Lace II

by Shirley Conran

  * * *

  The December issue of VERVE! was a sellout.

  The day after publication, Tom Schwartz, Judy, and the magazine’s lawyer met in Griffin’s gray, suede-paneled conference room.

  Griffin rubbed the side of his nose with his left index finger. “Is this true or not?” He tossed the writ back to the lawyer.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said the lawyer. “Truth is no defense in a case like this. Senator Ruskington claims malicious libel.”

  Judy leaned back in her gray-suede swivel chair. “Personally, I don’t think we should lose sleep over this. We’ve had writs like this before. It happens all the time.”

  Griffin looked over at the lawyer. “What’s the substance of the allegation?”

  “In Lili’s life story as carried in VERVE!, Lili states that Senator Ruskington tried to rape her when they were both staying in Spain at the seashore mansion of the Duchess of Santigosta.”

  Griffin looked puzzled. Tom leaned towards him. “Lili is quoted as saying that he looked like an ugly old tortoise and behaved like a billy goat on LSD.”

  Judy grinned. “He does look like a tortoise and every Washington call girl knows he’s an old goat. Our readers love it when these sanctimonious jerks get their comeuppance.”

  Griffin said, “Aren’t we covered by the first amendment?”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Not in this case, because the Senator claims malice on the part of Miss Jordan. In essence, he’s saying that VERVE! magazine is repeatedly attacking him because he opposed Equal Rights legislation in his state.”

  “He did,” said Judy, “and certainly we wrote about it, and we have repeatedly criticized Senator Ruskington, with good cause.”

  Griffin asked, “How much is he claiming?”

  Tom said, “Sixty million bucks, which means about five, but that’s enough to put the magazine out of business, at this moment in time. Unfortunately, we’re financially vulnerable right now.”

  Griffin pulled out his alligator note pad and scribbled on it.

  Judy burst out, “I can’t believe that a lecherous old senator can send us sliding into bankruptcy when we’re telling the truth, just because he has a smart lawyer!”

  “Judy, you know perfectly well that the law isn’t about truth or justice.” Griffin was irritated by her naiveté. “The law is about obeying a certain set of rules.”

  Tom said, “Maybe if we call his bluff, we won’t hear about it any more.”

  “Senator Ruskington has been my good friend in Washington,” Griffin said slowly. “I assume that Lili will back her story?”

  Judy looked at the serious faces around her. “Of course she will!” But suddenly she wasn’t sure.

  * * *

  Two days later, Judy walked briskly up Fifty-Seventh Street toward Griffin’s office. It was odd that he wanted another office meeting, when they would be having dinner together that evening. But Griffin’s recent behavior had been strange. Or had Griffin always been odd, but she’d viewed him through rose-colored glasses, she wondered, as she waited for the lights to change at Madison. Or was his behavior simply a masculine reaction to rejection? After ten years of explaining to her—at least once a month—why he wouldn’t marry her, Griffin had been amazed, angry, then sulky, when Judy had carefully explained why she didn’t want to marry him.

  From that moment, Griffin had acted strangely, particularly about Lili, whose name he never mentioned, but to whom he always referred, with sarcasm, as “your daughter,” as in “I see that your daughter’s faggot boyfriend has left town.”

  If it hadn’t been for the new, and so far secret, excitement in her life, Judy realized that Griffin would have had her running in circles as usual, wondering what she’d done wrong. Instead of which, every time Mark suggested a date, she minded less if Griffin broke one at the last minute; every time Mark laughed, Judy minded less when Griffin evaded giving an opinion; Judy sometimes wondered whether Griffin would commit himself to anything, even agreeing on the date, let alone promising to love and honor her for life. The only thing both men had in common was their concentration on their work, but, whereas Griffin never forgot his, Mark seemed willing, if not eager, when they were together, to concentrate on Judy. And what Judy most enjoyed was her increasing feeling of freedom, now that she wasn’t bound to Griffin’s routine of adulterous deception. So Judy didn’t feel a bit guilty about these wonderful weeks with Mark. Well, not very guilty. Well, not guilty enough to stop seeing Mark, and feeling Mark, and feeling Mark feel her. Judy hugged her Burberry around her; the weather was almost cold enough for her new lynx, she thought, as she sniffed the tang of smoke from the hot-chestnut vendor’s stand on the corner of Fifth.

  To Judy’s surprise, there were two lawyers in Griffin’s office.

  After a long preamble about the corporate image of his publishing empire, and the editorial policy of VERVE!, Griffin avoided Judy’s eye as one of the lawyers leaned toward her. “Therefore, Judy, you will appreciate our reluctance for these two concerns to be further associated, and in view of Orbit Publishing’s long-standing relationship with Senator Ruskington.…”

  “What long-standing relationship?” exploded Judy.

  “Naturally, we do not care to publicize our Washington connections, but you should have known that the Senator is aware of our position on the quotas related to imported wood pulp.”

  Judy realized that, indeed, she should have made the connection, and she also realized that it would not have damaged the story’s impact, had she dropped those fatal paragraphs about Senator Ruskington.

  “In view of Orbit’s wish to distance itself from this issue, it has been decided to sell Orbit’s 50 percent shareholding to Creative Magazines.”

  “At what price?” There was a steely glint behind Judy’s tortoise-shell spectacles, as she realized that this was Griffin’s uptown, gray-suede, bum’s rush.

  “Two ten. Ten above market price.”

  “We might offer you two twenty.” Judy and Tom both held 24 percent of the VERVE! shares, Kate held the remaining two percent.

  * * *

  “Judy, two thirty is a crazy price.” Tom was an experienced stock-market speculator. “Don’t make a fool of yourself for that rat fink’s benefit. Tom leaned back in his office chair. “God, I wish Kate were here, she’d talk some sense into you. Sure, we made a wonderful profit last year, but it’s not in a heap in a wheelbarrow. It’s all tied up, and we’re going to need all our cash to fight that scumbag, Ruskington.”

  Judy had never seen Tom look so worried, and she also felt that he was holding something back; gradually she realized what it was. “I know what you’re thinking, Tom. You’re thinking that if it hadn’t been for my asterisk-asterisk daughter, Lili, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Tom said nothing. Judy added gloomily, “I suppose I think that as well. But I also suppose there’s no parent alive who hasn’t thought that at some time or other.”

  Tom said, “Kids! You hope that when they grow up the problems will stop … but that’s when the big ones start.”

  Tom leaned over and patted Judy’s shoulder. “It’s pointless to worry about what’s happened or whose fault it is. We should be concentrating our energy on how to get out of this mess. But this time, I don’t think we can, Judy. I don’t think even you can wriggle out of this one.”

  Judy thought, it’s one of those rare occasions when we both need moral support from each other, and neither of us is strong enough to give it. She tried to sound cheerful as she said, “Miracles sometimes happen.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Tom. Give me time to think. How about you kidnapping Lili for ten million dollars, then handing the money over to me?”

  Tom laughed. “Sorry, I wouldn’t know how to start to kidnap someone.”

  “Weakling! If I can’t rely on you, who can I rely on?”

  As she lifted the telephone, Tom asked, “Who’re you calling?”

  “C
urtis Halifax.”

  “I could never understand why Curtis backed us in the first place. I know he’s your old beau, but you can’t expect the poor sap to be a perennial Santa Claus.”

  Judy leaned back in her leather chair, grinned at Tom and lifted the telephone.

  * * *

  “Get out of here!” Tony slammed his black-booted foot into the photographer’s stomach to keep him out of the limousine. The man fell into the road, yelling obscenities at the back of the departing Rolls as it sped away from the airport. “Those guys sure are persistent,” Tony said in amazement, as the limousine cruised back to the VERVE! office.

  Lili ignored him, grabbed the radiophone and called the VERVE! office. “Judy, it’s impossible,” she shouted. Limo telephones always sounded as if you were calling from outer space. “We just couldn’t move—if Tony hadn’t been there, I’d have been torn to pieces. I had to lock myself in the cloakroom and climb out of the window to get away.”

  “Did Pagan get off all right?”

  “Yes. You were right, it was crazy of me to see her off. These photographers really frighten me. I think I’ll have to go back to Europe.”

  “Don’t worry, Lili.” Judy’s voice crackled soothingly. “I’ve arranged for you to hide out until this fuss dies down. You can stay at Mark’s apartment in the Village for a couple of days. I’ll send someone to the Pierre to get your things. Tony will see you safely into the apartment and I’ll come down later.”

  * * *

  Mark’s white loft in Greenwich Village had been transformed by Judy’s staff with a speed and care which Lili found touching, as she noticed huge vases of white lilies, the freshly made bed with lace-edged linen sheets, ample supplies of essences and scents in the bare little bathroom beside a complete range of cosmestics, courtesy of the VERVE! beauty editor.

  Tony ostentatiously checked the bedroom windows, enjoying his role as temporary bodyguard to an international celebrity. Logs of juniper wood blazed in the fireplace, and a light but steady fall of December snow began to drift against the wall of glass that overlooked the roof garden; the faint sounds of the city were blotted out. Lili felt that she was in a warm white nest, thousands of feet removed from any danger.

  * * *

  Snow swirled in spirals between the high buildings, as if a giant pillow had burst outside the glass wall. Lili felt safe. Fresh from a warm bath, wearing a white lace-trimmed vest and shorts, she lay curled in front of the glowing fire, blinking into the heat like a comatose cat. For the first time in twenty-four hours, her mind was blissfully relaxed, so she was nearly asleep, and she didn’t hear the multiple soft clicks and rattles as the door locks slowly slid back.

  Mark stopped abruptly in the doorway. His face was mottled with cold, and melted snow was trickling down his neck. He could see the living room reflected in the wall of bronze mirror which ran from the front to the back of his loft, linking the different rooms and levels. In front of his fire, he saw a topaz-tinted picture of some mythical creature—half woman and half cat, basking in the warmth. Then he realized that this must be Judy’s daughter, his temporary houseguest—the notorious Lili.

  For a few moments, he was stunned by the force of his own appetite, as he watched her. As Lili heard him dump his camera cases on the floor, she jumped up with fear, then smiled. “I hope you’re Mark.” Mark felt as if his stomach had just dropped from the fifth floor to the basement.

  “Is there anything to drink?” Abruptly, he headed for the kitchen, to get away from this exotic vision before he jumped on her. Judy’s staff had filled the refrigerator with fruit, salad, cheese, and several bottles of de Chazalle champagne.

  “Here,” Mark turned to Lili, who had hastily pulled on a sweater and jeans, and offered her a tumbler of champagne.

  Lili smiled as she raised her glass. “You’ve got ice on your eyelashes.”

  Mark put a half-pound of Beluga and a loaf of rye bread on a tray, then carried it to the fireside.

  “How did you meet my mother?” Lili wrenched off a caviar-laden corner of bread with her pointed little teeth. She liked the possessive ring of “my mother.”

  “It’s hard for me to believe that I only met her a few weeks ago. I’ve never met anyone like her. I fell for her on the spot,” said Mark. “We met when Judy came to an exhibition of my Sydon pictures. She looked like a fierce, inquisitive little terrier, dashing from one picture to the other, with her eyes shining, while all the rest of the crowd was just drinking and yakking. I loved her enthusiasm. She’s using some of my pictures for a feature on women as leaders.”

  During the time it took to empty the caviar tin, Mark talked increasingly about Judy and, if the conversation turned toward some other subject, Mark firmly steered it back to Lili’s mother and the problems that might affect their relationship because of Mark’s assignments in warring foreign countries.

  “But maybe it’ll be easier than if I was always around,” he said as he finished the caviar. “It’s lucky for me that Judy doesn’t want the demands of a full-time relationship any more than I do; I’m pretty impossible when I’m not working; being inactive tends to make me edgy.”

  “Why are you a war photographer?”

  “Because I’m not a soldier,” he grinned at her in the firelight. “I come from an army family, my father was an infantry colonel, and that’s what they wanted me to be.”

  “Then why aren’t you in the army?” Lili poured herself another tumbler of champagne.

  “If you’d grown up with my Dad, you would have thought twice about the army as a profession. He was in Korea from the beginning, lost two toes on one of his feet from frostbite, but he was lucky—that was his only wound—until they were pulling out. Then a junior officer went crazy in the mess and shot seven people, including my Dad. He came out of the coma with brain damage and, since then, he’s been like a five-year-old child; I hardly remember him any other way.” Mark thought of the tall, stooped figure that floated like a ghost around the airy house in San Francisco, always shadowed by his mother’s unspoken disappointment. “The army ruined my father, and I disapprove of war. That’s why I’m not in the army.”

  “But surely what you’re doing makes war glamorous?”

  “No. There’s nothing glamorous about killing people. I hope that my pictures show the horror of war.”

  Silently, they stared into the fire. “I suppose this must be what it feels like to have a brother,” said Lili. “Let’s drink to brotherly love.”

  Lili realized that, for the first time in her life, she had just enjoyed a couple of hours alone with an attractive man without feeling threatened by the man’s sexual interest. But, as the snow piled higher and higher on the roof outside, the normally silent Mark found himself talking about anything to fill the silence, which would otherwise have been flooded with his growing carnal desire for Lili.

  5

  December 1978

  TOM PUT HIS head round the door of Judy’s office. “First letter from Kate!” He waved the airmail flimsy. “She says its like the West Bank of Jordan, it’s a forced settlement operation. It’s a way of invading without invading. Thousands of hill tribe people have been murdered, detained without trial or tortured. And Kate’s got dysentery.”

  Judy looked up and said, “Just the holiday she needed,” then continued her telephone conversation. “Maxine, of course I’ll come. Invent an excuse for inviting me, let the situation cool for a few weeks and I’ll fly over for a weekend in the New Year. Through thick and thin, remember?”

  “You’re crazy, Judy.” Tom looked disbelieving as she put the telephone down. “You can’t go to France now—we’re up to our eyebrows in problems.”

  Judy said, “I’ll only be gone over a weekend. Now, what do we have to tell the brilliant attorney who’s going to wrestle Senator Ruskington to his knees?”

  “Judy, I wish you wouldn’t joke about this.” Tom was exasperated. “The fees are piling up; you’d think those guys wrote to each other on
solid gold notepaper. Financially, we’re on the limit of our contingency fund, and if this should ever come to court—which I pray to God it won’t—and Ruskington wins, we’ll be completely ruined.”

  “When that day comes, promise you’ll hold my hand as we take a dive together from the fiftieth floor.” Judy briskly opened the file.

  “Okay, you’ve got a date!” Tom put his hand on her shoulder. “Look, I want you to know that if this turns out to be real trouble, we’ll be in it together. I’ll be with you right to the end.”

  “Thanks, Tom. Now, what do the lawyers need?”

  “We have to demonstrate that you, personally, have no malicious intentions toward the Senator. We have to show that you are not prejudiced against him in any way. It’s a tough one, Judy, because the old bird is a Bible-thumping Baptist, the biggest chauvinist pig in the pen, and your daughter claims that he tried to rape her. So he’s pretty much everything you hate in a human being.”

  “If the Senator is a bigot and a rapist, surely hating him is a reasonable attitude?” Judy argued. “He’ll never take this to court, Tom. A scandal like this would finish him in Washington.”

  “What’s he got to lose? The scandal’s blown up already and he wants whitewash. We’re the ones who’ll be in trouble, Judy—a mess like this won’t do our circulation figures any good.”

  Judy stood up, determined to rid Tom of his doubts and boost his confidence. “What’s got into you, Tom?” she asked, “this loser talk isn’t like you at all—you know that all publicity is good publicity. We won’t lose any readers by fighting this case—they’ll all be rooting for us.”

  Tom left Judy’s pastel office feeling that nothing would make her realize how serious the situation was. More anxious than when he entered, he took away the audited circulation figures for the past quarter, without showing them to Judy, because they registered a definite fall. Could Judy’s judgment—for years as deadly, fast and accurate as a Cruise missile—be faltering at last? he wondered. As Tom passed the boardroom, he noticed a few assistant editors limbering up for the daily exercise session. Judy had never been interested in sports, unwilling to walk if she could ride, and now the spectacle of her gallantly sweating through Tony’s workout, whenever her schedule allowed, was surprising. Maybe Judy was starting to feel her age, at last.