School of Fortune

by Amanda Brown

  “Could you make it seven, Monsieur du Piche? I’d like to retire soon.”

  Pippa was tempted to pay the long-suffering man ten. As they settled the details, she heard Cole singing in the shower. He was sweet to have brought supper last night. And he was sweet to be picking up the Duesenberg this morning. He was trying very hard to be kind to her. Him. Whatever. Pippa shut her eyes as the water stopped gushing. She imagined Cole walking to the sink. Picking up his gold razor. Those long legs . . . that butt. . .

  Get the damn diploma, Cosmo.

  Pippa was surprised to see Kerry stumble into the office at nine o’clock. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” “Off. It’s in my contract.”

  “I paid you two thousand bucks to stick around 24/7.” “Well, here I am.”

  Fresh from her soft shoe lesson, Leigh came in. No sparkly eyeshadow. Another new Armani pantsuit. “You look beautiful, Signora Bowes.”

  “I’m learning, Cosmo.”

  The doorbell rang. A case of Pol Roger arrived with a note for Leigh: “Thinking of you. Love, Bekka.” “Word’s gotten out,” Pippa said. “Every social X-ray in Vegas is going to be chewing her fingernails hoping you’ll drop by today.” The bell rang again. “Maybe I should just leave the front door open.”

  Leigh’s cell phone rang. “Hello, dear!” She listened at length. “Absolutely no problem, Dusi. Right away.” She handed the phone to Pippa.

  “What now, Madam Damon?” Pippa asked, barely masking her irritation.

  “I just wanted to say hello from Normandy,” Dusi burbled.

  “Hello. Now goodbye.” Pippa hung up. “What did she want?”

  “She forgot to pack her false eyelashes. I said I’d pick them up at Castilio Damonia and bring them to the airport. Her jet will take them to France in time for a photo session with the new suit of armor.”

  “Come on! Why can’t Horatio bring them to the airport?” Kerry demanded.

  “He’s with Dusi.”

  “They don’t sell false eyelashes in France?”

  “Kerry, once you get a pair that fits, you stick with them.”

  “You’re far too understanding, Signora Bowes. This little favor is going to put you hours behind schedule.” Dusi knew that, of course. “Please be more careful with the car today, Kerry.”

  “Would you like to drive, Mo?”

  Pippa signed for a delivery of four dozen roses. “Leigh—just celebrating YOU. Love, Nicoline.” “I’ll be here if you need me.”

  For the remaining daylight hours Pippa attended to an avalanche of details. The doorbell never stopped ringing. Rudi kept savaging cookbooks. Dusi called twice, to request that jugged hare be added to the menu, then to dictate the opening lines of her Frequent Bentley Society ceremony. Cole called once, asking if Pippa needed anything. Leigh and Kerry returned from their postal deliveries after midnight and went directly to bed. Despite her exhaustion, Pippa dozed but couldn’t sleep: Cole hadn’t brought a midnight-snack tray to her room. Around two o’clock she went to the kitchen to put together a tray of milk and cookies. Maybe he was waiting for her to bring food to his room for a change.

  Rudi looked up from a mountain of whelk recipes. “Vere you go vit all ziss food?”

  “Cole and I are hungry.”

  “He iss not home. He visits a voman.”

  “Cole has a girlfriend?” Pippa choked. “Are you sure?”

  “Ja, I ask him vere he goes tonight. ‘My boss lady,’ he tells me. Big secret.”

  “Thanks for keeping your mouth shut,” Pippa muttered. She went to his room and knocked. “Cole?” Silence.

  Once all the invitations were hand-delivered, Leigh began seeing Dr. Zeppelin, a therapist specializing in pet bereavement. She told Moss she would continue doing so, at two hundred dollars an hour, until Titian returned. For once, he said nothing.

  Day by manic day, plans for Masqueradia Dusiana fell into place. Unfortunately, each day Pippa went another ten grand over budget. She now understood what Thayne was up against throwing her legendary parties year after year. Cut one corner and another will bite you in the arse: right on, Mama. Pippa slaved from dawn until midnight. If nothing else, she could thank Dusi for keeping her mind off Cole, who had been quietly driving his Porsche out the driveway after everyone had gone to bed and creeping it back around four in the morning. No matter how soundly she slept, Pippa always heard him return. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she contrived to run into him in the hallway as he was tiptoeing back to his room.

  “Cosmo!” He was stunned to see her. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “Planning a party.” She glared at his stubble. “I certainly hope Signor Bowes is paying you overtime.”

  He caught up with her in five steps. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Sir, your personal life is not my concern.” Wow! Of all the lies she had told since the wedding, that was by far the grandest. “The bathroom is all yours.”

  One morning as Pippa stood at the Bolivian rosewood doors signing for a crate of Persian melons, a moving van pulled under the portico. Texas plates. Her stomach rolled over: Rosimund’s tents. Pippa held steady as the movers hauled miles of canvas, two bandstands, fleecy clouds, bocce gear, fountains, and bird cages to the backyard. Sight of the two gondolas, however, put her over the edge. She was suddenly back in Texas Stadium with Rosimund’s maudlin Tunnel of Love. The orchestra was playing waltzes. She was dancing with her grandfather. Lance got up to speak and everything went into a death spiral. Get the damn diploma, Cosmo!

  “The boats go in the pool,” Pippa ordered. When all of Rosimund’s props were unloaded, she gave everyone a tip and hit the bar for a stiff drink.

  Leigh bounced in, aglow from her morning ballet class. “Cosmo! What’s the matter?”

  “A spot of indigestion, signora. Thanks for asking.”

  “It must be stress. But everything’s going well, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, if two hundred thousand over budget means nothing.”

  “Don’t worry. Moss is just hot air. He fully expects this party to cost half a million.”

  “I would not want him to fire me, signora. That would be catastrophic.”

  “That will only happen over my dead body.” Leigh evidently didn’t consider that a possibility. She glanced at her watch. “Where’s Dusi today? She usually calls by ten.”

  The doorbell rang. Finishing her bourbon, Pippa chuckled, “Speak of the devil.”

  Sure enough, Horatio stood outside. He looked embarrassed. “Good morning, sir. Madam Damon was in the neighborhood and thought you might enjoy a brief visit.”

  “Absolutely not,” Pippa retorted. “She’s supposed to be in Europe. “

  “Couldn’t stay away, dears,” Dusi waved from the rear seat. “May we come in?”

  “We don’t have time for this, signora,” Pippa fumed as Horatio helped Dusi and a few friends out of her new Bentley.

  “I can’t say no to her.” Leigh suddenly panicked. “God! I’m not wearing any jewelry!”

  Pippa unbuttoned the collar of her jacket and removed her diamond necklace. Lately she had been wearing it under her uniform for moral support. “Put this on.” Seeing Leigh’s eyes pop, she added, “It was a gift from my last mistress.”

  “Cosmo, darling!” Bursting into the foyer, Dusi clasped Pippa in a lingering embrace. Today she wore a purple sheath that a streetwalker might consider immodest plus the usual ton of gold. “I just had to introduce you to my friends. They’ve heard soooo much about you, they almost think you’re a member of my staff. You remember Harlan, of course.”

  The croquet gigolo. “Sir,” Pippa nodded.

  Harlan was much more interested in Leigh. “Don’t you look sweet in that leotard.”

  “Thank you. I’ve just finished my ballet lesson.”

  “So we see,” Dusi sniffed. “This is Peggy Stoutmeyer, the newest member of the Las Vegas Country Club. We are all so proud of her.”

  “Madam.
” Pippa nodded to a pudgy, vulgar woman in a jumpsuit.

  “Love the pantaloons, Cosmo,” Peggy laughed. “Weeeeehaw!”

  Leigh shook her hand. “Congratulations, Mrs. Stoutmeyer.” “Call me Peggy, hon.”

  “And this is my dear friend Thayne Walker from Dallas. I ran into her at Harrods and just had to bring her back with me. I’m sure you can squeeze one more person into Masqueradia Dusiana, can’t you, sweetheart?”

  Twenty

  As the last member of Dusi’s party stepped forward, Pippa felt her heart go still. Thayne looked frail and shell-shocked. The diamonds that she had always worn so proudly now seemed too brilliant for her. She did, however, manage a creditable glare at Pippa’s uniform: in Thayne’s book, a majordomo wore a tux. Period.

  “Madam.” Pippa bowed, lowering her voice an octave.

  Thayne never conversed with other people’s servants. She pointedly took Leigh’s hand. “This is quite a mansion, Mrs. Bowes.”

  “Call me Leigh. It’s a replica of Versailles, as you may have noticed.”

  Hard to miss. “My home is a replica of Fleur-de-Lis, palace of the Comte de Mirabeille outside Toulouse. He was beheaded in the French Revolution.”

  “That’s fascinating! Would you like a tour? We can compare notes.” “I’d love that.”

  Nausea knifed through Pippa: the remains of the Henderson Ball littered Leigh’s backyard. “A quick word before you begin, signora.” She took Leigh far down the hallway. “Under no circumstances let anyone near the rear windows. I’m going to shut all the drapes on that side of the house. There are some things floating in the pool.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Stall them at the front door until I get back.” Pippa tore through Casa Bowes, ripping the drapes shut. Leigh was still expatiating upon the Bolivian rosewood bas relief, and Dusi was still complaining about the wood stain, when Pippa returned to the foyer with a tray of martinis.

  “Thank you, Cosmo.” Dusi swallowed thirstily. “I needed this.”

  The group entered the first ballroom. “Why are those drapes drawn, Leigh?” Dusi noticed immediately. “You’re not trying to save on air-conditioning, I hope?”

  “Far from it, Madam Damon. We wish at least one element of your masquerade ball to be a surprise. Please stay away from the window.”

  Thayne gasped. “How dare he speak to you like that, Dusi.”

  “Thayne, you are such a stiff,” she laughed. “Cosmo and I have our own private language. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Thayne merely stood there. Pippa couldn’t believe it.

  Leigh took Thayne’s arm. “Everyone’s in love with Cosmo. I can’t thank Olivia Villarubia-Thistleberry enough for sending him to me.”

  “Really! She sent my new majordomo also. We have something else in common.” Thayne smiled, having just bestowed the ultimate compliment on another human being.

  “Cosmo, come here with those martinis.” Dusi extended her glass as she fluttered her globe-trotting false eyelashes. “Are you trying to get me drunk, naughty boy?”

  “Perish the thought. That’s a very nice cigarette holder, Madam Damon.”

  “It belonged to Greta Garbo.”

  Pippa tossed it into the fireplace. “No smoking in Casa Bowes. I believe we’ve been through this once already.”

  As Thayne emitted an operatic gasp, Dusi cooed, “You’re such a tyrant, Cosmo.”

  Leigh conducted a magnificent tour of Casa Bowes. Thayne was very taken with the six dressing rooms and ballrooms, the gargantuan silver chest, and the Louis Quatorze scriban in Moss’s library. An hour later they ended up in the kitchen. “Last but not least, this is Rudi, my Austrian chef.”

  Rudi barely nodded to the intruders. He was contemplating three hundred plucked baby ptarmigan lying on the counter. They were much smaller than he had imagined, ergo stuffing each tiny cavity with a filbert, a date, and a crab apple would take eons.

  “My God! What are those awful little carcasses?”

  “Ptarmigan,” Pippa replied. “Butchered at your behest.”

  Dusi had thought a ptarmigan was a fish. “Perhaps we could serve Dover sole instead.”

  “In addition to lobster, oysters, periwinkles, and whelks?”

  “I suppose that would be a bit much,” she admitted. “Rudi, would you mind whipping up a few mushroom omelets for us? It’s nearly lunchtime.”

  Rudi responded with a blitz of Teutonic profanity. “Really, Dusi! Can’t you see the man’s busy?” Thayne scolded.

  Moss and his briefcase now made a surprise entrance. “Sweetheart!” Leigh showered him with kisses to show that her marriage was stable. “Dusi was kind enough to drop by with a few friends. Can you join us for lunch?”

  “Not today.” Sarcasm soured his voice. “Sweetheart.” Noticing a sparkle, he unzipped Leigh’s sweatshirt to expose the diamond necklace beneath it. “I hope that’s fake.”

  Dusi leaned forward to inspect. “Moss, you devil! You had me worried there for a moment. I haven’t seen this piece, Leigh.”

  “I purchased it at Cartier this morning,” Pippa cut in, casting Moss dire looks. “Signor Bowes instructed me to find a bauble for his wife to wear with her leotard.”

  Thayne now stepped in for a closer look. She immediately recognized the mine-cut diamonds as those from the Walker treasury. For the first time in her life, she directly addressed someone else’s servant. “You got this at Cartier, Cosmo?”

  Fibs have no reverse gear. “In estate jewelry, madam.”

  Thayne’s eyes closed. “She pawned the family diamonds,” she whispered, and fainted.

  “Thayne!” Leigh shrieked. “Moss! Help!”

  Moss and Harlan carried the victim to a sofa. As Leigh tried to revive her with pepper vodka, Dusi announced, “It’s that daughter from hell again. I’ve told Thayne a hundred times to put out a contract on her and end the agony.”

  “She’s already disinherited,” Pippa retorted. “That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

  “Cosmo! Where do you get this information?” Dusi was tremendously impressed. She lowered her voice. “How much did you pay for that necklace?”

  “MYOB, Madam Damon. Excuse me.” Pippa dragged Leigh into the hallway. “Give Thayne the necklace.”

  “Give it to her? It’s worth a fortune. How do we know she’s not making this up?”

  “Do as I say. Tell her you would never wish to own another family’s heirloom.” When Leigh still looked doubtful, Pippa added, “If such a grand gesture doesn’t get you into the country club, nothing will.”

  Done. As Leigh removed the offending jewelry, Thayne moaned, “Pippa, is that you?”

  “Wake up, Twinkie.” Dusi roughly shook her shoulders. “You’ve had a shock.”

  Moss followed Pippa to the kitchen. “What was that all about, you weasel?”

  “All you need to know, Signor Bowes, is that you did not buy that necklace. Thank you for playing along with our little charade.” After he left, Pippa slumped against the refrigerator. She felt as if she had just gone over Niagara Falls in a gondola.

  “Cosmo.” Cole stood inches away. “Are you okay?”

  Pippa’s eyes briefly locked on his. “Can you make omelets? I don’t dare ask Rudi.”

  “My specialty.”

  He wasn’t kidding. As an impromptu three-course lunch was served in Leigh’s formal dining room, Peggy Stoutmeyer regaled everyone with the latest blackball stories from the club. Apparently there had been a membership meeting last night. “Did you hear that Dayton and Belva Hutchins were turned down? They were seen flying economy on the New York-Washington shuttle.”

  “But there is no first class on the shuttle,” Harlan the gigolo pointed out..

  “In that case they should have flown their own plane. Or hired one. And you’ll never believe what Lurette Bock did. She served lobster bisque in consomme cups!” Peggy’s raucous laughter made the chandelier quiver.

  “We haven’t gotten around to your appli
cation, Leigh,” Dusi mentioned. “There were so many incredible people ahead of you.”

  Thayne squeezed Leigh’s hand. She was still overwhelmed that Leigh had simply given her Pippa’s necklace, no questions asked. “‘Were’ is the operative word, dear.”

  “Don’t give the woman false hope, Twinkie,” Dusi said irritably. “Masqueradia Dusiana will decide everything.”

  Silence fell over the table as Pippa served red grapes and Debauve et Gallais truffles. “I’m so looking forward to the ball,” Peggy Stoutmeyer raved, attacking the chocolates. “I’m coming as a falcon. What’s your costume, Leigh?”

  “That is a secret, madam.” Pippa’s retort earned another searing glare from her mother.

  “Pooh! What’s your costume, hon?” Peggy asked Thayne.

  Thayne, recovering a bit of her old mojo, waited a few seconds for the suspense to build. “I will be Marie Antoinette.”

  Harlan looked nonplussed. “I never heard of a car called Marie Antoinette.”

  Dusi launched her grape scissors at him. “If she wants to come as Marie Antoinette, let her.”

  “Sorry, gorgeous,” Harlan lied twice.

  “I will be Aphrodite, goddess of spring,” Dusi announced. “Please, everyone, that information must not leave the table. It is a very elaborate costume. My seamstress has been working on it all week.”

  “I never heard of a car called Aphrodite, either,” Harlan said.

  “Why should I come dressed as a car? Every other woman will be dressed as a car.” Dusi glared across the table. “Except for Marie Antoinette. Whatever possessed you to disregard my request, Twinkie?”

  Thayne’s fingers played over her beloved necklace. “I am not an automobile.”

  Touche, Mama!

  Dusi could only sit fuming as Thayne described every stitch of her vintage Parisian gown. Her wig and shoes had been previously worn by Princess Belgioioso, a rumored amour of Liszt’s. “Only one element in my outfit is missing,” Thayne said finally. “The perfect antique brooch for the bodice.”

  “Brooch?” Dusi complained. “Your fainting fit just got you a diamond necklace.”