“Kismet?”
“You know, fate. I believe that life is predetermined. That what is supposed to happen will,” he explained with a flirtatious smirk on his full lips.
“For example, the two of us meeting up like this again?” Gabrielle asked, returning the smirk.
“Yes,” Jack answered, locking eyes with hers.
At that moment the waiter approached, breaking the tension that had suddenly engulfed the room. While Jack tallied the check, Gabrielle took the opportunity to study this man who with every passing minute was becoming more and more appealing. From his hair to his smile to his body—if she had to come up with one word to sum up the physical attributes of Jack Hollis, it would be “magnificent.”
“Gabrielle?” Jack called out, interrupting her thoughts.
“Sorry, I was having an out-of-body experience,” she joked weakly, trying to hide her humiliation at being caught staring.
“I see,” he answered, amused by her obvious embarrassment. “Are you psychic as well?” he asked, helping her out of her chair. “Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?” Jack challenged as he drew his magnificent hands through that magnificent hair and smiled that magnificent smile.
Gabrielle felt a rush of warm blood invade her face. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It had nothing to do with psychic intuition. It was much more basic than that. She threw back her head and released a throaty laugh. Gabrielle knew exactly what he was thinking, because, after all, great minds think alike.
“Learning lines will be no problem. I’ll help you,” Bea told Gabrielle.
“I’m just not interested in acting right now.”
“Look at all those child actors who can’t read yet. They still manage. Somebody helps them memorize their script.”
“That’s the point, Bea. I’m not a child.”
“What about Lois and Felicia?”
“They’re disappointed, but they understand, not like Stephanie. Even though she tried not to show it, she was pretty mad about me refusing to let her write my authorized biography.”
“Trust me, you haven’t heard the last of this. I have a feeling that if Stephanie really wants to write this book, she’s going to keep on hounding you until you give in.”
“She can try, but the answer will still be no. Until I can read my own biography, nobody else is going to write it.”
“Are you thinking about trying tutoring again?” Bea questioned.
“Yeah. I was thinking of hiring a private tutor. You know, someone who will come to me in secret. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a good idea, as long as they sign a confidentiality statement. But I don’t see how you can fit it in right now, not with this calendar shoot and swimsuit special coming up,” Bea responded, hoping that her argument made sense.
“I suppose you’re right,” Gabrielle agreed. “I’ve somehow managed to keep things together this long. I guess tutoring can wait a little longer,” she added, resigned to the fact that she might never learn to read.
“I’m proud of you, Gabrielle. You’ve been through an awful lot in your short life. You’ve been dealt some rough blows, but you just keep moving on and up.”
“I’ve been given a lot of good things, too, even if they didn’t always last,” Gabrielle said softly in a reflective afterthought.
“Are you talking about Doug Sixsmith?”
“It’s not what you think. I’m over him, though not as quickly as he obviously got over me. It’s pretty apparent that he just didn’t love me the way I thought he did.”
The sad look on Gabrielle’s face only added to Bea’s guilt for writing the letter that terminally severed their relationship. When she had sent Doug the note, under Gabrielle’s signature, telling him that their relationship was over and to never contact her again, Bea honestly felt that she was doing the right thing. Doug had hurt Gabrielle terribly with his wild accusations. He didn’t see the effect his hateful words had on Gabrielle for weeks after their breakup. She sat around her room like a zombie, not eating, not sleeping, not working. Doug Sixsmith had nearly destroyed Gabrielle, and though Beatrice could still see a shadow of pain lingering behind those lovely blue eyes when something reminded her of him, Gabrielle was well on her way to forgetting him.
That’s exactly why Bea didn’t pass on any of Doug’s phone messages or give her his letter when it arrived in the weeks following their breakup. Bea didn’t care how sorry he might be or how much he claimed to love her and want her back; Gabrielle had had enough hurt and heartache at his hands.
“Hi, John,” Gabrielle said into the receiver that linked her apartment with the front desk downstairs. “How nice. Please send them up.”
“Visitors?”
“No, flowers, and I think I know from whom.”
“Oh?”
“I have a feeling these are from Jack Hollis. I ran into him at lunch today. We had a nice talk,” Gabrielle said as she opened the door. When she returned, she was carrying five dozen pink roses artistically arranged in a crystal Orrefors vase.
“Would you read the card to me, please?” Gabrielle requested, putting the flowers on the dining-room table.
“ ‘Thanks for making dessert so sweet. Let’s get together soon to continue our kismet adventure. Love, Jack.’ What’s this about a kismet adventure?”
“It’s just a joke,” Gabrielle said, smiling at the memory.
“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time, young lady. Is there something going on here that I should know about?”
“Not yet, maybe not ever. I like Jack, but I guess I’m still a little gun-shy.”
“I know Doug hurt you very badly,” Bea said, putting her arms around Gabrielle’s shoulders. “But one day, when the time is right, you’ll fall in love again. I promise.”
36
“Dead? How can he be dead? I just talked to him a couple of days ago,” Stephanie asked Harry’s secretary in disbelief. “What happened?”
“Heart attack. It was all so sudden. He just keeled over yesterday at the breakfast table. Poor Harry.”
Poor Harry? He’s dead; nothing bothers him anymore. What about me? Stephanie had the hottest tip she’d had in a long time, and Harry Grain was too dead to hear it, let alone print and pay her for it. Was there no justice in this world? How could Harry die without clueing her in that he was even sick? Some people are so fucking thoughtless!
“I’ll be in with Carl if you need me,” Stephanie said, referring to the paper’s editor. Carpe diem. Seize the moment, she thought. Harry’s sudden departure meant his job was wide open, and Stephanie had no intention of leaving until she put her own bid in to replace the man. She practically sprinted through the newsroom to get to Carl’s office.
“Carl?” Stephanie asked, sticking her head in the editor’s door.
“Visa, come on in. I’m glad you’re here. I was planning to get in touch with you myself this afternoon.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I know you’re as upset as the rest of us about the loss of Harry Grain.”
“In more ways than one, Harry’s death leaves a void in all our lives.”
“Harry spoke very highly of your work. He seemed to think that you have all the instincts necessary to be a fine celebrity reporter.”
“If I do, it’s only because those instincts were honed under Harry’s tutelage. He was the best teacher a young reporter could ever hope to have.”
“Visa, I’d like you to take over ‘The Grain Harvest’ column—on a trial basis—one column a week for the next six months. After that, we’ll see how things are going. If they go as well as I hope, ‘The Grain Harvest’ will become yours. We’ll even rename it.”
“I’m honored, though slightly intimidated. Harry left some big footprints to fill,” Stephanie said, quickly calculating the man-hours necessary to continue her work at WJ&A and write the column. She immediately abandoned the task, knowing that if taking this job meant that she had to work ar
ound the clock, she’d do it.
“I’m confident you’ll find a way to blaze your own trail.”
“I will definitely do my best to leave my mark. You can count on that,” she promised.
Stephanie waltzed into the Mad Hatter, stepped up to the bar, and ordered herself a split of the house champagne. She had a lot to celebrate. Not only was the additional income going to come in handy, this job was just what she needed to get her plan in motion. Now that she had complete editorial control over “The Grain Harvest,” Stephanie’s plan to keep Gabrielle’s personal life in the papers could begin in earnest.
This was her first time in the Mad Hatter since the initial months following her breakup with Jack Hollis. Prior to coming, Stephanie had thought she was finally over Jack, but now, sitting at the very bar where they met, the memories—both pleasant and painful—came crashing back. It was evident by the ache in Stephanie’s heart that even after nearly three years, she still missed him. She’d had a few marginal relationships in the years following Jack, but none could fill the black hole his absence had created in her life.
Stephanie threw a few peanuts into her mouth and ground them into paste. She swallowed, gulping down with them any self-pity or anger she still harbored over Jack. Nothing was going to spoil her great afternoon. She had a second job doing what she loved—writing—and a new personal goal—authoring Gabrielle’s biography. Now, if she could just find a place to live and a new man, life would seem almost fair. When her drink was delivered, she lifted the glass and silently congratulated herself for her recent good fortune.
“Celebrating?” asked the guy sitting on the stool next to her. Stephanie looked into the face of a rather plain, though not unattractive man. All in all, his face was common, rather forgettable, in fact, except for his eyes. Stephanie had never seen such strange and eerie-looking eyes before. They were the color of a pale-blue aquamarine, with very small pupils that had a way of gazing through you. If the eyes were the window to one’s soul, then this man appeared spiritless.
“Yeah,” Stephanie said, anxious to share her good news with someone. “I just accepted a new job. One I’ve wanted for quite a while.”
“Congratulations. It’s good to hear that at least one person in this city has a job they like.”
“I take it you don’t.”
“Not most days.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a photographer.”
“What do you shoot? Weddings? Bar mitzvahs?” Stephanie asked. He seemed like the type you’d find working at the portrait studio at Sears, though those spooky eyes of his could scare even Pugsley Addams.
“Nah, I don’t do crap like that. I’m more of what you might call a celebrity photographer, you know, part of New York’s paparazzi.”
“Really? What’s your name?”
“Howie Joseph. And you are?”
“Stephanie.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Howie said with all sincerity, his eyes locking on Stephanie’s for a split second, before she looked away. “Why are you celebrating by yourself?”
“It’s like that sometimes.”
“Let me buy you a drink. An attractive woman like you shouldn’t have to celebrate happy times alone.”
“Thank you. In fact, why don’t we grab a table? You can sit down and tell me all about yourself. One never knows when one will need a good photographer, does one?” Stephanie remarked with a sly grin.
Stephanie and Howie carried their drinks to a secluded corner in the back of the bar. After several hours of conversation and drinks, Howie’s eyes appeared less spooky and Stephanie began to find him creatively appealing. Howie Joseph and Stephanie Bancroft had a lot in common. Both the photographer and the writer planned to establish their own celebrity by chronicling the lives of the already or about-to-be famous. Both were desperate to be recognized for their work and to feast on the fruits of fame. But perhaps the greatest thing Howie and Stephanie had in common was their uncanny ability to dismiss any discomfort or pain that doing their respective jobs might cause others.
By evening’s end the pact between them was sealed. Both had found their professional soul mates. Not only did they agree to work together to help further each other’s career, Howie had the solution to Stephanie’s housing problem—the second bedroom in his apartment. They left the Mad Hatter together, headed back to Brooklyn to pick up Barclay and pack up a few of Stephanie’s belongings, and took them over to Howie’s apartment in a gritty part of Brooklyn known as Dumbo (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass), a haven for artists, photographers, actors, and writers. The apartment had two bedrooms and one usable bath; the other Howie had turned into a darkroom. It was sparsely furnished—a couch, coffee table, and a couple of chairs in the living room, a bed and dresser in each bedroom.
“How can you afford this place?” Stephanie inquired. The unit was a virtual mansion by New York standards.
“Well, for one thing, it’s rent-controlled, and I also kind of lied to you in the bar,” Howie admitted. “I do shoot weddings and bar mitzvahs, even birthday parties when I’m forced to.”
“Well, roomie, stick with me and those times will fade like an old Polaroid. From now on we’re on the celebrity watch.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“You just keep me supplied with exclusive photos, and we’ll be okay. Remember, though, nobody can know that we’re working together.”
“Not a problem. Keeping secrets is a skill I mastered long ago.”
“I hope, for your sake, you’re as good as you say.”
“I am,” Howie told her matter-of-factly. “Now, when do we get started?”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough for me.”
“Great. I’d like to get out and see what the elusive Mrs. Bessette-Kennedy is up to.”
“Forget Carolyn. There’s a model I want you to concentrate on for a while.”
“I like models. Which one?”
“Gabrielle Donovan.”
“Yes!” Howie shouted joyfully. “Following Gabrielle around will be my pleasure. She’s with First Face, right? I’ll need to get some leads on her schedule.”
“Don’t bother. I can get you all the information you need.”
“How do you know Gabrielle?”
“We have mutual friends. Just make sure you get me some good stuff. I want pictures of everything. I want to know where she goes and who she sees when she’s not working. If she’s jogging, I want a picture. If she’s out partying, I want a picture. Hell, anything short of her sitting on the toilet, I want to see it captured on film.”
“Why all the interest in Gabrielle?”
“Here’s our first secret: I have big plans for us, Howie. We’re gonna put together a nice little book on Ms. Donovan—a book that, if done right, will bring us both a lot of money and recognition. Only, nobody knows this yet, not even Gabrielle, so let’s keep it that way. Now, are you interested? Do you think you can get me what I need?”
“You don’t worry about that. I’m good, and I’m persistent. I can sniff out a celebrity shot from a mile away.”
“Well, can you sniff me out something to eat? I’m starving.”
“No problem. One ham and cheese, coming up.”
While her new roommate and business partner headed for the kitchen to fix her a sandwich, Stephanie checked out the view from the living-room window. Today had turned out to be a damned good one. Everything was looking up. She now had a place to live—granted it wasn’t the snobby East Side, but it was clean and affordable—plus she was surrounded by fellow artisans. And Howie Joseph was just what she needed to set her plan in motion. If a picture was worth a thousand words, the combination of Howie’s pictures and her words had to be priceless.
37
“I’ve decided it was time to take matters in my own hands,” Jack announced to Gabrielle over the phone.
“And those matters would be …?” Gabrielle asked, smiling into the receiver.
“You and me. It’s been two weeks since we met at the restaurant, and we still haven’t spent any time together. To remedy this unacceptable situation, I checked with your assistant and mine and managed to clear both our calendars on Tuesday.”
“You’re just a take-charge kinda guy, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. So tell me what you’d like to do, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Plan anything you like.”
“Anything?” Jack asked with a mischievous lilt to his voice.
“Within reason,” Gabrielle stipulated lightheartedly.
“Okay, just be ready to have some fun,” Jack warned, his imagination already in overdrive. Gabrielle Donovan, with her well-deserved reputation as the sweet but untouchable snow maiden of the supermodel set, represented the one thing Jack loved best about a beautiful woman—a challenge.
Early Tuesday morning Gabrielle’s intercom buzzed, rousing her from a sound slumber. She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock. Slowly the glowing blue numbers came into focus. It was 7:28.
“Hello,” she whispered into the intercom, her voice still groggy with sleep.
“Sorry to wake you, Ms. Donovan, but there’s a Mr. Hollis in the lobby.”
“Now?” Gabrielle asked, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind. How had she managed to forget that Jack was coming over this morning? “John, please ask Mr. Hollis to wait ten minutes, and then send him up,” she requested.
Gabrielle had twelve minutes, tops, to make herself look presentable. She wasn’t going to be able to work any miracles in such a short span of time. Jack would just have to be impressed with a clean body and fresh breath, she decided as she raced into the bathroom. When she emerged, wearing a long terry bathrobe and a headful of damp hair, her doorbell was chiming.
“Good morning,” Gabrielle said, opening the door.
“Morning,” Jack replied brightly, stepping into Gabrielle’s apartment. He was wearing a trench coat and carrying two white deli bags and the newspaper. Jack would look perfectly normal for a breezy fall morning, had it not been for his footwear. He was wearing black-leather slippers. “You look surprised to see me.”
Read Between the Lies Page 28
