“Aren’t the girls here?” Maude asked as they moved through the noisy room, from one group to another.
“Only Jordan.”
“I can’t imagine what’s happened to April,” Maude said, mystified. “She said she was going shopping but she should have been back hours ago.”
“And what about Tinker—can’t they tell time? Guests of honor should always be early, damn it, everybody knows that.”
“Why didn’t Frankie round them up?” Maude asked.
“Even Frankie isn’t here,” Peaches said, sharply annoyed. “What a joke of a chaperone she’s turned out to be.”
“But Peaches, her mind’s on more important things, surely you’ve made allowances for that.”
“What’s more important?”
“Mike Aaron of course. Where have you been not to have heard?”
“Oh, Maude, don’t be absurd, Mike can have anybody he—”
“Would you care to bet cash on the line against it?” Maude asked. “Oh, Kiki, here you are! I have a million things to tell you.… Peaches, I’ll just stay here with Kiki, don’t bother about me.…”
Peaches took a flute of champagne from a passing tray and drained it. She looked around the room with a feeling of unreality. Who were all these loud, gesticulating, gossiping, hand-kissing, cheek-kissing, eating, drinking, shriekingly elegant people; what were they all finding so amusing, why had she invited them in the first place?
“Mrs. Wilcox, I’m Tom Strauss. Tinker told me to meet her here. Thanks for inviting me.”
“So you’re the mystery man!” Peaches said, recovering quickly from her moment of self-doubt. “Well, it’s about time! We’ve all been dying to lay eyes on you. Hmmm … I can certainly see why Tinker went missing so fast.”
“You’ll make me self-conscious,” Tom said, grinning down at her easily. He liked a genuine, all-American, flirtatious broad as well as the next man.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Peaches said wryly. “I suppose you want to know where your girl is?”
“She promised me that for once she’d get here on time. Lombardi’s been working her so late that I barely see her, and when I do, she’s whimpering with exhaustion. She falls asleep while she’s soaking her feet. It’s pathetic.”
“Don’t worry, they’re probably on their way over this minute—you, of all people, must know how artists get carried away.”
“Of course I do. I’ve worked into the next day myself, a hundred times, but I didn’t have to get up every morning for tango lessons.”
“If she wins, it’ll all have been worth it.”
“And if she doesn’t, Mrs. Wilcox? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that, I shouldn’t even think it.”
“Call me Peaches. If she doesn’t, at least she’ll know that she gave it her all. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, I’m giving it my best shot. Say, that must be Jordan Dancer. Wow! I can certainly see why Tinker’s so nervous about her. Who’s the older guy hovering over her?”
“Hovering?”
“Right, a big blond type, greying at the temples, hovering protectively, as they say.”
“You can’t mean Jacques Necker?”
“That’s the guy. I should have recognized him from Tinker’s description. Now that doesn’t look too good for Tinker’s chances, does it?”
“You’re imagining things, Tom. It’s out of the question.” Peaches turned to look in the direction of his eyes.
“Why? I hope you’re right, but who’s going to make the decision anyway? As I understand it, nobody really knows, but it seems to me that the man who owns the business would make it his personal choice.”
“Tom, use your head. Would a hardheaded businessman build a new couture house’s image on a black girl, no matter how lovely?”
“You’re probably right … but that isn’t stopping him from hovering.”
“Well, yes indeed, so he is,” Peaches said slowly, as if to herself.
“Peaches, we’re so sorry we’re late!”
“Oh, Peaches, there just weren’t any cabs!”
She turned to confront Frankie and Mike, their arms intertwined, both of them glowing with a visible aura of romantic excitement and satisfied sexuality that was as good as an engraved announcement.
“I’m glad I didn’t make that bet with Maude,” Peaches said slowly. “When did you two happen, Mike?”
“I thought everybody knew. You ought to hang out in the Relais more, that seems to be where all the rumors start,” Mike said laughing.
“Only I assume this isn’t a rumor?” Peaches asked him.
“It certainly doesn’t feel like one to me. Does it to you, darling?” he asked, turning to Frankie.
“I can’t answer that,” she said, hesitating as she saw the look of fury in Peaches’ eyes.
“Well, Frankie, that’s wise of you,” Peaches drawled. “I wish I had a ten-dollar bill for every poor deluded girl I know who’s thought Mike Aaron was going to stick around. I usually give him two months before he loses interest, a few weeks more at the outside. I rated three full months, didn’t I, Mike? I’ve always considered that a major compliment, considering your notorious hit-and-run habits.”
“It was seven years ago, Peaches,” Mike said quietly. “You weren’t a bitch then. And I wasn’t in love. I never claimed to be, if you remember. Come on, sweetheart, let’s get a drink.” He turned away, taking Frankie with him.
Peaches bit her lip. This was turning out to be the worst fucking party she’d ever given. Everybody was having a superb time and she was hating each minute of it more and more.
As she looked at the retreating figures of Mike and Frankie, Peaches spotted a girl paused in the doorway, posing for effect. Obviously she had to be a model, for she stood at least six-feet-four in her exaggeratedly high platform-soled shoes, but a model such as Peaches had never seen. Her face was dead white, her lipstick was a dried-blood red that looked black, her eyes were rimmed thickly with sooty black charcoal, her platinum-white hair was no more than four inches long and teased out every which way as if it had been electrified instead of cut. The ribs on her amazingly elongated torso could be counted through a dress that looked like a whore’s tattered nightgown. It was made of black satin and mousseline, sheer and deeply cut, revealing her breasts to the top of her nipples, torn here and there, its hem vanishing in jagged shreds high on her thighs. Her astonishing long and exquisite legs were visible almost to the crotch and the white skin between the top of her black stockings and her black lace panties was framed in the ribbons of a bright red garter belt. She looked utterly dissolute, depraved and totally divine.
Silence descended on the party as every head turned.
“Oh, Peaches, I feel awful about being so late, but that genius hairdresser took forever,” the girl said, her voice issuing with incongruous sweetness through her carnivorous lips. She strutted through the room with every eye on her until she reached her hostess. She was like an alien form of life, utterly fascinating in her vampirelike, decadent allure, a New Age Shanghai Lil.
“April!”
“Makeover city, darling. I couldn’t stand being a nice girl for another minute. You like?” April struck a pose, with one lean hip jutted forward, her exposed legs scissored wide apart, her neck and head thrown back as if in the moment of orgasm. “I think it’s heaven! You’d never believe how much this dress cost, almost as much as these blissful shoes.”
The silence of the room turned into a hubbub as dozens of voices rose at once, each one with an opinion. The only people who weren’t talking were Maude, who was paralyzed by shock; Frankie and Mike, who’d stopped in their tracks and returned to Peaches’ side; and Dart Benedict, who had instantly made his way to April and turned her toward him.
“April,” he said hastily, “I’m Dart Benedict. You’re the New Thing. Brilliant! Sheer genius! Congratulations! But you’ve gone a tad over the top, love, just a tad. I’ll help you perfect that great look. My Pa
ris affiliate can get you the next cover of French Vogue, Elle, Italian Vogue, maybe even American Vogue next month, and just about everything else you want, but we have to work quickly. I can pick you up first thing in the morning.”
“But … but what about Justine? … I mean, that’s impossible, isn’t it?”
“Of course not. You work for yourself, April. Justine only has you for Lombardi. You’ve got to strike out now, and I mean immediately. She doesn’t have the expertise to handle you the way I—”
“Don’t talk to this man, April,” Frankie said, elbowing him aside. “He has no right to be soliciting you. You’re under contract to Loring Model Management. What’s more, when the Lombardi show is over you may be tied up for the next four years—”
“In the next few days I’m going to make April famous,” Dart interrupted, pushing past Frankie and standing between her and April. “Loring can’t. April, you’re not a slave. Justine isn’t even here. And you, Frankie, good as you are, you can’t possibly have my contacts. April, tomorrow at nine?”
“Well … sure, why not?” April said excitedly, “I don’t see the harm in testing the waters. Does anybody know where Maude is?”
“Right here,” Maude said, as she joined the group.
“Darling!” April reached out, put her arms around Maude’s shoulders and, bending down, looked her in the eyes for a long minute before she kissed her full on the lips. “I hope you realize this is all your doing, if it weren’t for you I’d never have had the courage.”
“I never said anything about changing your looks,” Maude cried out, still unable to believe how April had transformed her priceless classic purity.
“You’ll get used to it, darling, it’s still me, and I’ll prove it,” April laughed, and kissed her again, slowly, aggressively, defiantly. “Doesn’t that feel familiar? Listen, you guys can keep fighting over me to your heart’s content,” she said airily to Dart and Frankie. “Maude and I are going to have some champagne. Come on, darling, let’s find a waiter.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Frankie breathed under her breath.
“I hadn’t heard April was gay,” Dart Benedict said reflectively. “Interesting. And how brilliantly clever of dear old Maude to have figured it out.”
“It must be something in the water,” Peaches laughed delightedly, knowing that April’s startling arrival and that erotic second kiss, which had been observed by everybody in the room close enough to gawk, had made her party a mad success that would be a choice topic of conversation everywhere in Paris. Tomorrow her phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
“Peaches, sweet, of course she was, she just hadn’t found out,” Dart protested. “And it’s perfect timing, perfect! She’s kinky and exquisitely glamorous at the same time, trisexual, at the very least, more than a little threatening and deeply erotic, beyond grown-up, beyond funk, light years beyond waif, perfect for today … we’re all desperate for a new direction, something that isn’t recycled Cindy or that shiksa shepherdess, Claudia. April’s going to be so fucking big even I don’t believe it.”
“I’d like to hear what Marco will say when he sees her, that is if he ever bothers to honor us with his presence,” Peaches wondered, unable to hide her impatient longing.
“He just walked in,” Dart answered, looking over her head and beckoning to Marco, who brushed through the crowd toward him, with Tinker at his elbow.
The two men clasped each other in a bear hug surrounded watchfully by Peaches, Mike and Frankie. Unnoticed by anyone, Tom Strauss stood behind Mike.
“Remember the girl I phoned you about?” Marco said to Dart. “Voilà! I present Tinker Osborn, my muse, my lovely inspiration. How does she please you, old friend?”
“Your taste is improving, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better,” Dart answered, taking Tinker’s hand and brushing it briefly with his lips.
“Now I understand what Marco’s been raving about,” he added, still clasping her hand, and talking to the girl as intimately as if they were alone. “We were all wondering if he’d actually stop working long enough to bring you to the party. I can certainly see why he wasn’t in a rush to share anyone as beautiful as you with a crowd full of people. Marco, you’ve simply got to stop being so possessive.”
“When a man finds a woman who can make him dream, Dart, he wants to keep her close to him. But when that same woman can cause him to create—ah, then you don’t let her go if you can avoid it. Hands off, my friend,” Marco said, putting his arm firmly around Tinker’s waist. “I only told you about her, I didn’t give her to you.”
“Then you should never have introduced us. Tinker, I’ve just asked April to meet me tomorrow about doing some major magazine covers, and she’s agreed. I think I can do as much for you as I can do for her. Will you join us at nine? I want everyone who works in my Paris office to see you and brainstorm on the best ways to position you.”
“I have my tango lesson at ten but yes I—”
Tom Strauss moved quickly around Mike and jerked Marco’s arm away from Tinker’s waist. He grabbed Marco by the shoulders and shook him fiercely. “You touch her again, you little shit, and I’m going to take you apart!”
Without warning, Marco punched Tom viciously in the midsection. Quickly Tom landed a brutal right to Marco’s jaw. Marco staggered, his lip bleeding, as Mike and Dart jumped in to separate the two men. Their combined efforts managed to stop the fight, while Frankie flew across the room to Necker’s side, speaking urgently into his ear.
“Tinker,” Tom said grimly, as he and Marco were finally quieted. “I’ll get your coat, we’re going home.”
“Tom! How dare you act like that? How could you? Are you completely crazy?”
“We’re leaving,” he insisted.
“But, but … I just got here!” Tinker sputtered furiously.
“Every time you come home you damn near fall down because you’ve been on your feet all day. Have they suddenly stopped hurting?”
“No,” Tinker answered, wearily, tears starting in her eyes at the roughness in his voice. “I’m in pain, all right. I’m always in pain. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to have a little fun. Oh, Tom, you ruined it! And I promised everybody that they’d meet you.”
“They’ll survive. We’re going home.”
“Tom, you can’t steal one of my guests of honor,” Peaches said sharply.
“The lady doesn’t want to leave,” Dart Benedict told Tom. “Haven’t you made enough trouble for now?”
“He’s the little boyfriend, Dart,” Marco spat out in contempt. “You ought to know they’re always jealous.”
“Oh, stop it everybody!” Tinker’s voice rose above the sound of the party, a shrill sharp scream of rising hysteria. “Just stop it, stop it!”
“It’s all right, Tinker.” Jacques Necker loomed up behind her, tucking Tinker’s arm protectively under his, as Frankie stood beside him. Tom, Marco and Dart all fell silent at the authority of his tone.
“Now, all of you, everybody, I suggest that you leave Tinker to me for a few minutes. I’d like to find out how she’s bearing up under her schedule.” He looked directly at Dart.
“Mr. Benedict, April, Tinker and Jordan are all under contract to me until the Lombardi show is over. I don’t want them distracted by your attempts at poaching. Is that understood?”
“Monsieur Necker, I assure you—”
“You heard me, Mr. Benedict. No poaching. Not if you want to do business with any of my companies again. Now Tinker, you and I are going into the other room and have a nice, quiet talk.”
Peaches glanced around the circle of antagonists left by Tinker’s departure. Marco, his lips pressed together in rage, blood on his collar, refused to even look in her direction.
“I’d better go play hostess,” she faltered, and turned on her heel, plunging back into the fascinated, still-watching crowd.
“The cavalry to the rescue?” Dart sneered, raising an eyebrow at Frankie. “Nice work but it’ll only w
ork once. Even Necker can’t be everywhere.”
“Maude will kill herself for missing all this, Benedict,” Mike said. “I’ll fill her in. Zing’s readers will be fascinated by your hustle.”
“Just spell my name right. Marco, let’s get a drink.”
“And then there were three,” Frankie said. “Tom, I’m Frankie Severino and this is Mike Aaron.”
“Hi. I’m sorry about that but I couldn’t stand there and watch those two bastards treating Tinker as if she were a piece of meat. She didn’t even realize it … shit, is it always going to be like this, flattery mixed with slime, everyone trying to use her?”
“They happen to be particularly repulsive, but pretty typical I’m afraid,” Mike answered, with solid concern. “It isn’t always that bad, is it, Frankie? Frankie? Now where the hell did she disappear to? Oh, right, Frankie’s mad at me too. Peaches is some piece of work, you’ve got to say that for her. Hey, Tom, great punch, guy. No, waiter, no champagne, thanks, bring us two double Scotches, no ice.”
I’d had it! Enough already! I beat it the hell out of that party and got on the phone to Justine. Listen, I said, April’s turned herself into some kind of inter-galactic slut but it’s nothing I could have prevented. She’ll stop the show, one way or another. But Dart Benedict is here propositioning our girls and if you don’t get your ass on the next Concorde he’s going to move in big-time. The only thing that broke it up, at least for now, was your old man. April and Tinker were all set to meet with Dart tomorrow. How? I told Necker that Dart was trying to steal your girls, that’s all. What more does a father need to know? He took over damage control. Plus Tinker’s boyfriend tried to kill Lombardi, unfortunately without success. You’ve got a problem with Tinker too. Something’s wrong there. Jordan’s the only one I feel is solid. We can share this suite, I’ll expect you tomorrow. I’ll send the car. Start packing.
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