Never Too Rich (49 page)

“
All right,” Liza sighed. “Which
shutterbug do you want? Helmut Newton? Skrebneski? Francesco
Scavullo?”

“
None of the above.” Edwina
smiled.

Liza looked surprised. Edwina didn’t want the
priciest and the best? Whom could she possibly want?

“
Do you mind telling me what’s
wrong with any of the above? I would think you’d be panting to get
any one of them.”

“
Don’t get me wrong,” Edwina said.
“They’re fabulous. All of them. But I want Alfredo
Toscani.”

Liza frowned. “Any particular reason why you want
him?”

“
For one thing, I know he can
capture the Edwina G. look. For another, I like his work. Besides,
he’s almost as important as the others—
and
he’s a hair
cheaper, to boot.” Plus, he was the closest thing to a father I
ever had, she thought, but she wasn’t about to lay bare the facts
of her curious childhood for Liza.

“
Fine,” Liza said. “Toscani it
is.”

“
I’ll drink to that!”

They sat back, mutually happy with the way things
had turned out.

The waiter appeared beside the table and eyed
Edwina’s practically untouched plate as if it were a personal
affront. One cocked eyebrow rose sky-high. “Was the lunch not to
madam’s satisfaction?” he inquired.

“
Madam thought it was wonderful,”
Edwina assured him.

He looked at her plate sadly. “Then I may clear it
away?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“
Might I suggest
dessert?”

“
Not for me,” Edwina declined
immediately.

“
Not for me either,” Liza echoed.
But she ordered coffee. “Cappuccino.”

“
Ditto,” said Edwina. Whether you
ate or not, it was only civilized to share a cup of
caffeine.

Liza reached for her purse, then hesitated. “Do you
mind if I smoke?”

“
Do I mind?” Edwina asked. “Hell,
Liza, after what you’re doing for me, feel free to light up an
entire carton and blow it in my face!”

Chapter 50

Despite themselves, Lydia and Boo Boo were beginning
to get caught up in excitement. The creative juices weren’t just
flowing, they were flooding.

“
You know,” Lydia said slowly after
they’d spent an hour exploring the huge house from top to bottom
and end to end, all the time taking notes, “from inside
it’s—”

“—
not all that baaaaad,” Boo Boo
finished for her.

They turned to each other and stared. They stood in
a sunny high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with tall
windows overlooking the surf rolling in from the Atlantic.

“
Mark Hampton or Mario Buatta would
be perfect to do this room,” Boo Boo said dreamily. “Can’t you just
see it? All frills and warm, homey English chintz?”

“
Screw Mark and screw Mario,” Lydia
growled, her narrowed eyes darting around. “This room’s
mine!”

Boo Boo looked taken aback. “Lydia!” she
scolded.

“
Don’t you ‘Lydia’ me!” Lydia
started pacing briskly, her hands gesturing wildly. “I love the
proportions. So magnificent ... so
manorial.”
She stood
there, one hand on her hip, the other arm cocked. “I mean, how can
you go wrong? Boo Boo! Can’t you just see it? All paneled and
painted a glossy deep blue . . . with matching white marble mantels
on these two facing fireplaces . . . tortoiseshell blinds behind
the curtains . . . maybe one of those enormous antique brass
billiard lamps hanging over a draped center table?”

Boo Boo interrupted. “If you’re putting dibs on this
room—”

“
I am,” Lydia snapped sharply.
“It’s
mine.
I mean, we’re in charge, right, Boo Boo? And
since we’re in charge, we’re going to get first choice, so
we’re
going to end up with the plums,” she gloated
triumphantly. “After all, don’t we deserve that?”

Sighing, Boo Boo turned away. She squinted against
the sun flashing reflections off the ocean right outside the
windows. She knew that look in Lydia’s eyes all too well. They were
shining and determined, ruthlessly intractable.

“
Well, I’m not quite sure it’s fair
...” she said slowly, turning back around. “I mean, we’re supposed
to coordinate everyone else and match
them
up with the
appropriate rooms—”

“
All’s fair in love and war, and
decorating a showhouse room
is
war, Boo Boo! Or do you want
someone besides LZ Design LAB to come up smelling like roses? And
besides ...” Lydia tossed her head. “If we have to be in charge of
this horrendous project, then I say we deserve first choice for our
efforts. If you ask me,
that’s
only fair.”

“
You’re right, of course,” Boo Boo
said, brightening perceptibly. “Still, it’ll cause a lot of
resentment,” she mused, frowning again. “Maybe it would be best if
we all drew straws—”

“
Screw straws, Boo Boo! I mean,
what
are
the choice showhouse rooms? Hmmm?”

“
Besides a room like this?” Boo Boo
didn’t even have to think about it. “Living rooms,” she said
automatically. “Studies. Bedrooms.”

“
Right. And logistically, dining
rooms are too simple, no challenge at all, while children’s rooms
are horridly cutesy. And what are the dogs of design?”

“
Kitchens and bathrooms,” Boo Boo
responded promptly.

“
That’s right,” Lydia said smugly.
“So do
you
want to draw straws and chance being stuck
designing a kitchen? Or, worse yet, a
bathroom?
Well? Do
you?”

“
Since you put it that way, quite
honestly, no, I do not. But if you’re going to do this room, then
I’ll do . . . let me see . . .” Boo Boo frowned thoughtfully. “The
library? Brrrr . . .” She shivered in disgust. “All those miles and
miles of
shelves.
All those
books.
No, I rather like
the idea of doing the master bedroom myself. The entire suite. But
not,” she added darkly, “the his-and-her baths.”

“
Good! Then we’re
agreed!”

“
But who gets the sitting room? And
the smoking room? And the . . . Lydia! Do you have any idea of just
how many rooms this house has? We must have gone through forty or
fifty!”

“
More like sixty, but don’t worry,
darling! You know how many decorators there are in New York. More
than there are clients.

Anyway, the way I see it is: our friends, the
deserving competition, and people we owe favors to will get to do
the nice rooms.”

“
And the ones we don’t like get
stuck with the strangely shaped ones, with all those odd bays and
impossible angles, as well as the bathrooms and kitchens!” Boo Boo
said smugly.

“
That’s right!” Lydia crowed
gleefully.

“
And best of all,” Boo Boo
murmured, “I’ve got a whole list of decorators who were nasty to me
when I first started out in this business. It’s payback time!” she
sang.

“
And remember the time Robert and
Vincent wooed away the van Diamonts after all the time we spent
working on that house?” Lydia reminded her.
“Stole
them?”

“
Do I ever!
They’ll
get a
windowless bathroom.”

“
If they’re lucky. And how about
the time Juan Pablo bought that Regency dining-room set right out
from under us?”

Boo Boo nodded. “He deserves a long, bleak dark hall
for that.”

“
And what about two years ago, when
Albert was assigned the bedroom we wanted to do in that Connecticut
showhouse? Do you remember how you smarted?”

“
How I smarted! You nearly cried.
But since he’s a partner of Parrish-Hadley, and Sister Parrish
is
still the doyenne of decorating, and a power to be
reckoned with, we have to be nice to him.”

“
I know. Too bad, isn’t it? But
we’ll only be nice to whomever we have to be nice to.
Agreed?”

“
Agreed!” Boo Boo cried. “Isn’t
this all too exciting?”

“
It’s
wonderfully
exciting!”
Lydia responded joyfully. “And it just goes to show that what goes
around—”

“—
comes around,” Boo Boo finished
smugly for her.

“
Now, let’s get out of here. I’m
dusty, hungry, and parched.”

“
And I need a drink. Let’s stop off
at the Post House before we head back into the city. It’s the least
Anouk can do for us, don’t you think?”

Chapter 51

For Billie Dawn, making love with Duncan Cooper for
the first time was a major step in recovery. The haunting gang rape
at the hands of the Satan’s Warriors had been almost a year
earlier. Although she would never be without the mental scars, what
had happened then belonged to another lifetime entirely.

So much had happened since. So many good things:
Olympia Arpel had taken her under her wing and was boss, guidance
counselor, and a dear, caring friend—even though they might
disagree from time to time about assignments Billie would refuse to
accept because of her growing self-confidence, independence, and
interests in animal-rights causes; the modeling career had
skyrocketed her to fame, fortune, and the covers of every major
fashion magazine; and, last but not least she had a steady
boyfriend—up until now a platonic lover—who not only cared for her
deeply and worshiped the very ground she walked upon, but who had
saved her ruined face.

It was as if she’d suddenly gained a host of
guardian angels.

Bad things had happened, as well. The knowledge that
Snake was still out there gnawed constantly at the back of her
mind. And worst of all had been the terrible discovery of her
temporary roommate, Obi Kuti, brutally murdered in the high-rise
apartment they’d shared.

She often thought: It could have been me. What if
I’d been at home instead of on a modeling assignment?

After Obi’s murder, she hadn’t been able to sleep in
that apartment another night, and when Duncan proposed she move
into one of the empty bedrooms in his town house, she’d gladly
availed herself of the offer. Not to snare Duncan; she knew in her
heart of hearts that he was already hers. But somehow, she felt she
would feel safest there, with him.

Another complication had arisen from Obi’s murder:
Billie had become afraid to go out by herself, and would do so only
when she had to. She never walked anywhere, and never took subways,
buses, or even cabs—at Olympia’s wise insistence, she went door to
door by limousine. Otherwise, she kept herself locked up in the
town house.

The town house was her fortress, her keep, her
self-imposed prison.

Slowly her life seemed to slip into a steady,
reassuring pattern, although when she wanted some fresh air, she
went no further than the garden out back.

It was not a healthy existence, and Duncan was
worried. He insisted she couldn’t stay locked up in the town house
forever. “Leaving every day just to go to work is neither
physically nor mentally healthy,” he’d told her one morning. “I’ve
got nothing scheduled today, and it’s a beautiful Saturday. Come
on, put on your best dress. We’re going to do some shopping, have
lunch, do some more shopping, and then have dinner.”

She’d demurred.

He was insistent. “You have to get out, and I’ll be
with you every moment. I’ll make sure nothing and no one hurts
you,” he promised, and added forcefully, “Not today. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.”

How could she refuse him? She loved him—even if,
until now, it had been a love without physical fulfillment.

“
I’ll say one thing for you, you
don’t give up easily,” she’d murmured, but she was secretly
pleased, and smiled. “Who do you think you are, my
protector?”

“
Your everything,” he’d declared
staunchly. “Now, let’s get cracking. I’ll give you twenty minutes
to get ready.”

She must have really wanted to get out—she was ready
in a record fourteen.

They’d decided to “do” Lexington Avenue. “Everybody
does Madison, or Columbus,” Duncan declared.

It was an afternoon she’d remember forever. Sunny
and brisk and tailor-made for being out-of-doors. She wondered how
she’d ever managed to keep herself cooped up all this time.

On foot, they hit all the shops between the Sixties
and Nineties. At Philippe Farley they explored all four enticing
floors of superb antiques and tapestries. At Leslie Eisenberg Folk
Art Gallery they marveled over all the Americana, from cigar-store
Indians to weather vanes to figureheads from ships. At Ages Past,
Duncan insisted on buying her a pair of exorbitantly expensive
Staffordshire whippets.

“
What’s money?” he’d countered her
protests and, laden with the two boxes, they’d taken a break and
gone into Succés La Côte Basque, and with cappuccino had slices of
the house specialty, a gluttonous meringue torte layered with mocha
cream, chocolate ganache, whipped cream, and nuts.

Then it was over to the Ice Studio, the East Side’s
favorite indoor ice-skating rink, where, wobbling on their skates
with shrieks of laughter and delight, she and Duncan worked off the
calorie-laden cake.

Legs aching from the exertion, they gladly turned in
their skates and window-shopped some more. Often people on the
street stared openly at Billie, especially women, some of them
doing double-takes. Obviously they recognized her face from the
recent spate of magazine covers.