My Lady Lipstick

by Karin Kallmaker

  Diana had played a different game, maybe because she was older. She’d let one float onto the palm of her hand and see how long it would stay there. Could she walk all the way across the garden with it? Could she carry it inside? What would keep it safe?

  The tiny drugstore was a long way from the garden at Mote Hall but she was trying to do the same thing, wasn’t she? They were in a magic bubble and she was trying to preserve it for as long as possible.

  But all bubbles eventually pop, she reminded herself.

  “How about these?” Paris handed over a three-pack of classic white cards with a red and purple geometric pattern on the front that, when held further away, became a flower.

  “Perfect I think. Exactly what Anita would choose.”

  “There’s a deli next door.” Paris sounded somewhat desperate. “Lunch rush might be about over.”

  “Sounds great.”

  They fussed together with a self-check machine, feeding in bills and throwing in odd change until it was enough. A scant minute later they were sliding into a booth. The service was blissfully fast which made Diana’s stomach happy. But it meant that the meal would end too quickly when she wanted it to last the rest of the day and all night.

  “What’s your favorite type of lunch?” Paris took another large bite of her egg salad sandwich and made a noise that sounded very similar to ones she’d made this morning. “This is killer good.”

  She gestured at her chopped salad with spicy pecans and bits of what claimed to be Irish blue cheese, though there wasn’t enough for her to tell if that was true. “I like this a lot. Promise you won’t judge?”

  “I already know that grilled cheese and tomato soup make you drunk.”

  She had to smile at that. “If I’m raiding the kitchen for just myself, I eat olives, pickles, and hummus. All together.”

  “Adventurous. But then I knew that.” They shared a goofy smile.

  Paris abruptly asked, “Is your mother really a countess?”

  Diana wondered what prompted the question. “She gets to put it on stationery and calling cards. Bricks and benches all over Maidstone, Mote and Leeds proclaim it. But it’s a courtesy title, like mine.”

  Paris’s eyebrows shot up. “Like yours?”

  “I’m the daughter of an earl. I don’t really like using it, but technically I’m Lady Diana Beckinsale.”

  “It suits you.”

  Diana tried not to stare as Paris licked mustard off a fingertip. “How so?”

  “You act like a lady.”

  Paris’s cheeks abruptly flushed, and Diana was sure her cheeks were red too. This morning she had been voracious and loud. “In public,” she said. They grinned at each other like loonies.

  Finally, Paris continued, “Plus it has an elegant ring to it. Mellifluous.”

  “Doctor or admiral would sound good too, but I’d have to actually earn those.” She frowned at her salad. “It’s the only thing of his I’ve kept, mostly because it makes Mum happy to call me that, especially when I’m in trouble. My grandmother left him out of her will to the extent that she could.”

  “You ended up with emeralds from her, right?”

  “And a flat in London that an agent leases out for me.” Paris had said she wanted the truth. “I have lots of bonuses from birth, none of my doing. I enjoy it, but I’m also trying to leverage it in a way other people can’t.”

  “Because that’s who you are.”

  She speared a grape tomato to add it to her bite of rocket and pecan. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you were out walking in the wood and you came upon a train track, not connected to any others, just one all by itself, what would you do?”

  Paris cocked her head. “A lone train track?” She narrowed her eyes as if expecting a trap of some kind. “I’d cast a spell to detect enchantments and curses.”

  “I mean in real life.”

  “So do I. It’s very suspicious, a train track by itself. I mean, if you came upon a flying carpet in the woods, you’d ask a few questions before you got on.” She gave Diana a sidelong glance. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure, of course.” She didn’t even convince herself with her answer—she’d get right on that flying carpet and ask questions later. “Anything else?”

  “Walk up and down the rails to see if I could balance, maybe with a book on my head. I have a backpack, right? So there’d be a book.” Paris’s expression was the picture of innocence. “But first I’d put my ear to the rail to make sure there weren’t any trains coming. Just to be safe.”

  Diana burst out laughing though part of her wanted to cry.

  They were on their third refills of water when Diana ran out of ways to keep lunch from ending. The card was written, addressed to Reynard care of Heather.

  It was Paris who finally said, “I guess we should see about Storming the Office Building.”

  “Storming?”

  “We’re on a quest to deliver this.” For the first time since they’d ordered, Paris’s fingers were lightly tapping on the tabletop.

  “I think we can talk our way in without actual storming needed.”

  Paris didn’t dispute the assertion, and that was exactly what Diana did. She put all her charm front and center, telling the beefy guard that it was a follow-up to the appointment she’d had on Friday.

  “I see you right here in the log.” He tapped at the screen and added with a smile, “And I remember you.”

  She heard Paris stifle a snort.

  “I can’t think why today’s appointment isn’t listed. We’re to meet with people in the media group’s offices this time, not the publisher’s. About a movie.”

  “They’ll sort it out upstairs. Have a good meeting.” He turned to help the next person in the queue.

  They said nothing in the crowded elevator though Diana was acutely aware that Paris was taking long, deep breaths. She pressed the button for the top floor and suppressed a wave of guilt. For a few more hours with her she was putting Paris through this completely unnecessary visit, without a thought to how it would make Paris feel.

  Full of regret, she opened her mouth to suggest they forget about it, but the doors opened and the flow of bodies carried them out of the car. Like the floor where the publishing house was situated, the decor was cold steel and silver light with touches of RMG corporate blue. Instead of large photos of their media celebrities, there was only Reynard himself smiling over the reception area like a benevolent monarch. The facing wall was also Reynard, an enlargement of a black-and-white photo taken decades ago in a college football uniform spattered with mud.

  There was no forgetting where they were.

  Paris’s fingers were flexing against her slacks.

  Diana took her own deep breath and approached the exceedingly thin young woman at the desk. “I was hoping to get a moment with Heather Reynard.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but we were at lunch with her and Mr. Reynard yesterday at Salazar’s when he was taken ill. I’d like to pass on a card to wish him well. Have you heard any updates?”

  The receptionist, who had seemed ready to deliver a well-rehearsed speech about the necessity of appointments, said instead, “He’s holding his own, we’ve been told.” She swiped across the thin tablet she’d picked up from the desk. “Lunch yesterday? You’re Anita Topaz?”

  Modern connectivity to the rescue. “Yes, and my assistant Ellis.”

  “One moment.”

  The receptionist had just pushed back from her desk when Heather herself appeared from an adjacent hallway, saying into her phone, “It’ll be several weeks. Route everything on that through me until you hear otherwise.”

  She stopped walking when she saw Diana and Paris, dropping the phone into her suit jacket pocket. “Anita, Ellis—I’ve been meaning to ask someone for your contact info all day. You were so helpful yesterday. I don’t know how to adequately say thank you.”

&nb
sp; Diana smiled her thanks at the receptionist before shaking hands with Heather.

  “We wanted to leave this with you.” Diana held out the card, which Heather tucked into her inner breast pocket with a distracted smile. “And ask how he’s doing.”

  “Let’s talk in here.” Heather led them down the opposite corridor and into the office at the very end. Diana immediately knew it wasn’t Heather’s office—the distinct scent of Reynard’s aftershave was in the air, along with leather and polished wood. There was a jaw-dropping view, a match to the one from Friday’s conference room, and from even higher up.

  “I’ve been escaping in here to get space to think,” Heather said. “My office is on the other end, and full of people today.”

  Every surface in the expansive office was pristine except for the desk and the credenza behind it. A stack of file folders threatened to topple off one corner of the desk, but were held in place by the lamp propped against them. Minute dust circles suggested that items on the credenza had been pushed to one side to make room for a laptop currently displaying a stock market ticker. Heather pushed the jumble even further to make room for the file folders in her hand, not seeming to notice that a heavy fountain pen on the other end tumbled onto the floor.

  “It’s been a rough day,” Diana observed.

  Heather used both hands to pull her reddish-gold hair into a ponytail for a moment before letting it sweep back into place. “It has. He’s still in ICU. The doctor who gave him the electroshock was right. It was sudden cardiac arrest. He was conscious this morning and told me if I wanted him to remain calm I had to get in here and hold down the fort. Our stock was diving. But it stabilized before the close of trading.”

  “I’m sure in large part to your efforts.”

  Heather nodded absently, as if the compliment didn’t really penetrate. Dressed in a razor-sharp corporate gray suit and a blue poplin shirt open at the neck to display a simple gold cross on an equally plain gold chain, she was not quite the towering presence she had been at the restaurant. Diana realized the degree to which Heather could project a vivid persona and turn it off again, a personality nuance that her father completely lacked.

  Diana expected Heather to politely thank them again, then indicate that she had business, and they would just as politely take their leave. Instead, Heather led them to a grouping of chairs around a coffee table, settling into one that faced the door. Lines of worry and fatigue became more obvious.

  Paris and Diana sank down into their own chairs almost in unison.

  “Would either of you like coffee?” Heather gestured at the sideboard. “There’s all kinds.”

  “We just finished lunch, but thank you,” Paris said.

  “I’m glad you stopped by. Really, I don’t remember much except watching my dad’s face and praying. But I know you were there and thank you, it helped.”

  Paris answered, “Anyone would have done the same. The real heroes were the doctor and her husband.”

  “Yes. Such incredible luck. They were both so good in the ambulance. I was kind of in shock. They were on their first date in months.” She added distractedly, “I made a note somewhere to send them a spa certificate or something.”

  Diana wasn’t sure that Heather wasn’t still in shock. “I’m glad they were there.”

  “Artie brought me dinner at the hospital. It seemed wrong to be hungry.”

  “The world doesn’t stop turning,” Paris said. “Don’t blame yourself that you can’t make it stop.”

  “Now I remember.” Heather’s gaze sharpened on Paris, then went to Diana and back to Paris. She thumbed open her phone and tapped in a few characters. She turned it around and set it on the table between them. “I looked you up. This is you, right?”

  A younger, smiling Paris gazed out of the phone, a photograph obviously from before the world had kicked her in the teeth. She was relaxed and carefree, with her arm around another woman. Her eyes were full of light and humor. Their matching T-shirts said “Gamers for Equality.”

  If I’d known her then… Diana had no idea how to finish the thought. All she knew was that she ached to touch that face, and hold that Paris close when the storm hit. And do anything to keep her safe.

  Paris let out a half-strangled gasp.

  “I had someone dig out the contract this morning,” Heather went on. “I always wondered what happened to Paris Ellison and now I know.”

  Diana’s blood chilled in her veins. She had no script for this.

  “So the real question is…” Heather picked up the phone and turned to Diana. “She’s Anita Topaz. So who are you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Their ruse had been discovered. That it wasn’t a crime didn’t change the sirens ripping through the nerves in Paris’s stomach and throat. Diana’s red suit turned gray. The skies outside went from blue to white. She told herself not to gasp for breath. Do not have a panic attack. You are not in danger.

  “How did—” It was the most Paris could manage before her throat closed up again.

  “I thought I recognized you yesterday. The name wasn’t quite right, but it bothered me later when I was desperate for something to think about other than ICU monitors. I pushed hard for our commentators to dig into GamerGate, and you were another casualty. Your social media accounts were gone, but there’s always the Wayback Machine.” She glanced again at Diana. “So…?”

  “I’m what people want to see.” Diana’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Paris really doesn’t want public contact. If you know her story, I’m sure you can understand that. She was feeling very pressured by Reynard House Publishing, with a lot at stake for her.”

  “So you’re like a ghost persona?” Heather sat back in the chair. “That’s quite a partnership.”

  Paris swallowed hard and blew out a carefully controlled breath. “We didn’t set out—”

  She heard the door behind them open and turned to see a young man in shirtsleeves beckoning.

  “I’ll be right back,” Heather said. After a short conversation, she followed him out of the room.

  Paris bolted out of the chair to pace. Foul word!

  “I think we’re okay,” Diana said quickly. “She doesn’t seem upset.”

  “I know. That doesn’t help right now.” Don’t have a panic attack. She bounced on her toes to bleed more energy as she walked to the far corner of the office where bookcases flanked a smiling Ronald Reynard, then back around the conversation cluster of chairs to the desk in the corner, which enjoyed an amazing vista from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Seeing outside helped. Deep breath, shake it out.

  She circled the office again, counting the chairs and then the wall hangings to occupy her brain. She was grateful that Diana was being still and quiet. “I need a minute or two. Whatever you do, please don’t tell me to calm down.”

  “I wouldn’t—won’t. I’m sorry, this was my idea and now we’re blown.”

  “We were blown yesterday, we just didn’t know it.” Paris did another circuit of the room, forcing herself to move more slowly while she took steady breaths. The sky slowly deepened to blue again and Diana’s suit bloomed back to cherry red. “I had no idea Heather recognized me yesterday.”

  “She seemed very comfortable with you.”

  “I was comfortable with her. We’re both butch, we like gaming…” She stopped at the window again and focused her eyes on the distance while she slowly counted to ten. Her heart rate was settling. Boss Anxiety had set off a flare, that was for certain, but it wasn’t going to burn the house down.

  She refocused on the window glass and could see Diana in the reflection. She’d picked up a magazine from the coffee table and was idly thumbing through it. It was reassuring to see her calmly sitting there, not wringing her hands or trying to assert that there was nothing to be anxious about.

  Another deep breath, possibly the last one she’d need. She smoothed her shirt front and looked down to pick a bit of lint off her trouser leg.

  And tha
t’s when she saw it.

  A signed baseball had rolled almost out of sight under the credenza. Next to it on the floor was a small, framed photo and a Montblanc fountain pen. A diamond cufflink—she glanced and saw its mate still on the credenza. Looking back at the floor she studied again a small hammer not even as long as her shoe. She’d nearly stepped on it.

  The bone that formed the handle was a stark white and beautiful against the crudely faceted obsidian that formed the hammer’s head.

  She realized two things all at once. That Diana wasn’t looking for it. She’d been telling the truth about no longer wanting to try to take it. Today’s impromptu visit wasn’t about that, even though Paris had half thought it must be. Otherwise, why had Diana made such flimsy excuses to make another visit here?

  And she could see what Diana was trying to protect. It was delicate and small and didn’t belong in this steel-and-glass tower. The idea that someone like Reynard would use it as an accessory to glorify corporate power was repellent.

  She glanced into the window glass. Diana was reading or seemed to be.

  In one smooth motion, Paris picked up the hammer and tucked it into the long pocket inside her suit jacket. It was heavier than it looked. The obsidian head made a slight bulge in her jacket but otherwise it didn’t show.

  Diana would know where to send it.

  She thought she ought to feel guilty, but she didn’t. Perhaps that was why she didn’t feel anxious about it either. She returned to the chair she’d vacated, feeling calm given that she had stolen property in her pocket. She had no idea how much it was worth to the people who thought it ought to be for sale.

  Diana closed the magazine and set it back onto the coffee table. “Better?”

  “Yes. Thank you for letting me be.” Paris jumped a little when the door opened again, half expecting security guards who’d seen her pocket the hammer via hidden cameras. But it was only Heather, looking out of sorts. It was time for them to leave, and not only because Paris was starting to worry about hidden cameras and what her mother would have thought.