Never Too Rich (42 page)

One little toot for a pick-me-up . . .

Carefully Klas Claussen tapped a little white powder
onto the back of his hand. Lifted it to his nose. Snorted it up
into one nostril with a long, noisy, ever-so-satisfying intake of
breath.

. . . And one little toot for a buzz . . .

He tapped a little more of the white powder out of
the tiny brown glass vial for the other nostril. Started raising
his hand to snort it when—

The door to his office burst open without warning
and the sudden draft blew the cocaine away in a powdery little
cloud.

“
What the hell . . . ?” Klas began,
and then his jaw abruptly clicked shut.

Antonio was standing in the doorway, looking like
the wrath of God. But he didn’t remain standing there long. “What
the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he exploded. His
anger-reddened face had turned purple and the cords on his neck
stood out.

“
Do you always burst in like that
without knocking?” Klas sniffed.

Antonio could only stare. Jesus! he was thinking as
Klas added insult to injury by looking down his nose at him in that
superior manner he had. No wonder this place is going all to hell!
What a fool I was, thinking Klas’s drug habit would stay out of the
workplace! Edwina was right all along, dammit!

Angrily he crossed the office and stopped in front
of Klas, his eyes searing into the dilated pupils. A full
half-minute of staring at each other passed, during which Antonio’s
rage grew and grew. Finally, without warning, his hand shot out and
knocked the open vial out of Klas’s fingers. It flew across the
room, scattering its felonious contents as it spun through the
air.

Klas glared at him. “For your information, that was
two hundred and fifty dollars you just wasted.”

“
What?
What!”
Antonio was
incredulous. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

Klas sniffed. “What do you want me to say?”

“
How about explaining why you
didn’t warn me about that demonstration going on downstairs? Or,
better yet, asking for a leave of absence so you can join a
drug-rehabilitation program and clean up?”

“
Why should I want to clean up? I
don’t have a problem.”

“
Well,
I
say you do,
dammit!”

Klas smirked. “Then that’s
your
problem,
isn’t it?”

Antonio’s face twisted with rage, and it took all of
his self-control not to punch Klas then and there. He let the
built-up pressures inside him ease out in a slow sigh, and when he
spoke again, his voice was oddly quiet. “You really think you can
get away with murder, don’t you?” he asked softly.

Klas didn’t reply, but kept looking at Antonio in
that imperial way of his.

“
I’m really sorry you got promoted
to this position,” Antonio half-whispered. “Do you know how
often
I’ve regretted it? With Edwina, there wouldn’t have
been half the problems that we have with you. Nor would her store
orders have plummeted, the way yours have.”

“
Yes, but when Doris Bucklin walked
in while you were getting fucked,” said Klas smugly, “Edwina
couldn’t have been made the scapegoat, now, could she?” He turned
away dismissively.

“
You bastard!” Antonio grabbed him
by the arm and twisted him back around. This was the last, the very
last and final, straw. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me, you
snide bitch! I’ve had it up to here with you! You’re
fired!”

“
Fired?”
Klas mocked. “And
let everyone know what happened that day when Doris walked in on
you? Really, Antonio. Be serious!”

Antonio stared at him. “Are you by any chance
threatening me?”

There was no fear in Klas’s eyes; the dissipated
young man was that sure of himself. “Maybe I am. And then again,
maybe you’re misinterpreting everything.”

Antonio felt an uplifting satisfaction as he said,
“You heard me right. You can’t hang Doris Bucklin over my head any
longer. It won’t work.”

“
Oh, no?” Klas
challenged.

“
Perhaps you are so coked out that
you have lost your grasp on reality. That incident happened so long
ago that it’s stale. Even if you did try to resurrect it, it’s last
year’s news, Klas. You’ll never get anybody to care.”

“
Would you like to try to find
out?” But now Klas was bluffing, and they both knew it. Despite the
drug having kicked in, Klas could see the terrible combination of
anger, contempt, and hatred emanating from Antonio’s dark eyes. And
a peculiar uncertainty came into his own.

“
As a matter of fact,” Antonio
suggested, “why
don’t
you try me and see? I wouldn’t mind so
terribly watching you fall flat on your pretty face. You’ve long
deserved it. And as for having served your purpose, well . . . all
you are now is deadweight.”

“
You can’t talk to me that way!”
Klas hissed.

“
Oh, no? Are you really that far
gone that I must spell it out for you? You . . . are . . . fired.
Now, Klas, your office keys, if you please?”

Antonio held out his hand, palm-up.

Klas slapped the keys into his hand.

“
And while you’re at it, don’t
bother cleaning out your desk. Don’t stop by accounting. Don’t
collect your paycheck.” Antonio’s voice didn’t rise, but there was
no mistaking the authority in it. “Just get the hell out of my
sight before I call the police!”

Chapter 43

“
It’s available immediately.” The
building-management woman’s voice sounded hollow and seemed to echo
in the empty spaces. “If it suits your needs, I’d advise you to
move quickly, though. Several other firms have already expressed
interest.”

Edwina nodded as she prowled thoughtfully from one
office of the suite to the next, the real-estate woman in tow.

“
As you can see, the kitchenette
installed by the last tenant is still intact, and there are two
private toilets, which is highly unusual for a suite this
size.”

“
And the cost per square foot?”
Edwina inquired, going into a large corner office.

“
Twenty dollars. It’s the going
rate.”

Edwina nodded again and walked over to one of the
windows. It looked down upon the hopelessly snarled Seventh Avenue
traffic seventeen floors below—for her, one of the city’s most
cherished views, not to mention one of the seven wonders of the
world.

After a moment she turned back around. “And it’s
what? Three thousand square feet?”

“
Twenty-eight-fifty, total. But if
the price per square foot is too steep for you, we have another
building right down the next block.”

“
The next block isn’t 550 Seventh
Avenue,” Edwina said.

“
No,” the woman agreed, “it’s
not.”

Edwina placed her hands on her hips and turned slow
circles, her pensive eyes sweeping the office. If she took this
suite, she decided, and everything told her that she should, this
large light-filled corner office would be hers. Imagine, she
thought, me back on Seventh Avenue! Only this time as the head of
my own fashion company. This suite is going for premium rent, but
so what? You have to spend money to make money, don’t you? And
being based in this building, the very epicenter of the fashion
world, from which every new trend and vogue is transmitted around
the country, is worth every penny. And then some. It says Edwina G.
is here—and here to stay.

“
As you can see, everything’s
already wired for one-ten and two-twenty,” the real-estate woman
pointed out. “Even the telephone jacks are already installed. All
you have to do is move in your furnishings and you’re in business.”
She paused, eyeing Edwina shrewdly. “Still, we’re prepared to throw
in three months’ rent allowance for fixturing.”

“
I need,” Edwina said slowly,
frowning, “five.”

The woman sighed. “No can do. Three and a half.
That’s as far as I can go.”

Edwina took a deep breath and then plunged. “Make it
four,” she said, “and it’s a sale.”

“
You drive a hard bargain, but it’s
yours.” The woman smiled and held out her hand. “Congratulations,”
she said as they shook on it. “Now, as soon as I get back to the
office I’ll get started on the paperwork. Do you want it sent to
you or to your attorney?”

“
My attorneys.” Edwina fished in
her purse for the business card of Leo’s law firm.

The woman took it, glanced at it, and looked
impressed: it was one of the city’s five top legal firms. “If they
have any questions, tell them to feel free to call me,” she said.
“That’s what I’m here for. Well, I’ll be heading back now. Here’s a
set of keys. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

Edwina thanked her and walked her to the front door.
Then, as soon as she closed it on her, she did a bump and grind,
squeezed her eyes shut, and jumped high into the air while letting
out an ear-shattering
“Ya-hoo!”

She still could hardly believe it.

The dream was finally becoming a reality. And to
think she was right
here,
starting out at the very top,
ensconced in her own little kingdom smack dab in the very pulsing
heart of the fashion industry!

Would wonders never cease? She hoped not.

She had her offices. Next was assembling a talented,
top-notch staff who knew all the ins and outs. But a secretary—an
administrative assistant—had to come first. And he or she had to be
someone who already knew all there was to know, who was familiar
with this dog-eat-dog territory . . . who knew all the distributors
. . . someone who was fierce and tough and protective . . . and
above all, loyal and devoted.

She sighed.

A jewel. That was what she required. But jewels
didn’t grow on trees. So. How to go about finding one? Now,
there
was a problem.

She was still mulling it over when she let herself
out, locked up, and summoned the elevator.

When the doors slid open, there was only one other
passenger on it. A grim-faced Liz Schreck, alligator handbag and
bulging plastic shopping bag in tow.

“
Why, Liz!” Edwina greeted her
warmly as she stepped in. “What a pleasant surprise! Did you know,
you’re the first friendly old face I’ve run into in this
building?”

Liz Schreck smiled wryly. “And for the last time,
I’m afraid.”

Edwina frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Liz tightened her lips. “I’ve just quit.”

“
Quit? What do you mean, you’ve
just quit? Not de Riscal?”

Liz nodded grimly. “For the first time in thirteen
years, I’ll be pounding the pavement.”

“
I . . . I don’t think that will be
necessary,” Edwina said.

Liz tilted her head and squinted
uncomprehendingly.

“
You see, Liz . . .” Edwina was
positively beaming. “This is pure serendipity! Do you, by any
chance, believe in predestination?”

“
Pre-what?”

“
Never mind. Just trust me when I
say this is our lucky day. I tell you what. Why don’t I buy you a
cup of caffeine in the coffee shop downstairs? Give me five minutes
and I’ll give you the world. Well, maybe not the world,” she
amended, “but I
will
make you an offer you can’t possibly
refuse.”

Olympia hit the roof. “What the
hell
are you
trying to do?” she shouted. “Commit professional suicide
and
run me out of business in the process?” She was pacing her
austerely modern office furiously while quick-puffing on a newly
lit cigarette. With a growl of disgust she stabbed it out in the
giant glass ashtray and glared at Billie Dawn. “And as if all that
isn’t bad enough, I’m the one with egg all over my face, young
lady. Me, not you.
Me!”

Billie Dawn sat serenely in one of the Mies van der
Rohe chairs, one splendid leg crossed over the other.

“
Anti-fur!” Olympia spat it like
the vilest of curses, her sea-green eyes blazing.
“Fur!
If
that’s your issue today, what’s tomorrow? A march on the Revlon
headquarters? Spray-painting passersbys’ mink coats? Sending letter
bombs to medical-research facilities?” She slumped wearily into her
desk chair, cradling her head in her hands. “Why?” she moaned
weakly. “Why couldn’t you at least have warned me ahead of time? Or
just have refused to go to that damned photo session in the first
place? What in hell possessed you to blast a client on
television?”

“
Olympia, I didn’t mean to create
problems. Really I didn’t. I quite understand your being
upset—”

Olympia’s head came up slowly. “You un . . . der . .
. stand?” she whispered, picking up her cigarettes, pulling one out
of the pack in slow motion, and lighting it with shaking fingers.
“What do you understand? Losing me one of my biggest and most
longstanding of clients? Do you have any
idea
of what this
agency’s de Riscal billings come to annually?”

“
No, I don’t,” Billie Dawn said
calmly. “But I do understand this. Here. Why don’t you take a look
for yourself.” She slid the Animal Rights League pamphlet onto
Olympia’s glass desk. “They say a picture’s worth a thousand
words.”

“
I give up.” Olympia threw up her
hands in surrender and looked down at the pamphlet. The sudden
freezing over of her features said it all. She too was
shocked.

“
Now do you understand?” Billie
asked her quietly.

Sighing, “All right, this once, just this once—and I
mean
this once—I’ll let you get away with it.” Olympia
shoved the pamphlet back at Billie. “But in the future, I don’t
want any more unpleasant surprises. If you don’t like something, or
decide to take a stand on an issue, you tell me first. Before you
talk to the press. Is that clear?”