Any Given Moment (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 3)

by Laura Van Wormer

  Alexandra's invitation touched Georgiana deeply. She knew it had taken a lot of courage for her to ask her, because she knew Alexandra was scared.

  And Georgiana wondered if she should be, too.

  42

  "Are you still mad?" Monty asked over the telephone at seven o'clock the next morning.

  "Not enough to walk away without seeing this thing finished," Elizabeth told him, pouring milk into a steaming cup of coffee.

  "That's pretty mad," Monty said. "Look, Elizabeth, I can't help it if I'm a man."

  She had to laugh. "What on earth does that have to do with anything? Are you suggesting all men think and behave like you?"

  "No, that's not what I meant." He was entangling himself al­ready.

  "Then tell me what you did mean."

  "I meant that it's difficult for a man like me to see a woman like you be drawn to David Aussenhoff. I'm sorry, but that's the truth."

  "And what, may I ask, does my personal life have to do with you?"

  "It has to do with what an amazing woman I think you are," Monty said.

  "You're in love with Georgiana, remember?"

  "Yeah, well, we're all entitled to a few meaningless daydreams in life."

  "What are you eating?"

  "Jelly doughnut," he said, with his mouth full.

  "Oh, Monty," she sighed.

  "I know it's got sugar in it," he said, "but it tastes good. With­out two or three doughnuts and a lot of coffee, there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to get through this day. I'm bushed."

  "Same," she said. "But we have to get going."

  "Does that mean I'm invited back to the salt mines with you?'”

  "Yes," she said. "But I'll understand if you can't make it. After all, you've got your show to do."

  "I'll pick you up in an hour," he said.

  Elizabeth and Monty were silent for a while as they drove out to Queens, each thinking their own thoughts, sipping coffee, looking out the windows of the limousine, when Elizabeth suddenly cried, "What fools we are!"

  "Huh? What?" Montgomery said, startled, reaching into the bar for a napkin to catch the coffee he spilled.

  "The names and numbers Patty gave us yesterday," Elizabeth said, handing her coffee to him and ripping open her briefcase. "Does that car phone work?"

  "Yeah," he said, putting the cup on the bar and opening the phone box.

  "Okay, let's go," she said, pulling Patty's list out, "let's start calling these numbers and find out who these people are."

  There were six numbers. Elizabeth called the first one, a New York number. Scott Boman was a lawyer representing an opera star.

  Monty made the next call to Mathew at an L.A. number. "No­body'll be in yet in Los Angeles, but what the hey." Monty listened, frowned, hung up, and stared at Elizabeth. Then he murmured, "Let me try that again." This time he held the phone out to her. After several rings, a voice-mail system picked up, and a man's slightly affected voice said, "You have reached the office of Mr. Creighton Berns. Leave a message at the sound of the tone. Thank you."

  They stared at each other a moment.

  "We've got to call Patty," Elizabeth said.

  Out at the front desk at ICA, Patty was sweating bullets. Eliz­abeth had told her that "Mathew" was either a code name for Creighton Berns or something else. "You must keep your eyes and ears open for it." Easy for her to say! What was she supposed to do?

  When lunchtime came and Miss Andersen went out, Patty thought, To hell with it, let's go for it, and she abandoned her post, forwarding her calls to God only knew where. She hurried back to the legal offices, as if on a hasty errand. None of the assistants was there, nor was James Stanley Johnson in his office. His door was open, though, and on the couch was the box of files he had been going through the week before. If he hadn't found what he was looking for in there, then the chances were good she never would either.

  Did she dare risk examining his desk?

  Just do it, she told herself.

  She closed the door and quickly scouted his desk. Papers, pa­pers, papers. She touched one, thought she heard something, jumped, froze—silence—and then resumed looking around again. Mathew, Mathew, anything that looked like anything, and then she saw a piece of legal pad with 417 MATHEW penciled on the corner. There were a series of words and notes, but she didn't take time to figure it out. She simply took the paper, slipped it into her blazer pocket, and ran for the door. She peeked outside. No one.

  "May I help you with something?" a woman's voice asked.

  Patty nearly screamed. She turned around. Marion Ballicutt was standing by Miss Andersen's desk, holding some papers in her hand.

  "No, ma'am," Patty said. "I'm supposed to be covering the phones at the front desk, but there seems to be something wrong with the call forwarding on Mr. Johnson's phone. I think it's fixed now." She offered a nervous laugh, edging away. "His calls have been going into the twilight zone, and we're trying to get it working again."

  "I should hope so," Marion said, turning abruptly and walking away.

  When Patty got her lunch break, an hour later, she raced out of the building, jumped into a cab, and headed for Penn Plaza. She was signed in by security, sent up in an elevator, and then escorted through a labyrinth of hallways that ended in a huge open room full of people sitting at desks. Farther along was an engineering studio, where Montgomery Grant Smith sat behind a large plate-glass win­dow with headphones on, talking into a microphone.

  "The great and the mighty will be back after these messages," he promised, signing off. He waved at Patty and stood up.

  "You can go in," the engineer said.

  "I think this is it," she said, breathless, pulling out the yellow piece of paper.

  He scanned it and looked up at the clock. "Elizabeth will be here in about twenty minutes. I'll give it to her and we'll discuss it tonight at the apartment? You're going to be there?"

  "Yes," Patty said, "but I've got to get back to the office now."

  As she turned to go, he stopped her. "You did beautifully," he told her, impulsively giving her a big bear hug that momentarily picked her up off the ground. "When your book gets published, I'm giving you a whole hour on my show. And that's a solemn promise."

  "A whole hour on romantic suspense?" She laughed, very pleased.

  "Why the hell not? I'm Montgomery Grant Smith and I can do what I want!"

  "And we're frankly hoping that Montgomery Grant Smith wants to go back on the air now," his producer said over the intercom, "because you have five seconds."

  Dorothy enjoyed her daily walks to the beach and back. She was getting brown from being outdoors, and she had regained much of her strength, though she still slept what seemed to her to be in­credibly long hours. But she was certain she was on the mend. As she turned into their drive, arms swinging, legs beneath her skirt working easily, she felt confident she would be able to make the most of the time that was left to her.

  She had been sent a warning and she would remember to watch what she ate, exercise regularly, and get her rest. It was a fine and easy thing to follow instructions out here in the country, but back in New York... Well, the time may have come for her to face the fact that New York City was not particularly conducive to a less stressful existence. Her doctor had suggested a mild aerobics class, but she couldn't imagine herself in a leotard, leaping about with all those young people.

  She laughed to herself, walking around the corner of the house.

  Bernadette and Henry were sitting on the back deck, and Henry looked as though he had been caught whispering about her behind her back. She didn't know what was going on in New York and Los Angeles at this point, but she figured the time had probably arrived when she would be finding out.

  "Hello, darling," she said to her husband. "What's the matter? Millicent hasn't made us another loaf of that ghastly 'health' bread, has she?"

  "No," Henry said.

  "I can't imagine why it's always so heavy," Dorothy said, slow
ly climbing the stairs to the deck. "Anyway, dear, the beach is just marvelous," she added, sitting down. "If you go fishing tomorrow morning, I'd like to come with you."

  "I'm sorry, what?"

  "Henry, what is the matter?" Dorothy said, watching his expression.

  He looked pained. And then he sighed. "Doe, darling, I've been discussing the situation with Bernadette, here, and I wonder if you might be up for a conference call Friday morning."

  "Saints be praised," Dorothy said to the sky. "Don't tell me he's finally letting me out of isolation!"

  "It's not that I've—"

  "Been keeping me a prisoner in my own home?" she finished for him. "Yes, darling, you have, but I know why and I am very grateful to you for seeing that I've had such a good rest." She looked at Bernadette. "You have told him the truth, haven't you? How really well I am?"

  "I told Mr. Hillings that we need to be careful that you don't overdo it," Bernadette said carefully. "But I said I thought a con­ference call would be all right."

  Dorothy looked at Henry. "You need me to help sort out the agency business, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do. Rather, Elizabeth needs your excellent memory."

  "Elizabeth?" she said.

  "Yes, Elizabeth has been absolutely marvelous," Henry told her. "She's piecing together information for us in the most extraordi­nary way—I think it must have to do with her skills as a researcher. And Montgomery—"

  "Montgomery!" Dorothy chuckled, shaking her head, trying to pretend his involvement was news to her. "This is rather amazing."

  "And Georgiana's coming back to New York again to help," Henry said.

  "Georgiana?" she asked. Now she really was surprised. "Darling, we don't even represent her!"

  "She's been helping nonetheless," Henry said.

  "Who?" Bernadette asked.

  "Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres," Henry said. "The actress."

  Bernadette's eyes grew quite large.

  "And, according to Elizabeth," Henry said, "David Aussenhoff is flying back to New York today to help out as well."

  "What is the conference call about?" Dorothy asked.

  "Elizabeth and Monty seemed to think you hold the answers to a number of questions that can make sense out of this whole ICA mess."

  "Quite likely they're right," she said.

  Henry looked so relieved to hear this that Dorothy realized at once how much he must have been keeping from her all these weeks.

  Oh, golly, how she loved this dear man!

  43

  Creighton Berns was talking with one of ICA's biggest film directors when his secretary buzzed him. "Yes, Mary?" he asked.

  "Your old friend is on the phone," she told him.

  "Would you excuse me for just a moment?" Creighton asked, snapping up the phone.

  He listened. "Yes," he said. "Really." Eyes narrowing. "You must be mistaken." A nod. "All right, thank you. Anything that comes your way, I want to hear about." And he hung up.

  Fifteen minutes later he had steered the director out of his office and down to the film department for a meeting with a producer.

  When he was alone, Creighton summoned his assistant, Joseph Colum, signaling for him to close the door. Creighton sat back in his chair, knitted his hands together over his stomach, and said, "I want the numbers on Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres."

  His assistant blanched slightly. "I know them, Mr. Berns. We made one point seven million in commission on her last year, and about fifteen times that from packaging her vehicles."

  "Then I suppose we better count on a dip in Ms. Hamilton­-Ayres's earnings for us this year," Creighton said. "Because I know for a fact she's no friend of mine."

  44

  By six o'clock Thursday evening, the Hillingses' apartment was filled with people and noise. Monty had come from the studio after his show; David and Georgiana had arrived from JFK not fifteen minutes apart; Patty dragged in from ICA at five forty-five; and Elizabeth, radiant and exultant, was walking around the apartment waving a copy of the Mathew memo from ICA, sure now they were on the right track.

  By six-thirty everybody was in the kitchen, drinking and snack­ing, tempted by the delicious smells of a roast and the sweet potato soufflé Monty was cooking for dinner ("You people eat meat, don't you? How about you two from the Left Coast?"). They stood there talking, edging around the oven and stove, as hungry people are so apt to do.

  They were also getting used to being together again after so much talking over the phone. David was never more than a foot from Elizabeth, not talking to her in particular but seeming to need to be in her orbit. When they got a moment alone David mur­mured, "I'm staying around the corner. I was hoping maybe later you and I could spend some time together."

  She smiled, thinking how well he was aging, how handsome he was, and thinking back—just for a moment—to what it had been like to make love with him, and what it might be like now.

  "I'd love to," she answered, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek, only to find Monty's face looming over David's shoulder.

  "I have to talk to you," he said. Elizabeth made a face of help­lessness to David and allowed Monty to pull her through the swing­ing door into the dining room. As soon as the door swung closed, Monty whirled around. "This is a lousy idea, Elizabeth! And I resent having to do all this work, only to risk everything by telling questionable people about it."

  "There are no questionable people here," she said.

  "I stand corrected—questionable person. Georgiana didn't help Creighton Berns," he whispered hoarsely. "Patty didn't help him—I didn't, you didn't, but somebody did, and you can't tell me he's not here to spy for him!"

  "You're acting like an idiot, Monty. Besides," she added, feeling particularly vengeful at this moment, "I'll be able to vouch for David because I intend for him to stay right here with me—all night—and tomorrow when we talk to Dorothy."

  Monty glared at her. "You stupid, stupid woman. Fine! Go on, blow the whole thing sky-high because you need to feel like you can get him back. But remember," he said, pointing his finger at her, "I warned you!"

  "Fortunately, Montgomery, I'm learning how to ignore you." She marched back into the kitchen, announcing that she wanted to bring everybody up to date on what they had learned in the past few days.

  Monty, his face scarlet, stood just inside the kitchen door, glar­ing at her.

  "Henry thinks the notes Patty found at ICA are about some kind of movie ICA is packaging."

  "That movie?" David asked.

  "We don't know yet," Elizabeth answered. "All we have to work with is the name Mathew."

  "Mathew Soaring," David said immediately. "The Fenton movie."

  Elizabeth stared at him. "What?"

  "The Keeter-Fenton movie at Metropolis," David said. "Mathew Soaring is the name of the lead, the kid who saves the universe or something."

  Now Monty and Elizabeth looked at each other.

  "That's the big sci-fi film, isn't it?" Georgiana asked. "There've been rumors about it for ages."

  "Yeah, that's it," David said, nodding. "It's supposed to be the next ET. The licensing deals have been in the trades for months, so everyone keeps wondering why the movie hasn't been released. Metropolis says they're just waiting for timing reasons." And then he proceeded to tell them how the movie had been in the works for five years and how the budget had ballooned to over one hundred million dollars, which would be okay if it lived up to its press as the blockbuster of the decade. "But few studios can afford to hold that kind of film in the can for long," he said.

  There was a moment of silence when he finished.

  "Didn't I give you the number of a Mathew who called the ICA legal department?" Patty asked.

  "Yes, and the number Mathew left connected us with Creighton Berns's office at ICA," Elizabeth said.

  There was a moment of silence as people took this in.

  "Tomorrow morning," Elizabeth continued, "we'll talk to Dor­othy and try to figure out what the connec
tion might be between this movie and Hillings & Hillings."

  "Let me get on the phone," David said, "and see what I can find out about the movie. I'll use the one in the study, all right?"

  "Good," Elizabeth said, "go."

  As David left the room, Monty walked up behind her. "Go with him!" he whispered. "He's probably calling Berns right now! Watch him every second!"

  "Oh, Monty!" she said.

  "I'm not kidding. I want you by his side!"

  And so Elizabeth went in to sit with David as he started making calls to the West Coast about the sci-fi-fantasy movie. He took extensive notes. When he thought he had enough to closely de­scribe the film to Dorothy, they rejoined the others. Patty and Georgiana were setting the table and Monty was putting plates in the upper oven to warm them. David briefed Monty on what he had found out, and Monty, not without a few sidelong glances at Eliz­abeth, seemed placated for the moment.

  They lit candles in the dining room, and everyone took a seat as Monty began carving the roast at the head of the table. Elizabeth, who was sitting next to him, served vegetables and soufflé and the whole affair took on the atmosphere of an enjoyable family Sunday dinner.

  They discussed what David's contacts had told him about the movie—the film had gone into preproduction under Creighton Berns before he left Metropolis for ICA; the release had been de­layed for months; there were rumors of some sort of legal problem on it; the studio had taken out extensive loans to cover the delays­ and they became convinced it had something to do with driving Creighton Berns to such strange behavior. The question was, did it have any connection to the Hillings & Hillings situation or not.

  The dinner conversation sharply veered after Elizabeth asked David what effect, if any, he thought having a Democratic president was having on the movie business. Somehow this veered into ho­mosexuals in the military, and Montgomery immediately rolled into one of his radio routines. For the next ten minutes everyone else was torturously reminded why politics was an inappropriate subject at the dinner table.