Authors: Danielle Steel
"Tiffie? Did you have a bag?" The girl looked around blankly for a moment and then shrugged, letting her head fall back onto the seat as both eyes closed and the air rushed in over her face.
"So what?" The words were so low Kezia had barely heard her.
"Hm?"
"Handbag ... so what?" She shrugged, and seemed almost to fall asleep, but a moment later her hand blindly sought Kezia's and gripped it tightly as two lone tears squeezed down her face. Kezia patted the thin cold hand and looked down with horror at the large pear-shaped emerald flanked by diamond baguettes. If someone had taken Tiffany's handbag, he had missed the best part. The thought made Kezia shudder. Tiffany was ripe prey for anyone. "Walked ... all ... night. . . ." The voice was almost a painful croak, and Kezia found herself wondering if it wasn't more likely "drank" all night. It was obvious she hadn't gone home after the Lombards.
"Where did you walk to?" She didn't want to get into a heavy conversation in the cab. First she'd put Tiffany to bed, call her home and tell the housekeeper that Mrs. Benjamin was fine, and then they'd talk later. No drunken hysterics in the cab. . . . The cabbie might decide he had a hot story and . . . Christ, that Kezia did not need.
"Church ... all night . . . walking . . . slept in church. . . ." She kept her eyes closed and seemed to drift off between words. But the grip on Kezia's hand never slackened. It was only a few minutes before they drew up in front of Kezia's building, and with no explanations required or proffered, the doorman helped Kezia get Tiffany into the elevator, and the elevator man helped get her inside. The apartment was empty; Luke was out, and the cleaning woman wasn't due. Kezia was grateful for the solitude as she led her friend into the bedroom. She didn't want to explain Luke, even in Tiffany's current state. She had taken a hell of a chance bringing her there, but she couldn't think of anyplace else.
Tiffany sat sleepily on the edge of Kezia's bed and looked around. "Where's Uncle Kee?"
Her father again . . . Christ. "He's out, Tiff. Why don't you lie down, and I'll call your place and tell them you'll be home later."
"No! . . . Tell them. . . . Tell. ... Tell her to go to hell!" She began to sob then and shake violently from head to foot. Kezia felt a cold chill run up her spine. Something about the words, the tone of voice . . .
something ... it had struck a chord in her memory, and she suddenly felt frightened. Tiffany was looking at her now with wild eyes, shaking her head, tears pouring down her face. Kezia stood near the phone and looked at her friend, wanting to help, but fearing to go near her. Something inside Kezia turned over.
"Shouldn't I tell them something?" The two women stayed that way for a moment, with Tiffany slowly shaking her head.
"No . . . divorce. . . ."
"Bill?" Kezia looked at her stunned.
Tiffany nodded.
"Bill asked for a divorce?"
She nodded yes and then no. And then she took a deep breath. "Mother Benjamin. . . . She called last night . . . after the Lombards' dinner. Called me a ... a ... lush ... an alcoholic ... a ... the children, she is going to take the children, and make Bill . . . make Bill . . ." She gasped, choking back more sobs, and then retched briefly, but dryly.
"Make Bill divorce you?"
Tiffany gasped again and nodded while Kezia continued to look on, still dreading to go near her.
"But she can't 'make' Bill divorce you, for Christ's sake. He's a grown man."
But Tiffany shook her head and looked up with empty, swollen eyes. "The trust. The big trust. His whole life . . . depends ... on it. And the children . . . their trust . . . He ... she could ... he would . . .**
"No. he wouldn't. He loves you. You're his wife."
"She's his mother."
"So what dammit? Be reasonable, Tiffany. He's not going to divorce you. . . ." But suddenly Kezia wondered. Would he? What if the bulk of his fortune depended on it? How much did he love Tiffany?
Enough to sacrifice that? As Kezia watched her, she knew Tiffany was right. Mother Benjamin held all the cards. "What about the children?" But she saw the answer in Tiffany's eyes.
"She ... she ... they . . ." She was racked by fresh sobs, and clutched the bedspread beneath her as she fought to finish. "She has . . . them. . . .They were gone last night after the ... Lombards' dinner . . . and . . . Bill . . . Bill ... in Brussels . . . she said ... I ... oh God, Kezia, someone help me please. ..."
It was a death wail and Kezia found herself trembling as she stood across the room and finally, painfully, slowly began to walk toward her friend. But it was like hearing it again . . . hearing it ... things began to come back to her. There were tears on her own face now and there was this horrible, terrible urge to slap the girl sitting filthy and broken on her bed ... an urge to just sweep her away, to shake her, to ... oh God, no. ...
She was standing in front of her and the words seemed to rip through her soul, as though they were someone else's, hurled by and at a long vanished ghost. "Then why are you such a fucking drunk, dammit . . . why . . . why?" She sank down on the bed beside Tiffany then, and the two women held each other tight as they cried. It seemed like years before Kezia could stop, and this time it felt as though Tiffany were comforting her. There was a timelessness about the arms veiled by black mink. They were arms that had held Kezia before. Arms that had heard those words before, twenty years before. Why?
"Jesus. I'm . . . I'm sorry, Tiffie. It ... you brought back something so painful for me." She looked up to see her friend nodding tiredly, but looking more sober than she had in an hour. Maybe in days.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm a bad trip all around." The tears continued to fan out from her eyes, but her voice sounded almost normal.
"No, you're not And I'm so sorry about the kids, and about Mrs. Benjamin. What a stinking thing to do.
What are you going to do?"
She shrugged in answer, looking down at her hands.
"Can't you fight it?" But they both knew otherwise. Not unless she cleaned up radically overnight. "What if you go to a clinic?"
"Yeah, and when I come out shell have a grip on those kids that will never loosen, no matter how sober I get She's got me, Kezia. She's got my soul . . . my heart . . . my . . ." She closed her eyes again then, and the look of pain on her face was intolerable. Kezia put her arms around her again. She seemed so thin and frail, even in the thick fur coat. There was so little one could say. It was as though Tiffany had already lost. And she knew it
"Why don't you lie down and try to get some sleep?**
"And then what?" Her eyes were almost haunting.
"Then you can take a bath, have something to eat and I'll take you home."
"And then?" There was nothing Kezia could say. She knew what the other girl meant. Tiffany stood up slowly and walked shakily to the window. "I think it's time I went home."
She seemed to be looking far beyond and far away, and Kezia berated herself silently for the wave of relief that she felt She wanted Tiffany out of her house. Before Luke came home, before she fell apart again, before she said something mat brought even one instant of horror back, she wanted her gone. Tiffany made her unbearably nervous. She frightened her. She was like a living ghost. The reincarnation of Liane Holmes-Aubrey Saint Martin. Her mother . . . the drunk. . . . She did not argue with Tiffany.
"You want me to take you home?" But she found herself hoping not Tiffany shook her head and brought her gaze back from the window with a small, gentle smile, and quietly shook her head. "No. I have to go alone." She walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and stopped at the front door, looking back at Kezia hovering uncertainly in the bedroom doorway. Kezia wasn't sure if she should let her leave alone, but she wanted her to. She just wanted her to go home. To go away. Then- eyes held for a moment, and Tiffany lifted one hand in a mock military salute, pulled her coat more tightly around her, and said, "See ya," just as they had when they were in school. "See ya," and then she was gone. The door closed softly behind her, and a moment later Kezia heard the elevator take her away. She knew she had no money to go home with, but she knew that Tiffany's doorman would pay for the cab. The very rich can travel almost anywhere empty-handed.
Everyone knows them. Doormen are delighted to pay for their cabs. They double their money in tips.
Kezia knew Tiffany was safe. And at least she was out of her house. There was a heavy scent left hanging in the air, a smell of perfume mixed with perspiration and vomit.
Kezia stood at the window for a long time, thinking of her friend, and her mother, loving and hating them both. After a while, the two seemed to blend into one. They were so much alike, so ... so ... It took a long hot bath and a nap to make Kezia feel human again. The excitement and the freedom of the morning, of ditching that damn column, was tarnished by the agony of seeing Tiffany sprawled in the street at the feet of that horse, shouted at by the hansom cab driver, puking and crying and wandering lost and confused . . . and screwed over by her mother-in-law . . . bereft of her children, with a husband who didn't give a damn. Hell, he probably would let bis mother talk him into a divorce. And it probably wouldn't take much talking. It made Kezia's stomach turn over again and again, and when at last she lay down for a nap he slept badly, but at least when she awoke, things looked better again. Much better. She looked up to see Luke standing at the foot of the bed. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It was much later than she'd thought.
"Hi, lazyass. What did you do? Sleep all day?" She smiled at him for a moment and then grew serious as she sat up and held out her arms. He leaned over to kiss her and she nuzzled his neck.
"I had kind of a rough day."
"An assignment?"
"No. A friend." She seemed unwilling to say more. "Want something to drink? I'm going to make some tea. I'm freezing." She shivered gently and Luke looked at the window and the night sky beyond.
"No wonder, with the windows open like that." She had opened all of them wide, to banish the smell.
"Make me some coffee, babe?"
"Sure thing." They exchanged a haphazard kiss and a smile, and she took the newspaper from the foot of the bed where he'd left it when he leaned over to kiss her hello.
"That girl in the paper anyone you know?"
"Who?" She was wandering barefoot through the living room now, yawning as she went.
"The socialite on the front page."
"I'll look." She nicked on the kitchen light, and looked down at the paper in her hands. The room spun around as she did. "It ... it ... I ... oh God, Lucas, help me . . ." She slid slowly down the side of the doorway, staring at the photograph of Tiffany Benjamin. She had jumped from the window of her apartment shortly after two.
"See ya .
. .
see ya. . . ."
Suddenly the words rang in her ears. "See ya." With that little salute they had" done all through school. Kezia scarcely felt Luke's arms around her as he led her to the couch to sit down.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Kezia shook her head as she zipped up the black dress and then slipped on the black alligator shoes she had bought the summer before in Madrid.
"No, love, thanks. I'll be okay."
"Promise?"
She smiled at him as she put on her mink hat. "Swear."
"I'll say one thing, you sure as hell are looking fancy."
He looked at her appreciatively and she smiled again.
"I'm not sure that I'm supposed to." But she knew that she looked just right. She was trying to decide if she should wear her mink coat or her black Saint Laurent. She decided on the black.
"You look fine. And listen, lady, if it gets too heavy for you, you split, right?"
"I'll see."
"That's not what I said." He walked to the mirror and pulled her around to face him. He still didn't like the look in her eyes. "If it gets heavy, you come home. Either that, or I come with you." He knew that was out of the question. Tiffany's funeral was going to be one of the "events" of the season. But all he wanted to know was that Kezia knew the score. It wasn't her fault Tiffany had committed suicide. She had not killed Tiffany. She had not killed her mother. She had done her best. They had been over it and over it and over it, and he wanted to be sure that she wouldn't backslide now. It was a bitch of a thing to happen but it wasn't her fault. She slid quietly into his arms as they stood in front of the mirror, and she held him tighter than usual.
"I'm glad you're here, Lucas."
"So am I. Now do I have that promise from you?" She nodded silently and held her face up to him to kiss, which he did with a vengeance.
"Goodness, at that rate, Mr. Johns, I may never leave here in the first place."
"That would suit me just fine." He ran a hand inside the V-neck of her dress and she backed off with a giggle.
"Lucas!"
"At your service, madam."
"You're awful!"
"Awful horny!" He was eyeing her with a smile as she clipped on simple pearl earrings. He knew he was being irreverent, but it lightened the mood. He tried to sound casual as he sat down and watched her put on lipstick and a last dab of perfume. "Is Edward going with you?" She shook her head and picked up the black alligator bag and short white kid gloves. The thick black and white silk scarf from Dior provided the only brighter spot to her outfit.
"I told Edward I'd meet him there. And stop worrying about me. I'm a big girl, and I'm fine, and I love you and you take care of me better than anyone in this world." She faced him with a smile that looked more like the Kezia who could take care of herself and he began to feel better.
"Jesus, you look good. If you weren't in a hurry . . ."
"Lucas, you're all talk." She had turned away and was crossing the living room on her way to get her coat, when he came up silently behind her and picked her up off her feet.
"All talk am I? Listen here, wench ..."
"Lucas! Lucas dammit, put me down! Lucas!!" He spun her around back down to the ground and she fell giggling and breathless into his arms as he chuckled. "You are the worst, most miserable, impossible