"Tiffany's is the only jewelry store for someone as exquisite as you, honey," came Bradley's low-timbered voice. "Here, let me put it around your delicate wrist."
Suzie pressed her tall, skinny, orange-clad body against his and held out her right wrist. From the side, she looked like a Creamsicle. Bradley kissed her temple, then focused on clasping the gold bracelet on her like a mark of possession.
I sat with my right index finger pressed down hard on the M key on my Selectra. Little Ms for murder—ooops! I meant little Ms for Bradley's and my marriage—ran across the paper.
Gossip about the new boss and his preference for the famous model had flown around the office since Tuesday. Apparently Suzie had dropped a word here and there about how "taken" she was with Bradley. Her frequent trips to his office—sometimes with the door shut!—confirmed their relationship.
While I had unpacked a box of file folders earlier, Nellie, Debbie Ann's mousy young assistant, had stopped by my desk. About my age, Nellie was plump and had medium-brown hair in need of a good cut. She wore glasses, but still squinted.
She gabbed about famous celebrities before gossiping about Bradley and Suzie. I'd heard all the details of their candlelit dinner at the 21 Club (Bradley's fave) Monday night, a Broadway play Tuesday night, dinner at the Rainbow Room followed by a stroll around Rockefeller Center last night.
I had ended up with a knot in my stomach.
Now here was Bradley handing Suzie an expensive bracelet.
How she had managed to twirl him around her manicured pinkie with seemingly little effort was a mystery. I'd give up all my Beatles pictures and records to find out how she did it.
I reminded myself that Bradley was too intelligent to spend his life with a model whose looks would fade and who, most likely, had no conversation or morals.
Suddenly it hit me that they were talking about Tiffany's. I took a deep, frustrated breath. Tiffany's was my jewelry store, had been ever since I saw Breakfast at Tiffany's back home in Richmond. The movie had played a big part in my desire to move to the city of my dreams.
In fact, one of my dreams was to have breakfast in front of the exclusive store with its blazing, glittering, perfect diamonds displayed in the heart-shaped window. Diamonds that made a girl dream of the man she loved.
I guess you could say I fell in love with Bradley at first sight, though that love had grown as I'd come to know him. He had interviewed me for the position of secretary after he had run through half a dozen other secretaries in the previous months. At first I couldn't figure out why he'd had so many, but after working with him for a while, I thought I understood. They all wanted him, his sexy build, his dirty-blond hair, his full lips, and the icing on a delicious cake: his incredible blue eyes.
Apparently Bradley had gotten in trouble for dallying with them. Then he had hired me. The kid.
Darlene had left me a copy of Helen Gurley Brown's Sex and the Single Girl. Wide-eyed, I'd read the book, but nothing in it had changed my views. I wanted Bradley for keeps, and I wouldn't get him if he thought I was easy.
Bradley came out of his office, Suzie in tow.
"Miss Bennett, have you met Ryan's top model, Suzie Wexford?"
Be nice, I told myself. "Why, no, Mr. Williams, I don't believe we've been formally introduced."
"Suzie, this is Miss Bennett, my secretary—er, my executive secretary, I should say," he said, smiling at me.
I smiled back, then reluctantly turned to Suzie and held out my right hand.
Suzie took a step away like I'd offered her a spider. "Is that typewriter-ribbon ink on your hand?"
I withdrew my splotched fingers. "Sorry, the ribbon got off track." I blushed, an embarrassing habit of mine.
My gaze was drawn to the bracelet, sparkling like the water at Virginia Beach on a sunny day.
Suzie turned away from me. "Bradley, I'm starved," she said, her arm on his.
"Just a second, Suzie," he said, pulling something out of his suit pocket. "Here, Miss Bennett, this is for you."
I accepted a richly engraved ivory-colored envelope, anxious to know what was inside. I lifted the smooth vellum flap and saw it was an invitation to the gallery showing by famed photographer Pierre Benoit. It was for tonight and, I knew, a highly anticipated and publicized event.
"Thank you, Mr. Williams. How exciting!"
Suzie rolled her eyes.
Bradley grinned at me. "My invitation stated I could bring a guest. Since Suzie has an invitation of her own, I thought you'd enjoy the show. You can take the rest of the afternoon off to get ready if you like. I know how ladies like to primp."
"What a good idea, Bradley," Suzie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm certain Miss Bennett could use the extra time."
The witch! I tilted my head at her, and the little devil on my left shoulder made me say, "You're so right, Miss Wexford. Unlike you, I don't have a team of people trying to make me look good. I have to manage all on my own."
Suzie glared at me.
Bradley coughed behind his hand, and the two walked to the elevators.
I began cleaning off my desk. I had a dress to buy!
CHAPTER TWO
Suzie and Bradley stood together at the gala showing. He wore a black tux and looked debonair holding a martini glass, living up to his swinging reputation. She wore a black designer number that made her body look like a string of black licorice.
I glanced away, telling myself it was a sheer joy to be fresh, young, and female in the big city. I forced myself to radiate good cheer and straightened to my full five feet seven inches while I took in my surroundings.
The large room was the utmost in understatement, the brick walls painted black, the wood floor dark. I guessed the idea was for the black-and-white photographs on the walls to mesmerize the viewer without distraction. Each photograph had its own individual light above it. The only other light came from round tables scattered throughout, draped in black and decorated with lit votive candles in silver holders.
I stared at a stunning candid shot of Brigitte Bardot walking down a Paris street at twilight looking lonely. You had to give Pierre credit: He had a way of capturing celebrities in photos that revealed something personal about them.
"Great shot, isn't it?" a deep male voice beside me said.
I looked up to see a young man about my age. At least six foot two, he bore a slight resemblance to Bradley. Full lips, blue eyes, high forehead, but his hair was light brown, and the shape of his face more angular. "Yes, it is a lovely photo of Miss Bardot."
"I'm Tom Stevens. I haven't seen you around," he said, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Oh, I'm not really part of this crowd," I said.
"No? But you're here. I don't mean to be forward, but I'm fairly new to all this"—he waved his hand expansively—"and would like to get to know more people."
Give him your name, I told myself. He's good-looking and friendly, and that voice is incredibly sexy. I opened my mouth, only to see Lauren Bacall approach us, smile at me, and take Tom's arm.
"Tommy, darling, come with me. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine who can help make you a star on Broadway."
Tom looked at me ruefully. "Will you excuse me? I'll try to find you later, if that's okay."
"Sure," I said, flabbergasted that beautiful Lauren Bacall had just stood right in front of me, and happy that such a good-looking guy had made a pass at me.
He'd made me feel more confident. I wore a black silk Audrey Hepburn-like halter dress with a low back topped by a satin bow. Pierre's invitation had specified black attire only. I'd spent the afternoon shopping at Macy's, digging deeper into my bonus money, but surely, in the classy feminine formal, Bradley would notice that I was a woman, not a "kid." I'd even had my dark hair, which normally fell to my shoulder in a flip, done in an Audrey upsweep.
I tried to appear cool as celebrities strolled through the crowd, but it was an eye-popping group. I watched as Henry Fonda, Joan Fontaine, and Vincente Minel
li roamed the room, puffing on cigarettes, kissing cheeks, the men slapping each other on the back. A new gentleman arrived, causing heads to turn. It took me a minute to realize he was Gregory Peck. What a party!
Trying not to stare at the celebrities, I made myself focus on the photographs lining the walls. The Beatles began singing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" on the mono, which made me look at Bradley in his classic tux. He was the type to make a girl swoon, and maybe lose her head, the type Mama and Daddy always warned me against. Military man that he was, Daddy wanted me to marry someone like the brand-new GI Joe doll that had just come on the market. Only human.
Bradley hardly looked unhappy with Suzie draping herself all over him, darn it. In fact, he had his left hand on the back of her neck, under her just-to-the-chin perfect blond hair, massaging away any tension she felt.
"Don't you just want to kill her?" asked a voice with a Jersey accent.
I looked at the woman, who could apparently read minds. Shorter than me, she had dyed her dark hair blond. I could tell because the roots showed. I had once considered dying my hair blond, but quickly realized I'd look like a ghost.
"I'm Gloria Castellano, Suzie's makeup girl," the woman explained. In contrast to her frizzy hair, Gloria's makeup was perfect, the latest style of heavily lined eyes and pale pink lip gloss expertly applied. She wore a lovely black sheath dress that went to the floor and featured a side split with matching black bows running from the split up to her hips. "You do a great job with your makeup. Your brown eyes look huge with that black liner and those thick lashes," she said.
"Thank you. That's quite a compliment coming from someone who specializes in cosmetics. I was thinking the same thing about your makeup. I'm Bebe Bennett, Bradley Williams's secretary at Ryan."
I had moved on to a photo of Natalie Wood. Since there were no chairs, Gloria and I stood in front of the photo, to the right of where Bradley and Suzie were murmuring to each other.
Gloria nodded wisely. "Geez, no wonder you have that tortured look on your face. You must be in love with him."
Startled that my thoughts flashed like a traffic caution light, I tried again to adopt a calm, cool air like the rest of the crowd. I rarely drank, but I snagged a crystal flute of champagne from a waiter dressed in white. Champagne was the only alcoholic drink I liked, not that I'd tried them all. With celebrities all around and Bradley misbehaving, I needed something.
"What Mr. Williams does out of the office is hardly my concern. We have a professional relationship," I recited, lying through clenched teeth.
Gloria snorted. "Yeah, right. Listen, I just got here. What's the scene? Lots of pretty faces around."
"Isn't it exciting? You'd think everyone's being in black would make for a funereal tone, but instead, it's very elegant."
"Black is all Pierre Benoit ever wears. I've known him for years and have never seen him in anything else," Gloria confided.
We walked together along one wall, examining shots of Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, Dean Martin, Lola—the legendary model represented by Ryan—Suzie—I averted my eyes— and, to my surprise, the Beatles! I was in the same room with someone who had photographed the Beatles. How fabby!
We lingered in front of that photo. "I wish I could have been there the day Pierre took this shot. He really is a gifted man. Just look at that soulful gaze in Paul's eyes."
"You like Paul?" I asked.
"Mm-hmm. And you?"
"John."
I had plenty of pictures of John and the rest of the Fab Four on the walls of my bedroom, but to my mind, Pierre had captured the boy inside John. The shot was like no other I'd seen. Magical.
We moved to where a plaque hung prominently in the center of one wall of photographs. Pierre had written a short biography of himself, the letters printed in gold on a black background. Gloria and I read silently.
Pierre had a tragic childhood. His mother, a model, and his father, a photographer, were killed in a car crash in their native France when Pierre was thirteen.
Afterward, for years he moved from place to place, working odd jobs and passionately learning his father's profession of photography before coming to America in his twenties. He was an immediate success, and currently, in his late thirties, stood at the pinnacle of his career.
"What a sad beginning," I remarked to Gloria, "but with an impressive recovery and now all this success."
She snorted again. "Yeah, but does he use his power for good or for evil?"
I wondered what she meant, but chose not to pry, enjoying her company. Darlene had been flying all over the country, leaving me to my own devices at night. I could use a new friend.
The Dave Clark Five's "Glad All Over" played. The upbeat tune had me groovin' to the music. Admiring looks flashed my way, including one from Tom, the young actor. He winked at me and shrugged. I smiled at him, not really blaming him for trying to advance his career by hanging with the big shots.
All of a sudden, I saw Stu, Darlene's boyfriend, talking with a man I didn't know. I'd have to go over and speak to him when he wasn't busy.
With Gloria, I made my way down the line of photos. I drank more champagne, and my darn gaze went back to Bradley. On the positive side, maybe his attention to Suzie was simply to reassure her that, as the new head of the agency, he understood her value. Yes, that might be it, I fibbed to myself. I reached up to twirl a piece of hair, only to realize my long dark hair was pulled up out of twirling reach.
"Hello, Bebe, are you still with me?" Gloria took another glass of champagne from a waiter.
"Sure. I'm admiring what a genius Pierre is with a camera. Just look how vulnerable Marilyn appears."
"Right. If you say so, but I think you're still mooning over your boss." She leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "I'll arm-wrestle you for who gets to kill Suzie first."
We fell to giggling.
"You don't like her either?" I asked.
"God, sweetie, the stories I could tell you. I wouldn't know where to begin, and they'd burn your young ears. But if it's any comfort, I can say that right now Suzie probably isn't enjoying your boss's attention as much as she makes it look."
"Really?" I asked, burning to know more.
"Really," Gloria confirmed. "I'm sure she'd rather be stalking the room for prey."
"What do you mean?"
Gloria nodded knowingly. "Suzie loves movie stars, if you get my drift. And that's a Pauline Trigere couture evening gown she's wearing. She's looking boss, and she knows it. All the better to reel the stars into her web of lies."
I took a minute to admire the cut of Suzie's black wool crepe gown. Simply elegant, it reminded me of the 1920s styles, sleeveless with hundreds of rhinestones over the upper bodice, covering the straps and forming a bow in the front. A pretty dress, but in it she looked as skinny as an exclamation point. "Doesn't everyone love movie stars?"
Gloria finished a swallow of champagne and seemed to consider saying more, then let out a deep sigh. "I mean she screws them, Bebe. If they appear on a movie screen, Suzie's in their bed for a wild night or two and, most important, is always 'accidentally' photographed with them. Constantly thinking about ways to raise her profile in the world, that's our Suzie. She's a user, and she employs her body for power. She's sleeping with Pierre, has slept with, gosh, I don't know how many of the people at this party, and has an old flame who follows her around for the times when she's into nostalgia. She has to be careful, though, because Pierre's got a temper. She counts on him to make her photos perfection. Heck, after some of her crazier nights, she'd be in big trouble without my special under-eye concealer. Anyhow, in the past Pierre hasn't minded Suzie straying for a one-night stand, but lately he's pulled in the reins big-time. Frankly, I'm glad. Pierre's the one who made Suzie a star, but she's not worth his love."
"Wait, back up a minute," I said, trying to take it all in. "You mean Suzie is sleeping with Pierre and movie stars to get ahead—" I broke off and swung around to look
at Bradley. His gaze rested on Suzie while his hand had shifted to her lower back. No! Surely Suzie wasn't doing that with Bradley!
I turned to Gloria, frantic, hoping she'd reassure me.
She shot me a look of pity. "Don't think about it. I only told you so you wouldn't feel bad about your boss. You new to town, Bebe? You don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you? I hate it when people call me Miss Castellano. Which, of course, Suzie does. I'm here tonight just in case Miss Suzie Wexford should muss her lipstick or a lash from her false eyelashes should fall onto her perfect cheek," Gloria said in a sarcastic voice.
My head spun at the very thought that Bradley would . . . But, stupid me, wasn't that what all men did? It was okay for a man but not a woman, who was expected to come to her marriage bed a virgin. I forced myself to focus on Gloria.
Poor thing, I thought, getting the impression that Gloria must lead a life of misery under Suzie's hands. "Bebe is fine by me, Gloria. As for Manhattan, I've been here for almost two months. I love being a single girl in the big city. Everything is so exciting, and there's energy in the very air. There's so much I want to do and see. I can't wait to go to the World's Fair. I've been too busy this week settling into the new office, but maybe I'll go Saturday."
Gloria nodded. "I'm happy for you. I've lived here ever since I turned eighteen. I'm twenty-seven now. I consider myself a New Yorker, but the city doesn't hold charm for me anymore," she said in a world-weary voice. "Though I'll probably have to be at the World's Fair. Suzie is introducing that new Ford, the Mustang, on Saturday."
"That's a plum job."
"It is," Gloria confirmed. "A lot of the other models are very jealous, especially Lola."
"I know she's one of Ryan's, but I haven't met her."
"She's over there, the blonde standing next to Norman Mailer."
I saw a familiar-looking, beautiful woman with enormous smoke-gray eyes who appeared to be a few years older than Suzie.
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