Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (74 page)

And clear out of the blue it hit him, as incisive a bolt of
knowledge as if lightning had struck. At the coffee shop, and
then again during the screen test, he had encountered a glori
ous girl, but this was no girl who was coming down those stairs
now. Far from it. This was a woman, a sleek, poised, shapely siren, a natural star if ever there was one. What an entrance!
'Well, I'll be goddamned,' he muttered under his breath.

Seeing him, Tamara slowed to a dignified walk the rest of
the way down. She smiled. 'Am I late?' she asked in that
throaty, haunting voice which caused cool ripples to course
across his flesh.

'N-no, you aren't late . .
.'He
took two steps toward her,
seized her hand, raised it awkwardly to his lips. '. . . you're
beautiful, princess.'

She flushed with pleasure and he took the stole from her
and draped it solicitously around her shoulders. He frowned
inwardly. He had never felt like this before . . . why was he
feeling this way now?

The chauffeur snapped the rear door gently shut after
Ziolko climbed in alongside her, and walked around to the
front, to the separate driver's compartment. Then she heard
the engine purr and the big car surged majestically forward,
swinging out into the lane as if on a cloud. Beside her, Ziolko
unfolded a leopard lap robe and spread it over her. 'Hmmm,'
was all she said. She smiled at him gratefully and snuggled into
the far corner, unaware that he was staring at her with the
same kind of keen, mesmerized wonder with which she stared
down at the rare fur. She stroked its sleek, spotted softness
with her newly varnished, elongated fingers. How warm and
potently satisifed she felt.

Ah, to have such resources at her beck and call, she thought
dreamily. This was the life. How invincibly superior and flush
it made her feel! She sighed luxuriantly. How easily a girl
could get used to this.

Chapter 8

The Duesenberg climbed up the curved, tree-lined roads into Beverly Hills. Through the rain-streaked windows Tamara
caught occasional glimpses of lights glowing in the windows of
the immense secluded mansions which had been built by the
film-colony elite. This was her first time here, and she was
thrilled to the bone. She had always wanted to see Beverly
Hills for herself, but until now it had been part of that elusive,
unattainable world she had only read about in the movie maga
zines. Even though she'd never seen it before, she knew all
about Beverly Hills. Who didn't? For the most part, it was
still a separate entity from Los Angeles, a sparsely settled
wilderness where privacy could be treasured without being
jealously guarded, and where an occasional deer or wolf could
be glimpsed roaming about. She knew it was a community
which, sadly but ironically, had been born of necessity with
the influx of the ever-growing ranks of the motion-picture
people. Movie stars and industry bigshots were frowned upon
by the Los Angeles old guard, who viewed them as nouveau-
riche upstarts and parvenus at best, and perverted hell-raisers
at worst, so they had been driven up here, far from the fine
old addresses and into the hills where no one in his right mind
had wanted to live until now. These newcomers went about
systematically creating an exclusive gilded ghetto all their
own.

'It must be beautiful up here during the day!' Tamara marvelled with suppressed excitement as acres of dark, untouched
land slipped by in the empty tracts between the far-flung
houses. 'It feels like we've left the city behind and gone to the
country.'

Ziolko nodded. 'For now it's still like that, but just wait a
few years. Every year more and more houses are going up.
Soon, I'm afraid there won't be any privacy left. Land prices
have gone through the roof. What used to be tracts of land
are now little parcels being zoned smaller and smaller. Soon
there'll be giant houses, swimming pools, and tennis courts on
postage stamp lots. Mark my words.'

'Do you live up here?' She turned to him curiously.

He shook his head. 'Not yet.' He was watching her eyes
carefully in the dim glow of the coach light. 'Why? You like
it?'

She nodded and breathed deeply. 'I smell eucalyptus.' She
smiled at him.

'Wait'll the flowers come out. Then it smells like a goddamn
florist's. Flowers grow here like weeds. Well, here we are.'

She sat up straighter and stared out her side window as the
chauffeur steered the car into a narrow white gravel drive
which crunched and popped beneath the pneumatic tyres. The
drive was bordered on both sides by a wild, overgrown jungle
of shrubbery. Occasionally a thorny branch would scratch
against the polished sides of the car, causing Ziolko to grimace
in anguish. Except for the pristine drive, it looked for all the
world like a forest road leading nowhere. Then suddenly the
shrubs cleared to reveal a massive floodlit mansion sprawling
amidst a floodlit, formally landscaped garden. So this was
where Oscar Skolnik lived, Tamara thought. She was
impressed. Somehow the estate was exactly as she had
imagined, and it certainly befitted a multimillionaire tycoon
turned movie mogul.

Slowly the car crept to a halt and the chauffeur got out,
swiftly unfurled an umbrella, and held the rear door. The giant
carved house door swung open and a black butler stood stiffly
erect in the bright rectangle of light.

'Good evening, Frederique,' Ziolko greeted. 'How you
doing?'

'Fine, thank you, sir. Miss.' The butler inclined his head a
second time. 'Mr. Skolnik and the other guests are waiting in
the sitting room,' Frederique murmured. 'If you will be so
kind as to follow me, please.'

Ziolko nodded and took Tamara by the elbow. She was
grateful for his touch, for otherwise she would have stood
there rooted to the spot, wide-eyed in wonder at the luxurious
house.

They followed Frederique through an atrium, past the slen
der, shallow green Alhambra fountains, whose splashing
drowned out the persistent drumbeat of rain on the glass roof
overhead. Looking up, she couldn't believe her eyes. An
arched gallery completely encircled the atrium, and every
where, pots of exotic hothouse orchids bloomed in riotous
splendour. She drew in her breath and shook her head. Her eyes had already become so numbed by the grand displays of
splendour that she felt as if she were drifting through a dream.
This was more, far, far more than she had ever dared antici
pate.

Frederique led them under another set of arches and then
swung open another heroically scaled carved door.

Tamara was bedazzled. This was an enchanted world; these
were the cultivated furnishings of a hedonistic sultan. A fire
leapt and crackled in each of the large Adam fireplaces which
faced one another across the expanse, scenting the air with
eucalyptus and fruitwood while chasing away the damp chill.
Despite the staggering thirty-six-foot-high ceiling and the
room's auditorium scale, it nevertheless gave the impression
of being a cosy, welcoming, and much-used and much-loved
room.

If a person's home was an indication of his personality, then
Tamara was completely bemused by Oscar Skolnik. Every
thing pointed to his being a very complex and not easily under
stood man.

She noticed him the moment she entered the room. She had
never seen him, but even from a distance of seventy feet it was
impossible to overlook him. He was seated in a wing chair in
the semicircular end of the room, apparently holding court.
The other men present were all standing. A large painting on
an easel was propped up to face him, and four men in evening
attire stood to the left and right of his chair, their expressions
dubious and thoughtful. Their attention was focused on a
brittle praying mantis of a man with a lugubrious expression
and a pointed Vandyke beard who stood beside the easel. Two
women in pale floor-length sheaths sat off to the side, each
holding a flute of champagne. It was an exceedingly elegant
tableau, so perfectly composed and lighted that it seemed to
have been contrived for effect.

At first, no one took notice of the new arrivals, and Tamara
was grateful. For a moment she hesitated and glanced plead
ingly at Ziolko, but he smiled reassuringly, placed a hand in
the small of her spine, and propelled her forward.

'What we have to do is acknowledge the symbolism,' the
man with the Vandyke was saying with low-keyed but intense
passion. 'In other words, we must scratch below the surface,
dig deeply beyond the obvious representation, as it were, in
order to find the Place of Truth—' He broke off suddenly when
he realized no one was paying attention any longer: all eyes
were on the newcomers.

The silence grew prolonged. No one spoke. No one blinked.
One of the women rose soundlessly as a ghost in order to have
a better view of Tamara.

One could have heard a pin drop on those priceless Bess
arabian carpets.

Tamara's initial rapturous delight at the house was immedi
ately replaced by a severe attack of the jitters. Her entire
body trembled as she moved forward, her earlier assurance
deserting her as her sweeping gaze focused upon the unmoving
figures bathed in soft lighting, a lamp catching the intensity of their stares and causing their eyes to glitter glassily; the lovely room which at first glance had dazzled now shifted slightly to
take on a leering, intimidating quality, and the elegant tableau
of men and women did a transmutation, taking on the severe,
menacing presence of a panel of presiding judges. Tamara's
impulse was to flee this minatory scene, these awe-inspiring surroundings. She was all too acutely conscious of the seven
sets of hard, appraising eyes that were not so much looking at
her as picking her over.