‘I got it myself. It’s a long story.’
‘He’s cut back some . . . just some. He still needs the help.’
Dina could hear the stress in his voice. ‘I’ll be right over.’
Johnny was dressed and out of bed; that was the good part about it. But Dina looked with horror at her brother’s skinny, half-skeletal frame, the hollows under his eyes, his shaking hands. His hair was long, grown over the collar. No longer handsome, he looked years older than himself.
As soon as Dina walked in, he burst into tears.
‘I can’t stop it,’ he sobbed. ‘I’m out of control. Brad asked me to move out. He said he can’t take it.’
Dina looked over at Brad, who stared at the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s too much. I wish I were stronger.’
Johnny wept, his frail shoulders shaking pathetically. Dina’s heart creased with pity – for her brother, for Brad, for everybody.
‘Johnny, you’ll get better. I have a place for you. The best rehab in the state.’
‘We can’t afford it.’
‘It’s all taken care of. You just get strong – get better. I’ll speak to the dean’s office; get you a medical leave of absence. You can finish college next semester.’
‘I can’t go yet,’ he pleaded. ‘I need something. One hit. One last hit . . .’
‘I’ve got a car waiting outside – to drive you.’
Johnny got to his feet, unsteadily. ‘I don’t have a case packed . . . No clothes; can’t go . . .’
Brad moved back into the bedroom with a small red suitcase. ‘All your stuff is in here. Go with your sister.’
Tears sprang to Johnny’s eyes. ‘You just want to get rid of me! I loved you.’
‘But you loved that stuff more,’ Brad said, his own voice cracking, and then he turned away. ‘Dina . . . please go.’
She hefted up the case with one hand and her brother with the other, cradling his weight by draping one skinny arm around her shoulder. It felt as though the suitcase weighed more.
‘Come on, Johnny.’ She wanted to cry too, but somebody had to be strong. ‘They’re waiting for you. We’ll get through this; we’ll get through it all.’
‘That can’t be.’
Edward’s heart was hammering a million miles an hour, like he’d done too much coke. He felt his face flush with blood, his ears buzzing. Perhaps he would faint. He gripped the desk in front of him.
‘Mr Gaines’ lawyers have been on the phone all morning. They can run this case till the end of time. We can’t possibly fight them.’
‘You have to.’ His voice rose in a high-pitched squeal. ‘You goddamned have to.’
‘Actually, we don’t. Dr Green is our client, not you.’
‘I paid you bastards. A hundred thousand!’
‘To represent Dr Green,’ said Giles Shaman, smoothly. ‘The proprieties were explained to you at the time. We have to give our client the best advice.’
‘I’m the client!’
‘Please calm yourself, Mr Johnson. There is nothing for it except to advise Dr Green to sell his share. The good news is he’s content about that – even relieved. Mr Gaines has offered him two million dollars, to include all intellectual property, the trademark, the brand. He’s going back to Austria, to retire.’
‘I don’t care where he’s going. I don’t care about him! He has to sue her!’
‘You don’t seem to understand. Dr Green can’t sue Ms Kane. Her interest has been bought out by Gaines Goldstein. If he alleges she fraudulently claimed half of Meadow, it’s Gaines Goldstein lawyers who will defend the case. And they could countersue. My advice was to settle. Dr Green didn’t have any real appetite to litigate against Ms Kane in the first place.’
‘Who gives a fuck what he wants?’
‘I do. I’m his lawyer. I am, however, willing to give you some free advice, Mr Johnson.’
Edward heard the suppressed laughter, the mocking tone in his voice. Red rage surged up in him, a bilious taste in his mouth. He wanted to curse but found himself gasping for breath, unable to speak. He’d given these fuckers a
hundred grand
and they’d screwed him over. Just like that, man. Just like Dina Kane.
‘I will take silence as consent. Very well, then: at present, nobody knows you were good enough to pay Dr Green’s legal costs. He is heading back to Europe before questions can be asked. If I were you, Mr Johnson, I would want to keep very quiet about my role in this. Whatever your relationship with Dina Kane.’
‘I don’t care what they think,’ Edward lied.
‘Everybody cares what Joel Gaines thinks. He does not have a forgiving reputation. Now he’s a player in this, speaking for myself, I would get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.’
Edward felt sick. ‘How much?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘How much did she get? For her share?’
‘Not as much as Dr Green, but it came encumbered with a possible lawsuit.’
‘Give me the number, not the fucking footnotes.’
‘Half a million dollars, I believe. A fair price, but not a spectacular one.’
Half a million
.
In a year, that whore had gone from coffee waitress to businesswoman. She could pay back her loans, sell another apartment. In his world, here in Manhattan, a half mil only got you to first base. But Dina had made that base in record time. This would be a seed – seed money for something bigger, something better.
A nightmarish vision swam before him: Dina Kane, a big success, famous, rich. Maybe owning a better house than his mother’s. Maybe even moving past him, in the fast lane. Laughing at him.
Ruining his life
.
It could happen now. She was playing, doing it deliberately to spite him.
Unless he did something to stop it.
Edward forced himself to be calm, to show control.
‘Good advice. Thank you. It feels so unfair, to know that she cheated Dr Green, the way she blackmailed my father. He was gulled into taking less because of her.’
‘Yes. Well.’ The lawyer was discomfited. ‘I can certainly understand that perspective, Mr Johnson.’
‘Destroy all records of our correspondence, then. I will cease to pay your bills as of now. Dr Green should understand that.’
‘His flight to Austria leaves next week. So this whole matter is at a rest.’
The hell it is.
‘Goodbye, Mr Shaman.’
Edward Johnson hung up, put his head in his hands and thought of Dina Kane. His body shivered with pure hatred.
There was a knock on the door. His secretary entered with his coffee in a plain china mug.
‘I’ll just get your croissants,’ she said. ‘Shall I call anybody at the broker’s?’
He looked at her with loathing.
Stupid bitch.
Like she couldn’t see his stress. He didn’t want coffee; he wanted pussy. Better, he wanted some girl to kneel and give head; no talking, no nothing. Most of all, he wanted a snort or a drink, but that’s where the Kane slut had driven his mother.
Better to find a couple of hookers. Or a sex club, one of the fancier ones, with masks and screwed-up girls who liked to be beaten. He could get into that. Every blow would be for Dina, every thrust for Dina . . .
He was getting hard, feeling sick. He shook his head.
‘Forget the croissants. I have an urgent investment meeting outside. I may not be back today. Cancel lunch.’
‘OK, sure,’ his assistant said, but Edward had already brushed past her to the door.
‘Payment in advance. In full. That’s the policy.’
‘Of course,’ Dina said. She was just so glad that they had space. Johnny had cried the whole drive up, mewled like a cat in the back of the hire car. Twice, the driver had had to pull over so Johnny could vomit.
‘Sixty thousand for a month’s stay. Special interventions may be more – any hospitalisations, operations. We don’t take medical insurance, but we can give you a letter for reimbursement.’
Yeah, that’s likely
. Dina nodded in the quiet, plush lobby of the facility, built like a giant wooden lodge, a luxury ski chalet. The difference was the uniformed nurses, and the occasional shouts and cries from within, far away, like somebody being tortured down the hallway. Her dark head lifted nervously.
‘Heroin withdrawal is very difficult. Methamphetamine is worse.’
‘I understand.’
‘Everybody is here voluntarily. The therapists’ time is booked in advance – that’s why we take payment in full.’ The receptionist allowed a hint of a smile to show through. Gallows humour. ‘Sometimes the money is the only thing that stops them walking out. You’d be surprised – even addicts don’t want to blow tens of thousands.’
‘It makes sense.’
‘Your brother may well need additional treatment. Please sign here for the amount you are prepared to pay.’
Dina wrote down two hundred thousand.
Easy come, easy go
, she thought. Johnny was all the family she had in the world.
‘Can I visit him?’
‘We don’t allow it during treatment, unless it’s exceptional circumstances. Patients have to progress. Mr Kane may need hospitalisation, intravenous nutrition, physical therapy . . .’
She couldn’t argue. Johnny was a skeleton.
‘Just take care of him,’ Dina said. She signed her name and left.
The next two weeks were amongst the busiest of her life.
After Johnny, there was little money left. She paid the taxes, set aside the cash for his treatment, and renovated her apartment the way she always wanted. The city clerks, the building board and the painters didn’t know what had hit them.
‘Which architectural firm are you with?’ asked the clerk in the permit office, looking at Dina’s beautifully printed plans.
‘Kane and Kane,’ she said, smiling.
‘That’s not the right paint colour. We ordered ecru, not eggshell.’
‘Hang the door exactly on those hinges – you don’t want to lose a millimetre of space.’
‘Make sure the glass is treated against reflection – it lets far more light in.’
‘Jesus, honey, you’re a real hard case. The owner knew what she was doing hiring you.’
Dina smiled and said nothing.
Within a month, her plain, dull apartment was transformed. The kitchen wall was ripped out and the cramped living room combined into the space to form one large living area with a small, chic kitchen alcove. She compensated for the lack of space with luxury: a small counter-top, but Italian marble; a compact fridge-freezer, but SubZero; a microwave, high in the wall; a built-in Viking oven and small range. Every cupboard and shelf was maximised for space. The tiny den was sacrificed, and Dina created a huge single bedroom with a walk-in closet, beautifully laid out with shoe racks, shelves and dress hangers, mirrored walls and overhead lighting. In the loft-like living area, Dina mounted a huge flat-screen TV above her newly installed, remote-controlled gas fire, which produced dancing flames, just like the real thing. The small bathroom was a problem, but Dina ripped out the shower and created a medium-sized wet room, with a stone bench and a steam-free mirror, to make it look larger.
Then she called her realtor.
‘You can’t be finished already. If you want a higher price point, you need serious upgrades.’
‘It’s done. Come and see.’
‘I can’t be in for an assessment until Friday,’ said Laurel Sloane.
‘That’s fine. I’ll find another realtor.’
Sloane swallowed hard. This girl was unbelievable. ‘You know, let me check my diary . . . something might have opened up earlier . . .’
‘My window is two p.m. today.’
Laurel surrendered. ‘Two p.m. That’s fine. I appreciate your business, Ms Kane.’
When she walked into the apartment, hours later, the lie became the truth. Laurel Sloane was open-mouthed. She had never witnessed such a job, so fast. The cramped one-bedroom-plus-den standard unit was now a luxurious loft, packed with boys’ toys, playing up its spectacular view.
‘My God.’ She didn’t attempt to conceal her surprise. ‘It’s like a James Bond movie.’
The younger woman nodded, and Laurel took another look at her. She was quite something in her tight riding pants, knee-high flat boots and luxurious boyfriend sweater. The hair was twisted into a French plait and her make-up was delicately done in pinks and neutrals; you never saw a twenty-something so polished.
‘This apartment is a reasonable size for two, but big for a one-bedroom. Plus, it’s near the UN; you want to market it to a diplomat or a staffer. They have large budgets, and they want the best.’
‘The best is Fifth Avenue.’
‘Right, but now, for a lot less, they come here, get all the bells and whistles, and walk a block to work. No subway. It’ll sell.’
It sure would. Laurel Sloane put aside her jealousy. This girl was a natural. She had zeroed in on the buyer perfectly. If she stuck with her, Dina Kane could make her tens of thousands, maybe more, in commissions. It was all about the deal.
‘How much do you want for it?’
‘One and a half million,’ Dina Kane said.
That would mean it had doubled its value in six months.
Laurel didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, ma’am. No problem.’
Dina was home, trying to relax. Until it sold, this was her place now. Johnny was in rehab. Hector had gone. The last of the workmen had departed. She had some money, not much, and things were expensive here.
I’ve been pushing myself too hard
, she thought, pouring out a large glass of fresh pomegranate juice.
I need security. A home. I need to stop.
Joel Gaines drifted into her mind. The way he looked her over, his dark eyes assessing her – so different from the boys, those immature, mocking youths her own age.
He’s married. Get over it. Stop.
I need a more normal life
, Dina thought.
A normal life, period. It’s not like I’ve ever had one.
Ellen – barely a mother. No father. No love. Her talent stifled.
The teenage girl appealing to the Mafia don.
Her escape to the city. Working round the clock. Trying to change her life. And then Edward Johnson taking her virginity, her self-respect – mocking her like it was a game.
Shelby Johnson – hypocrite and letch. Her anger had been enough to get her into his bed. Anything to confront that rich, powerful, selfish family that she hated so much.