Authors: Avery Aster
“
Monsieur
Warner, they issued a tracking number for this ticket item.” Brigitte stepped forward, placing the note on the counter and then returning to her stance in the hallway.
“
Merci
.” He didn’t want what just happened to circulate amongst his staff. Especially if Brigitte gossiped about Truman Enterprises’ CEO whacking off in the treatment room. He hoped to change the subject and her mindset before he left. “What are your plans this summer while the resort hibernates?”
Her face warmed up. “A few of us from the spa are going to
Hôtel du France
on a spa mobile tour for
beauté
treatments.”
“I’ll be in Cannes for the festival as well. I hope to see you.” Although he found the Cannes beaches too celebrity-centric, Warner always enjoyed his time in France.
Hôtel du France
remained Truman Enterprises’ most profitable property. How? The rooms were always filled to capacity during the Cannes Film Festival by corporate event sponsors.
“Did you want your massage,
Monsieur
?” She stepped into the room, hopefully putting his recent “door locked, beating off” session behind her.
“My back is better. I’ve changed my mind, thank you though.” He needed a cold shower.
“I’ll leave you be to get dressed. See you in Cannes,
Monsieur
Warner.” Brigitte closed the door on her way out.
“
Au revoir
.” Warner wondered if he’d ever see Red again. He took the ticket off the counter. It read, “Barth/Red/Dec30/Vajazz.”
Who are you, Mademoiselle Red
?
Chapter Ten
Judith Leiber’s Clutch
May 17
Times Square, New York, NY
This blows serious chunks
.
Like all the others that year, Taddy’s week rolled over into one big blur filled with work. Her elliptical grew dusty. Every night, she intended to leave the office early and attend Gilad’s Pilates class but never made it on time. She’d also no-showed two Botox parties hosted by Dr. Fassenbender.
There were only two men she’d seen on a regular basis.
The first was her San Juan beefcake chauffer, Jose del Torro. In a fire-engine-red Cadillac Escalade with her firm’s slogan, “Get fame, get glam, get Brill, Inc.”, detailing the doors, Jose drove Taddy wherever she needed. From her downtown meeting in the financial district with her clients’ investors to the garment district to help select designs and patterns for her fashion brands, Jose was there.
Jose had a wife and five kids. They were ages eight, five, four, two and a six-month-old. The del Torros lived in the Bronx. Jose’s being married certainly made him off-limits as a romantic interest. Taddy hadn’t a clue when she hired him. This oversight became evident one Sunday afternoon when Mrs. del Torro knocked on her penthouse door—uninvited.
Crap
! “Mrs. del Torro, how nice to meet you.” Taddy welcomed her into her home wearing her usual work-from-home weekend attire, a cinnamon and ivory Carine Gilson lace-appliquéd silk-crepe chemise.
“
Hola
. Is Mrs. Brill here?” She looked her over as if she’d popped a tart.
“I’m Miss Brill.”
“You are who my husband is driving around town?” The shock on Mrs. del Torro’s face over Taddy’s youth and beauty became evident as she confirmed it was her. The woman almost dropped the covered dish entrée in her hands. Perhaps she expected a Miss Daisy or a Leona Helmsley type to chauffeur instead of a Miss Brill.
“What smells so good?” Taddy’s stomach growled with hunger. Her butler had just quit.
“Shrimp paella, I made it to celebrate my husband’s new job with you.” Jose’s wife set the plate on the nearby table and extended a hug. As her welcoming Puerto Rican arms wrapped around Taddy in a tight grip—one heading toward a headlock—she threatened in Taddy’s ear, “Touch my Jose and I’ll kill you.”
Seeking a quick reply to get this bitch out of her apartment, she thought about Kiki and how her assistant would handle such crises. “Thank you for coming by, Mrs. del Torro. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for…uh…church now.” She bolted for the door, hoping this woman would take a hint. “Yes, Jesus is waiting.”
“Where do you worship, Miss Brill?” Jose’s wife asked with suspicion, her gold cross hanging from her neck. It appeared heavy against her cleavage, matching her oversized hoop earrings and gold rings, which adorned every finger. Even Mrs. del Torro’s left fingernail was jeweled in a shiny dangling loop.
“Ummm.”
“Where?”
“I attend…”
What the hell is Kiki’s church called?
“I go to Save the Bloody Mary. Yup that’s it,” Taddy lied. She opened the door and pushed the elevator door for her. “Bye now and hugs to your kids.” Waving her off, she went back inside, locked her doors and spent the day watching her favorite movie
My Man Godfrey
.
At Taddy’s request, Kiki researched Jose’s wife and confirmed her NYPD rap sheet. Arrested several times for assaulting other women, Mrs. del Torro scared the shit out of Taddy. She did fantasize about Jose’s tool a few times, but she wasn’t a home wrecker, let alone stupid. His wife was placed on Taddy’s do-not-ever-let-this-crazy-freak-up-to-my-penthouse list with her building’s doormen.
Kiki wanted to have Jose terminated. But Taddy thought about his kids and how respectable it was that he was driving her around town in order to provide for his family. So she kept him on salary.
The second man in her life was her new replacement butler, Moscow-imported Díma Revva. Close to the William Powell character in the film
My Man Godfrey
, he took great domestic care with Taddy’s household needs. The Shih Tzus loved the butler as he made them doggie stew. In addition, Díma’s thick Soviet accent and square features turned her lower lips out. She appreciated his talents for washing her whites and didn’t want to mix his business with her pleasure by letting him lick her clitoris. The last time she’d tried to sleep with her domestic staff they’d sued her for sexual harassment.
Men aside, she missed her friends too. Several cancelled lunches, dinners gone cold and spa appointments overlooked, too busy. Hanging with Lex and Vive had been reduced to text messaging. Lex’s Easton Essentials became the “it” fashion house. This week Vive was jetting to Chicago to host a
Debauchery
-sponsored shopping week on Michigan Avenue. Kiki, her assistant, also went AWOL. Since being tasked with shooting photos for Neve Adele’s lifestyle line, she hadn’t come back to the office.
* * * * *
Taddy grabbed the green Excedrin bottle from her desk and unscrewed the lid. She popped six white tablets into her mouth then downed them with a gulp of Bull Energy.
Her assistant sat a huge box next to her desk labeled “Kiki’s Accessories”. Shaking her head in protest, Kiki argued, “Those energy beverages aren’t good for you.” She attempted to take it away from her. “I’ve never seen you drink them.”
“Kiki, darling, it’s the only way I can get all this work done. We have the Candy Land Ball coming up soon.”
“There’s too much to do. I feel bad for going on vacation.”
“Don’t be silly.” Taddy took another swig. “I didn’t hear from you this week, you okay?” She sat back in her chair, admiring Kiki’s outfit. A cream-colored sundress from Carolina Herrera’s spring collection, circa two years ago, it showed off Kiki’s legs. It was Taddy’s, taken from her closet. She didn’t mind. “I thought Port Authority stopped allowing New Jersey citizens into Manhattan.”
“Funny, Miss Brill, I came straight from your apartment. Three days nonstop, but I finished the inspiration boards.”
“Did you eat? You look gaunt.”
“Your butler fed me. He’s nice.”
“Díma is a fierce cleaner and my laundry is always perfect. But his kitchen skills are horrific. You ate his cooking, huh?”
“Your butler uses a communist nutrition book when he cooks.”
“What on earth did he make for you?”
“Holodets.”
“Is that some fish that only swims in the Azov Sea?”
“No. It’s minced meat. Díma also served me a plate of—beef tongue.”
“Yuk. No wonder you appear to have lost weight.” Taddy was embarrassed by her butler serving Kiki such nastiness.
“I didn’t eat those meals.”
“Oh?”
“I told him Mormons don’t eat meat and he made me a green salad.”
“Is that true about Mormons?”
“No, I fibbed.” Kiki laughed. “Mormons aren’t supposed to lie either. But I didn’t have the heart to hurt his feelings. I made a note for you to give Díma classes at the Natural Gourmet Institute for his birthday.”
“Kiki, you’re a thoughtful one. Great idea, thank you.”
“I enjoyed my time over there. I love your dogs. They ate the holodets. I didn’t realize you have a puppy litter.”
“How many fur babies did you see?”
“Three, maybe four.” Kiki smiled.
“The breeder swore to me I bought Shih Tzus. I bet they’re Gremlins. No matter if they get water or not, they seem to be multiplying.” Taddy had adopted the dogs to keep her mind off men. It didn’t work. She tried to act nonchalant, as if they decorated her apartment better than throw pillows. But in reality, she worshiped Ruby, Scarlet, Carmine and Cherry. They slept in her bed at night and kept her company.
“I’ve never seen red Shih Tzus.” Kiki handed her the image printouts she’d taken for the Neve project. “You don’t by chance dye the dogs’ coats—do you, Miss Brill?”
Smart girl. “Only when the color fades.” She winked. “The fur babies arrived from Hong Kong. I didn’t imagine one could love anything with a tail, but I’m quite attached.” She studied the pictures. Kiki had done amazing work. “Thank you for these marvelous photos. Luxury TV will eat this up. We’ll get these over to Blake in marketing.”
“My pleasure, Miss Brill.”
“See, I told you—nothing to worry about with my penthouse.”
“You have more accessories than Bergdorf’s, Barney’s and Bendel’s combined.” Kiki pulled her notebook out and cleared her throat. “In ascending order, your New York penthouse, which excludes your Malibu, London and Paris homes, stores 127 scarves, 249 wraps, 341 hats, 495 gloves, 681 sunglasses, 759 belts, 989 handbags, 1,092 rings, 1,217 pairs of shoes, 1,355 necklaces, and 3,512 pairs of earrings.”
“I do adore earrings.” Looking through the photos felt similar to seeing old friends in a family album.
Hello, Dolce. I’ve missed you, Versace. Sorry about your last show, Marc.
In a way, luxury goods became loved ones similar to a relative. “If you consider this loot-to-the-max, gander at my dildo collection sometime.” She winked. “Come to think of it, I haven’t played with my dildos in ages.”
Exhausted, Kiki plopped herself down on the high-back chair by her desk. “Thank you for the tickets to Cannes this weekend. I didn’t know it was a movie convention.”
“It’s called
Le Festival International du Film de Cannes
. Please don’t say the word movie when in Cannes.” She tried to groom Kiki little by little. “Are you excited?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Darling, you’re going to have an amazing experience.” Crossing her legs, she thought about the magical memories—bike-riding topless down the
Promenade de la Croisette
, having her pussy eaten outdoors along
la Croisette
, making love on a yacht docked at
Vieux Port
—and they all came flooding back to her as one blissful orgasm. She enjoyed Cannes almost as much as she loved St. Tropez.
My tits adore the French Riviera.
“Cannes is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, Miss Brill. I can’t thank you enough.” Eyes filled with tears, Kiki’s face puffed as if she’d cried for days.
“Kiki, please don’t start crying.” It was common for Brill girls to shed tears from stress, dieting, being dumped, missing their parents, being evicted or not making the Barneys Warehouse Sale in time to find anything in a size two. But she’d never seen this. “Remember what our handbook states about crying?”
Her assistant blew her nose. “Eh?”
“You are permitted on occasion to whimper, whine and snivel. But under no circumstance shall you blubber, sob or bawl.” Bodily functions were for the weak.
Girl, dig your acrylics into your palms, bite the inside of your cheek, take a deep breath and suck it up
.
“These are good tears. I’m happy.” Kiki wiped her pink nose again. “My family isn’t speaking to me much. Not since I left Utah for here. It’s just nice to have some TLC in my life again.”
Unfamiliar with crying because of happiness, she offered, “Sorry, honey…I didn’t know.” Her assistant worked against impossible odds to make it in the Big Apple. Brill, Inc. statistics revealed fifty percent of her new hires, ages twenty-one to twenty-six, returned home within the first year. Half from the remaining group followed their predecessor at year two. And a third from the final group wed and bred, moving to Long Island, Westchester or Connecticut a year later. Leaving her Utah family and LDS congregation behind wore on Kiki, and Taddy identified with her homesickness.
“I call Provo weekly and leave messages at the house—”
“And?”
“My parents don’t call me back.” Kiki shrugged.
“Why?” She didn’t understand.
“They’re trying to manipulate me into giving my Manhattan dreams up and—”
“What?”
“Mom and Dad want me home.”
“Keep calling your folks. Once they get how serious you are about living here, they’ll come around.” Taddy didn’t want to see Kiki in pain. The ache in her heart when her parents stopped calling her while she boarded at Avon Porter had nearly killed her. There had to be a way for Kiki to secure her family’s support and thrive in this city. “It’s not as if you’re no longer their daughter.”
“I do everything they taught me to do. I pay my tithing. I attend church and take institute classes.”
“No wonder you don’t have any fun in your life.”
“It’s what we Mormons do, Miss Brill. I don’t understand what else will make my family happy.”