Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (26 page)

     The receptionist, who sat between a massive poinsettia plant and a mini Christmas tree, was a young woman who hadn't been with Starlite for long and had never met Philippa. "Ms. Charmer!" she said. "I was told you'd gone back east for the holidays." She reached for the intercom. "I'll let them know you're here—"

     But Charmie said, "No, don't," and she and Philippa breezed past and through the double doors on the other side. It wasn't until after they had gone that the receptionist suddenly realized who the other woman was. Philippa's photograph was on the books in the glass case.

     The plaque on the door read HANNAH SCADUDO, FASHION DESIGN. Philippa and Charmie walked into a large, sunny office where artists sat at computers and drafting tables in the noisy, busy workroom. People were hurrying this way and that, phones were ringing, papers lay scattered on the carpeted floor, bolts of fabric were stacked from floor to ceiling, and the thick smell of coffee and stale donuts filled the air. A seismic time wave hit Philippa. Fashion design had always been one of her favorite departments, ever since they had decided to start a clothing line catering to larger women, marketed through a chain of dress shops called The Perfect Size. Hannah's department was always exciting, with creativity flowing like
electric currents. Being here again sent Philippa back to the early days when they had discussed Hannah's designs in a turquoise booth at a Cut-Cost Drugstore. That long-ago dream was now real; they had made it come true. Was it now in danger of being shattered?

     Hannah's office looked as if it had been plucked out of a department store by a passing tornado and dropped here. Fabrics, patterns, half-sewn dresses, sketches, and tape measures lay everywhere, while Hannah's desk top could not be seen for the massive catalogs, stacks of delivery bills, letters, Styrofoam cups half-filled with tea, and gum wrappers in the hundreds.

     When Philippa saw her friend in the corner, draping slinky material over a size eighteen mannequin, a look of deep concentration on her face, words Hannah had spoken to her thirty years ago echoed in her mind: "You know, if you changed that round collar to a V neck, you'd take ten pounds off." Philippa experienced a sharp stab of love mingled with fear, and she thought, Please, Hannah, don't let it be you. Don't be the traitor among us.

     Charmie said, "Hi, Hannah," and Hannah Scadudo turned, said, "Oh my God," and briefly caught hold of the mannequin as if to steady herself; then she hurried to Philippa, her hands extended, a smile on her face. "Philippa! My God! What a wonderful surprise!"

     They embraced, but not before Philippa had noted the flicker of fear in her friend's eyes.

     "Hello, Hannah," Philippa said, realizing that this woman whom she had known for so many years—Hannah whom nothing seemed to touch, who was somehow changeless—had altered during Philippa's absence. Her square face had high cheekbones, and her eyes had a slightly Asian cast to them. She always declared there must be American Indian somewhere in her ancestry and that it perhaps accounted for her being "so well preserved." But today, on this December morning with Los Angeles sunshine streaming through the floor to ceiling window, Hannah Scadudo suddenly looked every minute of her real age.

     Philippa thought, Something is wrong here.

     Tears rose in Hannah's eyes as she said, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you! Oh Philippa, we've missed you!" The last time Hannah had seen
Philippa was when she and her husband Alan had gone to Western Australia, six months ago, for a visit.

     "I've missed you too," Philippa said quietly, wishing suddenly that she could be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.

     "Charmie!" Hannah said. "We all thought you were in Ohio. Why didn't you tell us? We've never kept secrets before."

     Philippa said, "Are we keeping secrets now, Hannah?"

     Again, a small gallop of fear in Hannah's dark brown eyes. But she kept up the smile. "Philippa," she said, "whatever do you mean?"

     "Where can a woman get a drink around here?" Charmie said suddenly.

     They went down the hall to the executive lounge, which was deserted and which, when the door closed behind Philippa, was blessedly silent. A mirrored bar lined one wall, facing the windows that gave out onto a spectacular view of modern skyscrapers and palm trees. Charmie went straight to it, reaching for the bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin and a glass. "What are you ladies drinking?"

     "Nothing for me," Hannah said. She held her shaking hands before her and added with a laugh, "Too much coffee!"

     "I'll have a Perrier," Philippa said, and she sank into the embrace of a leather sofa. "Hannah, it is good to see you," she said. "How are the kids?" The "kids" being adults themselves with children of their own. Philippa was godmother to Hannah's second girl, whose middle name was Philippa.

     While Hannah spoke breathlessly, bringing her friend up to date on her family's latest news—"Jackie is doing brilliantly in Santa Barbara, and we always thought she had no ambition"—Charmie poured the drinks and brought them back to the sofa group.

     Handing Philippa the Perrier and tasting her own tangy gin, she settled down next to Hannah and said, "Esther's in love. Again."

     "Yes, I know," Hannah said. "Jackie told me. She says Esther and her boyfriend go around the campus like Siamese twins." Hannah's daughter was the same age as Philippa's; the two had grown up together and now attended the same school. "It's your turn to be a grandmother, Philippa!" Hannah said.

     As Philippa sipped her drink, she looked at her two friends through the broad mote-dusted sunbeam that spilled into the room. Hannah with
her short brown hair, perpetually dressed in tones of beige and tan, seemed somehow sparrow-like next to the colorful Charmie, with her shimmering green caftan and outrageous bright yellow plastic jewelry, her flyaway blond hair barely captured by the scarf on top of her head. And Philippa felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for the old days, for the truckloads of memories the three of them shared.

     "How does it feel to be back?" Hannah said with a quiet smile.

     "I don't know yet really; I'm still jet-lagged."

     "Tell Hannah the good news," Charmie said, plastic bangles clacking on her wrists.

     "What good news is that, Philippa?"

     Before Philippa could reply, Charmie said, "Ivan Hendricks thinks he's found Philippa's sister."

     "For real?" Hannah said. "Is he sure this time?"

     "No, we aren't sure. Ivan flew back before we did; he's looking into it further. She lives at a resort called Star's. Do you know it?"

     "I've heard of it. You know Julianna Livingston, the socialite? I ran into her at Spago a week or so ago, and in the course of the conversation she told us that she had received an invitation to the Christmas ball at Star's. It's quite an honor, I understand."

     "Why was she invited? Does she know the owner?"

     "I don't think so. She said she had no idea why they'd asked her. But someone like Julianna is on every invitation list in town—at least the ones that count. So that's why you came back!" Hannah said with an audible trace of relief in her voice. "Because Ivan might have found your sister!"

     Philippa suddenly felt very tired. She wanted to go back to the hotel and lie down. "I came back, Hannah," she said, "because we have a problem."

     Hannah glanced at Charmie and then at Philippa. "What kind of problem?"

     "I'm calling a special board meeting, Hannah. I want to meet with every one of my executives and I will expect individual department reports, and then I will examine the corporate accounts. Charmie has alerted me to an alarming discrepancy that has to be looked into."

     Philippa kept her eyes on Hannah and thought she detected a slight
change in the color of her face. "You haven't found any problems with
your
books, have you, Hannah?"

     "No, not at all. I mean, what kind of problems?"

     "Errors, discrepancies in the figures that can't be explained. Invoices, perhaps, from companies that don't exist?"

     Hannah began to fiddle with the bracelet on her right wrist. "No, I haven't come across anything irregular. If I had, I would have reported it. Oh for goodness sake," she said with a laugh. "You've quite flustered me! What's this all about?"

     "I'll explain at the board meeting, when I have more facts."

     "Alan and I are having a Christmas party in a few days, and you simply must come. Maybe Esther and her new boyfriend can ride down with Jackie and her boyfriend. You, too, Charmie, if you don't go to Ohio."

     "I can't promise," Philippa said. "I have no idea how my schedule is going to work out. But I do know that in four days I will be holding the board meeting, in Palm Springs."

     "Palm Springs! Why not here?"

     "Because Star's is in Palm Springs, and I don't know how long I'll be there. But Palm Springs is beautiful this time of the year." Philippa smiled. "I think a drive in the desert will be good for you. Take you away from this chaos."

     The door opened and a man entered. "Hannah, there you are," he said. "I've been looking for you—"

     He stared at Philippa, then he broke into a smile. "Philippa! How good to see you! What a wonderful surprise!"

     Alan Scadudo was Hannah's husband and chief financial officer of Star-lite Industries. The two had been with the company for as long as Philippa and Charmie had; they were among the founding members.

     "Have you come back to us for good?" he said, drawing Philippa into a tight embrace. Alan was Philippa's height, five feet eight, which he supplemented by adding two inches with heel lifts. He had also had hair transplants, and when he was close to her, Philippa could see the little dots at his hairline.

     "Philippa says there's a problem, Alan," Hannah said quickly. "She's calling an emergency board meeting."

     "Yes, this disturbing business with Miranda International."

     "What have you been able to find out, Alan?"

     "Not much, I'm afraid. I spoke with the president of the company over the phone, a Gaspar Enriques, who assured me that their intentions are entirely friendly. But when I asked if they would sign a standstill agreement, he refused. Quite politely, of course."

     "That doesn't sound friendly to me. Do you suspect a hostile takeover?"

     "It certainly looks like one."

     "Alan," Philippa said, "I want you to fly down to Rio right away and meet with Enriques in person. See what you can make of it, try to find out what interest Miranda has in our company. And get him to sign that agreement."

     "Yes, certainly, Philippa. Whatever you say. I'll leave at once."

     "And another thing, Alan, I'm calling a meeting of the board in four days. I want everyone to attend. Is there anyone who isn't available?"

     "We're all here," Hannah said, "except for Ingrid." Ingrid Lind was the buyer for Starlite's fashion line; she worked directly under Hannah. "She's in Singapore right now on a buying trip. Is Ingrid essential? I don't believe she's due back for another two weeks."

     "I want to see everyone on the board, including Ingrid. Call her back. I want to see all the books, spreadsheets, and profit and loss reports for the past five years, plus invoices, payment vouchers. Get an internal audit started, Alan, and bring the results to the meeting."

     "What's it about?" he asked.

     "It's about a million dollars," she said, signaling to Charmie. "In the meantime, we're going back to the hotel to rest."

     Hannah rose and said, "When do you go to Palm Springs?"

     "Charmie and I will be checking in to the Marriott Desert Springs tomorrow night. That's where the board meeting will be held."

     At which time, she thought unhappily, she would find out who were her friends, and who were the traitors.

Hollywood, California, 1958

P
HILIPPA LOOKED UP FROM HER WORK AND SAW THAT HE HAD
come into the drugstore again—the man with the haunted look. She didn't know what it was about him that caught her attention so; they had never exchanged words, she didn't know who he was, where he lived, or what he did. But his looks intrigued her. It wasn't so much the khaki trousers and baggy sweater and sandals, the unruly black hair, the very handsome face, all of which did make him look unreal, like something out of a movie. It was more the man himself that she was drawn to, the mouth that looked as if it had never smiled, the eyes that seemed to look into another, more disturbing world. He came into the Cut-Cost Drugstore on Hollywood Boulevard every Friday for the ninety-nine-cent lunch special, always alone, walking with indifference or standing in a slouch, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes as he sat hunched over a two-hour cup of coffee, peering into his cigarette smoke as if looking for answers or trying to forget them.

     Philippa had first noticed him three months ago, when she had filled in temporarily at the lunch counter when the regular girl was sick, and she had watched him every Friday afternoon since, her curiosity growing. Now, as she stocked Toni home permanents on a shelf, she watched him and thought that there was something lonely about him; she sensed that something or someone had hurt him once and that he carried the pain around with him like an invisible load. She couldn't guess his age, but his face was lined, so she thought maybe around forty. And when she saw how he counted out the exact change for his bargain lunch, and how he accepted coffee refills until the waitress told him he would have to pay again, Philippa thought, He needs someone to heal him, someone to take care of him.