Susan Phillips - Glitter Baby

“There’s some gossip floating around I think you should hear about,” he said. “Somebody’s going out of their way to remind people of those broken modeling contracts you left behind when you fled the country.”

She rubbed her eyes and tried to sound unconcerned. “That’s old news. Isn’t there anything better to gossip about?”

“It’s lousy PR for a woman trying to start a business based on client trust.”

He didn’t need to spell it out for her. The implication was clear. If she’d broken contracts before, she’d do it again. She could think of only one reason for those stories to resurface now. Alexi had made his next move.

The young singer didn’t show up for lunch, a message Fleur had no trouble interpreting. She got back to the office in time to take a call from Olivia Creighton.

“I’ve been hearing some terrible stories about you, Fleur. I’m sure none of them are true, and you know how I adore you, but after what happened with poor Doris Day and all her money, a woman can’t be too careful. I’m not comfortable with instability.”

“Of course not.” Fleur thought of the six antique Baccarat goblets and case of Pouilly Fuissé Olivia had sent her just the week before to celebrate her contract for Dragon’s Bay. Now the celebration was over. She made a lunch date for Olivia to meet David Bennis With his leather elbow patches and his smelly pipe, he radiated stability better than anyone, and Fleur hoped he could reassure Olivia, but as she headed for David’s office, she didn’t like the feeling that she was once again using someone else to solve her problems.

Later that day, she found Michel in the second floor of a converted factory in Astoria, where weary seamstresses were working on the garments for his collection. He had less than seven weeks left, and he was exhausted from the strain of trying to get everything together so quickly. She wished she didn’t have to add to his worries, but she couldn’t postpone telling him what was happening any longer. By now, Alexi understood exactly how important the success of Michel’s collection was to her, and she didn’t need a crystal ball to figure out where he’d try to strike next.

Michel straightened the scarf she’d tied at the neck of her white cashmere sheath. He had to reach up to do it because she was wearing the stiletto heels that were a standard part of her business wardrobe ever since she’d realized her height sometimes worked to her advantage. She told him about the missing invitations and the fire. Michel listened in silence. When she got to the end, she squeezed his arm. “As of tonight, I’m putting this workroom under twenty-four-hour guard.”

He looked physically ill. “Do you really think he’ll go after the samples?”

“I’m sure of it. Destroying the samples before you can show them is the way he can do the most damage.”

He gazed around the workroom. “If we make it through this, there’ll be something else.”

“I know.” She rubbed her cheek. “Let’s hope he gets bored. There’s not much else we can do.”

Jake settled into the attic a few days after the party, but he didn’t spend much time there the first week, opting instead to stay in his townhouse in the Village and attend rehearsals of a revival of one of his older plays. Once Fleur heard his footsteps late at night as she fell asleep. Two days later, she heard the sound of water running, but she never heard a typewriter.

To her consternation, word immediately got out that she’d be representing Jake’s so far nonexistent future literary endeavors. The last thing anyone in his West Coast office wanted was for her to succeed at what they hadn’t been able to accomplish, and she suspected they were responsible for the leak. That, coupled with continued stories about her broken modeling contracts, was chipping away at the small amount of credibility she’d been able to build up. A well-established actor and rising young writer she’d been close to signing both backed off, and Olivia was getting increasingly skittish.

As the second week of October arrived, Jake began spending more nights in the attic apartment, but Fleur never saw him and never once heard the sound of a typewriter. Acting on the theory that exercise improves creativity and would, at the least, get him out of bed in the morning, she started pushing notes under his door inviting him to join her on her daily run. One crisp fall morning, three weeks after they’d sealed their deal, she came outside to find him sitting on the front step waiting for her.

He wore a gray UCLA sweatshirt, navy sweatpants, and beat-up Adidas. As he spotted her, his pouty bottom lip curled in a smile, and her heart gave an alarming hiccup. When she was a kid, just the sight of him had made her melt, but all he meant to her now was a business deal, and she’d never let him get to her like that again. She took the three front steps in one leap and ran past him.

“You never heard of warming up?” he called out from behind her.

“Don’t need it. I’m already hot.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Think you can keep up with me, cowboy?”

“Ain’t met a woman yet who could outrun me,” he replied, all full of sagebrush and buffalo chips.

“I don’t know about that. Seems to me you’ve been living a pretty indolent life.”

He drew up next to her. “Playing basketball three afternoons a week with a bunch of inner city teenagers who call me ‘mister’ isn’t exactly taking it easy.”

She sidestepped a muddy puddle and headed west, toward Central Park. “I’m surprised you can keep up at your advanced age.”

“I can’t. My knees are shot, and I can’t jump anymore, so I usually get pulled from the game before the third quarter is over. They only put up with me because I bought the uniforms.”

As they slipped around a delivery truck blocking the sidewalk, Fleur thought about how much she liked Jake’s self-deprecating sense of humor. Next to his body, it was the best thing about him. His body and his no-nonsense masculinity. And his face. She loved his face. What she didn’t love was his manipulative behavior and two-bit morality. He’d taken her to the mountaintop, then shoved her off. But she couldn’t keep rehashing the past. She had a job to do, and she’d left him alone long enough. “I haven’t noticed a typewriter banging away over my head since you moved in.”

“Don’t push me, okay?” His face closed up.

She thought for a moment and decided to take a risk. “I’m having a dinner party on Saturday night. Why don’t you come?” She’d was just getting around to throwing the party she and Kissy had discussed at the open house, the one that would allow Michel and Simon to get to know each other. Being among congenial people might be a good first step toward loosening Jake up. And the others would entertain him so she wouldn’t have to.

“Sorry, Flower, but formal dinner parties aren’t my thing.”

“It’s not exactly formal. The guests cook. It’ll just be Michel, Simon Kale, and Kissy. I invited Charlie Kincannon, but he’s going to be out of town.”

“Do you really know somebody named Kissy?”

“I guess you didn’t meet her at Charlie’s beach party. She’s my best friend. Although…” She hesitated. “It might be best not to walk into any dark rooms with her.”

“An interesting comment to make about a friend. Care to explain?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” They shot past a woman walking a pair of Chihuahuas. “Pick up the pace. One of us has to work today.”

They ran for a while without talking. Finally Jake looked over at her. “My publicist sent me some press clippings I just got around to reading. You and I were a pretty hot item in the New York gossip columns at the end of the summer.”

“Really?” Those columns had appeared more than two months ago. She’d wondered when he’d get around to mentioning them.

“You’re not a good enough actress to pull off the innocent act.”

“Sure I am.”

He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her to a stop. “You planted those stories.”

“I needed the publicity.”

His chest rose and fell under his T-shirt as he steadied his breathing. “You know how I feel about my privacy.”

“Technically I didn’t violate your privacy since none of the stories were true.”

He didn’t crack a smile. “I don’t like cheap tricks.”

“That’s funny. I thought you invented them.”

His mouth tightened in an unfriendly line. “Keep my name out of the newspapers, Fleur. Consider this your only warning.” He turned away and took off across the street.

“I’m not your publicist, remember?” she called out after him. “All I represent is your pathetic literary career.”

He picked up his pace and didn’t look back.

To Fleur’s surprise, Jake was the first to arrive for her Saturday night dinner party, knocking on the door at precisely eight o’clock. Although she’d taken the precaution of tucking a few bottles of Mexican beer in the refrigerator, she hadn’t really expected him to show up. He wore semirespectable dark gray slacks and a lighter gray long-sleeved dress shirt that made his eyes seem bluer. He thrust a gift-wrapped package into her hands as he took in her ivory wool trousers and copper silk blouse. “Don’t you ever look bad?”

She frowned at the package. “Should I call the bomb squad?”

“Stop being a wise-ass and open it.”

She pulled off the gift wrap to reveal a fresh new copy of The Joy of Cooking. “Just what I’ve always not wanted.”

“I knew you’d love it.”

He followed her into the kitchen, and she put the cookbook on the counter. Considering her limited personal resources, she loved how welcoming everything looked. She’d waxed the old harvest table until the dark wood shone. At a secondhand store, she’d found a chipped bean pot that she’d filled with chrysanthemums to use as a centerpiece. The store had also yielded up a charming set of faded tan and olive checked tea towels for placemats. She smelled Jake’s clean shirt and toothpaste as he came up behind her. She started as his hands lifted the back of her hair and touched her neck just beneath the collar of her blouse.

“Jeez, you’re jumpy.” Something small and cool settled between her breasts. She looked down and saw a trumpet-shaped blue and green enamel flower hanging on a thin gold chain. Tiny diamonds sparkled on the blossoms like dew. As she turned to him, she glimpsed something soft and unguarded in his expression. The present slipped away, and for a moment it seemed as if they’d returned to the time when things were easy between them. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You didn’t have to-”

“No big deal. It’s a morning glory. I’ve noticed that’s not your best time of day.” He turned away, ending the moment.

The morning glory charm slipped from her fingers. Just for a moment, she’d let down her guard. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

“How’s come I don’t smell food?” he said. “Should I be worried?”

“The cook hasn’t arrived yet,” she replied lightly.

Right on cue, the front buzzer rang, and she hurried to open it.

“I’ve brought my own knives,” Michel said. Tonight he wore khakis and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt with a narrow piece of what had once been a man’s striped necktie sewn diagonally across the chest. He headed for the kitchen. “I found these wonderful grapes at this little hole-in-the-wall off Canal Street. Did you go to the fish market I told you about for the halibut?”

“Aye, aye, sir.” As he set the grocery bag on the counter, she saw how tired he looked, and she was glad she’d planned this evening for him. He spotted Jake.

“Michel, you remember Jake Koranda. I disarmed him at the door, so feel free to insult him as much as you want.”

Jake smiled and shook hands with Michel.

Simon arrived five minutes later. As luck would have it, he’d seen every Caliber picture and barely noticed Michel in his eagerness to talk with Jake. Michel, in the meantime, was getting ready to cook and treating Fleur to a long list of mishaps he was absolutely convinced would ruin his collection. In terms of matchmaking, the evening wasn’t getting off to a promising start.

Kissy appeared and headed for the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, but Charlie called me from Chicago just as I was leaving.”

“Things must be improving,” Fleur said. “At least you’re talking again.”

Kissy looked glum. “I think I’ve lost my touch. No matter what I do, he-” She broke off as she saw Jake leaning against the counter. “Ohmygod.”

Fleur rescued a spoon Michel had dropped. “Kissy, meet Jake Koranda. Jake, Kissy Sue Christie.”

Kissy was all gumdrop eyes and candy apple mouth as she stared up at Jake. An oil slick of a grin spread over his face. Kissy looked like a kindergarten snack. “My pleasure.” She smiled her dippy what’s-your-name-sailor-boy smile, and Jake puffed up like a rooster.