B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  However, I did see her try to knock Peggy down with the wheeled cart. I looked to the galley kitchen. Darlene was snagging Peggy's stockings on a low stainless-steel cupboard, and Peggy was opening a bottle of champagne directed at Darlene's eyes. The two hissed what surely were insults at each other.

  After the plane took off, Darlene served Lola and me prime rib and champagne. I gave her a look when she poured the champagne, slanting my eyes at Lola. Darlene nodded. No alcohol for Lola.

  However, despite my earlier warnings, the model kept signaling for more champagne. When Darlene ignored her, Lola snagged Peggy. "That other stewardess won't refill my champagne."

  "I am so sorry. She's a fill-in, not very good at her job. I'll take care of you," Peggy promised.

  Darn Peggy! "Lola, should you be drinking the night before the shoot?" I asked.

  She waved a careless hand. "I've been dry for almost a week. I deserve some champagne. It won't make any difference."

  There was nothing I could do. Plan B: Maybe Lola would get tipsy enough to confess, but not so drunk she'd ruin the photo shoot.

  I counted three glasses of champagne that slid down the model's throat before Peggy took away our dinner plates. Lola hadn't touched her food.

  "Thanks for sitting next to me," I said in a confidential tone, holding my half-full champagne glass in my right hand. "I'm looking forward to the photo shoot."

  Lola lit another cigarette, then reached across me to accept a champagne refill from Peggy. Her fourth. "Not nearly as much as I am. Durden swimwear advertises in all the major magazines. My career will be revived."

  I patted her arm. "Lola," I whispered, forcing her to move her head close to mine, "you're going to be bigger than you ever were before. I have Pierre eating out of my hand. He'll want to please me, and what will please me is you looking sexier than any movie star in these photos. Even Liz Taylor."

  "Are you sleeping with Pierre?" Lola asked. "I think he's falling for you."

  Oh, no. "Not yet, but it's only a matter of time, now that Bradley's been arrested," I fibbed, trying another tactic. "I've been more than a secretary to Bradley, if you know what I mean." Mentally, I thought I would have to buy a thick new notebook for confessions.

  Lola smiled smugly. "Too bad about Bradley. I'm glad I have you on my side, Bebe. I warn you, though, Pierre can be intolerable with his French sensibilities." She finished her glass of champagne and signaled to Peggy.

  "What can I get you?" she asked.

  "I'm switching to Manhattans," Lola said to Peggy, who raced up the aisle to get the highball.

  In the galley, Darlene knocked over the drink the minute Peggy mixed it. The two were at it again.

  Lola said, "I'll be the top model in the city. What better way to celebrate than drinking Manhattans?" she asked, then giggled.

  I giggled along with her, then whispered, "You're right on both counts, and I'm glad. I hated Suzie for dating Bradley. I'm glad she's dead."

  Lola drank her highball. "You hated Suzie that much?"

  I looked at her askance. "Are you kidding?" I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I would have strangled Suzie myself if Bradley hadn't done it for me.

  I sat back and waited. Lola's words were beginning to slur. I'd lost count of how much alcohol was in her system.

  She tried to light a cigarette with unsteady hands. I immediately lit it for her. She took a drag, then absently let the cigarette burn in the handrest's metal tray. "Damn, I wish Bradley weren't the one arrested for the murder. He's too choice to languish in jail the rest of his life."

  "So you don't think he was the one who actually killed her?" I asked, hoping my face reflected an admiration of Lola's intelligence.

  She finished her drink, carefully put the glass on her tray, then licked her lips. She gazed at me, her head resting on the back of her seat. "I wanted Suzie dead, too, Bebe. Many nights I'd lie in bed thinking of how to kill her and get away with it. I didn't have a gun. I didn't want to shoot her anyway. Soooooo impersonal. Knives are messy, and I might have cut my hand."

  "I agree," I whispered, daring at last to hope for that drunken confession.

  Lola closed her eyes. "I dreamed of strangling the bitch, while telling her how much I hated her. It was important that Suzie knew I much I hated her, how she was a nobody from Omaha. I was the star model, not her. Never her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze all my hatred into her and slowly watch the life go out of her. I needed Suzie to know who had finally triumphed. Oh, the pleasure . . ."

  Chilled to the bone, I whispered, "You can tell me if you took that pleasure, Lola. We're friends. I'll keep the secret."

  My heart raced in my chest, waiting for her answer.

  "Lola?" I whispered. "Tell me what Suzie's last words were."

  Lola's head fell onto her shoulder.

  Passed-out drunk, she slipped her hand out of mine along with my hopes for a confession that would clear Bradley's name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "And I told Lola all those lies! How will I ever get through confession?" I asked, and dropped my head in my hands.

  It was a little after nine in the morning, and I had just finished bringing Darlene up-to-date about what had happened on the flight the previous evening.

  "Cheer up, Bebe; you'll explain your actions by saying they were for a good cause, namely your hunky boss's life," Darlene reassured me. "We're here, and we can try again to get Lola to confess."

  "I hope so."

  Darlene gazed out at the ocean. "Can you believe the color of the water? It's the same color as that turquoise dress you're wearing."

  "I've never seen anything like it," I admitted. "Daddy and Mama always took me to Virginia Beach when I was growing up, and I thought water couldn't get any bluer. I was wrong."

  Darlene and I sat at an aluminum table in the casual, covered outdoor restaurant of our hotel, aptly named White Sands since it sat right on the beach. Crisscrossed wooden poles formed the structure, which was open to the little brown lizards that scurried about. Palm trees swayed among the lush foliage, and butterflies flew around the wild purple bougainvillea. Bradley could not have picked a better setting for the Durden swimwear shoot.

  Once we'd landed on the island, the five in our party had been driven in a safari taxi on a dirt road populated by donkeys and cows. All the stopping and starting because of the slow-moving animals, coupled with the disastrous day, had made me go straight to my room and to bed.

  "Are you and Cole sharing a room?" I asked, rubbing my bare feet together under the table. Waiters swept the wooden floor, but the sand found its way back.

  Cole sat in a white wooden beach chair at the water's edge. He'd traded his Stetson for a big straw hat, probably purchased from a street vendor. He was shirtless—I didn't want to look—and wore a pair of tan-and-white swimming trunks that came to his skinny knees.

  "Unfortunately, we are," Darlene said, glancing down at her engagement ring with narrowed eyes. "We've been fighting ever since we got here. Last night I stomped off to the bar alone—remind me to tell you about that in a minute—and then this morning, Cole was mad as a hornet when I put on this bathing suit. He said it was something a prostitute would wear."

  "That was mean of Cole! How dare he refer to you that way?"

  I looked at her red one-piece suit. True, the sides were completely cut out, and there was a slit down the front with three orange ties for modesty, but it was no racy bikini. Though somehow, on Darlene, the suit emphasized her tiny waist and generous bosom. She just couldn't help but look sexy.

  Darlene drank some coffee, then set the cup down in the saucer. She smiled. "The suit is called 'the She-Devil.'"

  We burst into laughter.

  Then she grew serious. "I've been doing some thinking, Bebe."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah, ever since that talk you and I had. And I've come to the conclusion that Cole and I would never be happy together. I love Stu, and he loves me. All that
stuff about Peggy ... I should never have believed her. Stu's a reformed stew-bum. I'm gonna do my best to trust him. When we get back to New York, I'll make it up to him. No more father figures for me."

  I grabbed her right hand and squeezed it. "I am so happy, Darlene! When are you going to tell Cole? Can I watch?"

  She giggled. "You are bad, Bebe. When the moment is right, I'll tell him. Privately. No sense arguing with him on this perfect day."

  Grinning, I popped a delicious slice of mango in my mouth.

  Darlene stuck her fork into a cube of fresh pineapple. "I'll give him the ring back—that's only fair— but I'm keeping the diamond necklace."

  "You'd better. I might want to borrow it one day," I said. "What was it you wanted me to remind you of, something you wanted to tell me?"

  Darlene finished her pineapple and nodded. "Thought you might like to know that Lola got a second wind last night."

  "What? Don't tell me—"

  "Yes, ma'am, your star model was in the bar drinking again when I went in for my nightcap. She was all over a cute local guy, and his hands were everywhere on her. Lola didn't push him away."

  "Oh, dear God," I said. "I'd better check—"

  "Good morning, my lovely Bebe," Pierre said, arriving at our table. He bent and kissed my cheek, while I shot a look at Darlene that begged her not to laugh.

  Pierre had on the beach version of his city attire: black short-sleeved shirt, black shorts, black socks and shoes. The beret was gone, though, replaced by a straw hat like Cole's.

  "Hello, Pierre. You know Darlene."

  "Ah, yes, our hostess on the plane," he said, and raised Darlene's hand to his lips for a brief kiss.

  She smiled, and Pierre took a seat next to me. A waiter came and took his detailed order; then Pierre said, "Bebe, the weather couldn't be better for our shoot. You are my good luck charm. I'd like to start in an hour or so, as soon as I've breakfasted, and Lola is in makeup. Where is Gloria?"

  Thinking this would be a good excuse to find Lola, I said, "Why don't I round everyone up while you sit here and relax?"

  Pierre smiled. "You mean more and more to me every day. What would I do without you, my chirie?"

  Darlene slid me a glance.

  I felt uncomfortable and, if I were honest with myself, a tiny bit flattered by Pierre's growing feelings for me. Uncomfortable because I couldn't return his interest. Flattered since Pierre, Louis, and the young actor at the gala all helped my confidence that I was attractive to the opposite sex. Then there was Bradley. . . .

  Gloria, wearing a loose cotton floral shift, plunked down her makeup bag with a thud. "Yeah, Bebe, what would we do without you?" she asked, and snorted a laugh.

  Puzzled, I stood up. "Good morning, Gloria. If everyone will excuse me, I'll go find Lola."

  "I'll go with you," she said. "I need to get her in makeup."

  "Um, let me go up first, Gloria; then I'll come back and find you."

  "Whatever floats your boat," she said, and sat down.

  Dashing to the front desk, I finally convinced the native clerk to give me Lola's room number. Twenty- seven, just three doors down from me.

  I ran up the wooden steps and knocked on her door.

  No answer.

  I knocked harder, urgently.

  "One minute!" called a male voice.

  Had the desk clerk given me the wrong room number?

  The door opened, revealing a deeply tanned young man with blond hair. Nice-looking, but tousled and shirtless, he wore a pair of white Levi's. "Hey, you woke me."

  An American living off of sand dollars, I thought. Trying to avoid gazing at his naked chest, I stammered, "Is, um, Lola—"

  "That her name?" He shook his head as if to clear it. "Wild woman. I gotta split."

  He brushed past me, making tracks.

  I pushed the door open.

  Lola, naked, lay sprawled across the double bed on her stomach, snoring. I inched over and picked up a white sheet from the floor. Covering her to the neck, I bent down and touched her shoulder. "Lola, it's me, Bebe. Time to wake up."

  Her thick blond hair lay across her face. I gently pushed it aside. "Lola, please wake up."

  Her eyes opened a crack. Her eyelids were as swollen as a wet sponge, and she still had on last night's makeup, her black eyeliner smeared onto her bloated cheek.

  Slowly she came awake, groaning. "I'm gonna be sick," she whispered, then scooted across the bed and into the bathroom.

  I pressed my fingers to my temples as the sounds of last night's overindulgence met my ears. I went to the window and opened it, letting some fresh air into the foul-smelling room.

  When all was quiet in the bathroom, I stood with my back against the wall next to the bathroom. Lola hadn't closed the door, and I didn't want to see inside.

  "Lola, Pierre wants to start the shoot in about an hour. Why don't you take a hot shower while I go get you some coffee and the bikini you're supposed to wear?"

  She mumbled something I couldn't understand.

  "What did you say?" I asked.

  "Aspirin," she moaned.

  "Okay, I'll be back in fifteen minutes with coffee and aspirin. You'll get your shower while I'm gone?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Unlocking my door, I sat on the edge of my bed and allowed myself a good five minutes of self-pity.

  Lola had been drinking on the plane despite my advice not to. But I had no idea she'd continue once we landed and get completely wasted. Her face! All bloated, eyes swollen and red. Maybe the shower, the coffee, and the aspirin would take care of it, I told myself. She would be a fool to ruin this opportunity. And I'd let Bradley down after he put his trust in me. I steeled my resolve. This photo shoot would be successful, no matter what.

  I applied suntan lotion to my arms and legs, touched up my lip gloss, and got the Durden black bikinis out of my suitcase. There were two of them in different sizes. I'd have Lola put the larger one on first. Out of my first-aid travel case, I retrieved two aspirin.

  Leaving my room, I secured a cup of coffee and headed back to Lola's room. I'd left the door unlocked and walked right in.

  "Lola," I said, putting the coffee down on a small table, "are you feeling better?"

  No answer.

  I opened the bathroom door. She lay on the bathroom floor, snoring.

  That was when I got mad.

  Over the next forty-five minutes, I woke Lola, got her to drink some coffee and take her aspirin, then made her shower. I was nice about everything, but inside I seethed. By the time her hair was dry and she'd squeezed into the bikini, I wanted to scream.

  "You're fussing over me, Bebe," she said, then stumbled as we walked out the door.

  With horror I saw long red scratches down her back. Pancake makeup, I thought, that should cover it. "I'm counting on you, Lola, and we're late. Pierre is going to be furious."

  "Screw him. I'm tired of his moods," she grumbled. "Hey, I didn't say anything about Pierre last night that I shouldn't have, did I? He's still gotta do this shoot with me."

  "Pierre? No, you didn't," I said. With every step I grew more anxious. Gloria would have to be a miracle

  worker with Lola's makeup, and Pierre a genius with the camera.

  We stepped outside, Lola complaining of the brightness of the sun, and found where Pierre had set up for the shoot. A white wooden beach lounger and a tiny round bamboo table had been placed near lush green plants and a low palm tree. From my Durden swimwear notes, I knew there were supposed to be shots of Lola frolicking in the water, reclining with a tropical drink, and sunbathing.

  Pierre saw us first. "Merde!" he cursed.

  "Oh, shit," Gloria echoed.

  Lola put her hands on her hips. "What is wrong with you people?"

  Pierre held Lola's chin in one hand. He examined her face intently before she swiped his hand away.

  "There is nothing I can do. Nothing! She's been drinking. Her looks are ruined," he declared, and kicked a seashell across the
beach. He walked a few feet away and assumed a tragic pose.

  "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Lola said. "Gloria will—"

  "Gloria cannot fix that mess you call a face!" Pierre shouted. "And your stomach is hanging over the top of that bikini bottom!"

  Darlene and Cole drifted over.

  "If Gloria has any talent at all, she'll make me beautiful," Lola countered.

  Gloria drew in a deep breath at the insult. "I'm sorry, Pierre. There's no way I can cover those bags under her eyes, not to mention her swollen eyelids. Maybe you can shoot her at an angle where her bloated face appears thin."

  "Shut up, Gloria," Lola snapped. Then she turned her ire on Pierre. "You always have a love-hate relationship with your star model. You did with Suzie, with me, and with Kiki before us."

  Pierre took an angry step toward Lola.

  I put myself between them. I was supposed to be in charge here. "Pierre, I know you're upset, and you're perfectly justified. Lola, you should have gone to bed early and gotten your beauty rest. Now, why don't I take Lola back to her room, where she can rest for an hour with a cool cloth over her eyes."

  Darlene said, "It sounds gross, but the cream people use for hemorrhoids can shrink the swelling around your eyes too. We were taught that in stew school."

  "Darlene," Cole barked in a tone that dropped the eighty-something-degree temperature down to fifty, "I won't have you speaking of such personal things in public. And for Pete's sake, tie those things on the front of that bathing suit tighter. You're exposing yourself. No wife of mine—"

  Darlene's freckles stood out like drops of red wine on a white-tiled floor. She stopped Cole before he could continue. "I'll say anything I want to say! And what I've wanted to say for a while now is that I won't be your wife." She twisted her engagement ring off her finger and flung it at Cole.

  The ring hit him squarely in the center of his forehead, then bounced down to the sand. He bent down, scrambling around trying to find it.

  Darlene flounced off to the hotel.

  "This is madness," Pierre said. "I have to wait for a drunken model before I can do my work. I'll never photograph you again after this, Lola."