Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue (29 page)

“Anything for you.”
 
He lifted a phone and gave the instructions to whoever answered.
 
Then he inserted an eyepiece and removed an enormous canary yellow diamond ring from its case.
 
He held it up to the light and turned it around with his slender fingers.

“Hmmm,” he said, and reached for the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.
 
He glanced at Leana and studied the rest.
 
When he finished, his face was slightly flushed.

“Is something wrong?” Leana asked.

One magnified eye turned to her.
 
“You purchased these here?”

“You know I did.
 
You sold them all to me.”

“Not these, I didn’t.”

“Excuse me...?”

“They’re fake,” Philip Quimby said.
 
“Nothing but cut glass and cubic zirconium. Every last one of them.
 
And that's not the world I move in.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.
 
“They can't be fake.”

“I’m afraid so, Leana.”

“But there’s more than a million dollars’ worth of jewelry there.”

He plucked a white envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
 
“Your father sent this to me,” he said.
 
“He called and told me not to open it unless for some reason I should see you.
 
Now, look.
 
I don’t know what’s going on here and I don’t care to know.
 
It’s none of my business.
 
But something tells me you’ll find the answers to your questions in that envelope.”

Leana tore into it.
 
Inside was a note.

Leana:

I told you if you wanted to make it on your own, you’d have to do it on your own and not with my money.
 
The originals, along with the rest of your jewelry, are at home where they--and you--belong.
 
Why don’t you stop this foolishness and come home?
 
You’ve taken this far enough.

--Dad

Leana read the note twice before folding it in half and putting it in her handbag.
 
Her father was convinced she couldn’t make it on her own.
 
Convinced.
 
She felt the beginnings of a spear sinking into her heart.
 
What was it about her that made him think she was such a failure?

She lifted one of the necklaces.
 
“Are these worth anything?”

Quimby’s eyes sparkled with renewed interest.

“They’re excellent counterfeits,” he said.
 
“Only an experienced eye like mine could tell they’re fake.
 
I would have no problem selling them to the Hollywood set.
 
You think what they're wearing on the red carpet is real?
 
Get real.
 
They wear these.”

“How much are you offering?”

He sat poised and ready on the edge of the Queen Anne chair. “Twenty thousand.”

“Make it thirty and you’ve got a deal.”

*
 
*
 
*

She ended up with twenty-five.

When Leana returned to Harold’s townhouse later that afternoon, she found him seated alone in his study, leaning back in a chair, flipping through a file on WestTex.
 
She managed a smile when he looked up at her.
 
“I need someone to talk to,” she said.
 
“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

He motioned toward the sofa that was in the corner of the room and asked her to sit down.
 
“Tell me everything,” he said, sitting beside her.
 
“Tell me why you’re upset.”

Leana rested her head on his shoulder and told him what had happened.

“But how did George get a key to your safe-deposit box?”

“My father doesn’t need a key, Harold.
 
He’s George Redman.”

“But it’s illegal.”

“He’s George Redman.”

“And you think one of the bank’s assistant manager’s helped him?”

“He probably paid off their mortgage for their trouble.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Go and ask your father for the originals.
 
They are yours, after all.”

“And give him the pleasure of seeing me grovel?
 
Forget it.
 
I’ll make my own money.”

“How?”

“This morning you mentioned something about finding me a job.
 
That sounds like a good place to start making money to me.”

“I’ve been having seconds thoughts about that job,” Harold said.

Leana pulled away from him.
 
“Why?”

“I’m not sure it’s right for you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said.
 
“Harold, please, if you’ve found something, anything, you have to let me know what it is.
 
I have to be given a chance.”

“You really are determined to make it, aren’t you?”

“If I accomplish nothing else, I want the world to know that George Redman has another daughter--one who is smarter, tougher and more successful than Celina ever could become.”

“That’s going to be quite an accomplishment,” he said.
 
“You realize that don’t you?”

“I do,” Leana said.
 
“I know Celina’s good.
 
In a way, I almost admire her--she had the chance to learn from Dad.
 
But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
 
It doesn’t mean that she’s smarter than me.”

“No,” Harold said.
 
“It certainly doesn’t.”
 
He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a card with an address on it.
 
He handed it to Leana.
 
“If you want the job, be at this address by four this afternoon.”

*
 
*
 
*

She was fifteen minutes early for the appointment.

When Leana arrived at the towering office building, she took an elevator to the sixty-seventh floor, gave the secretary her name and was escorted to a reception area that was quiet, cool and sparsely decorated.
 
The walls were steel gray.
 
The long array of windows behind her looked out at Manhattan.

Knowing the impression she gave was critical, she chose a fitted black Dior suit.
 
She wore just enough make-up to cover what was left of the bruising, her hair was pulled away from her face and she wore no perfume.

She felt like a fraud.
 

From her seat at the rear of the reception area, Leana watched the steady stream of activity in the enormous room beyond.
 
At a desk piled high with papers, one man was typing frantically into a computer while a woman impatiently directed him.
 
Behind them, two secretaries were digging through file cabinets in search of something that seemingly couldn’t be found.
 
At still another table, someone stopped yelling into a phone only long enough to shout, “Quiet!” to a group of people who could care less.

Leana found herself envying them.

At five minutes to four, filled with nervous tension, feelings of insecurity and thoughts of pending failure, she went to the ladies’ room that was across the hall.
 
Each of the three stalls was occupied.
 
As she turned to wash her hands in the marble vanity, she glimpsed herself in the mirror before her.
  
She was very much a young woman whose appearance gave the cool impression of professionalism, but whose eyes revealed a hint of intimidation and fear.

Although Leana hated to admit it, she wished she was at Redman International now and working with her father.
 

She left the bathroom and returned to her seat in the reception area.
 
At precisely four o’clock, the secretary came for her.
 
“We’re ready, Miss Redman.”

Leana left her seat.
 
Her shoes clicked on the marble-tiled floor as she followed the woman down a long corridor.
 
This isn’t going to work.
 
He’s going to see right through me.

But then she remembered all those years of wanting to prove to her father that she could become a success and neared the office with a feeling of determination.
 
Once, as a child, she overheard George telling Celina that if she worked very hard, the world could be hers.
 
Why can’t that apply to me?

They entered the office.
 
Leana stood behind the secretary and took in the room.
 
A painting of a young couple hung above a fully stocked bar; an elaborate model of a future high-rise was near a Ming vase; through the wall of windows to her right, she could see The Redman International Building, towering like a beacon in the afternoon sun.

Leana’s gaze lingered on her father’s building for a moment before she turned to the man seated across the room at the enormous mahogany table.
 
His back was to her.
 
The secretary said, “Leana Redman to see you, sir.”

Louis Ryan turned in his chair and faced George Redman’s daughter.

Their eyes met.
 
In each other, they saw the future.

Smiling, he stood.
 
“I’m glad you could come, Leana,” he said.
 
“Last night, Harold Baines was kind enough to miss a dinner engagement with your sister so he could tell me about you.”
 
He motioned toward the chair opposite him.
 
“Please sit down?”

Leana did.
 
And the meeting began.
 

*
 
*
 
*

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” Louis said. “So, I’m going to come to the point.
 
You don’t mind, do you?”

“I prefer getting to the point,” Leana said.
 
“It’s why I’m here.”

She watched him move to a window that looked uptown.
 
He pointed at a tall structure cocooned in scaffolding.
 
“Are you familiar with the new hotel I’m building on the corner of Fifth and 53rd?
 
That’s it over there.”

Leana nodded.
 
“Once finished, it’s supposed to be the city’s largest.”