He hated it. All the women in the Hamptons did this, whenever a celebrity threw a party. It wasn’t enough to have a fifteen-million-dollar beach house; you had to compete on the ‘best trophy wife’ circuit, like you were entering a prize dog at Crufts.
And he was as guilty as anybody. For years, Susan had worked the trophy-wife thing perfectly, and Joel had not complained. He’d bought her jewels, an emerald and South Sea pearl necklace, a canary diamond ring the size of an M&M, a platinum watch studded with rubies. Not so much to see her wear them, but as a vehicle for boasting about his wealth and power.
‘How do you like it?’
Susan pirouetted. She was always happiest when she felt great about herself, when she was the star. They did less and less together these days.
‘Stunning,’ he lied.
Make-up should be subtle, present but not present, barely there, so you could see the woman. All the men that piled on this ‘jewel eyes’ crap were gay – the same men that designed the curves out of catwalk models and pushed ‘menswear’ trends on the girls every season.
Dina Kane, for example, had it down perfectly. Always groomed, but with a touch as light as gossamer . . .
No – no.
‘What do you say we skip the party? I mean, altogether. Just go for a moonlit walk on the beach. We could make a bonfire, roast s’mores or something.’
Susan laughed. ‘You’re funny. We could do that every day. This is Roxana Felix’s party, you know – the supermodel. Everybody will be there.’
‘Right,’ he sighed.
‘Hey, honey, look at this magazine; I stole it from the salon. Though, with what I tipped them, they could buy a hundred of them.’ She triumphantly plunked down a copy of Vogue. ‘See this? A double-page spread on Torch. You know Torch, that fusty old store uptown? It’s been turned around, like completely. All my girlfriends are shopping there, in the beauty department. This is an interview with Ludo Morgan; isn’t he cute? You know the father, right?’
Joel nodded.
‘Ludo is the heir and he’s really transformed the place. He’s everywhere these days! Interviews in Vogue, in the New York Times . . . Haven’t you noticed? He’s really the coming man.’
‘Let me see that,’ Gaines said. He looked at the spread, the young man with the bland features photographed artfully against the blond, well-lit beauty department. The article raved about the revamp, the coming shock to other departments, the soaring bottom line. Ludo Morgan was given all the credit.
‘I heard they had a new beauty director – Dina Kane. She’s had something to do with this?’ he asked, casually.
Saying her name aloud was exciting. Gaines had tried, with minimal success, to forget her. Shouting at her, storming out of the café . . . His plan worked, if you wanted to call it that.
She was humiliated enough. She never called him again.
That was meant to be a signal for him to turn the page, move on, concentrate on Susan.
It wasn’t happening. Daily, he struggled for mastery. Daily, he stopped himself making the call.
And she showed no mercy. Her brand was everywhere – growing, expanding, filling the business pages. At first, he saw her name on a daily basis in the press releases and announcements.
Then it changed – to the boss, Ludo Morgan.
Gaines reserved judgement. He made discreet inquiries; Dina had been promoted, given hiring privileges, perks, a bigger salary. Nobody was ripping her off, like they had done with Meadow. And yet, she was getting the cash, but no longer getting the credit.
‘Who? Oh, yes, she works in the beauty department. All Ludo’s staff are shown right here.’
Susan flipped the page and pointed to a small, inset picture. Dina was standing in the back row of a group of staffers, smiling and wearing a chic white shift dress that set off her tanned, toned body. No rocks necessary, and no panda eyes allowed.
Goddamn, she was pretty. A butterfly among the moths. But she was also an afterthought – just a director; one of many.
‘You know, I knew that name was familiar,’ Susan said, suddenly, and Gaines gave a guilty start. She couldn’t know anything, could she? Impossible.
‘From the store?’
‘I’m not that much of a beauty geek; I don’t memorise the staff,’ Susan said contemptuously. ‘No, she’s a smart cookie, that one; she’s actually dating him. I saw it on “Page Six”. You know, the hot young couple. She’s pretty and he has the brains and the money.’
Adrenaline flushed through Gaines’ system. He felt something wholly unfamiliar: jealousy; rage. Ludo Morgan was unmarried and fifteen years younger than him, with money of his own. Not in Joel Gaines’ league, but more than enough to offer Dina a life of endless luxury.
He tried to feel happy for his protégée. He failed.
‘That’s nice,’ he said, eventually.
‘Well, try and show some enthusiasm tonight, won’t you?’
Gaines tore his eyes away from the tiny picture of Dina and looked up. ‘What?’
‘They’re going to be there tonight – two of the star guests. His folks have a compound in Amagansett, and Ludo bought his own place in Sagaponack, just back from the beach on Daniels’ Lane.’
He stared at her. ‘What are you? A realtor?’
‘I like to keep up with what goes on around here,’ Susan said, smugly. ‘You need to be up to date.’
‘No kidding.’ He passed a hand over his sweating forehead. ‘And they are coming tonight?’
‘Sure are. I can’t wait to introduce you. I’m really into Torch.’
He stood up. ‘That’s great. I think I need to get some fresh air. I’ll take the dogs out on the beach.’
Boxer and Clive bounded happily along the sand. Gaines knew a lot of rich men who envied their dogs: no therapists, no mergers, no taxes.
No women.
He walked here often when he needed to think. The scent of salt from the ocean, the breezes on a hot day: it lifted him, helped him to focus.
I won’t go to the goddamned party. That would be easiest, but there would be fights for days, and it was also the coward’s way out. Susan would pout, and wonder . . . He didn’t need her to wonder . . .
Jesus. Wonder about what? There he went again, overthinking it. He hadn’t done anything with Dina Kane. She was a cute piece of ass with a brain. Men were programmed to want pieces of ass. He hadn’t even kissed her, let alone fucked her. He’d been dwelling on her, OK, Gaines admitted that. It was too embarrassing to discuss with his shrink, even. Just another rich guy’s midlife crisis . . . She was young enough to be his daughter, if he’d started early.
Being near the water helped put things in perspective: the immensity of the ocean, crashing against the grey sand, soothing but relentless. Gaines could have any young piece of tail he wanted, either on a date, or ordered in from the most discreet escort services in the city, the ones where they tested the girls for diseases on a daily basis. He was a billionaire, and ass was available to him round the clock, if he was that way inclined.
He wasn’t. Never had been.
He was also, he understood, very unhappy.
The moment he got up his courage and yelled at Dina Kane was meant to be a good one. He was supposed to have walked out of that café a free man, still the master of himself, still right with his conscience, like a junkie kicking the habit. And when she didn’t email, didn’t call, stopped dead, that was meant to be his victory.
Temptation was behind him. He was back with Susan, their long marriage getting longer.
Only, ‘back with Susan’ wasn’t so great. Before Dina, he’d been so consumed with work he hadn’t really cared. Now he did care. It bothered him that his wife seemed to endure sex, not enjoy it. It bothered him that she never talked about anything but their celebrity neighbours, like he gave a flying fuck, or how the kids were doing in college. Gaines loved his boys, but they were separate to his wife. When he arranged romance, like a quiet dinner, or a beach walk, she
never talked about him, never asked about him. How was your day? was the extent of it.
He hated the spend-as-sport. Hated the panoply of servants disguised as teachers: personal trainer; personal tennis coach; personal shopper; personal stylist. Susan collected an army of redundant hangers-on, like their garden designer, and then spent hours in ‘meetings’ with them, making a life. He disdained the conspicuous dresses and the bold make-up; where was that chic, simple girl he married?
The boys were gone. Was this his life, for the rest of his life?
Gaines didn’t know if he could take it. Why it suddenly mattered, the companion at home, he wasn’t sure. Dina Kane was a witch, an enchantress; after just a few encounters, he was thinking about her all the damned time.
And now she was coming tonight. Very good. He would go.
He couldn’t divorce Susan; they had been together too long. Marriage counselling, maybe; a heart to heart. He could talk to her, tell her what was missing. She’d given him two children, a lifetime of service. It wasn’t good enough to trade her in for a younger model, like some scumbag who changed wives the way he changed cars . . .
That’s what he told himself, anyway. That was what a priest or rabbi would say.
He wanted it to ring true. But all he felt was a horrible, sinking feeling. Maybe this was a midlife crisis. Older men were meant to buy a red sports car, right? Only he already had a red sports car. And a blue one. And a Humvee . . .
Gaines smiled grimly to himself. Forget it. It was a problem he had to think through, like any other. Forgetting Dina Kane hadn’t worked, and running from her wouldn’t help. What if this was a business issue? He should break it down like that, the way he was used to doing.
‘Clive!’ he called, because the golden Labrador was too far away along the beach, chasing the waves and barking. OK, so he was a little obsessed. Maybe yelling at her in the coffee shop wasn’t the end of the story. He should talk to Dina again, get to know her, let her fall from whatever stupid pedestal he’d constructed. She had a boyfriend. It was good, he could see them together: two kids, the right age for each other. All’s well that ends well, right? He recalled he’d once told her that they’d speak again when she got herself a lover.
He needed to process that. He was married, and she was taken. Nothing could be better than seeing her and the golden boy at the dumb celebrity party tonight. No doubt she’d love it just as much as Susan did, would fit right in to the deluxe soccer-mom crowd, and the scales would fall from his eyes. Perhaps he could see her how he was meant to, as an unusual girl, a comer, somebody he liked, mentored.
The dog came bounding up to him, and Boxer, his chocolate mutt, next to him. They were both good dogs. He liked this part of his life. It would be crazy to divorce, to give it all up.
But the thought was so tempting.
He turned for home. He wanted to have sex with Susan, but knew already that she wouldn’t go for it. Not a chance. Not with her hair all done and the airbrushed make-up so perfectly set. Sex would be his best shot of denuding himself of desire, so he didn’t gawp over Dina like some drunken student. He didn’t want to do it himself; that seemed sterile and hopeless when he was married and his wife was there.
Joel Gaines was just going to have to grin and bear it.
Dina looked at herself in the mirror and sighed.
‘We absolutely have to go to this party?’
Ludo frowned slightly. ‘Honey, please stop asking me that.’
She was exquisite, and he was enjoying being with her. Every month that passed was a testament to his good taste. First and foremost, she was gorgeous, and she was pliant when he wanted to have sex; but she just dressed with such style; her make-up was perfect – exactly like you’d expect.
And the workaholic stuff was fine with Ludo. It meant she never clung on to him, gave him whatever space he needed. Flying to Florida to watch baseball spring training? No problem. Gore-fest movie with the boys? She didn’t care. Dining at a gentleman’s club? Dina would be in the office. They did things when he wanted to do things. He led in this relationship, and that suited him perfectly.
Dina Kane had a lot of energy. Her six months at Torch had turned the store around, but he thought he could take it from here. She would need to be occupied. He could see her planning the most stylish wedding for years, then taking time out to raise great-looking kids.
Torch was his – literally. Ludo understood her passion, but she could channel it into home, kids, charity work. He’d been detaching her from the store without her realising, so ploughed in was she to everyday results. There was another ‘Dina’ installed in fashion now – he’d hired this cute young thing from W magazine – and picked up a former editor of Wallpaper to work some magic on home furnishings. There was a proper PR department in place, staffed full of hungry young kids who’d worked in the big agencies. Torch wasn’t just beauty. He, Ludo, had a system, and he was motoring.
His father was ecstatic.
Dad and Mom had both liked Dina that week she flew out to their place in California. She’d stayed in a guest room, swum in the pool, helped his mother cook. They were pleased she worked at the store, and regarded her tales of stocktaking indulgently. His father had said something about Joel Gaines, and Dina flushed and replied that she deserved the job, on her own merits.
A little aggressive, that, but nothing to worry about.
His friends were jealous. And that was half the battle. Their air-headed models had no tits, no ass, and were hooked on drugs. Dina was curvaceous, and she was interesting to talk to, once she got off the subject of work.
‘You know tonight’s important to me. I want to show you off to everybody – our summer neighbours.’
‘Your summer neighbours,’ she said, but smiled.
‘If you play your cards right, baby . . .’
‘OK. I’ll pack an overnight case.’
‘No need; I had some of your stuff shipped to the house. Everything’s there. You just pick the dress you’re going to wear, and we’ll take a helicopter in.’
‘A helicopter!’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘This is how people live, Dina. You know, when time is more important than money.’
Her smile was a bit warmer now. ‘I get that.’
‘I don’t feel like being stuck in gridlocked traffic for three hours. We’ll head to midtown, for the heliport. So pack what you need in your purse.’
Dina blinked. She was wearing a sexy, figure-hugging Roland Mouret dress in structured green velvet, with folds and twists, and a simple single pearl on a golden chain at the hollow of her throat, like a drop of water. Her heels were cheaper – Jessica Simpson – but that was his girl; she mixed labels and high street with an irrepressible charm. The Simpson heels were ones she could walk in, she said, and they kept her going all night. The green velvet worked fine, and she carried a Prada clutch in khaki leather. It all looked effortless, and her dark hair piled on top of her head gave her the regal style of a Greek goddess.
‘OK then, honey,’ she said.
He liked the endearment; she rarely handed them out. It was kind of pleasing how little Dina Kane seemed to be after him and his money. She was ambitious and material in one way, always pushing for a bigger salary, or a bonus, or even stock options; quite surprising how hard she demanded that; he wasn’t used to it in women employees. Ludo gave her a rise, a nice car, but fobbed her off on the stock. She was new to the company still, he said, and it wasn’t right. Maybe at the year end . . .
But Dina was blind to the bonus sitting right opposite her. He laughed when he thought about it. A couple of hundred grand a year barely made you middle class in Manhattan, and he was offering her tens of millions. What was the problem? If she married him, she would have a penthouse, a beach house, resort vacations at the Four Seasons, and a car and driver, plus all the designers she could wear. Yet she showed little interest in commuting by helicopter or the fancy restaurants he took her to.
Other girls
on the shop floor would kill for the opportunity. But Ludo Morgan liked Dina’s brains. She brought class to the whole thing. And she was a challenge in a way he loved.
Growing up rich meant having girls fling themselves at you – in the nightclub, at the polo match, seniors in high school. Word went round, and the rich boys were prey. That made you resentful, made you distrust women. Maybe the best thing about Dina Kane was that she genuinely didn’t care. That was the silver lining to this pushy, aggressive alpha female.
Ludo was wearing a bespoke tailored suit, paired with a crisp Armani shirt – white with thin navy stripes – and shoes handcrafted by John Lobb in England. He looked good, hair freshly cut: the new entrepreneur on the block, finally getting the recognition he deserved. Beauty was motoring, but only because he’d provided the funds and the vision to make it happen. Lots of companies had talented employees; Steve Jobs hadn’t invented the iPod, but it was his company, so he led the way. Ludo had rearranged everything; the entire Torch building was now light wooden floors, mirrors, soft lighting. The old tables, piled with goods, had gone. A few designers showcased in each department. He’d brought furniture, fashion and accessories up to date as well. And the press was good – sales would catch up. A big spend, and a big return. This was what chief execs did.
In his pocket lay Dina Kane’s next chapter. A small blue velvet box from Tiffany, containing a colossal ring: seven carats of internally flawless, round, brilliant diamond, flanked by two azure Thai sapphires, just to be different.
Ludo had it all planned out: their triumphant debut on the Hamptons scene; Dina as belle of the ball; himself as the coming man in retail. There were going to be actors there, directors, Roxana Felix herself and several hedge-fund billionaires. Susan Gaines, doyenne of the scene, and her husband, Joel . . . the guy who’d sent Dina over in the first place. He should shake his hand.
After some mingling, some compliments, a few glasses of champagne, he would walk Dina out to the beach and propose, right there on the seashore, under the stars. He had the exact spot in mind . . . The floodlights in front of Roxana’s gates reached fifty foot. After all, Dina needed to be able to see the bling.
Beauty Page 22
