‘You can’t avoid me for ever,’ Michael Krebs said. ‘We’ll both be at Elizabeth’s party.’ His tone was taut with what Rowena knew to be controlled anger. For a month now she’d been communicating with him by fax, talking to Barbara or letting a deputy negotiate for her. When he called her at home, she had the answering service take a message. She wanted to let her relationship with John develop, and that meant not talking to Michael.
Eventually she’d called him back, in his office, at 11.45 a.m. A nice, safe time when others of his staff might be there.
She took a deep breath. ‘And so will John Metcalf,’ she said. ‘Who I’m going out with.’
There was a pause at the other end.
‘Good!’ said Michael, brightly. ‘Congratulations, Row ena, that’s great. But what does that have to do with us?’
‘I can’t do anything with you any more, Krebs,’ said Rowena, with a slight smile. Some things never changed.
‘Of course you can,’ he said simply. ‘You always did before.’
‘John’s different.’
Krebs gripped the phone his knuckles white around the handset. He couldn’t believe how angry he felt. Insulted. Cheated. Rejected. Of course John Metcalfwas different-a young, attractive man, single, president of a movie studio, rich. A guy who made the ‘America’s Most Eligible Bachelors’ list every summer.
A man richer and more powerful than him.
A younger man.
‘Well, it’s your choice,’ he told her, as casually as he could manage. ‘But I think you’re being dumb. We had a lot of
fun.’
289
Unexpectedly, Rowena found her eyes had filled with tears. ‘Yes, we did,’ she admitted.
Both of them had an instantaneous vision of the last time they’d had sex-in a hotel in Munich on the European leg of the Heat Street tour, when they’d barely been able to make it inside before ripping their clothes off and grabbing at each other. Krebs had fucked Rowena standing up, her back to
the wall, while she was still half-dressed.
‘Rowena - ‘ Michael began.
‘I have to go,’ she said hurriedly, and replaced the receiver.
It had to end some time, Krebs told himself. I don’t give a damn. It was fun while it lasted, that was all.
Rowena was the one who’d stressed out about it all the
time. He, Michael, had been totally consistent in his attitude. Debbie was his wife and he loved her. Rowena - well-he shouldn’t have done it, but she was sogood. And he enjoyed her company, when she wasn’t moaning and complaining and getting weepy on him.
John Metcalf, eh? Well, he was pleased for her.
‘Eli, goddamnit!’ Krebs roared. ‘Where the fuck are my notes?’
Sometimes you work through a day and don’t realize how tired you are until you sit down. And sometimes you can work through several years and not realize how lonely you are until you meet a guy. It had happened to Rowena Gordon in Los Angeles; first, the nervousness she’d felt around John Metcalf that none of her other lovers had provoked; then the simple happiness at finding her body responding to a man who didn’t dominate her; and finally, the surprise at seeing him at her door every evening, the flowers that arrived every morning, the endless compliments and proclamations of love. She’d found herself extending her time in LA indefinitely, and then, one morning, Rowena Gordon had woken up in a beautiful bedroom in Beverly Hills, in her lover’s arms, and decided that John made her happy.
29o
Being with him made her happy. Being paraded in public made her happy. Getting complimented made her happy and making love to him made her happy. He couldn’t drive her to the sexual nirvana that Michael could, but then again, John wasn’t married and he was offering her love.
And she wasn’t twenty-two any more. She was kissing thirty, and she hadn’t had a serious relationship since the day she met Michael Krebs.
Yeah, she was a high achiever. She’d struggled in London, struggled in New York, and come through both times. She was the president of Musica North America and a powerful figure in her chosen industry. Of course, there was still a long way to go, but she was well on target. Rich in her own right. Famous amongst her peers. Music business magazines referred to her by her first name alone now there was a sign of making it.
But she was unmarried and childless. Another New York career girl, alone and unhappily attached to a man who didn’t love her back and didn’t even pretend to.
Not. I have choicest. Rowena told herself that morning, looking at Metcalf’s handsome face on the pillow beside her. There was nothing great about being a victim, a role reversed Lancelot sighing.for an unattainable Guinevere.
She would choose happiness. She chose John.
Topaz selected her outfit with great attention. She’d always cared about her looks, but.this time it was important. She had to dress appropriately to her new position as director of American Magazines, East Coast - the youngest in the company’s history and only the third woman to rank so highly. Last month People had called her ‘the new Tina Brown’ and Topaz had been completely thrilled. Shamelessly thrilled. If she got another chance to meet Tina Brown, she wanted to look dynamite for the photo. Rowena would call that shallow. She called it honest.
Also, she had to be a knockout for Joe. It was the first time they’d have been out socially since they got engaged.
291
Give Marissa something to write about.
And then she had to look better than Rowena Gordon. Topaz still burned with resentment whenever she thought about that woman. The pain of her first betrayal had faded with time, but the cold arrogance of her attitude hadn’t. She had taken a band from under Rowena’s nose, but after that all the scoring was on the other woman’s side. Musica’s success, Atomic Mass, surviving that drugs story -Jesus, how I hate writers that don’t check their sources - and selling out the Coliseum.
She’d wanted to get even, that was all. She was an Italian. Nobody spurned her and got away with it.
Yet Topaz might have let it go, all the same. She hadn’t been in love with Nate Rosen - though only since she’d known Joe had she realized that-but she had loved him, and his death had changed her frantic attitude to life. And with Joe Goldstein, she was a woman blissfully in love, with a great career.
But Rowena Gordon had pushed her over the edge again. It was the day after Joe had proposed to her. The day after Atomic Mass had played the Coliseum to wild reviews. Topaz had just got into the office, ready for a very pleasant meeting with Matt Gowers. After all, Joe had just resigned and would formally appoint Topaz to the board that morning. What with Joe, and the job, she was so happy that day that not even the sight of a triumphant Joe Hunter on Good Morning America had been able to dent her mood.
But then her assistant had come in with a large parcel. ‘This came from Luther Records, this morning,’ she said. ‘I
had to sign for it. Do you want me to send it right back?’
‘No. I’ll open it,’ Topaz answered, curious.
She’d torn offthe brown paper and felt a shock of rage.
It was a Dunlop tennis racket, with a small typed note attached. The note read: ‘Advantage Miss Gordon.’
She picked it up, almost disbelievingly. Three years in the United States, and Rowena’s fucking blue limey blood hadn’t warmed up one degree. She’d never apologized, never explained, and she treated the whole thing like a
game. She was fucking laughing at her.
That day she decided it was war. She was going to
destroy Rowena Gordon, however long it took her.
You want to play this out? You got it.
Topaz twisted round, checking herself out in the full length wall mirror. The dress was her first piece of fitted haute couture, a one-offoriginal, with a price tag to match but right now, she thought it had been worth every cent.
It was a sweeping ballgown in oyster-pink satin, the fitted bodice dusted over with hand-embroidered tiny gold beads, the skirt ruched ov.er folds of stiff gold brocade. Watching her reflection carefully in the huge mirror, Topaz took out her favourite ebony combs and caught her hair up in a silken pile on the crown of her head, pinning it securely in place and then fixing it with a burst of Elnett hairspray, a regal style which exposed her long, elegant neck. She added dangling coral earrings and a ruby necklace, a magnificent piece from.Cartier which Joe had bought her two weeks after they got engaged.
‘What’s this for?’ Topaz had asked in delight, when he’d presented her with the box over dinner at Elaine’s. A woman at the next table had given an involuntary gasp when Topaz, stunned, held up the perfect string of rubies to the light.
‘Just for being alive,’ Joe answered, feeling his heart almost burst with love at the sight of the tears in her eyes.
Being apart was torture. Every day, when they kissed each other goodbye, they took too long about it, not wanting to let go. They met each other for lunch, and one was always waiting to pick the other up after work. They walked everywhere holding hands like teenagers. Topaz sometimes called Joe on his direct line at’NBC and told him in detail what she wished she were doing to him, so that he couldn’t get up for fifteen minutes because of the erection surging in his pants. Nate would never have allowed it;Joe revelled in it. When he got home those evenings, if Topaz wanted to make love three times, Joe wanted to do it five. Where Nathan would have pushed her away, Joe asked for’
293
more. And where Nathan had made her feel good,Joe made
her scream.
‘I want to have your children,’ she’d whispered to him in
the restaurant, and Goldstein, feeling choked up himself,
replied, ‘I think that can be arranged.’
They hadn’t even made it through the starter before Topaz called for the check.
‘Can I come in now?’Joe yelled from the kitchen. ‘Yeah,’ she yelled back, spraying on a burst of Joy. She turned round as he appeared in the doorway, holding up her skirt with one hand as she slipped into her shoes, a pair of
heels from Kurt Geiger.
gold
‘Do you like it?’ she asked nervously.
Joe Goldstein looked his fiancee up and down, slowly, taking in the delicate pink and gold satin, the sexy earrings, and the way his rubies sparkled against the creamy backdrop of her full breasts, pushed up even further by the clever corsetry of the bodice. Her blue eyes looked anxiously at him, fringed with those delicate red lashes, and her hair gleamed softly in the light.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said neutrally, ‘but there’s something missing.’
‘What? You think I should take a purse? A purse would be
all wrong with this gown…’
‘No. Not a purse.’ He handed her a smalljeweller’s box
with ‘Asprey & Co’ written on the top. ‘I’ve been waiting
for the right moment to actually give you this.’
Her heart hammering, Topaz opened the box, and was confronted with an exquisite engagement ring, a dark emerald set in diamonds. When she could drag her eyes away, she saw that Joe had sunk to one knee before her.
‘I know you asked me,’ he said, ‘but I’m a
traditionalist… Topaz Rossi, will you marry me?’
‘Yes,’ Topaz said, ‘oh yes, oh, Joe, I love you.’
‘You look good,’John said, when Rowena showed him in.
He glanced round her apartment. ‘Very New York.’
Rowena had chosen a long slip dress, a narrow silhouette
294
in silver silk by Isaac Mizrahi. She had matched it with silver leather sandals from Jimmy Choo, a white Hermes scarf and a silver cross on a simple thong. Her hair was loose, hanging down her back in a curtain of pale gold. It was a look she preferred these days, slim and minimalist. A year ago she’d had her apartment redesigned to match - the Georgian furniture and English watercolours had given way to spare Japanese tables, a low couch and rice matting - all the hi tech paraphernalia of a busy executive taking up the least space possible.
John noticed the fax machine and phone by the bed, the
slimline stereo speakers on the walls.
‘Never stop working, right?’
She took a slim clutch bag from .the dresser and slipped her arm through his.
‘What else is there?’ she asked, and he thought for a second he heard a touch of regret.
Flashbulbs popped around them like out-of-control firecrackers.
Rowena, conscious ofthc press, nodded at Topaz Rossi with an icy smile. John was already off, working the room like a pro, but Joc Goldstein was at his girlfriend’s side. Rowcna recognized his picture from the LA trades - the new VP programming over at NBC, right?
Well, yet again, I outranked you, she thought triumphantly.
She looked at Goldstein with frank curiosity. He was very attractive, not Topaz’s type, she thought. Rossi was looking sensational; Rowcna was childishly jealous of the stunning gown, the womanly figure and the breathtaking necklace. Next to Topaz, her stylish implicity was just outgunned.
‘Good evening, Rowena,’ Topaz said pleasantly.
That accent’s got thicker since she’s been in New York, Rowcna decided, not bothering to answer.
‘Have you met my fiance, Joe Goldstcin?’ Topaz continued. ‘Joe left American Magazines to work in television. I
295
guess you’ve heard that I’m the new director for New York.’
‘Yes,’ Rowena replied, her tone contemptuous.
Topaz felt her anger bubbling up like oil. Same old Rowena Gordon, for whom friendship was a matter of convenience, and low-rent girls stayed, low-rent girls,
however far up the greasy pole they climbed.
‘You’re not concerned,’ she said.
Rowena looked at Topaz, standing in front of her with Joe’s hand circling protectively round her waist, her’ engagement ring glinting on her hand, looking beautiful and triumphant. She was radiant with happiness, but at the same time, bristling with defiance. And the older, colder side of Rowena, the one she thought she had buried, the one that refused to face up to her first betrayal, the one that had been prepared to win at all costs, the one that still knew exactly how to hurt, surfaced, longing to wound.