Lovers (63 page)

Gigi turned and scampered up the staircase, letting the two men follow her in any order they pleased, her only desire to melt away, dissolve, disappear, vanish, hide under the bed. What devil had inspired her to allow Ben to invite himself tonight? At the time it had seemed like a natural way to have him meet Vito and Sasha casually, without making too much of a production out of it, but she’d failed to imagine him and Zach together. Some adult hostess she’d turned out to be!

Maybe, she thought in a panic close to an anxiety attack, all her hostess-pride forgotten, maybe they’d cancel
each other out, both so dominating by nature that they wouldn’t even notice the other. Why didn’t she know any meek men? Someone nice and mild and easygoing? Like Davy Melville …

So this, at last, was Mr. Wonderful, Sasha thought, as she greeted Ben with fascination. Yes, sexy as hell, she had to admit, and masterfully self-assured. They talked easily together as her shrewd mind worked busily, appraising him. Although Ben was slightly taller than Vito, there was a specific quality, an aura about him, that instantly recalled several of the noticeably short men she’d known in New York who’d always stood tall on their invisible money. Even if you hadn’t known about Ben’s wealth, Sasha thought, you could sense it in his stance, in his attractive underreaching, in his deliberate lack of any overt attempt to charm. He knew he would charm anyway, this intelligent guy with his bookish look, and he was as sure of his welcome as any man could be. In fact, now that she thought about it, wasn’t it almost indecent for him to be so cool when he was meeting his beloved’s family for the first time? He must be a great fuck. Typically Gigi, not to have mentioned that. She was characteristically unwilling to share dick-trivia, a selfish trait that Sasha deplored.

But, all that aside, as far as Ben Winthrop was concerned, Sasha concluded, a little self-consciousness, a real touch of genuine nervousness, even awkwardness would be in order here, under these delicate circumstances, if only as a tribute to Gigi.

My God, Sasha thought as Zach came up and enveloped her in a huge hug, Ben Winthrop didn’t deserve to replace her brother in Gigi’s life. He would never love her in the same hopelessly wholehearted way Zach did, because he didn’t have as much heart to love with. And Sasha Nevsky Orsini knew a thing or two about hearts, as well as about great fucks, she told herself, as she and Ben continued to chat and, adroitly, she found an opportunity to hint about a ride in his jet.

“Well, of course, I’d be delighted, any time that suits you, but I have an even better idea,” Ben said to her. “Why don’t you and Vito fly to the party in Venice with Gigi and me, as my guests?”

“Oh, Vito, what do you think? Is there a chance we could go?” Sasha turned to him, full of excitement.

“Well … that depends,” Vito said slowly, seized by surprise at the unexpected invitation.

“On what?” Sasha implored him. Even if it was a PR junket, a party in Venice!

“We’ve just wrapped the picture … now the editor’s making his assembly, that takes a week or so, then Zach has a couple of months for his director’s cut …”

“Then you’d absolutely be free in ten days,” Ben pointed out.

“Theoretically, yes,” Vito replied reluctantly, hating to be rushed into any plan he hadn’t initiated. But how could he deny Sasha anything she wanted?

“Wonderful! I’ll count on it.” He turned to Gigi. “Darling, you’ll make all the arrangements, won’t you? I think a suite at the Gritti would be best. Then Sasha and Vito could wave at you from across the canal.”

Oh, they could, could they, Vito said to himself in deep, well-hidden irritation. He’d be triple-fucked if he’d lean out a hotel window and wave at his daughter lodged in this guy’s place. He was a modern father and he’d accepted the fact that his daughter was … in all probability … chances were … not quite, not altogether a virgin … but he didn’t like to have his nose rubbed in the reality of the details of her private life. Some things shouldn’t be brought to the light of day, especially not in public. There was something … indelicate … about the otherwise smooth Ben Winthrop. Look at the way he kept his arm around Gigi’s shoulders, oblivious to her rigidly uptight posture. Winthrop had the speed, nerve, and throwaway elegance of a tap dancer, so why didn’t the guy have any respect for body language?

Zach had gone to lean against a couch on the far side
of the room, where he was quickly surrounded by a group of friends from past productions. Every minute, he found himself glancing quickly at Vito and Sasha, who still stood at the top of the stairs greeting late arrivals. Gigi and Ben Winthrop were lost to sight in the maze of other rooms. He had planned to be long gone by this time, but now he was one with Othello. Could he leave while Winthrop was here? Could Othello tell Iago to take a hike, he’d never listen to another word? So that green called for emeralds, did it? If ever a color would be destroyed by emeralds it was delicate waternixie green. What a pompous asshole, what an insufferable, self-satisfied, smiling, damned villain!

Finally, under Zach’s close observation, Gigi and Ben rejoined Sasha and Vito, standing with their backs to him.

“It’s almost time to serve dinner,” Gigi told them.

She could feel Ben’s hand slipping below her waist until it was planted firmly on her ass. She brushed it away with a small whisking motion that she trusted wouldn’t be noticed by her father.

“Sasha, have all your guests arrived?” Gigi asked.

“If they haven’t, they’re late,” Sasha answered, indifferent to the possible latecomers.

“My friends are all accounted for,” Vito assured Gigi.

Ben Winthrop, not to be denied, put his hand back on the curve of Gigi’s bottom and let it rest there caressingly.

“Stop that,” Gigi hissed sideways at him under the babble of the party.

“Stop what?” he asked, cupping the flesh beneath the thin chiffon even more insistently. “I can’t resist you in this dress.” She
was
irresistible in her delicious, prudish confusion, couldn’t she understand what a tribute it was that he teased her?

Zach didn’t know that he’d moved across the room in three large steps, until he spun Ben around by the shoulder and punched him hard in the eye. Ben staggered back, immediately recovered his balance, and went for Zach with the concentrated determination of the college boxing champion he’d been.

The two grunting men pummeled each other viciously for moments that were frozen in unreality. Almost no one in the room had ever witnessed a fistfight, except on the screen, and they were in such an elated mood that the sudden explosion of rage seemed part of the evening’s excitement. Gigi and Sasha clutched each other, immobilized by sheer astonishment, while Vito stood back in kingly dignity, protecting them with his arm, and watched the fight like a professional referee. Whatever had started it, his money was definitely on Zach, for sheer size and motivation, although Ben had him on form.

Burgo O’Sullivan, veteran of many a barroom brawl, appeared out of the bewildered crowd and, with the help of the Jones brothers, eventually separated the fighters, both of them badly bloodied but still on their feet.

“Oh, Gigi, those jealous thugs have ruined your wonderful party,” Sasha wailed.

“Oh, no!” Gigi laughed, mysteriously elated. “They’ve made it a night to remember.”

She picked up a bunch of radishes that was rolling on the floor, stuck it behind her ear, and signaled the caterer to begin to serve dinner. So this, Gigi thought, was what it was like to be Helen of Troy.

T
his is worse than an arranged marriage,” Byron muttered through tense lips as he, Archie, and Victoria waited for the elevator to take them up to Beach Casuals. “I feel as if I’m about to lift the veil from the unknown face of a woman with whom I have to spend the rest of my life—someone my mother picked out because she was wholesome.”

“Butch up, By,” Archie advised, rearranging the knot in his tie for the tenth time in two minutes. “Look at Victoria, she’s as collected as Queen Elizabeth. Terrific suit, Victoria.”

“Thank you, Archie. I thought the occasion called for something new.”

Victoria Frost smiled thinly at her partners. She was as nervous as they were, as they stood waiting in the bustling lobby of the large Seventh Avenue building, but her professional armor was impeccable. She wore a slim black cashmere suit with the point of a plain white linen pocket
handkerchief punctuating the jacket, an otherwise unadorned three-button suit that had cost two thousand dollars. Only a few women in the world would guess what she’d paid for the flawless suit, but no one who looked at her, no matter how casually, would take her for anything less than a woman of sovereign stature and importance.

Her head had never been so regally poised; her classically beautiful features were so composed and her eyes so focused on maintaining their calm that they were as blank as if she had turned into a statue. On her exceptionally lovely earlobes she wore superbly simple black pearl earrings. The perfection of her skin was lent its only touch of life by her meticulously applied bright red lipstick.

It was ridiculous to be this tense, Victoria thought angrily, trying to breathe deeply. This wasn’t a pitch, this was a first meeting with a new client.

Harris Reeves, who had decided that he wanted to meet them on an informal basis before they were introduced to the rest of his management, had set this convocation at ten-thirty in the morning for coffee in his office.

Tomorrow they would begin the intense work of getting to know the Beach Casuals people and the culture of the huge company, but this afternoon was empty of engagements, so Victoria had used her free time to make an appointment with Joe Devane of Oak Hill Foods, for she never came to New York for any length of time without paying a call on him.

She’d never make the basic mistake of taking any client for granted, but Archie and Byron had such a long record of doing remarkable work for Oak Hill that seeing Joe was as close to a proforma meeting as you could get in the agency business, Victoria thought, trying to take her mind off the meeting with Harris Reeves by looking forward to a half hour of friendly banter with Joe Devane. He had never expressed anything but satisfaction over the way his accounts were being handled, and his budget for Answer Soups, Lean and Mean Breads, and Thinline Desserts had
grown from twenty million to twenty-five million in two years, as market demand increased.

“Victoria, the elevator!” Archie announced suddenly, startling her. She glared at him as they squeezed into the overcrowded express elevator that would take them to the fortieth floor of the building, where Beach Casuals occupied three entire floors. Why had Archie imposed his own tension on her ability to immerse herself in a mood of business-as-usual?

Harris Reeves sported an attitude of vast self-satisfaction, reinforced by his immaculate grooming. If ever she could imagine a man spending longer on getting dressed in the morning than any woman, it was this burnished and buffed little bantam cock with his magnificent head of carefully arranged white hair, Victoria decided, as she smiled at him across a coffee cup. In his first appraising glance she had amortized the cost of her new suit.

Harris Reeves had pale, clever eyes that missed nothing even as he played the host, his secretaries passing silver trays of coffee, tea, and an assortment of coffee cake that they all accepted but put aside. Only a fool or a far richer man than Harris Reeves would actually bite into a piece of cake at this first stage of an important meeting.

A few minutes passed in art talk, inspired by Byron’s immediate interest in the three Modiglianis and the two Picassos that adorned the walls of Reeves’s handsome office.

“You’ll all have to come to my home to see the rest of my collection,” he said, pleased at Byron’s admiration. “I only keep a few of my particular favorites here. Manufacturing swimwear is merely my way of being able to buy art. My wife and I spend every Saturday afternoon doing the rounds of the galleries and the auction houses, whenever there’s anything interesting coming up. And we never miss a big auction in Europe. But tell me, where are the others? I hope their taxi isn’t stuck in traffic, it’s impossible to get anywhere in this neighborhood.”

“What?” Victoria asked.

“Their taxi. This New York law of only three people to a taxi makes getting around more difficult every day. Personally, I always use a car and driver, it pays for itself in the end.”

“What others?”

“But I told you on the phone that I wanted you
all
to come to New York, and obviously that included Gigi Orsini and David Melville, the creative team. Surely you understood that.”

“Mr. Reeves … David Melville hasn’t been with us for at least six months. Lisa Levy, a very bright young talent, has been the art director on Indigo Seas ever since he left. When we talked on the phone, I stupidly failed to realize that you’d want her to be here at this early stage of our learning curve. My partners here are our creative directors—Lisa isn’t at their level. I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding,” Victoria said quickly, through dry lips. “I’ll call and have her on a plane within a few hours. She’ll be with us tomorrow, of course. Again, I apologize, I feel terribly foolish.”