of work, but still—calling her event tacky? That kind of publicity she did not need.
The phone rang again. “Stephanie, if that’s Lexis Richards, I’m not in,” Felicia shouted through the room divider. After three unanswered rings, Felicia peeked around the screen to find Stephanie’s chair vacant.
“Damn,” she said as the phone continued to ring. She considered letting the answering service pick up, but she was expecting an important call from Atlanta.
“Felicia Wilcot,” she answered, hoping not to hear Lexis’s voice.
“Don’t hang up. Just listen to me for a minute.”
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”
“Give me one minute.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or screw up your party.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Richards. Your outburst did not ruin my party. Other than your equally rude sparring partner, no one really gave a damn that you were there.”
“Why are you so bitchy? I did call to say I’m sorry.”
“And you think calling me a bitch is the way to apologize?”
“I did not call you a bitch. I said you were acting bitchy.”
“Whatever. Your thirty seconds are up.”
“Wait. I want to talk to you about repping me. I’ve been catching much heat over these gangbangers cuttin’ up at my movies, and I need some damage control. These studio clowns don’t know what they’re doing. I need somebody on my side. I need you. What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got to be kidding. It’s pretty obvious that we can’t be in the same room together without arguing. How in the world do you think we could have a productive working relationship? So look, I accept your apology, no hard feelings, and good luck.”
As Felicia hung up the phone, she couldn’t help wondering if she was acting a bit too hastily. After all, he did call to apologize and was actually very civilized until she’d started acting, well … bitchy. And if she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that Lexis was the inspiration behind the entire Montell event. Had he not challenged her that evening at her father’s birthday party, she would have never thought to combine her two clients. Still, there was something about Lexis Richards that got her defenses up. He was such an arrogant, opinionated, egotistical jackass. How could she work with a man like that? It was enough that she was married to one. Speaking of Trace, she’d best get going. She was having lunch with him following her meeting at Asylum Records, and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Damn, she’s cold,” Lexis said, smiling as he dialed her office number again.
Stephanie, back from the mailbox, answered the phone.
“Hi. Lexis Richards again, can you get me your boss?”
“What did you say to her? She didn’t look too happy walking out the door.”
“How can she be gone? I just talked to her.”
“Honestly. You just missed her. She left for a ten-o’clock meeting.”
“What time will she be back?”
“Not until later this afternoon,” Stephanie said, checking Felicia’s calendar. “She has a lunch appointment at noon.”
“Where?”
“You are persistent, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, when I want something.”
“May I be frank? You’re already on her … shall we say poop list. If you show up and interrupt lunch with her husband, you’re going to zoom right to the top. Why not slow down? I’ll just leave her a message that you called and—”
“Won’t work. First of all, in my business if you’re slow you blow. You have to go after what you want and make things happen. If I wait for her to call back, Willard Scott will be wishing me happy birthday on the ‘Today’ show. So why don’t you do me a favor?”
“This is going to get me in trouble, isn’t it?” Stephanie asked, chuckling.
Lexis laughed. “Probably. But I’ll make you a deal. Tell me where she’s eating, and if she fires you, I’ll double any severance pay. How’s that sound?”
“Not so fast,” Stephanie said slowly as a plan hatched in her head. If Lexis Richards was bound and determined to hook up with Felicia and needed her help to do it, she should get something out of it.
“What else?”
“I’m only working here until my writing starts to pay off. So here’s my offer: I tell you where Felicia’s having lunch and you agree to let me write a feature profile on you.”
Lexis’s boisterous laugh rang in Stephanie’s ears. “As long as you don’t dis me or my movie, you have a deal. You can call my publicist tomorrow and set it up. So where can I find your boss?”
“Palio Restaurant on Fifty-first at noon. Now, a deal’s a deal,” she said as she scrambled to find a pen. “Who’s your publicist?”
“Felicia Wilcot. I think you have the number.”
Lexis was standing outside Palio’s at 11:50 A.M. when he spotted Felicia turn the corner of Fifty-first Street and head toward the restaurant.
“What’s up?” he asked, smiling.
Ignoring his presence, Felicia pushed past Lexis and entered the bar area of the restaurant to wait for Trace. To her extreme irritation, Lexis followed her inside. Her first instinct was to move to the other side of the room, but she didn’t want to create a scene, particularly when her husband could walk in any minute.
“How did you find me?”
“I browbeat your secretary into telling me where you were having lunch. Don’t get mad at her, she really didn’t have a choice. When I want something, I have a way of getting it.”
“Oh, really. And what exactly do you want from me?”
“Like I said on the phone. I’m tired of getting dissed by the press. All this print on the shootings is making some of the theater owners nervous. Three more are threatening to pull out. Southeast is being platformed—”
“Platformed?”
“When a studio platforms a movie, it opens it up in just a handful of major cities to see if it gets good reviews and enough word of mouth to build up an audience. If folks talk it up and the thing makes money, the studio releases it into more theaters. If I don’t get this bullsh—sorry, this problem under control, these white-boy theater owners aren’t going to want to touch Southeast. I didn’t work this hard for it to end because of some bad press. I really need your help, Felicia.”
Felicia listened, touched by his sincerity and obvious concern for his movie. Lexis was trying to keep his creative vision alive, despite the unfair rap some of the press was putting on him. Maybe she could help him. The truth be told, maybe he could help her, too.
Possessed with the winning combination of marketing, writing, producing, and directing genius, Lexis was touted as a budding talent, destined for the top. Representing him, with his hot temper and outspoken manner, would keep her busy and constantly visible, giving her company much-needed exposure. Lexis could be the one who put Wilcot & Associates on the map. Besides, even with the success of Montell Spirits, she was in no position to turn down a potentially lucrative account.
“Mr. Richards—”
“Lexis. Let’s not be so formal—since we’ll be working together,” he said, flashing a beguiling smile.
“Lexis, I think you’re absolutely right, you do need representation. Without it, you’re bound to self-destruct before you have the opportunity to fulfill the potential everyone feels you possess.”
Lexis smiled at the veiled compliment. They were making progress. He could feel victory within his grasp.
“However,” Felicia continued, “I am not convinced that I’m the right person for this job. Let’s face it, we don’t seem to get along very well. If our short history is any indication, we can’t seem to coexist for more than two minutes without getting into a screaming match. That’s no basis for a productive professional relationship.”
“I’ll admit that you do push my buttons, but, hey, we’ve been talking now for at least three minutes and you’ve only insulted me once.”
“I push your buttons—” Felicia started, but was stopped short by her own laughter. “I’ll tell you what, we’ll try this on a trial basis. If in ninety days this relationship works out, we’ll talk about an extension. If it doesn’t, no hard feelings.”
“Bet.”
“I’ll draw up a proposal and contract and have it sent to your office. Oh, and I don’t come cheap. My retainer is three thousand dollars per month.”
“Cool, but you’ll earn every penny,” Lexis countered with a grin and extended his hand to consummate the deal
.
“I have no doubt,” she answered, taking his hand into hers. It was soft and smooth, his grip powerful. “Try to keep your mouth shut for the next few days, just until we can get a plan of action together.”
“Well, who have we here?” Trace interrupted.
Felicia felt her heart jump as she turned and looked into her husband’s face. It wasn’t the acrobatics of a heart in love, but rather a heart put on alert, braced for trouble. Felicia knew that Trace’s invitation to lunch was an attempt to break the stony silence that had descended upon their relationship since his failure to appear at the Montell party.
“Trace, I’d like you to meet my client, Lexis Richards. Lexis, this is my husband, Trace Gordon.”
The two men shook hands and quickly sized each other up. To Trace, Lexis Richards, with his dreadlocks and goatee, looked like just another hip-hop troublemaker from the projects. In Lexis’s opinion, Felicia’s husband, dressed in a blue pin-striped Hugo Boss suit complete with a white silk pocket square, looked like one of Uncle Tom’s well-to-do relations.
“Lexis is the director of Southeast,” Felicia told him, hating herself for wanting to impress him.
Trace wasn’t. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
“It hasn’t hit the Angelika, so I’m not surprised,” Lexis countered, referring to the café/theater on Houston Street frequented by an artsy, mostly white Greenwich Village crowd.
Touché, Felicia thought, applauding her client’s subtle retort. She was ashamed to admit that she enjoyed seeing Trace put in his place—even if it was by a man with whom she had just declared a shaky truce.
“Lexis, I’ll have that proposal sent to you the day after tomorrow. Once you’ve looked it over, we’ll talk.”
“Bet,” Lexis said to Felicia before extending his hand in Trace’s direction. “Look, man, it was good to meet you.”
Trace nodded and responded with a halfhearted shake. He waited until Lexis was out the door before launching his criticism. “He looks like he needs a parole officer, not a PR person.”
Felicia simply looked at her husband. When had he become so pompous and self-righteous? Had he always been this way, and had she simply looked the other way all these years? Ignoring his comment, she replied, “Lexis is the best of the brightest directors out there today. He sought me out and asked me to represent him. I feel honored to have him as a client.” It wasn’t until the words left her mouth that Felicia realized she truly meant them.
Read Between the Lies Page 8
