Never Too Rich (8 page)

So far, her life had been one long series of
misadventures and miseries. Things would probably have been much
different had her father not died when she was so young. But Abe
Silverstein, working on a high-rise construction project in
Manhattan, slipped on a girder and plunged twenty-eight floors down
to Eighty-sixth Street, leaving behind a wife, Ruth, and Shirley,
age six. The real tragedy, it turned out, was not Abe’s death, but
Ruth’s reaction to it.

Ruth Silverstein had found solace in religion—not in
her own, but in a Bible-thumping sect of charismatics.

It was a small group, rather more of a cult than a
church, and was run by a defrocked Baptist preacher named Brother
Dan. Born Daniel Dale Dudley somewhere in Kentucky, Brother Dan
claimed the devil lurked inside everyone and that only the
laying-on of his own hands could exorcise the Beast.

He required the members of his diehard little group
to give everything they owned to the church, and most of Abe
Silverstein’s hard-earned pension and life insurance found their
way into his pocket.

Four months later, more of Abe’s legacy was turned
over to Brother Dan when he wheedled Ruth Silverstein into
marriage.

“
We’re moving into the church,”
Ruth told Shirley the day of the ceremony. “It isn’t as nice as
this apartment, but it’s better, because it’s been blessed.” Her
eyes took on a shining brilliance. “Now we no longer have to worry
about the devil.”

The church, it turned out, was a small two-story
house in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn, with tar-papered walls
made to look like brick and a blue neon cross above the front door.
It was squeezed between a launderette and a beauty parlor.

Shirley heard rats scuffling inside the walls.

“
Here we are!” Olympia said
brightly.

Shirley had been staring blankly out the side window
of the cab, and Olympia’s voice intruded, startling her.

“
That’s Alfredo Toscani’s town
house,” Olympia said, pointing at the double-width house on the
steeply graded, quiet residential block. “His studio takes up the
first two floors.”

Shirley took a deep breath. Trying to fortify
herself with courage.

Snake was getting bored. He’d waited around for
Shirley long enough.

As he swung his leg over the bike seat, he kept his
eyes peeled on a skinny Puerto Rican girl strutting sassily along
the sidewalk across the street. Her satiny black hair bounced with
every step she took.

He grinned to himself. Now, there was a walk that
appealed mightily to his masculine senses! There was nothing like a
pair of hard little buttocks poured into skintight jeans to turn
him on—and it didn’t take much imagination to see what she would
look like without them.

He gunned the growling motor to get her attention,
and sure enough, he caught her shiny black eyes looking him
over.

All
right!,
he thought with a surge of
excitement.

For the time being, he forgot all about Shirley.
After all, there was prime Spanish pussy here in the streets.

_Chapter
8

Anouk spent a busy morning. As soon as she’d shooed
Wilhelm out, she devoted forty-five minutes to the telephone,
silently blessing whoever had invented push-button phones for
saving her glossy fingernails wear and tear. More than half a dozen
calls were required just to begin to mend fences.

She sighed as she caught sight of her day’s
carefully planned schedule, entered in her open Hermes appointment
book in beautiful fountain-pen script, each blue letter neat,
graceful, and perfectly formed, just like the nuns had taught her.
Whether you liked it or not, some things stayed with you
always.

Picking the book up she had to smile wryly. How
ambitious of her. There had been so much she’d planned to do.

9:45 A.M..............Wilhelm

12:00 noon..........Grosvenor Neighborhood House
Christmas dinner-dance committee meeting at Plaza Hotel

2:00 P.M..............Meet with Lydia Zehme re:
living-room redecoration

3:30 P.M..............Rubio’s memorial service

And that didn’t take into consideration the formal
sit-down dinner party for twenty-four guests that she and Antonio
were giving that evening.

She tossed the book back down. Well, the dinner
party and Rubio’s memorial service couldn’t be put off, but other
than that, her down-to-the-minute afternoon was clearly shot.
Cleaning up Antonio’s indiscretion had red-flag priority. After
all, if a scandal touched him, it would tarnish her as well. She
had to move quickly.

She tightened her lips, the hair-thin line on each
side of her face, running from nose to mouth, deepening in
annoyance. It galled her to think that anything
could
tarnish her. Well, it wouldn’t; she would see to that. She hadn’t
gotten where she was only to be supplanted by somebody else.
Society had its rules, and if one didn’t exactly abide by them,
well, one could at least make it appear as if one did—which was
what she was counting on to whitewash Antonio’s indiscretion and
smooth over any potential fallout.

Sanitation work. How she loathed it.

She picked up the phone.

Call number one.

Virginia Norton Rottenberg, vice-chairwoman of the
Grosvenor Neighborhood House Committee—of which she herself was
chairwoman this year. Anouk pictured Virginia as she punched the
number. A too-tall, horsy woman of no curves. An ungainly
middle-aged heiress to one of New York’s oldest and bluest
dynasties. Real estate. Newspapers. Investments. Power.

Too much money and too much inbreeding.

“
Rottenberg residence, good
morning,” an ancient, wheezy male voice answered.

“
Mrs. Virginia Rottenberg,
please.”

“
Who shall I say is
calling?”

“
Anouk de Riscal.”

“
Very well, madam. One moment,
please.”

Anouk waited and waited. Then: “Hello, Anouk! What’s
cooking?” Virginia Norton Rottenberg, with her penchant for horses
and clipped nasal colloquial phrases, sounded like Nancy Kulp on
The Beverly Hillbillies.

“
Virginia, I know I’ve been gone
for an unforgivable month, and that I’m not giving you much notice
now, but . . . well, an emergency has come up. Could you fill in
for me at today’s meeting?”

“
Okeydokey, Anouk. Be only too glad
to. Won’t hurt to crack the whip and get the gals moving, eh?
Ha-ha.”

“
Ah . . . no, I suppose
not.”

“
Don’t worry. Everything will be
hunky-dory. Ha-ha.”

Anouk frowned for a moment, and then her brow
smoothed. “Ah, I presume you mean you’ll have everything under
control.”

“
Righto! I’ll call you later and
fill you in on what the gals decide. Those hens could use some
prodding. Ha-ha.”

“
Thank you, Virginia. I appreciate
it. See you at the party tonight.”

“
Over and out. Ha-ha.”

Anouk hung up quickly, glad
that
call was out
of the way. Virginia never failed to unsettle her. There was too
much of the sergeant major in her.

Call number two.

Klas Claussen, one of her husband’s three—no, make
that two, now that Rubio is dead—assistants.

This time Anouk was more familiar with the lay of
the land, and her husky voice positively purred. “Klaskins,
darling!
It’s Anouk!”

“
Anouk! Thank God you’ve returned.”
Klas’s voice had never lost its vaguely Icelandic lilt. “This town
was dead without you. How was Mexico?”

“
How do you think it was?
Meh-he-co
is
Meh-he-co
as always. Bottled water and
sunshine. Really, it made me yearn for winter in New York. Listen,
chéri.
I am going to see you at Rubio’s memorial service,
aren’t I?”

“
Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for
anything in the world. Why do you ask?”

“
Obviously, because I wasn’t
certain you were going to be there.”

Klas gave a guttural laugh. “How else could I be
certain that Rubio’s really gone and won’t return to haunt me?”

She made reproachful clucking noises. “Down, boy,
down. I know you and Rubio weren’t exactly kissy-kissy, but really,
darling! Such bitchiness is uncalled-for.”

“
I suppose you’re right. One
mustn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“
No, one mustn’t.” And she added
sweetly, expertly thrusting home a well-deserved knife slash as
only she could: “Especially when you’re just as much at risk as he
was.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled
grimly. She had hit him where it hurt most. Below the belt. Well,
that is simply too bad, she thought. You’ve been begging for it,
Klaskins, you bitch.

Then, effortlessly, she adjusted her voice to its
brightest tone. No one knew better than she how to switch gears
without warning. First, the merciless thrust. Then the
lifeline.

It never failed to work wonders.

“
Anyway, Klaskins, I didn’t call to
depress you,” she continued.
“Au contraire, chéri!
It’s
absolutely vital that I talk to you about something
wonderful!”
She rolled the word lavishly on her
tongue.

“
We’re talking now,” he said
stiffly, still miffed.

“
No, it has to be in person. I
can’t tell you what it is yet, darling, but believe me, you’ll like
what I have to tell you. Call it”—she laughed gaily—”an early
Christmas present!”

“
Anouk!” Suddenly he sounded like a
petulant child. “That is not fair, and you know it! You
must
tell me now!”

Ah! Her topaz eyes sparkled with triumph. Now she
had him hooked! It was only a matter of reeling him in. But the
fish had to thrash and struggle a bit or there was no sport in
it.

“
No, no, Klaskins. You’ll just have
to wait a few hours. But believe me, you will be very pleased. I’ll
see you at the service. Do try to arrive early.”

“
Good news, eh?” He didn’t give up
easily.

“
Very good news, I assure
you.”

“
I’ll be the first person
there!”

She laughed again, a tinkle of music. “That’s more
like it, Klaskins. Ciao-meow!”

There, she thought with satisfaction. Smiling, she
dropped the ivory receiver into its cradle. That had definitely
piqued his curiosity. Visions of sugarplums were surely dancing
dervishes in his head.

Two calls down. Five more to go.

Phone call number three.

She had to look up Doris Bucklin’s number.

“
Bucklin residence,” a maid
answered.

“
Good morning. Is Mrs. Bucklin
there? This is Anouk de Riscal.”

“
No, ma’am. Mrs. Bucklin is
out.”

“
Then could you tell me where I can
reach her?”

“
No, ma’am. I really can’t tell
you. Mrs. Bucklin doesn’t take lightly to my giving out information
like that.”

Anouk almost shook with fury. Maids. She detested
the lot of them. If they didn’t steal you blind or gossip behind
your back, they soon got airs and saw themselves as extensions of
their employers.

“
It’s really
very
important.” Anouk used her most emphatic tone. “If you could just
tell me where she’ll be around noon ...”

“
I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“
Believe me, I won’t get you into
trouble. In fact, I won’t even breathe a word that you told me,
though Mrs. Bucklin would be glad to know that you did.” White lies
were one of Anouk’s staples. They slid effortlessly off her
tongue.

“
Well ...” There was a hesitant
silence, during which Anouk had a vision of slow gears trying hard
to turn. Finally, grudgingly: “She’s got a lunch date. In a
restaurant.”

Anouk smiled faintly. “Could you tell me which one?
Please. It
is
urgent.”

After another long pause, the maid said,
“Luhzerk.”

Anouk stared at the receiver. Luhzerk? Where in
heaven was—? Ah! Le Cirque. The stupid fool couldn’t even pronounce
something as simple as Le Cirque!

“
Thank you,” Anouk said sweetly.
Dumb servant,
she didn’t add, though she felt no qualms
about thinking it. “You were most help—”

There was a click, and she felt a swirling cloud of
fury.

The stupid twit had hung up on her!

Phone call number four.

Le Cirque.

She didn’t have to look up that number. She had it
memorized along with other necessary numbers—shoe, hat, and
clothing sizes, to mention but a few.

“
LeCirquemaylhelpyou?” It was a
one-word bark.

“
Yes, Henry, you can. This is Anouk
de Ri—”

“
Madame de Riscal!” The rushed
words warmed and slowed at once. “What a pleasure!”

This is more like it, Anouk thought smugly. Not that
she was impressed by fawning. It was, after all, her due, and she
was long used to it. Also, she was realistic enough to know that,
God forbid, should she ever be toppled from her pinnacle, all the
doors that were wide open to her now would slam shut with a
bang.

“
The pleasure is all mine, Henry,”
she returned smoothly. “I know it’s asking for a lot,
but—”

“
Say no more, Madame de Riscal!
Your usual table awaits you.”

Just like that! Anouk felt a heady glow of warmth.
Some nobody who had reserved a table two weeks ago had just been
scratched.