Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (15 page)

“Oh, come on.
 
False modesty has no place here.
 
Especially here.
 
You’re with
a Wharton grad.
 
Your fame must be
the realization of a dream.
 
I know
it’s not all good, like what they’re saying about your outfit last night.
 
Horrible things, but I disagree with
them.
 
I never would have put you on
all those Worst Dressed lists.
 
And
that photo on Page Six was ridiculous.
 
They used that unflattering angle of you on purpose to make your ass
look big.
 
I thought you looked
smashing.
 
But even with the
negative press weighing you down, fame has to have its perks.
 
I’m envious.”

“I see that.”

“But I’ll get there,” Pepper said.
 
“It just takes time and hard work.
 
And I’m all about hard work.
 
It’s what they teach you at Wharton.”

“I think you’ve mentioned Wharton half-a-dozen times now.”

“Have I?
 
Probably.
 
You’re sick of
hearing it?
 
Probably.
 
Did you go to a business school?
 
No?
 
That must have killed Uncle George.
 
As often as I mention it, it’s because I can’t help myself when it comes
to Wharton.
 
It transformed me.
 
What I learned there is that if you want
to make it, you need to be prepared to work harder than anyone else and then
work twice as hard again.
 
You also
need to put yourself out there.
 
Way
out there.
 
That’s what Uncle George
has been preparing me for.”

“Why’s that?”

“He has something in store for me.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t say.”

“Is that what this lunch is about?”

“Partly.
 
I guess
so.
 
Probably.
 
Likely.
 
Yes, it is.
 
All I know is that I’m excited and I
want to get the word out there now.”

“About what?”

Pepper pointed a finger at Leana.
 
“You’re tricky.
 
You always have been, ever since we were
kids and you blew sand into my eyes while promising it was fairy dust.
 
I’ve never forgotten that.
 
Hurt like the devil.
 
Thought I’d been struck blind.”

“That happened in Arkansas, I believe.”

“No, no.
 
Atlanta.
 
Always
Atlanta.
 
Never Arkansas.
 
Anyway, I’ve promised to stay quiet
about today’s luncheon and I will.”

“How old are you now, Pepper?”

“Twenty-six.
 
I
forget how old you are.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“I thought you were older.”

“I’m not older.”

“Are you sure?
 
Because you look older.
 
Maybe it’s just the night you had last night, but I could have sworn you
were in your thirties.
 
Like,
thirty-five.”

“That would have made my sister thirty-seven when she
died.
 
She was twenty-eight.”

“Was she?
 
I’m
sorry.
 
With so much going on that I
can’t talk about, all these secrets that are about to go public, sometimes I
get confused.”

Leana looked ahead of them and saw the Redman International
Building come into view.
 
Just like
last night, the sight of it made her stomach tighten.
 
In three years, she’d seen her father
once, about a year after she and Mario returned from Europe.
 
It was at a restaurant.
 
George didn’t see her, but she saw
him.
 
Mario wanted her to go over
and say hello to him, but she was too uncomfortable doing so in such a public
setting and especially since he hadn’t acknowledged what happened to her at the
Four Seasons.
 
She’d nearly been
gunned down, but he ignored it.
 
Not
a word from him about it, not a phone call, even though it was major news.
 
When she saw him at the restaurant, she
wasn’t ready to speak to him.
 
But
now?
 
Now was different.
 
She knew at some point they needed to
break the ice, so this was it.

“Are you all right?” Pepper asked.

The car started to slow and Leana gathered her Birkin.
 
“I’m fine.”

“Because for a minute there, by the look on your face, it
appeared as if someone was going to throw you to the wolves.”

“That happened last night,” Leana said.
 
“And someday, Pepper, when you lay claim
to your own fame and your dreams of national attention come true for you,
you’ll know how that feels.
 
It
won’t escape you because you’ve created this new identity of yours.
 
All you’ll be to the media and to the
world is just more fresh meat for the eating.
 
That’s what people want—a fresh
piece of meat.
 
I hope you’re ready
when that happens.”

“Oh, I had fresh meat this morning,” Pepper said.
 
“And it burned.”

*
 
*
 
*

They entered the lobby through separate doors, passed the
waterfall at their left and started to move beyond the security desk when the
guard seated there stopped Leana.
 

“ID, please.”

Although Leana didn’t recognize him, she couldn’t believe he
was serious.
 
She heard an elevator
door whisk open and looked over to watch Pepper step inside.
 
When the door slid shut, she smiled
coolly at Leana and gave her a little wave.

“I’m George Redman’s daughter,” she said.
 
“Leana Redman.”
 
He had the
New York Post
in front
of him.
 
She was on the cover.
 
“Why don’t you close the sports section
and have a look at the cover?”

He did so and then looked at her.
 
“Yup, that’s you.
 
But I still need to see your ID.”

She dug into the Birkin and held it out for him.
 
He passed it through a fluorescent light
and then studied her photograph.
 
“I
didn’t know Mr. Redman had another daughter.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”
 

“He only talks about Celina, the one who died.”

“That’s good to know.”

“You know which elevator is his?”

“I can manage.”

She took the ID from him and started to walk away.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Redman.
 
I meant no offense.”

“It’s fine.
 
You’re not the first.”

“It’s just that I was told to check all ID’s because of what
happened a few years ago.”

She stopped and turned to him.
 
“So, why did you let Pepper go by?”

“Pepper?
 
She’s like a daughter to Mr.
Redman.
 
Pepper’s here everyday and
has been for months.
 
There’s no
need to check Pepper’s ID.
 
We all
know Pepper.
 
Pepper buys us lunch.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When the elevator doors slid open, the first thing Leana
heard was Pepper’s laughter wafting down the hallway.
 

Leana tried to tune it out, but it was impossible because it
was so fake and grating.
 
She stood
there for a moment, looked at herself in the enormous mirror opposite her and
felt ridiculous.
 
She was wearing
black Gucci running pants, a fitted white T-shirt, and her hair was pulled away
from her face in a ponytail.
 
Add to
that the twenty-thousand-dollar orange Birkin bag slung over her shoulder, and
she felt she looked like something out of a high-end Halloween catalog.

“Is that you, Leana?”

Leana was incredulous.
 
It was Pepper.
 
Did the bitch
have her on radar?
 
“That’s right,
Pepper,” she said lightly.
 
She took
a left and walked down the hallway.
 
“It’s me.”

She entered the living space and looked at her father, who
was standing beside Pepper.
 
His
hair was grayer than she remembered but his skin was just as smooth and
tan.
 
He was dressed casually in
khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt, but since when did her father wear
that on Sundays?
 
Usually, he jogged
through the Park on Sunday mornings and then changed into jeans and a polo
after showering.
 

“Sorry to be late,” she said.
 
“Nobody at the front desk knew who I was
or that you have another daughter.
 
I had to show identification to prove it.”
 

“You had to do what?” George asked.

“Oh, my,” Pepper said.
 
She put her hand over her mouth.

“Show my ID.
 
Prove that you have another daughter.”

He had no response for that.
 
Instead, he came over and gave her an
awkward hug.
 
“You look good,” he
said.
 
“Back to normal?”

What was he referring to?
 
What happened at the Four Seasons or
being shot by Louis Ryan at The Hotel Fifth?
 
Probably the latter, so she went with
it.
 
“The scar makes me look a
little ghetto when I’m wearing a bikini, but I’m alive.
 
How about you?
 
Everything okay?”
 
She was referring to him being shot by
Ryan.

“I’m fine.
 
I
would have come to visit you, but I couldn’t.
 
I think I was down longer than you.”

She hadn’t visited him while he was in hospital.
 
As soon as the doctor gave her his
approval, she left the country with Mario.
 
“Don’t worry about it,” she said.
 
“For safety’s sake, Mario and I left for Europe as the soon as the
doctor gave me the green light.
 
Sorry I didn’t stop by before leaving, but I wanted to get out of here
as soon as possible.”
 

“Smart move.”

She glanced over at Pepper.
 
“I didn’t realize this was a dressy
affair.”

“It isn’t,” George said.
 
“That’s just Pepper.”

“Just Pepper?” Pepper said.
 
“It’s Pepper in Chanel.
 
There’s a difference, Uncle George.”

Leana leveled her with a glance.
 
“If you had wings, you’d look like an
angel.
 
Seriously, Pepper.
 
Brava.”
 
She turned to her father.
 
“In the car, Pepper told me that she
hoped you’d have some gravy and biscuits on the menu.
 
She said she wanted to sop something
up.
 
Since she’s probably too polite
to ask, I thought I’d pass that along.
 
She said she’s hungry enough to eat the city.
 
Although I’m still unsure what that
means.”

“I’ll ask the cook if he can whip something up, Pepper.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.
 
Really, I was just joking.”

“She wasn’t,” Leana said.
 
“Now, she’s just being polite.
 
She said she wanted to eat something
that would appeal to her Southern roots, so I’m thinking she wants to be
reminded of her upbringing in Arkansas.”

“Atlanta.
 
Always
Atlanta.”

“Right.
 
I think
Pepper wants her gravy chicken fried.
 
Maybe some ham hocks.
 
Grits.
 
Fried catfish.
 
Squirrel.
 
That sort of thing.”

“Squirrel?” Pepper said.

“Now, it’s me who’s just joking,” Leana said.
 
“But I hear they love it in Arkansas.”

“Seriously, it’s Atlanta.”

“No, it isn’t.
 
I’m older than you.
 
Thirty-five, right?
 
I
remember our trips to Arkansas, Pepper.
 
I remember visiting you there and the conversations that followed when
we left.”