Doug picked up the tray and carried it into the kitchen. While he loaded the dishwasher, he mentally ran through his list of things to do. He had plenty to take care of before he saw Gabrielle again later this evening. This was a celebration that he hoped they’d be reminiscing about for years to come.
Once Gabrielle departed, Doug dialed his favorite florist to double-check that his flower order would be delivered promptly at five-thirty. He dictated his message for the enclosure card, directing Gabrielle to meet him at six-thirty in his suite at the Pierre Hotel.
Next he called the hotel to confirm his reservation and to go over his special arrangements. Doug had planned an especially romantic evening, beginning with a sumptuous dinner catered in the privacy of their suite. Dinner would be followed by champagne and birthday cake served in a luxurious candlelight bath. It was there that Doug would propose. Gabrielle had requested only him for her birthday, today and always, and that’s exactly what Doug planned to deliver.
Assured that everything was proceeding according to plan, Doug got dressed and left the apartment to run the last of his errands. He headed over to the jewelers to pick up the ring he’d designed especially for Gabrielle. The exquisite five-carat Burmese ruby, bezel-set in white gold with baguette diamonds gliding down each side, was unique and exotic, just like the woman.
Doug slipped the sterling-silver ring box into his pocket and practically skipped out of the store. Waiting at the corner for the light to change, he looked to the newsstand on his right only to see Gabrielle’s face gracing the cover of Marie Claire. He walked over and picked up the magazine. This photographic image was so unlike the real woman. There was no way that any still photo could capture her essence, and Doug would have it no other way. Knowing that there was a side of her that only he was privy to was what made Gabrielle’s ever-increasing popularity palatable.
Doug glanced around the kiosk and counted four other magazines featuring Gabrielle, including the cover of Star Diary. Unable to resist, he paid for the paper and carried it down into the subway station. He jumped onto the train and made himself comfortable in a window seat. Oblivious to his fellow passengers, Doug unfolded the paper and found the blaring headline A MODEL AFFAIR, under which was a picture of Gregory von Ulrich and Gabrielle engaged in a major lip lock. Doug quickly scanned the article, to learn that, according to the sources of writer Visa Lee, Gabrielle and the president of her agency had been carrying on a hot and heavy affair for quite some time.
Doug’s name was mentioned as the unsuspecting boyfriend whose head was so deeply buried in his manuscript that he couldn’t see the deceit going on all around him. The article also quoted a “friend close to the couple” as saying that Gabrielle liked what dating an intellectual guy like Doug did for her image. According to this source, Gabrielle believed that having a prize-winning journalist madly in love with her helped distance herself from the annoying industry stereotype of the mindless model.
Doug couldn’t read any more. Writers like Visa Lee made him ashamed to say he worked in the same profession. When Doug reached his stop, he threw the newspaper into the first trash can he encountered and headed up the stairs into the afternoon sun.
He was angry, and—as much as he hated to admit it—he was worried. Doug battled against the demons in his head, wanting to give absolutely no credence to this garbage, but the words and images were nagging his brain and worming their way into his heart. A disturbing thought crossed his mind, forcing his feet to stop in their tracks. Doug turned around and hurried back down into the subway to retrieve the newspaper.
He stopped midway up the stairs and once again looked at the picture of Gregory and Gabrielle. Closer examination showed that the photo was taken backstage at yesterday’s fashion show.
She didn’t want me at her show. Was von Ulrich the reason? Doug asked himself. “Everybody is allowed to keep a few secrets.” Those were Gabrielle’s exact words to him this morning. Was Gregory Gabrielle’s secret? The man was always around, giving her gifts—like that bracelet. That bracelet had been a major vexation to him ever since Gabrielle had unwrapped the damn thing. Doug—and no man he’d ever known—would give a woman he was not intimate with a piece of jewelry that expensive. It just didn’t make sense. Or, in light of this article, did it?
Unable to help himself, Doug hungrily searched the rest of the newspaper for any further news on Gabrielle. He found more in “The Grain Harvest.”
According to runway coach Diego Santana, the catwalk strut of supermodel-in-waiting Gabrielle Donovan is less a golden gait and more a vermeil vamp. In Diego’s words, “Gabrielle’s clumsy walk forces her to he noticed.” And while he had little luck polishing up the model’s stroll in time for Maynard Scarborough’s show yesterday, her boss and rumored playmate, Greg von Ulrich, is taking the news in stride.
Doug once again trashed the paper, forcing himself to banish any crazy thoughts conjured up by the reporter’s story. He was not going to give in to insecurities fueled by anything as unreliable as a tabloid story. It was becoming increasingly clear that being in love with a celebrity whose fame and popularity were growing on a daily basis meant accepting the gossip and rumors that followed her. Doug also reconciled himself to the fact that, like it or not, he was going to have to learn to live with it. He headed for the hotel, refusing to let rumors put the brakes on this special day.
Gabrielle was pleasantly surprised to see Bea, Jaci, Felicia, Stephanie, and Ruthanna Beverly assembled at the restaurant for a small, impromptu, surprise luncheon.
Conversation flowed lightly and freely, taking a stumble only when Jaci brought up the Star Diary stories. Gabrielle found herself getting upset at this double whammy of negative publicity, until both Felicia and Beatrice made her see the futility of allowing such trash journalism to disturb her.
“It’s obvious that this reporter is operating in some sort of fantasy world,” Felicia told her. “Besides, who would believe anything from the mouth of someone with a ridiculous name like Visa Lee?” she asked, sharing a good laugh with the others.
“How do you know it’s not her real name?” Stephanie asked, trying not to sound defensive.
“How do you know it’s a woman? I mean, aren’t you giving credit where credit may not be due?” Ruthanna chimed in, causing the others once again to burst into laughter.
Stephanie had taken great care in choosing her pen name, and she didn’t appreciate these pompous assholes making fun of her. If she could, she would have explained that as a reporter she was like the commercial—“Visa. Everywhere you want to be”—and that she’d selected the name Lee because she liked the combination’s similarity to the words vis-à-vis, meaning “face to face.” It was like one friend giving another some exciting news. The whole thing was quite cleverly thought out, though it was obvious that these morons had neither the creativity nor the intellect to appreciate it.
Gabrielle returned to Doug’s apartment a few minutes before five. She showered quickly and put on her black, suitable-for-any-occasion Donna Karan pantsuit. So she wouldn’t tower over Doug, Gabrielle wore her black-suede pumps with the medium heel covered in leopard skin and finished off the outfit with dangling jet bead earrings.
Shortly after five-thirty the buzzer rang. It was the doorman, informing her that a messenger was on his way up. Soon after, the doorbell rang, and Gabrielle opened the door to find before her an impressive bouquet of exotic blooms.
“The gentleman wanted to make sure you received this,” the delivery boy said, placing the large arrangement on the table and handing her a card.
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said, accepting the envelope. “This is for you.” She handed him a five-dollar bill and closed the door. She opened the small envelope and pulled out a heavy, cream-colored card.
My Dearest Gabrielle,
Your birthday celebration begins at six-thirty tonight in the Lierre Hotel’s Grand Suite, room seven two seven. See you in one hour.
forever,
Doug
The card was more than just a handwritten note. It was a work of art. The florist had taken great time and care to write out each word in beautiful gold calligraphy. And while she could truly appreciate the beauty of its penmanship and presentation, the only words Gabrielle recognized were her own name and Doug’s.
Wanting to respond appropriately when Doug arrived, Gabrielle decided to call Beatrice. She would spell out each word and let Bea translate Doug’s message. Gabrielle carried the card into the kitchen and dialed the brownstone. After several unanswered rings, she hung up. Erroneously assuming it to be a loving birthday wish, she decided to sit tight, watch the news, and wait for Doug.
Just after Peter Jennings said good night, the doorman buzzed again, announcing the arrival of Greg von Ulrich. She opened the door to find Greg smiling, holding a bottle of champagne and a spectacularly wrapped package.
“Happy birthday!”
“Greg, come in,” Gabrielle insisted. “How did you know I was here at Doug’s?”
“Jaci told me I could find you here. I couldn’t get away for lunch, but I didn’t want this day to pass without personally wishing you a happy twenty-first.”
“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Now, if you’ll just get me a corkscrew, we can share a toast.”
“Here you go,” Gabrielle said, returning from the kitchen with a bottle opener and two champagne flutes.
“I heard about the Star Diary story. I hope you’re not upset,” he said as he uncorked the bottle of Cristal.
“I’m trying not to be, but it is annoying.”
“You can’t worry about these silly gossip columns. Maynard loves you. The legitimate press loves you—”
“Even though the entire world now knows that I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time?”
“I knew you were destined for greatness from the first time Miguel Reid brought you to me,” Gregory announced, handing Gabrielle a glass. “I hope we’ll always be connected, both professionally and personally. Happy birthday. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” Gabrielle echoed and drank down her champagne.
“This is just a little something to mark this momentous occasion,” Gregory said, handing Gabrielle a package. Like a child on Christmas morning, she excitedly began to rip open the wrapping.
“Aren’t you going to read the card?” Gregory asked.
“Sorry,” Gabrielle apologized, pulling the gift card from its sheath. She paused a brief moment as she appeared to read the card. “Thank you,” she said simply.
“And I meant every word.”
Gabrielle opened the box to find a lovely, hand-painted scarf from Italy. The turquoise silk chiffon was whisper-thin and decorated with gold, purple, and green scrolls. “It’s beautiful,” Gabrielle exclaimed, giving Gregory a friendly kiss on the lips.
“Wear it in good health. So what are you doing to celebrate this evening?” he asked, refilling her empty glass.
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for Doug to get here and let me know, but he seems to be running a little late.”
“Well, then I should be running along. May I use your phone before I go?”
“Sure, the cordless is in the kitchen. There’s only one extension, so if you’d like more privacy, you can take the handset into Doug’s office,” Gabrielle offered.
“Kitchen’s fine,” Greg remarked and went to make his call. Almost immediately upon his return to the living room, the phone rang.
“That’s probably Doug now,” Gabrielle said, hurrying into the next room to pick it up. “Hello.”
“Doug Sixsmith, please,” the caller requested.
“He’s not here right now.” She looked at the clock. She was beginning to worry. It was almost eight. Where is Doug? Why hasn’t he called? “Would you like to leave a message?”
“This is Mona Samuels from Gab magazine. I’m calling for his reaction to the news that Gregory von Ulrich has been doing much more than looking after his girlfriend’s career.”
“Like I said, he’s not here to give you a comment. If he were, however, he’d tell you that lies like that deserve no reaction. And for the record, there is nothing going on between Gregory von Ulrich and me,” Gabrielle insisted, walking back into the living room with the cordless phone.
“Oh! Ms. Donovan, it’s you. Is it true that the other models at First Face are in a stage of revolt because of all the favoritism shown toward you?” the reporter pressed.
“Where do you get these lies? People like you and the sleaze who wrote this story make me sick!” Gabrielle retorted, turning off the handset and angrily slamming it down onto the coffee table. Almost immediately it rang again.
“Ms. Donovan, is it true that Gregory von Ulrich helped you kick an addiction to diet pills?” Mona Samuels persisted.
“Leave me alone!” Gabrielle yelled hanging up close to tears. When the phone rang for the third time, Gregory picked up the handset and spoke harshly into the receiver, demanding that the reporter cease calling. Hanging up, he took the handset back into the kitchen and unplugged the base. There was no sense in letting these asinine reporters spoil Gabrielle’s birthday. When he returned, Greg took Gabrielle into his arms in a calming hug. “Don’t let them upset you. Have some more champagne, and forget these stupid reporters and their inability to sort fact from fiction.”
Doug dialed the apartment again. The line rang and rang, but nobody picked up. First the line had been busy, and now there was no answer. He called Beatrice in Brooklyn and got no response there either. It was already after nine. Dinner was ruined, not to mention his plans, and he had no explanation for why she’d never showed up. He was getting more worried by the hour. Shortly after ten, Doug checked out of the Pierre and returned home, frantic that something had happened to Gabrielle.
Doug burst into the apartment twenty minutes later, calling out Gabrielle’s name. He immediately headed for the kitchen to check the phone. It was unplugged, and beside it, on top of the counter, was his note. Doug walked into the living room and looked around. An empty bottle of champagne and two glasses sat on the coffee table. Next to the bottle was an opened gift box containing an expensive-looking scarf and a small gift card. Doug walked over to the box and picked up the card. It was from Gregory, with all his love and admiration.
Not sure what to think, Doug went into the bedroom and found Gabrielle asleep in the bed. He turned on the light so he could examine her. She was as beautiful as ever, with no visible signs of illness or foul play. She appeared serene and at peace in her slumber. She was also completely naked. The relief over finding her safe and unharmed was quickly replaced by intense anger. The unplugged phone, the scarf, the champagne, von Ulrich’s love and admiration—Doug’s worse fears had been realized. And tonight, of all nights, she’d stood him up to be with her lover.
Devastated, Doug went to the closet, pulled out his suitcase, and began throwing his clothes inside. The whirl of activity woke Gabrielle. Her senses, dulled by the alcohol, made her slow to realize what was going on.
“Why are you packing? Where are you going?” she asked through a fuzzy mouth.
“As far away from you as possible,” Doug retorted, his anger evident.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you tell me? I thought we were spending your birthday together. You apparently had other plans,” Doug said, his voice drenched with sarcasm.
“I’ve been here waiting for you all night. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried. The phone just rang and rang. But then you should know that, since you obviously unplugged it.”
“I didn’t unplug the phone. Why would I do that?” Gabrielle asked in bewilderment.
“Evidently you and your lover didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Lover? Doug, what are you—”
“I’ve been waiting for hours for you to show up at the Pierre Hotel,” Doug interrupted. “Did you get my note, Gabrielle, or did you
just decide to ignore that, too?”
Gabrielle didn’t know what to say. If she told him she got the card when the flowers were delivered, she’d have to explain why she thought it was simply a loving birthday wish instead of instructions. But he’d know she was lying is she said she hadn’t seen it at all. She hated herself for being deceitful. He deserved to know the truth, but not now, not when he was obviously so furious with her. Gabrielle had no choice; she’d have to concoct some story and hope Doug found it plausible.
“I was late getting back this evening, and I was in a rush to get dressed. When the delivery guy brought the flowers, he gave me the card and I put it on the counter, intending to read it once I finished dressing. But then Gregory came by and—”
Hearing those three words—“Gregory came by”—caused Doug to explode. Every ugly image that had been circling in his head all evening swooped down on him like vultures ready for the kill.
“And you decided to stand me up so you could fuck your boyfriend in my bed,” Doug said, finishing her sentence.
“Are you accusing me of sleeping with my boss?” Gabrielle asked him, outraged by his allegation. She was trying to understand his pain, but his angry and offensive accusations were getting her ire up. “Look, I don’t know what you think happened, but the truth is that Greg came by merely to toast my birthday and bring me a gift. We just sat around talking, drinking, and waiting for you to come home. Then this reporter kept calling about some stupid story in Star Diary and I got upset. Greg must have unplugged the phone when he took the last call, which was after eight o’clock, by the way. If you were really that worried, you had plenty of time to call,” she pointed out snidely. “Anyway, Greg gave me another drink to help calm me down, and by the time he left, I was feeling pretty bad. And since you were nowhere to be found, I took off my clothes and went to bed. End. Of. Story.”
“Let me ask you this, Gabrielle: Every time Greg brings you some pricey gift, do you fuck him? They have a name for girls like you,” Doug said, completely ignoring her explanation. In his hurt and anger, Doug’s mouth had taken on a life of its own, spewing out words he neither believed nor meant to say.
Read Between the Lies Page 25
