The Golden Girl (11 page)

M
adison burned the candle at both ends. She was developing a theory—one so bizarre she refused to share it with Troy. She barely could acknowledge it in her own mind. She pored over records and combed the Internet researching the Russian mob, in particular the Kremlin Killers, as well as going to the New York Public Library to take out several books on the Pruitt-family kidnapping.

In between all that, she had her new agenda as CEO. She had a press conference on Tuesday morning, and she was fielding more phone calls than ever. Ryan Greene sent her an enormous flower arrangement as a token of “congratulations” on her new position, though his note was sweet enough to comment that he wished the appointment was under less stressful circumstances.

She called to thank him.

“It was nothing.”

“Ten orchids and sprays of lilies of the valley, flown in from Hawaii at this time of year, aren’t nothing. So just accept my thanks. Though I’m sure you’re buttering me up so you can fight me over property I want in the Meatpacking district—the old beef plant I hear we both want. I’m going to put up a hotel.”

“You wound me, dear Madison. Can’t one friend send another friend flowers without it meaning I’m trying to gain the upper hand?”

“Not when it’s you, dear, sweet, conniving Ryan.” She knew he was capable of utter ruthlessness. More than one Pruitt & Pruitt employee had come to her firm after being fired by Ryan Greene, usually for reasons so preposterous Madison would laugh.

“You flatter me. Hey…in all seriousness, congratulations, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You going to Ellie Richardson’s thing on Thursday?”

“Yes.” The Senator Richardson fund-raiser, with a Christmas theme, would be the kickoff of the holiday season’s whirl of social activities.

“Want to go together?”

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“You?”

“Am I that hard up?”

“You’re stunning, darling, it’s just I can’t recall your last date during the social season.”

“Well, I have one.”

“Who is it? Julian Knight from Keller and Knight?”

“No.”

“Keith Swanson—the guy running the gallery?”

“He’d be more likely to ask you out.”

“He’s gay?”

“Yeah. You must have no gaydar, my friend.”

“All right. No more guessing. Just fess up.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Hmm. You’re being very mysterious. You know you’re making me jealous.”

“I doubt it. But I’ll see you Thursday.”

“See you Thursday. And you can be sure I’ll try to steal you away from your date.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Thursday lunch, Madison met her father at the intimate restaurant Chez Bella. He was waiting when she arrived, and she bent down to kiss his cheek as she reached his table.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi.” He motioned to the chair opposite and then waved a waiter over.

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt?”

“Madison, what will you have?”

“A Perrier with a twist.”

The waiter nodded and discreetly disappeared.

“Dad?” Madison said as she settled in her chair.

“Hmm?”

“Dad, did your family ever talk about your brother’s kidnapping?”

“Well, that’s an odd lunch topic. Why would you bring that up? It’s ancient history. Before I was even born, honey.”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. Such a weird chapter in the family history.”

“Well, we didn’t really talk about it. Bing was the oldest, and I doubt he remembers much either—other than he once said he remembered being assigned bodyguards. Off-duty cops. But, your grandmother had a nervous breakdown, and it was just understood that it wasn’t something to talk about. At least not in front of her.”

“The man who did it…he always said he was innocent.”

“Yeah.” Her father nodded. “He was a Russian immigrant. He swore his confession was both coerced and without the benefit of an interpreter.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, there was overwhelming evidence against him, Madison. The ransom money. Baby William’s clothes buried in his backyard.”

She nodded. Looking at her father closely, she didn’t detect any nervousness. But, like her, he was used to staring down enemies across the negotiating table. Never let ’em see you sweat was his mantra.

“Okay. I was just curious.”

“Now I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“Do you have any plans to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Madison flushed for a minute. “How would you know about that?”

“My tailor, dear. You women have your hairstylists, we have our tailors.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “Who knew there was a tailor code of honor?”

“More like a fatherly one. Morris has a daughter around your age.”

“Great,” Madison said unenthusiastically.

“Well? Who is he?”

“Let’s drop it. You won’t approve.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, he’s poor.”

“So? I’ve met enough rich assholes for one lifetime. It takes more than money to impress me. What does he do?”

“There’s the other thing. He’s a teacher, not a captain of industry.”

“So what do
you
like about him?”

“I can’t believe we’re having an honest conversation here.”

“Well, if Claire’s death taught me anything, it’s that life is short. So what do you like about him, Madison?”

“It’s hard to put into words. He’s honest and principled. He’s more concerned with making a difference than just…things. You know, money. Whatever. He didn’t let his upbringing—poverty, gangs, all of it—define him. He’s different, Dad.”

“Gangs?” Her father arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll form my own opinion. Maybe the three of us could have dinner sometime.”

“Um…sure. I figured you’d be against the relationship because of the difference in our backgrounds.”

“I have a little more integrity than that, Madison. Give me a little more credit. And give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry. His name is John Hernandez. And when I’m with him, the whole world seems very far away.”

Jack’s eyes grew moist.

“What, Dad?”

“Eh…Madison, I never had that—except with Claire—and that was marred by knowing I had hurt you. Your mother and I…we never should have married. You know that. We were like oil and water. And I regret that we dragged you through the divorce of the century. I guess I thought, because you’re such a workaholic like your old man, that we’d ruined you as far as love was concerned. I guess I’m just gratified that love found you anyway.”

Madison reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I guess it did.”

If Madison thought the sight of John in her bed drove her mad, the sight of him in a tuxedo left her breathless.

“Well?” He cocked an eyebrow at her as he stood in her doorway.

“Oh, my God, you’re so handsome, John.”

He smiled and stepped into the foyer, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. “And you look stunning.”

“This old thing?” she joked, stepping away from him and twirling around in her Dolce & Gabbana. A rich emerald color, she bought the dress because she knew she would stand out in the sea of black—and it matched her eyes. It clung to every curve, and the back dipped down to the small of her spine, revealing her creamy complexion, smooth and perfect.

“Can we skip this thing and just stay home?” John asked.

“Afraid not. It would be in very bad form.”

“All right then, I guess our carriage awaits us, fair lady.”

He presented the crook of his arm, and she linked arms with him, feeling light, despite the confusion swirling around in her life. Madison realized what she’d told her father was true. When she was around John, she forgot the rest of the world.

Downstairs, Charlie waited with the limousine. He gave her a mischievous look, a playful wink that said he approved of her handsome date.

“John Hernandez, this is Charlie, my protector and driver and all-around friend.”

John shook hands with Charlie. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you. It’s good to see Madison out at this hour, instead of me driving to the office to pick her up from a fourteen-hour day. Not to mention she usually has a briefcase full of papers anyway.”

Madison and John climbed into the limousine. Charlie slid behind the wheel, and soon they were easing out into traffic and heading to the Waldorf-Astoria. The ballroom had been reserved for the senator’s fund-raiser. A long line of limousines snaked along the street, waiting to discharge the glittering and glamorous guests. Paparazzi had staked out a spot to snap pictures as everyone who was anyone in Manhattan disembarked on the sidewalk. However, they were hoping for a shot of Kiki or someone willing to play into their search for sex and scandal. Madison was starting to be old news, a fact she was grateful for.

When Madison and John finally arrived at the entrance, they stepped out of the limousine and entered the venerable hotel and New York institution.

Around Thanksgiving, most of the hotels, the Fifth Avenue stores and the city as a whole started ringing in the holiday season. An infectious holiday mood arrived along with the Muzak of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” The city embraced the holiday season with everything from wreaths suspended from light poles and hotel awnings, to holiday displays in every storefront window.

The Waldorf was no exception. A tall tree rose two stories high in the lobby, decorated with Victorian-themed Christmas ornaments. It shined and gleamed, with an assortment of colorful wrapped presents beneath it.

A smaller tree—also Victorian themed—had an entire feather motif, and was festooned with decorations mimicking ones from Victorian times made from ornate bird feathers, from peacocks to egrets.

“Wow,” John whispered. “I usually have a Charlie Brown tree from the lot down the street.”

“You’re one up on me. I never have a tree. Too busy at work to even enjoy it, let alone remember to water it. Last year, I worked Christmas Day.”

“Not this year, angel. We’re spending it together.”

Madison smiled at the thought. John smiled, too.

“See, the decorations make you feel like a kid again, don’t they?” Madison said.

“Not really. When I was a kid, we didn’t have anything like this. Ever. But it does get you into the spirit of things.”

They made their way to the ballroom. It was arrayed before them like a postcard. The centerpieces on each table were miniature evergreen topiaries decorated in silver Christmas ornaments. Silver and gold festooned the room. The chairs were draped with white silk cloth and tied with gold sashes. Crystal goblets glistened under the immense chandelier, and the band was playing background music—a Cole Porter song.

Couples mingled in the area reserved for cocktails. Men in tuxedos and women in their finest clutched flutes of champagne and martini and wine glasses.

John clutched her hand at the sight of the vice president’s wife, Anne Kelly, a fiery redhead with green eyes, who was charmingly outspoken and had enlivened the Washington, D.C., social scene. She waved to Madison.

“You know her?” he whispered.

“Anne? Yeah. She and Vice President Kelly own an apartment on the twelfth floor of my building. Lovely. They have a cute Jack Russell terrier named Barney. I sometimes walk him in the park—borrow him on Saturdays when I feel like I need a little fresh air.”

“Man, do I feel out of place. Anne Kelly. I wish she’d run for president. I feel like…everyone knows I don’t belong. Bet I’m the only guy here with a tattoo covering his entire upper biceps.”

Madison turned to face him. “Bet you’re the only guy here with biceps that look sexy enough to
have
that tattoo.” She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear, “I also bet
no one
else is as good in bed as you are…or has the kind soul you have. So screw them all and let’s have a good time, then go home and make love all night long.” She leaned back to look him in the eye, winked at him and hoped he would relax. She was rewarded with a grin.

“Anything for you, angel. I aim to please.”

“And you do, darling. You do…. Well, time to meet and greet,” Madison said. They approached the receiving line, and waited patiently to say hello to Senator Richardson, who was solo this evening. Her husband, a departmental political-science chair from Colombia University, was keynoting at a United Nations function. Senator Richardson was dressed in a black ball gown with a sweeping train. She was older, with honey-blonde hair tinged with frosted highlights, but her figure was still petite and trim.

“Madison, dear,” Ellie greeted her.

“Hello, Senator…. I’d like you to meet John Hernandez.”

“John, a pleasure.”

John extended a hand.

“Are you from the Palm Beach Hernandez family?”

“No.” He grinned sardonically. “I’m from the Spanish Harlem and Bronx Hernandez family.”

The senator, a consummate politician, didn’t bat an eye or miss a beat. “Good…I carried those districts in the election, you know.”

John nodded. “I was one of the people who voted for you…. But I won’t again unless education funding goes up.” He winked at her, and she laughed.

“Madison, seems I have a constituent to appease.”

“Yes, ma’am. And he’s a tough customer. A teacher at the Harlem Charter School for Excellence.”

“I’ve heard of it. We’ll have to talk, John. And I’ll have to do my best to see school funding isn’t shortchanged by the Washington bureaucrats. And Madison, please give your father my regards.”

“Of course.”

Madison and John moved away from the senator, passing her security detail, who all had on earpieces.

“Look,” John squeezed Madison’s hand, “there’s CeCe Goldberg and Cara Phillips.”

CeCe was a major anchor/producer for a network newsmagazine. Cara was another on-air talent, a blonde with a penchant for sleeping her way to the top—at least that was the rumor Ash and the Gotham Roses had whispered on to Maddie.

“Let’s avoid CeCe, if you don’t mind. Her show is planning on doing a segment on Claire’s murder. I really don’t need her pumping me for quotes. She’s a bit of a shark.”