“Does that mean you two will be living together?” Stephanie asked.
“No,” Doug replied.
Doug’s answer offered great relief to Beatrice. If Doug had asked and she had refused, that could mean only one thing: Gabrielle had not shared her secret with him. As long as Bea was the only one who knew of her illiteracy, she would still continue to play a pivotal role in Gabrielle’s life.
“Sweetheart, if you’re happy, which you obviously are, I’m happy for you. And Douglas, I’ll be watching to make sure you take good care of my girl,” Bea said, issuing a stern, motherly warning.
“I stand forewarned, but believe me, I intend to take good care of this incredible woman for as long as she will allow.”
Why does every man who crosses her path fall in love? Why don’t men ever want me like that? Stephanie wondered, her thoughts turning to Jack.
“Well, I’m really happy for you two,” Jaci said.
“This all started at the bon-voyage party, didn’t it?” Ruthanna cried out.
“I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about,” Gabrielle answered coyly, her smile giving everything away. “That trip was strictly business.”
“Monkey business,” Ruthanna teased. “Well, whenever it happened, I think it’s terrific, and I’m even more pleased that Doug’s moving to town.”
“I think all this good news requires a toast,” Felicia suggested, raising her glass. “To Doug and Gabrielle: In both work and play, may you always be happy.”
“Here, here,” chimed in the rest of the group. Gabrielle and Doug were both too happy to notice both Stephanie’s and Beatrice’s lack of enthusiasm.
“You okay?” Ruthanna asked Felicia. “You seem rather distracted and withdrawn lately. And to be perfectly honest, you don’t look your usual stunning self.”
“I caught some bug I can’t seem to shake. It’s been going on for weeks now, so that’s probably what you’ve noticed.” Despite the fact that the two had become good friends, Felicia didn’t feel comfortable confiding certain things to Ruthanna.
“Could it be a case of the stork flu?” Ruthanna said, smiling.
“I am not pregnant,” Felicia said, with more vigor than intended.
“Well, you seem pretty stressed out. Maybe your body is telling you it’s time to take it easy.”
“I wish I could.”
“You have to look out for number one. If you don’t, nobody else will.”
Ruthanna was right, she needed to look out for herself. Since the abortion Felicia had felt as if she were coming unglued. Everything was a big mess. Concentrating on her clients was the only way for her to get through the day, so Felicia worked harder and longer to avoid having to deal with her personal life. This only aggravated the situation at home. Her counseling sessions with Trace had deteriorated into shouting matches and sobbing spells, brought on not by the condition of their relationship but by all the guilt and emotional baggage she was keeping locked inside. Maybe she should seek counseling for herself. She needed to talk to someone about all this. Felicia felt paralyzed by inaction, unable to make any decisions about her life.
“Why don’t you go home, snuggle up with that superfine man of yours, and get some rest?”
“It is time to go,” Felicia told Ruthanna, looking at her watch. She was leaving, not to go home but to see Lexis. He was back from his latest research trip, and Felicia had agreed to get together to discuss the progress of Praline Livin’. She only wished she were ready to discuss the progress of her own life as well.
“Baby, I’m glad to see you,” Lexis told Felicia as they embraced in his living room. “It feels good holding you again.” Since making love in Martinique, they had not been intimate, and Lexis’s body ached to be with her again. While he was making a conscious effort not to push her into a relationship, Lexis wasn’t convinced that Felicia was being true to her promise not to pull away. He could understand her reluctance to pursue this thing lingering between them until she’d straightened out everything with that tight-ass she was married to, but in the last few months Lexis had felt a wall go up that had not previously existed.
“It’s always good to see you, too,” Felicia responded truthfully.
“It doesn’t seem like it. Not the way you’ve been playing me lately. Is everything cool? Trace hassling you?”
“Not really, but things are pretty strained between us.”
“Would he be pissed if he knew you were with me tonight?”
“Trace knows nothing about you and me—about anything.”
“What does that mean?”
“Things have been difficult for me lately. I just haven’t shared much with him, or anybody else for that matter.”
“Is it work?”
“No, everything there is fine. Just busy,” Felicia answered quickly. Despite all that had transpired between them, Lexis was still a lucrative and valued client. She didn’t want him to have any apprehensions about her ability to service his account.
“If you need me for anything, I’m always here for you. Twenty-four/seven,” Lexis offered.
“I know, and I really appreciate it.” She did value Lexis’s willingness to listen. Unlike her husband, he didn’t judge her. He didn’t assume that he automatically knew what was best for her and try to impose his opinions on her. Instead Lexis always encouraged her to follow her heart. Maybe she could talk to him about the abortion. Maybe he would understand and help her get through this nightmare.
But then again. Maybe not. She couldn’t afford to take the risk—for personal and professional reasons. If she was going to have to support herself and her business, she couldn’t afford to lose Lexis’s profitable account. Just as important, she couldn’t afford to lose his love and respect.
30
Gabrielle stood at the stove waiting for the teakettle to boil. She found herself humming along with the whistling pot, eagerly anticipating Doug’s return from dinner with his editor. She was so pleased that not only would he be in town to attend the Scarborough Jewels trunk show at Neiman Marcus tomorrow, but that the two of them would also be eating Thanksgiving dinner with Beatrice next week.
With Gabrielle’s demanding work schedule and Doug’s being busy editing his novel, neither of them were in the city at the same time more than eight or nine days a month. They talked incessantly on the phone, often calling each other several times a day. When their schedules did coincide, the two stayed holed up in Doug’s Tribeca loft, venturing out only when necessary. She still maintained her room at Beatrice’s, sleeping there when Doug was out of town, but it no longer felt the same. Going back to Bea’s now had the comfortable feeling of an adult’s visiting her childhood home. Gabrielle’s home was with Doug, in both body and spirit.
Although Gabrielle had declined Doug’s invitation to share a place officially, there were traces of Gabrielle everywhere in his apartment. Gabrielle’s clothes occupied the closets, while her makeup and toiletries took up residence in the medicine cabinet. The kitchen cupboards were stocked with her favorite foods. Photos of Gabrielle were scattered around the apartment. Doug’s favorite—the shot of her as she emerged wet and wild from the waters of Martinique—sat in the coveted position at his bedside.
She loved this apartment. The place was open and airy, with lots of light, exposed brick, a fireplace, and a beautiful rooftop garden. There was no formal decorating scheme—just an eclectic mix of art, old rugs, and comfortable, roomy furniture.
As she headed toward the bedroom, Gabrielle’s bare feet padded across the living-room rug that she and Doug had picked out in Istanbul, one of the few trips he’d been able to accompany her on in recent months. She loved when they traveled together. He made each trip an adventure and provided memories that her heart would keep a lifetime.
Bea still traveled with Gabrielle on occasion, but as Gabrielle’s schedule intensified, the grind became too much for Beatrice to handle. And with Gabrielle feeling more confident about traveling alone,
due to the continuous VIP assistance her growing celebrity status afforded her, Bea’s role shifted from that of travel companion to that of personal assistant, helping to keep Gabrielle’s professional life in order.
Gabrielle climbed into bed and sipped her cup of herbal tea while listening to the CNN anchor deliver the late news. Hearing Doug come through the door, she flipped off the television and picked up the newspaper, quickly checking to see that the people pictured on the front page were standing upright.
“I’m glad you waited up. This is for you,” Doug said, handing her a large gift bag.
“What’s the occasion?” Gabrielle asked, touched by his thoughtfulness.
“No occasion. I’m just glad to have you here.”
Gabrielle reached around the glittery tissue paper and pulled out a box containing a 3-D puzzle of one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
“Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a monument to his wife. I thought it was a fitting tribute as well to the love of my life.”
“You are so sweet. Come get into bed,” she requested, patting the pillow next to her.
“If you insist.” Doug smiled as he quickly stripped down to his boxers and slipped into bed beside her. “Keep digging, there’s more.”
Gabrielle once again reached into the bag and this time retrieved a leatherbound book. She opened its cover, revealing blank pages. How appropriate, she thought dryly, a book with no words.
“I bought one for myself, too,” Doug told her. “I thought, since we’re apart so much, that we could both keep a journal as a way to preserve all the experiences and feelings we’d like to share with each other. Sort of like a travel journal of the heart.”
Gabrielle felt the tears well up in her eyes and slide silently down her face. She couldn’t speak, for what could she say? How could she explain that his request, while thoughtful and romantic, was simply impossible? Believing her to be touched beyond words, Doug reached for Gabrielle, and slowly and gently they made love.
The two cuddled together until Doug drifted off, leaving Gabrielle to reflect on her situation. In such a brief time Doug Sixsmith had become the single most important thing in her life. Gabrielle found that every day she was growing more and more deeply in love with him. Most days she reveled in that fact, but at other times, like tonight, she was reminded of just how impossible this situation really was.
Hearing the slight whistle of Doug’s soft snore, Gabrielle gently disengaged herself. Clutching the blank book he’d given her, she crept out of the bedroom and walked across the apartment into Doug’s office.
“Tonight,” she whispered softly in the dark. “Please let it happen tonight.”
She leaned over and switched on the floor lamp next to the desk. A soft GE glow lit up a small area, giving the room the clichéd look of a police-interrogation scene. Gabrielle turned and stood before the bookcases. The shelves were lined with his favorite Tom Clancy novels, historical biographies, travel guides, and a wide variety of reference books. Her eyes moved across the several rows of book spines until they fell upon Mother Teresa’s kind, wrinkled face. She pulled the publication from the bookcase and, with reverence, moved her fingers across the slightly raised type of the book’s title, Mother Teresa: The Authorized Biography.
Help me, Gabrielle silently beseeched the nun’s image. You lived your entire life helping outsiders like me. Let it be my turn tonight. Gabrielle closed her eyes and flipped to a random page in the book. Please, she begged again, before opening her eyes and peering down on the print. Her eyes and brain scanned every letter with firm resolve, all the while willing each word to reveal itself. Within seconds of beginning this futile exercise, Gabrielle could sense her determination give way to a familiar wave of disappointment. She snapped the book shut as her tears began to fall.
How much longer was she going to play this game with herself? How many more years of pretending? Of drawing inspiration from her personal motto, “Fake it until you make it.” How much longer before Doug found out that the professed woman of his dreams was nothing more than that—a dream, an illusion, a lie? Gabrielle knew that she had to do something to change this and she had to do it soon, before it was too late.
Leaving Doug working in the quiet of his office, Gabrielle grabbed her purse and cell phone and headed outside into the early morning air. Last night’s resolve propelled her boldly down the street for several blocks before leading her into the outside vestibule of an old apartment building. In silent haste, she retrieved her wallet and pulled the worn and tattered slip of paper Beatrice had given her months ago. Anxiety danced in her stomach as she quickly dialed the toll-free number.
“National Literacy Hotline,” a friendly voice answered.
“I, ugh, I’d like some … in … information.” Gabrielle stuttered nervously. “I want to learn how to read. Can you help me?”
“I’ll certainly try. To get started, I’ll need your name, address and phone number,” the woman requested.
“Why do you need all that?” Gabrielle asked, hesitation coloring her voice.
“So I know what local contact number to give you, and with your permission, we’ll give your name and phone number to the literacy provider in your area so they can follow up. Sometimes it’s hard to get started,” the operator replied.
“If you’ll just give me the number, I can do the rest,” Gabrielle said, determined to get the information she wanted and remain anonymous. “I live in Manhattan,” she began. Before the operator could reply, a teenage couple joined Gabrielle in the vestibule.
“Hey, aren’t you a model? I’m sure I’ve seen you in magazines,” the girl announced loudly.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Gabrielle said, quickly terminating her call. What was she thinking? There was no way she could learn to read without the public finding out. Not when she was becoming more recognizable with every passing day.
“Gabrielle, right? Can I get your autograph,” the teen asked, holding out her backpack. “It must be so cool to be famous.”
“I know!” Gabrielle replied flatly, signing her name on the canvas bag. “Real cool.”
“It’s not over yet, is it?” Doug asked, rushing over to Bea and Felicia.
“Not yet, but they’ve shown most of the collection already, so Gabrielle’s finale should be coming up,” Felicia whispered.
As the last model exited the stage, the lights in the tent slowly dimmed. When they came back up, Gabrielle had magically appeared on a circular riser behind a majestic, six-foot-tall rectangular frame. To recreate the original nude photo, she was dressed in a fleshtone body stocking and slightly more elaborate makeup. The original quote by Eleanor Roosevelt had been replaced with one by Oscar Wilde: “One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art.” Gabrielle’s face was shrouded in darkness and the total effect was dramatic and masterful.
After giving the crowd time to digest the impact of the presentation, a spotlight came on, illuminating Gabrielle’s neck and head and clearly revealing Maynard’s most incredible piece of work. A collective “ahh” circulated the room. In the middle of Gabrielle’s forehead rested a spectacular South Seas pearl hooked to an eighteen-carat-gold flower encrusted in diamonds and dangling from a silk cord.
“Artfully You. Scarborough Jewels,” recited the eloquent voice of the show’s announcer. The tag line caused the room to erupt in applause. As the clapping died down, the lights once again dimmed. When they were turned up, Gabrielle was gone, replaced by Maynard Scarborough. His appearance caused another round of thunderous applause. It was obvious that the Short Hills Mall crowd here in New Jersey, just like all the other wealthy shoppers at high-end malls around the country, loved this theatrical presentation. It was more than just attention-grabbing, it was memorable and provocative.
Doug, watching from the back, was awestruck. Seeing Gabrielle standing there, framed like a priceless work of art for the world to admire, left his heart bursting with pride. She was indeed, like the name of t
he collection she represented, an “Object of Desire.”
“Thank you, thank you. You’re very kind,” Maynard told the audience when the fanfare had died down. “Please meet the woman you’ve seen featured in our print advertising for months, the fabulous Gabrielle Donovan.” Applause once again filled the room as Gabrielle reemerged wearing a filmy white dress and the flowering pearl.
“You’re divine,” the designer whispered as they turned and exited the stage together. “I can’t wait until the show this spring. We’re going to have tongues wagging on both sides of the ocean.”
As the crowd thinned and Doug was about to approach Gabrielle, Greg von Ulrich appeared by her side. Doug watched as Greg embraced Gabrielle and fondly kissed her lips and gently caressed her back. Doug tried to calm his jealousy by reminding himself that public displays of affection were quite common in the modeling business. Still, he was beginning to tire of the extra attention Greg paid Gabrielle. He always popped up out of nowhere to share these special moments. Boss or no boss, star model or not, enough was enough.
31
“Honey, if you don’t walk right, you are nothing more than a hanger,” Diego shouted out to Gabrielle from the back of the room. “Now, keep your head up! Divas never look down.”
Diego Santana was attempting to teach Gabrielle how to walk the fashion runway. A former model himself, Diego had the distinction of being the first drag queen to work the major designer shows. He was also famous for having one of the best strolls in the industry. Two years after hanging up his pumps and extensive wig collection, Diego was the most sought-after runway coach in the business. Under his tutelage the new girls learned the fine art of sauntering up and down the catwalk.
“Honey, technique is everything. Do you hear me? You’ve got to work those clothes and make them come alive,” Diego continued, giving her a generous circle snap to emphasize his point. “Now, do it again, and this time I want to see much ’tude.”
Gabrielle once again walked from one end of the makeshift platform to another, trying to incorporate all of Diego’s lessons—lead with her pelvis, keep her head up, hands and fingers curved gracefully, and most important of all, give them attitude. Who would have known that walking could be so difficult? This was her third session with Diego in as many weeks, and still, the more she tried, the clumsier she felt. Instead of the graceful glide achieved by her contemporaries, Gabrielle felt like an awkward fawn trying to walk for the first time.
Read Between the Lies Page 23
