“I probably will,” Louis said. “But while I’m still on this earth, you’d better let me help you while I can. Now, sit down and cut out the sulking bullshit.”
Leana left for the exit. What was Harold thinking sending me here?
Louis waited for her to cross the room and grasp the door handle before he called out to her. “I could put you on top, you know. I could make you the envy of this town, bigger than your sister Celina ever could hope to become.”
The temptation was great, but Leana opened the door and left the office. She wouldn’t be treated like this by anyone.
She moved down the hall toward the wall of elevators, passing the same groups of men and women she envied earlier but no longer envied now. Some seemed to recognize her along the way and she sensed them staring, as if they were wondering why George Redman’s daughter was here, of all places.
Behind her, a door opened. And then his voice: “Leana.”
She was on the cold rails of her control now, making steady progress toward the elevators.
“Leana.” There was a new note in his voice. “Please come back so we can talk. There was a reason for what I said.”
She turned to him. He was standing just outside his office, smiling a smile that was not sarcastic, but apologetic. What in God’s name do I want this bad?
When she returned to his office, she found him fixing them a drink at the bar. Ice rattled as he poured what looked like vodka into two short glasses. He tried to hand her one of the glasses, but put it on the counter when she refused it.
“I meant what I said, you know. I can-and will-put you on top.” He took a drink. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He raised a hand. “No need to answer-I can see it in your eyes. You’re angry as hell and I can’t say that I blame you. Your father gave your sister the world and he left you with nothing. It hurts. I get it.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I hate your father. He’s fortunate enough to have had two beautiful daughters and stupid enough to have treated only one of them fairly. My father used to treat me the same way your father treats you. My brother was the star-not me. When Harold came last night and told me your story, I decided I wanted to help.”
“If you want to help me so badly, then why did you put me through that?”
“Because I needed to see if you had it in you to stand up to me-which you did.” He looked toward the picture of a woman that rested on his desk. “If I didn’t think you had guts, Leana, I could never offer you the position I’m about to offer you.”
“And what position is that?”
“The new hotel I’m building?” Louis said. “I want you to run it for me.”
Like the waiters who worked there, the restaurant on 56th Street was chic, charming and Italian. When Leana arrived, she checked her watch, saw that she was a few minutes early for her dinner date with Mario and went to the crowded oak bar that was to the right of the lobby.
The buzz of conversation was noticeably louder there and it surrounded her. Leana sat on a wooden stool, ordered a glass of white wine and amused herself by watching the people. She was feeling very, very giddy. I just agreed to run the largest hotel in Manhattan-and I know zip about the hotel business. So, I’m crazy. And so what if I am?
The restaurant was filled with couples. Leana turned and saw people of all ages talking and laughing and smiling. At one of the corner tables, she noticed a young woman speaking to an older man. They resembled each other. The woman was talking quickly and her features were animated.
Leana wondered if they were father and daughter. She wondered what news the woman was sharing and couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. Although she knew her father loathed Louis Ryan, Leana decided there was nothing more in the world she would like right now than to share with her father her own exciting news.
She looked away from the couple, knowing that day wouldn’t come. While her sister shared a life with her father, Leana had shared only his house.
It was getting late. Mario usually was punctual. She wondered where he was. She had just ordered her second glass of wine when a man in a dark blue suit placed a hand on the stool beside her.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
Leana was about to say it was when she noticed it was Michael Archer. She felt an initial start, but stilled it. “Now, this,” she said coolly, “is a surprise.”
Michael smiled. “I could say the same.”
“It’s good to see you,” Leana said. “What brings you here?”
“Good food and a beautiful woman.” She glanced behind him and he added, “Who ultimately stood me up.”
“Oh, please. Who stands you up?”
“It’s true,” he said. “And it always happens with models. Care to offer me some insight?”
“Just let me be clear on this,” she said. “You date models?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Maybe a drink will make you feel better?”
Leana lifted her full glass of wine. “Too late,” she said. “But let me buy you one. It will help cheer you up from your model malaise. What would you like? Something without calories?”
He laughed. “Anything cold,” he said. “The heat is murder today.”
He caught the barman’s attention and ordered a beer. When it arrived, he took a long swallow and thanked Leana.
“My pleasure.”
“What brings you here?” he asked. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”
“You’re not interrupting a thing. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend for dinner, but he’s late. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been stood up, too.”
“How late is late?”
“Thirty minutes late.”
Michael lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve got that kind of patience? I was leaving after waiting only twenty minutes.”
“Oh, you novelists,” she said. “Oh, you movie stars. So busy. So little time.”
He couldn’t help a smile. “Have you given him a call?”
“No,” Leana said. “But that isn’t a bad idea.”
She excused herself to use her cell phone at a quiet area of the restaurant. She was reaching into her purse for it when a waiter tapped her on the shoulder. “Leana Redman?”
Leana looked at the man. “Yes?”
“Message for you.” He handed her a slip of paper and left.
Leana knew the note was from Mario before she opened it.
Leana:
I tried calling you at Harold’s but you were out. I’m not going to be able to make dinner tonight. I forgot it’s Lucia’s birthday and I need to spend it with her and the kids. Especially because of the kids. I swear I’ll make this up to you. Try not to be angry. I’ll explain everything when I get in touch with you.
— Mario
Leana crumpled the note and dropped it in an ashtray. So, now he was lying to her. She knew Lucia’s birthday was only a week after her own-and that wasn’t for another five months.
She tried to still a twinge of anger, but couldn’t. She should have known that he would let her down. Sooner or later, most men did. She wondered why she thought she could trust him in the first place. He’s married, she thought. When am I going to get it? Married men and Leana Redman equals poison. Time to move on.
When she returned to the bar, Michael was signing the back of a cocktail napkin for one of the waitresses. Leana watched him. He seemed comfortable with his celebrity, at ease and unaffected by it. She knew he was attracted to her. She sensed that the night of the party. But she was attracted to him, too.
She waited for the waitress to leave before approaching him.
“Can I also have your autograph?” she asked. “It would mean the world to me, Mr. Archer. I’d do anything to get it.”
“Where do you want it.”
She waved a hand, sat down and reached for her glass of wine. “Since my ass obviously is a target tonig
ht, you could put it there.”
“What does that mean.”
“Apparently, I’ve been stood up, too, which is a shame because I’m starving. So, how about me buying you dinner?”
“You already bought me a drink. My turn.”
“No,” she said as they slid off their barstools. “I asked first. But please, do me a favor and order off the children’s menu.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Money got a little tight today.”
Vincent Spocatti waited for them to be seated before leaving his table in the corner of the restaurant. They were now at the opposite end of the crowded room. He moved so she couldn't see him, slipped outside and phoned Louis Ryan, who answered on the second ring. “This is Ryan.”
“They’re ordering dinner.”
“Good,” Louis said. “And I assume Mr. De Cicco won’t be bothering them during their meal?”
“I doubt it,” Spocatti said. “Not after the package I sent his wife.”
Spocatti was full of surprises. “What was in it?”
“Three dozen black roses and a note saying if she’d like to join her mother in hell, please feel free to step out of her home. Obviously, Mario is keeping an eye on his wife as we speak.”
“How did Leana react?”
“How do you think she reacted? She is having dinner with Michael, Louis.”
“Let’s hope sparks fly,” Louis said. “Because if they don’t and if I don’t hear wedding bells soon, I’m not paying Santiago a dime and my son can go to hell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
While Leana was having dinner with Michael, Celina was phoning George and asking him to meet her for a drink. “I don’t care if you’re busy. I need to talk to you. Be at Houlihan’s on 56th and Lex in an hour. It’s important.”
She arrived at the popular bar ten minutes early.
The bar itself was three deep in people-most of whom were either posing or prowling, or throwing back their heads in comic relief.
Celina’s glance swept the pandemonium for George. She saw young businessmen in thousand-dollar suits struggling to look sophisticated and successful young businesswomen sipping white wine and trying to kick the traces of cocaine. She didn’t see George and she was glad. Celina wanted to see her father come in, wanted to watch him in that one moment before he knew she was watching.
She shouldered her way to the bar. One of the women recognized her and there was an audible whisper across the crowd: “Celina Redman…”
People turned and stared and Celina heard Eric Parker’s name mentioned more than once. She focused her attention on the barman. She ordered a martini and turned to look across a wooden divider, where people sat talking and drinking. A couple was just leaving a corner table, making it now the only available table in the place.
Celina paid for the drink and moved toward the table. She sat-and was surprised by how tired she was.
All day long, she and her father had been caucusing with Ted Frostman about the feasibility of taking over WestTex Incorporated. While he was enthusiastic, there were some at Chase who were more cautious. They wanted to run their own due diligence. They wanted to unleash on the company their own team of lawyers and accountants. They wanted to speak to Iran themselves. Until they knew every nook and cranny of WestTex, until they were certain the deal with Iran would not fall through, they were hesitant to join George in this takeover.
And Celina couldn’t blame them. There was plenty at risk, but time wasn’t a luxury in this deal and Frostman and Chase knew it. If they couldn’t give her father a commitment soon, George would have to try again and look elsewhere for financing. If they were serious, at some point Chase would need to have faith in her father and his prior successes, and take the risk.
She happened to be watching the doors when George stepped into the bar.
He looked tan and lean and was wearing the same comfortable style of clothing he always wore after work-khaki pants, white cotton shirt, brown leather loafers.
He went to the bar. People stepped aside, the conversation around him faltered, and he knew it. He had just caught the bartender’s eye when a young man in an expensively tailored gray suit approached him. He thrust out his hand, shook George’s and spoke to the bartender. Two drinks appeared in what seemed like a matter of seconds. They touched glasses, drank and George listened patiently as the man made his pitch.
Celina couldn’t help a smile. Although it happened more frequently than he liked, her father never shied away from such situations. He often said this was how he found some of his best employees.
She wondered if George felt that way now. He had met and hired Eric Parker at a bar like this.
The young man left with a smile stamped on his face and George turned to look for Celina. When he spotted her, he held her gaze for a moment, nodded to acknowledge he had seen her and came across the room. Celina could sense in him a slight annoyance at being called away from home.
He took the seat opposite her. “This is quite a place,” George said. “Loud, full-and young. You come here often?”
“Eric and I used to.”
He accepted this with a nod.
“Let me come right to the point.”
“Go for it.”
“I want to know if you had anything to do with what happened to Eric last night.”
The tension was quick to form and it stretched between them. George looked at Celina, but his face remained expressionless. He didn’t answer.
“I was there when they wheeled Eric out of Redman Place,” Celina said. “I saw them lift him into the back of an ambulance. I saw Diana Crane join him. I want to know if you had anything to do with it.”
“What does your heart tell you?”
“Don’t play games with me, Dad.”
“I’m not playing games with you.”
“Then just answer the question.”
“Not until you answer mine.”
At that moment, she felt a bitterness toward her father she hadn't felt before-and it frightened her. She thought of the argument they had the other morning and realized they no longer were as close as they once were. Something had shifted. She knew she could stop this, but she wouldn’t. Celina had to know the truth, no matter what she might lose because of it.
“All right,” she said. “My heart says there is no way you could have done this.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because the rest of me feels differently.”
“Well,” George said. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He finished his drink and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Celina.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back home to your mother.”
“But you haven’t answered my question.”
“And I don’t intend to. It’s ludicrous.”
“Then answer this for me, Dad. If you had nothing to do with what happened to Eric, who did you call that day in your study?”
George looked down at her. Celina met his gaze with her own. She wouldn’t look away.
“You want to know who I phoned that day in my study?”
“Yes. I want to know.”
George placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. His face was only inches from hers when he spoke. “I phoned a friend of mine who’s going to see to it that Eric Parker never works in this town again. That’s what I did to Eric, Celina. I destroyed his professional career. Nothing else.” He straightened. “Satisfied?”
She knew he was telling her the truth. She could see it on his face.
George turned to leave.
“Wait,” Celina said. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something that’s important.”
“What is it?”
“It’s about Leana.”
There was a guarded look in his eyes. “What about Leana?”
“She was there last night. I saw her in the crowd.”
George looked around them, likely to see if anyone was listening. He reclaimed his seat. “Go on,” he said.
“She was with two men. I noticed her after they wheeled Eric out of Redman Place.”
“Did she see you?”
“I called out her name to make sure of it.”
“What did she do?”
“She spoke to the men beside her, they looked at me and hurried her away from the crowd. When they lifted Eric into that ambulance, I swear to God she was smiling.”
George reached for his empty glass of Scotch and wished it was full. “What did the men look like?”
Celina read his mind. “They looked like friends of Mario De Cicco’s to me.”
“Do you think she’s seeing him again?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past Leana.”
“Neither would I.” He pushed back his chair.
“There’s more,” Celina said. “This morning, I spoke to the doormen who were on duty last night.”
“And?”
“Each of them mentioned talking with Leana. My guess is that she distracted them so her friends could get to Eric.” There was a silence. “I didn’t want to tell you any of this, but I thought you should know. If one of those doormen tells the police that Leana was there during the time of the attack, she could get into serious trouble-especially if Eric learns she was there. There’s no telling what he’d do if he makes that connection.”
“What makes you think he hasn’t already?”
George stood and turned to leave, but then he stopped and faced his daughter. “I’m going to be honest with you, Celina. One thing still bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“The fact that you knew all this and still thought I was responsible for what happened to Eric.”
Later, in his office at Redman Place, George spoke separately to the same three doormen Leana spoke to the night Eric was beaten.
One was French, the other two Hispanics. The message he gave each was the same-George had friends at the Department of Immigration. If even one of them mentioned to the police that they spoke to Leana the night of the beating, he would see to it that all were deported to their respective countries the following week.
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