A Rush to Violence (24 page)

“Your mother was so good to buy you that diamond brooch just before she died,” Carla said.

“She knew I had my eye on it.”

“And the matching diamond necklace and bracelet. So kind of her.”

“I regret not receiving the ring I repeatedly told her I admired, but you’re right. She wanted to leave me with something else to remember her by. She appreciated my devotion to jewelry. She always encouraged it. And she was generous enough to gift me a collection that many envy and which might save us in the end if I have to part with it.” She lifted the martini to her lips and glanced at Carla in the mirror. “Not that I plan to.”

They shared a smile.

Later, when Sophia was dressed, she decided to wear the very necklace and bracelet Carla mentioned earlier. The brooch was too large for the dress she was wearing, even for new money like the Pepperfaults. But these pieces alone would set her apart from them. They were museum pieces from the twenties. The Pepperfaults would assume they were part of her private collection, which had been in the family for years, likely purchased new when they first appeared on the market one hundred years ago. They’d think it was old and they’d become dizzy with the fact that Sophia Miller of
the
Miller family was dining with them at their table with her old jewelry.

It’s the touch that makes the difference
, she thought.

She turned in front of a mirror, decided she needed a second opinion and called for Carla, who came into her dressing room and, when she saw Sophia, lifted her hands to her mouth. “Oh my Lord & Taylor, you look divoon.”

“Is it too much?”

“Is it ever too much?”

“Well, sometimes it is…”

“Not this time. You look beautiful, Sophia. They might write you a check just for showing up like that.”

“If only that was all it took.”

They giggled.

“Give me a few minutes to touch up my makeup and I’ll be down.”

When Carla left, Sophia reapplied her lipstick, blotted it, checked her face, her hair and her eyes, and left the room satisfied.

She was about to leave the house when the telephone rang. She knew her driver was waiting for her, but she nevertheless paused to hear who it was. She heard Carla say, “Grace, it’s so nice to hear from you.” And because Sophia didn’t want to speak to Grace right now—if she did, they’d be on the phone for hours, which usually was the case because they were close—she moved toward the foyer.

Carla entered the hallway from the parlor and stopped her.

“Sophia,” she said.

Sophia turned. “What is it?”

“Grace is on the line. She’s calling about Scott.”

She felt a start. She and her eldest brother were as close as she and Grace. She knew well enough to know that when you’re calling
about
someone, it never was good news. “What about him?”

Carla shook her head. She held out the phone and put the back of her hand over her mouth. “He passed,” she said.

“Passed what?”

“No, no. He
passed
. He and Grace were talking on the phone. She heard him collapse. She rushed over and found him dead.” She put the phone in Sophia’s hand, which was trembling. “Talk to her. Grace is with him now. She needs you over there straightaway.
Straightaway!
”

* * *

When Sophia hurried out the door and into her waiting car, Carla called the Pepperfaults to extend Sophia’s regrets that she couldn’t make dinner because her brother had just died. They were devastated. The froth of regrets that were unleashed upon Carla to convey to Sophia almost made Carla want to hurl, but she held up and listened to them as graciously as she could because that was her job.

“Yes, yes. Right, right. It might be days, but she’ll call.”

She hung up the phone with a roll of her eyes, went to the bar, made herself a martini and thought about Scott. She never really liked him because he was a closeted homosexual who didn’t have the balls to come clean with it, in spite of the fact that he pretty much announced it each time he opened his mouth or smoked one of those ridiculous pastel Sobranie Cocktail cigarettes he enjoyed.

Once, years ago while on vacation at the Miller estate on Grindstone Neck, each got a little tipsy over drinks at the famed Asticou Inn and decided to have a go of it in one of the restrooms. To this day, she could remember the disappointment that crossed Scott’s face when he saw that one of Carla’s several operations included the removal of Carl’s penis. When he was faced with what appeared to be a vagina, that was it. Awkwardly, they dressed, he mumbled something she couldn’t understand and then he left quickly so they wouldn’t be seen leaving the bathroom together.

Tacky
, she thought then.
Hilarious
, she thought now.

Back in her prime, Carla could have had any man she wanted, and did. As a man, she had a lithe body and a beautiful, feminine-looking face that lent itself more to being a woman than it ever did to being a man. Operations aside, her transition into becoming a woman had been relatively easy. The only reason she lowered herself to hook up with someone as unattractive as Scott Miller was to blackmail him for money if Sophia ever got tired of her.

She looked at her watch and felt a little thrill when she realized that for her, Scott Miller’s death actually was something of a gift.

She dropped an extra olive into her martini, turned off a few lamps and started for the staircase. As she usually did when she knew that Sophia would be out for period of time, she went upstairs to Sophia’s dressing room with plans to try on her clothes, her shoes and especially her jewels.

She got undressed and layered herself in Sophia’s perfume, which she loved because of its lilac and heather undertones, but which she’d need to shower off before Sophia returned.

She tried on the new Givenchy evening gown Sophia recently purchased in Paris and, pairing it with strapless Dior heels, she walked around Sophia Miller’s dressing room with her martini in hand while she admired herself in the clutch of mirrors that encompassed the room. She really was a knockout, even at her age. Few ever would know she once was a man.

She put her hand to her throat and wondered which jewels to choose? Certainly, the teardrop sapphire necklace, which would complement the color of the dress. And maybe to mix it up she’d select the ten-carat emerald-cut canary diamond ring she loved so much. As for earrings, she’d wear the matching sapphire teardrops, which always worked to bring out the blue in her tinted blue contacts.

She went to Sophia’s wall safe, entered the code and took out several boxes, each of which held a treasure from Sophia’s mother. She put on the jewels and then went to look at herself in front of the mirrors. Perfect. She turned to glance down at her ass, which had held up nicely due to the implants she added two years ago with Sophia’s financial assistance. She smoothed her hands over them and when she did, she heard a knock at the front door.

Carla stopped. Listened. Nothing but silence for a moment—then the knock came again, only more aggressive this time.

She downed the rest of her martini and wasn’t sure what to do. It could be one of Sophia’s other brothers or sisters who had recently gotten the news and was so rattled, he or she made the mistake of coming here.

She had to answer the door, but taking off the dress, jewels, and shoes would take time she didn’t have. She’d have to answer the door like this. Steeling herself for whatever fallout would occur when Sophia learned that Carla was dressing in her clothes, she rushed down the staircase and hurried to the door.

She peeked through the peephole and saw nothing but the tree-lined sidewalk and cars going by on the street. But the knock came again and when Carla asked who it was, it was Camille Miller who announced herself.

Carla opened the door and was shocked to find Camille standing there with her hard eyes and a hood pulled over short blonde hair. She thought she had returned to Paris with Emma. With her was a man. Muscular and swarthy, just like Carla liked them. Together, she watched them size her up, which made Carla straighten a little.

“Hello, Camille.”

“Carla.”

“I thought you’d be back in Paris.”

“Not quite yet. Is Sophia around? I’d like to speak to her. It’s important.”

She’d be damned if she was going to tell Camille that her brother was dead.
Let her find out on her own.
“Your sister is having dinner with friends. I don’t expect her back until late.”

“Judging by how you’re dressed, that’s clear. Do you always wear my sister’s clothes and jewels when she’s out of the house?”

“I have permission to do whatever I like.”

“I wonder if Sophia knows that.”

“Of course, she does. We’ve been a team for more than three decades. She’s pleased that she’s in the position to make me happy.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Sophia I know.”

“That’s because you don’t know her, just as none of us know you.”

Camille cocked her head to the side. “I’m sorry, Carla, but when did you become a member of the family?”

“Let’s just say long before you became a blonde.” She looked at the man standing next to Camille. “Who’s he?”

“A friend of mine.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Most people do.”

“Are you going to introduce us?”

“Carla, this is Sam. Sam, this is Carla, who used to be Carl. Years ago, when Carla was Carl, he met my sister and they bonded over martinis at Studio 54. Then Carl became Carla and my sister employed her as her assistant, whose perks allegedly include the permission to wear my sister’s clothes, shoes and jewelry.”

Sam rolled back on the heels of his feet and nodded. “Sounds complicated.”

Carla started to close the door. “If you want to see Sophia, it’ll have to be tomorrow.”

“One last question,” Camille said. “Have you seen Emma tonight?”

“Why would I ever see Emma? You’ve kept her from your family since the day she was born.”

“Just asking,” Camille said. “Now, go and have a nice soak in Sophia’s tub, Carla. Use her pricey products to scrub away whatever’s left of the old Carl. Bathe yourself in luxury while she still has it for you to steal. Make an effort to overlook all those unfortunate scars that crisscross your body. If you’ve stuck by her this long, you deserve it. I’ll give you that. And better yet, if you hurry, you still have time to do so before she returns.”

* * *

On the street, Camille and Sam moved toward the park, which was just ahead of them.

For a moment, they said nothing. Camille lifted the duffel bag higher on her shoulder while Sam stepped to her right to offer her the concealment he knew she wanted.

A couple walking a dog turned the corner onto West Seventieth and started to move toward them. She and Sam kept their heads lowered until they passed. It was nearly ten o’clock and there was no sign that the city was slowing down. The streets were alive with traffic and the summer air was heavy with the scent of rubber, oil, gasoline, tar and, from the park, the hint of something fresh struggling to cut through, but failing nevertheless. The humidity was too high and there was no breeze to allow it to break free.

“Carla was a man?” Sam said.

“Hard to believe, but true.”

“Didn’t expect that.”

“I doubt if Carl’s parents did, either.”

“You never know.”

“That’s true.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. They hadn’t shared that kind of rhythm in years, but when they were at their best, that’s how they’d been in their youth. She reached out a hand and placed in on his cheek. He leaned into it. She’d been hard on him. There was nothing to say. No apologies to make. The gesture alone let him know everything she wanted him to know. She was grateful for his help. Even if they had only another day together, she was happy to be with him again.

“Where to now?” he asked.

“Emma could be anywhere. The next closest house is Tyler’s. He’s five blocks up on Seventy-Fifth. Let’s try there and see if we have any luck.”

But when they arrived at Tyler’s, they were told by his butler, Harvey, that he was out.

“Do you happen to know where he went, Harvey?”

The man, who was somewhere in his late sixties and as polished as she’d expect from her brother, who embraced the full weight of the Miller name and made every effort to keep up the expected appearances that came along with it, looked down at Camille and chose his words carefully. “Anastassios Fondaras is in town with that yacht of his,” he said. “Mr. Miller was invited to have a private dinner with him and a few other friends while he’s in town.”

“Fondaras does private dinners? Since when?”

“Leana Redman is opening a new hotel on Park Avenue. Fondaras is helping her by introducing her to the right people.”

“That’s kind of him. When do you expect Tyler back?”

“Camille, I’ve already told you more than I should. The directive I have from Mr. Miller is never to tell you anything. I’m afraid that’s all I can say.”

She shrugged. “Just one last question. Did you happen to hear from Emma tonight?”

“Who is Emma?”

“My daughter.”

His brow furrowed. “I haven’t,” he said. “And I’m not sure why I would. She’s never been here.” He looked over at Sam then back at her. “Is she in some sort of trouble.”

“No,” Camille said. “Well maybe. Who knows with kids? Before we left for Paris, she expressed interest in seeing Tyler because she knows he’s a writer, which she herself wants to become. Even though I told her that all of Tyler’s manuscripts have been rejected by New York, she still wanted to pick his brain on the writing process. She’s not answering her cell and I’m just concerned. She’s probably out with friends. Thanks for your time, Harvey.”

She walked down the granite stairs to the sidewalk and Harvey stopped them before he closed the door. “You won’t tell Mr. Miller that I told you he’s with Fondaras, will you?” he said.

Camille shook her head. “Your lie is safe with me, Harvey.”

He lifted his head. “And yours with me, Camille.”