‘I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch, Bill. Country Fresh can be our last campaign together.’
Bill sulked. ‘You haven’t worked here long enough for me to buy you a gold watch, you kno,v.’
‘We’ll be working together in the future,’ Lita said, in her maddeningly mysterious way. Bill always felt he was on a need-to-know basis with this chick. ‘Just not like this.’
Lita tried to keep her financial situation to herself, but it was impossible. She chose to tell her parents what had happened on a Saturday night, so
she didn’t have to deal with Chico - he’d be out drinking and partying till dawn somewhere. Her mother’s wail of dismay ripped into her heart, but Pappy was a rock.
‘Hey now, querida.’ He patted his wife’s hand and grinned broadly. ‘He was no good. She’s lucky to be out of it.’
‘Why would the lord do such a thing?’ she sniffled.
Lira forced a smile of her own. ‘Sometimes two people just drift apart.’
‘So now what are you doing?’
‘I’m getting a new place in the city.’
‘You should stay with us. We’ll get you a nice boy,’ her mother promised.
‘I don’t think so, Mama. I’m gonna take a break from boys for a little bit.’ Lita lifted her head and breathed in appreciatively. ‘Something smells good. What are we eating? I’m starving.’
‘Of course you are.’ Her mother leaned over and pinched her upper arm, frowning. ‘You don’t eat right. You should come back here more often for some real food …’
Pappy winked at her. It was the only subject that could possibly have gotten her mother off 1Kupert.
Lita found an apartment that was a little better than her previous one. The mortgage was no problem - she put down three thousand and had payments of eight hundred a month. It was a walk-up on West Fourth, a quiet, tree-lined street in the Village, near her old coffee-shop. It was small, only two bedrooms, but the living room had bay windows with a cute mahogany bench that she fell in love with instantly. Plus, it was hers. Assuming she’d be able to make the payments.
Lita thought she had about four months to find another job. Her nest-egg would cover her for a while, plus the Country Fresh campaign would net her twenty grand for the print canpaign. A lot of money. Enough to cover her back.
But life in the Big Apple was expensive, and she had to keep up a certain look. No way she wanted anybody to know how badly she’d been ripped off. She’d thought she was too smart for that, but when it came right down to it she’d been taken like a kid at his first game of three-card Monty. The money wouldn’t last all that long. She had to get some more.
But she had a pretty good idea how to do it.
‘So she wants to see me.’
Harry Weiss took off his black wire-framed Lennon specs and rubbed them, which was his habit whenever he was perplexed about something.
IO6
He was a tall, gangly man, thirty-five and lean, given to wearing black pants and polonecked sweaters. The swirling colours of hippie fashion left Harry cold. He had about twelve black outfits in his wardrobe, with the occasional splash of what he claimed was blue, but which everybody else said was such dark navy it might as well be more black. Harry didn’t care. lie was an account executive, which meant he met with clients and hired copywriters. He also supervised graphic designers. He needed to project an aura of hip-meets-hardass to seem businesslike but cool at the same time. Therefore he always wore black. It saved time and made him look deep.
Nobody argued the point. Why would they? Harry had revitalized the old blue-chip Doheny. He was constantly bringing in the hot new advertising executives, the talent that landed the big campaigns. He knew what buyers needed, and he gave it to them. That was what paid for his townhouse on West Sixty-Ninth.
Harry prided himself on being ready for anything, but this request surprised him.
‘Yes. She said she wanted to discuss creative matters with you.’
‘Man, she already has the gig.’ Harry sighed. ‘Remind me. What’s her file?’
‘lKosalita Morales, booker Bill Fisher at Models Six, too short for catwalk work, couple of big TV campaigns, no covers, demanding but never blows a shoot.’ Susie, his assistant, rattled off the information from
memory. Working for Harry, you had to be prepared.
‘I remember. Sold a lot of coffee. Mid-list model.’
‘She’s shot one day’s worth of print ads already and there’s another session scheduled for tomorrow: The photographer thinks you should talk to her, keep her happy.’
Harry sighed. ‘So now I have to listen to a lot of inane suggestions from a bimbo.’
‘The pictures have come out real nice, Harry. He doesn’t want her playing up for the second session. And besides,’ she shrugged, ‘she’s waiting outside. I told her you were in a meeting, but she said she’d wait. She’s been out there for over an hour.’
‘Send her in, then. And come in and get. me in fifteen minutes. Urgent phone call, whatever you have to make up. OK?’
‘Got it.’ Susie nodded and left his office. She walked back in a moment later with the model. Harry stood, smiling warmly. The girl wore heels and a neat camel-coloured fitted suit that emphasized spectacular curves. She wore full make-up - foundation, eyeshadow, thick mascara, liner and neatly pencilled fire-engine-red lips. She seemed very self-possessed.
107
‘Thanks for seeing me, Mr Weiss. May I sit down?’
‘By all means. Please.’ He gestured to the Eames chair in front of him, and noticed she had a briefcase. She also had a sensational pair of legs, but Harry was immune to her beauty. This was work, and he never allowed himself to get distracted. The girl was a model. She was supposed to be beautiful.
Lita lifted the neat black case, stamped with her initials in gold, on to her lap. She saw right away that Weiss wasn’t checking her out, so she assumed he was gay. Whatever. That was a good thing. It wouldn’t get in the way of her future job. She clicked it open.
‘These are some mockups of the layouts we’re shooting right now for the Country Fresh campaign,’ she said. ‘I wondered if I could talk to
you about them. I have a couple of ideas.’ Harry repressed another sigh. ‘Please go ahead, Ms Morales.’ And Lita did.
ION
‘Who was that girl?’ Becky asked. Rupert was standing in the hallway, listening to the car pull away down the drive. He looked upset.
‘An old girlfriend. I’m very sorry you had to see that, Becky. I think the poor girl must be pretty disturbed to track me here. I hope she can move on with her life now.’
Becky winced. ‘That can’t have been fun.’
‘It wasn’t. Fiance! She’s even worse than I thought. I had to be a little nasty to her to get the message across.’ He shook his head
sombrely. ‘Creel to be kind, I suppose, but it hurts me to have to do it.’ ‘Do you think you.got the message through to her?’
‘I think I did, yes. I’m pretty certain she won’t be back. She’s American after all. She’s going home.’
Becky felt a small rash of relief. She smiled. ‘Is it always so dramatic when you come to tea?’
Rupert chuckled. ‘Not normally, no. I’m afraid I’m frightfully boring.’
I bet you’re not, Becky thought, enjoying the sound of his laugh.
‘Let’s have some of that te:L then, before it gets stone cold.’ He opened the door of the drawing room for her.
Over tea and the excellent sponge cake, Becky relaxed. Rupert asked all the right questions; he seemed fascinated by her childhood, her adolescence, everything except her love life.
‘Don’t tell me about any of them. I’ll get so sick with jealousy I shan’t be able to finish my cake.’ Mrs Morecambe was hovering behind Becky and he winked at her. ‘Which is quite outstanding.’
Becky beamed. ‘And don’t tell me about any of your girlfriends.’
‘Oh, I have a reputation for being a rake, but it’s not at all deserved.
I’m a dreadful picker of women usually. Look at the latest disaster.’ ‘So what does that say about me?’ Becky asked him.
‘Only that there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Or that with my luck you’ll refuse to see me ever again.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ Becky said, ignoring Mrs Morecambe’s disapproving frown.
Io9
‘Last night was the most tremendous bash. Did you plan it all by yourself?. You’re very clever.’
‘My friend Sharon helped me.’
‘Then we should all be thanking Sharon, too. Who is she?’
‘She’s, like, a local girl. Her father’s a butcher.’ Becky watched Rupert’s face, but he didn’t wince like Aunt Victoria. ‘I’ve kind of found it hard to make friends, so she helped me with this party. I hang
out a lot with her friends right now …’
She let the sentence hang in the air.
‘Well, now.’ Rupert gave her that slow, sexy smile of his. ‘I expect
Cousin Vicky calls them frightful oiks.’
Becky nodded.
‘I don’t think that way, but I do think it’s important to mix with lots
of people. DifFerent types of people. I can introduce you around, if you’ll let me. I’m selfishly motivated, you understand. I want the kudos for bringing the most beautiful woman in England to other people’s parties.’
Becky blushed crimson. ‘Stop flattering me.’
Rupert looked her right in the eye and said, ‘It’s hardly flattery if it’s true.’
Tea dragged on so long that Becky asked him to supper, but Rupert shook his head regretfully. ‘I’ve got to get back to London. Business,
I’m afraid. But look, I’m going to a party at Alice Pomfrey’s on Friday. . Why don’t you come down? Better still, let,me come up and get you. We’ll have a fun drive, and you can stay with me.’
‘It’s kind of early for that,’ Becky said, wishing she could stop the blushing.
‘I have a spare bedroom. You’ll be perfectly safe. At least for a bit.’ She hesitated.
‘I promise I shan’t molest you. I’ve got no tesire to scare you off.’ ‘Well, I would like to meet some new people.’ She had a vision of her phone starting to ring, of tennis parties, people in the house, general fun, the kind she’d had back in the States.
‘Of course you would. Bring a case, stay the night. Perhaps we’ll see a
matinee the next afternoon. Walk round London Zoo.’
‘I’d love that.’
Rupert stood and kissed her hand. ‘Then it’s a date, gorgeous. I’ll come around six on Thursday to pfck you up.’
‘Wonderful. Oh, no, it isn’t.’ Becky’s face fell. ‘I have to have dinner with Aunt Victoria and Uncle Henry that night. It’s their night.’
‘So just add me to the list.’
No
‘They can be pretty scary,’ Becky admitted, not wanting to put him oft
P, upert laughed. ‘I can handle Vicky.’
‘She likes to be called Victoria,’ Becky said.
‘I know.’ He winked. ‘That’s why I call her Vicky.’
As soon as he was gone, Becky dived for the phone, squealing with excitement.
‘You don’t want to tip them offlike that, miss!’ said Mrs Morecambe sternly.
Becky hugged her. ‘Oh, I know, Mrs Morecambe, dear Mrs Morecambe. But he’s so perfect!’
‘No man is perfect, miss,’ Mrs Morecambe sniffed, but she couldn’t look that upset. She smiled at Becky as she rang Sharon. The young lady might be regal, but she was still a kid really. That Rupert was handsome, though. But it didn’t do to let ‘em know you’d noticed it.
‘So what’s the postmortem?’ Sharon said on the phone. ‘Is this Capulet and Montague?’
‘Basically. But without any parents to get in the way. You won’t
believe who showed up, though.’
‘go on.’
‘His mad ex-girlfriend who said they were getting married.’
‘Bullshit!’ Sharon said happily. ‘What a fantastic story. I’m coming fight over.’
‘I’ve still got some tea left over.’
‘Fuck tea,’ said Sharon stoutly, ‘I’ll get the beers in.’
She was as good as her word. She turned up with a six-pack and some cigarettes, which Rebecca made her smoke outside.
‘It’s bloody freezing out here. You’re a Puritan. Bloody Yanks, everybody smokes.’
‘I don’t want my house stinking.’
‘Snob. You can’t help it, poor sod, it’s your genetics, I suppose. So,
P, upert. Good-looking bit of totty.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘No need to be,’ said Sharon, smirking. ‘We’ll have you speaking English in no time. Totty. Trouser. Hunk. A rather thin hunk, but a
pin-up if you like that sort of thing.’
‘He’s delicious. I love that accent.’
‘God knows why. Chinless wonder, we call that. But if sounding like Prince Charles floats your boat.., and he isn’t going to be cracking any mirrors, I’ll give you that.’
III
‘We’re not that closely related.’
‘You will be if you get hitched, though. How convenient, you won’t
even have to change your name.’ Sharon started to tease her. ‘Except you’ll have to put Lady in front of it. Ooh, milady.’ She dropped a curtsy. Becky hit her.
‘He’s going to introduce me all round London.’ ‘Because we’re not good enough for you?’ ‘Oh, stop.’
‘I think it’s a good idea. You need someone to stick up for you, with
that old bag and her husband—’
‘Sharon,’ Becky reproved faintly.
‘Well. She’s your family, I suppose.’ Her friend looked doubtful about that. ‘But she hasn’t helped you settle in. Maybe she thought if you got lonely enough you’d pack it in and go home. But your cousin
1Kupert, now. He’s no shrinking violet, he’ll sort you out.’
‘How do you know about Rupert?’
‘I read the Daily Mail, don’t I? Nigel Dempster writes about him. Bit
of a party animal, dates models.’
Becky felt a stab of jealousy. ‘The girl that was here looked like a model.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
Sharon snorted. ‘Anyway, he disappears to America for a couple of years, I don’t know why. And you know he came back here when the judgment went in your favour. He appealed it from the States, and I guess they said they couldn’t hear it over there, which was this month some time. So it’s big of him to show up to the party.’