Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (59 page)

     Alan had purchased the tiny statue on his way back from the beach; it was a trinket for Hannah, and it had cost, after haggling, less than one American dollar. But he didn't say anything; he was anxious for the man to leave.

     When he was alone again, he surveyed the feast that had been sent up—a fish and shrimp combination called
vatapa
, heavily spiced with paprika and peppers, with french fries and beans on the side, accompanied by a sweet egg custard and black coffee heavily laced with rum and sugar. As he listened anxiously for the arrival of his midnight caller, Alan wondered what had possessed him to order a traditional Brazilian dish when a hamburger would have suited him just fine. He draped a napkin over the revoltingly exotic food and pushed the cart away.

     He was just checking his watch again when the phone rang. The operator had made his connection to Los Angeles.

     "Hannah? Is that you, darling? Thank God. I thought this damn phone would never work."

     "Alan? Are you all right? How is it going with Miranda?" she asked over a crackling line. "Were you able to work things out with Mr. Enriques?"

     "I'm fine, darling. But Hannah, something funny is going on here," Alan said. "I met with Enriques and now I need to talk to Philippa. Right away."

     "She left a little while ago. She's on her way to Palm Springs."

     Alan chewed his lip. "Is she in the company car? Patch me through on a conference line. I need to talk to her immediately."

     As Hannah put him on hold and hurriedly looked through her address book for the phone number of the limousine, she felt her anxiety mount.
She had been sitting in her bedroom all afternoon and into the evening, waiting for a certain phone call. When the boudoir phone had rung on her Louis XV desk, she had literally jumped off the bed.

     They were supposed to call and set up a meeting at which she would hand over her stock certificates in exchange for cash. The transaction had to take place before the board meeting in Palm Springs, which was only two days away. Time was running out.

     Dialing the number of the limousine, Hannah spied her handbag across the room. Her pills were in it, and she suddenly needed them; her heart was starting to tap dance behind her sternum.

     "Ricky," she said when the car phone was picked up, "it's Hannah here. I've got Alan on the other line. He's calling from Rio, and he wants to talk to Philippa."

     Hannah listened while Alan spoke, his voice fading in and out as if it were being carried on ocean waves. "Something's not right down here, Philippa," he said, sounding uncharacteristically agitated. "Miranda is a small outfit. They deal in
nuts
, for Chrissake. And I know for a fact that they can't possibly afford the money they're paying out to buy Starlite stock."

     "What did you learn from Enriques?" Philippa asked, her voice fading slightly as the limousine drove through Banning Pass.

     "He was pleasant and polite, but very unenlightening. He didn't tell me much, just that he admires the Starlite corporation and would like to own some shares in it. He insists that there is no takeover planned, but he won't sign a standstill agreement. And another thing, Philippa— the man cannot make a decision on his own, and yet he's the president and owner of the goddamn company. I'd swear he's a front for somebody else."

     "Why do you say that?" Hannah asked, cutting in. Her eyes flickered nervously to the wall safe, where the stock certificates were waiting.

     "Because when I asked him if he'd consider coming to L.A. for a meeting, he said he'd get back to me on it. Well, he just contacted me here at the hotel a short while ago, saying he'd be glad to come. I asked him if he had had to consult with anyone before making that decision, and he had said no, he had just wanted to think about it. But I'd swear, Philippa, that he talked to someone else first, someone who wishes to remain behind the scenes. And
I think that person is the one who is orchestrating a takeover. They're funneling funds through Miranda, and I think they plan to take us by surprise."

     Philippa had been afraid of that. She was also prepared for it. "All right, Alan. I need to think about this. Come back right away. And bring Enriques with you. I'm most anxious to talk to him."

     Philippa hung up, leaving Alan and his wife alone on the line. "When will you be home, darling?" Hannah asked.

     "As soon as Enriques can leave."

     "Alan, I'm worried."

     "Don't be, honey. Everything will work out, I'm sure."

     "Will you be back in time for our party? I thought we'd announce Jackie's engagement then."

     "Sure, don't worry. Hey, I'm bringing you something," he said. "A special surprise. And it has nothing to do with Christmas."

     "Just bring yourself home. I love you."

     "I love you, too."

     Alan was just hanging up when he heard a knock on the door. His visitor, at last.

     The man was tall with a smoothly shaved head that reflected the ceiling lights in the hall. He wore a white linen suit, highly polished eelskin shoes, and gold rings on nearly every finger. Gaspar Enriques had sent him as a special favor to Alan. Alan had commented during their meeting on the beach that he was hoping to purchase a special gift for a special lady, something unique, not found in ordinary shops. "I know just the man," Enriques had said.

     Alan offered his visitor a drink, but the man preferred to get right to business. The item he had brought with him was an exquisite antique crucifix at the end of a gold chain. The cross and figure of Christ were made of gold and were encrusted with Brazilian aquamarine, topaz, amethyst, and garnet. "But what makes this necklace so priceless, Senhor Scadudo," said the visitor, who had not given his name, "is that Princesa Isabel wore it when she signed the Lei Auréa, our emancipation proclamation of 1888, when she freed our slaves. When you purchase this necklace, Senhor Scadudo, you buy not only the gold and precious gemstones, but a piece of Brazil's history as well."

     Alan held it up to the light. It was exquisite; so delicate, so finely wrought. He thought he could almost feel the passion of history in it. He felt a thrill go through him as he imagined her reaction to it; she certainly wasn't expecting such a gift.

     When the man told him the price, Alan hesitated for a moment. He hadn't expected to pay so much. But he relented, because she was worth it. And it was going to make up for them having to be apart.

     Hannah hung up the phone and wrung her hands. There was so much to think about. Getting the stock certificates out, overseeing arrangements for her Christmas party, Jackie coming home with her fiancé, the board meeting in Palm Springs, and of course the surprise she had for Alan. She prayed the Freundlich sculpture would arrive in time.

     She looked out the bedroom window, from where she could see the terraced gardens behind the house already being prepared for the big Christmas party. Hannah prayed that everything went smoothly, for her and Alan, and for Jackie and Vincent.

     Feeling her heart do somersaults in her chest, Hannah hurried across the room to where she had left her pills. Not even Alan knew she was taking them; she didn't want to cause him alarm. Now all she had to do was wait for the phone to ring.

     As Philippa hung up the car phone, she recapped Alan's end of the conversation to Charmie, who rode in the seat that faced backward, sitting sideways, her legs stretched along the seat, her back propped against the TV/VCR console, her lemon yellow silk caftan pooling on the floor of the limousine. "What are you going to do?" she asked, laying aside the book she had been reading.

     "Something I hate having to do, and that I never thought I would have to. Charmie, it's time for the poison pill." Philippa picked up the phone again and tapped out a number. After a moment, she said, "Ralph? It's Philippa. I just spoke to Alan in Rio..." After she recounted the conversation to him, she said, "Meet me in Palm Springs in the morning. I'll be at the Marriott
Desert Springs. I want you to do two things: first, lower our anti-takeover trigger from twenty percent to ten percent. Then draft a provision allowing Starlite shareholders to buy stock at less than market value. As soon as Miranda hits ten percent, the second provision will go into effect. That at least will slow them down and make a takeover more difficult and certainly more expensive. Do we have a white knight we can bring in, just in case? Good. See you then."

     Charmie sighed, thinking of the old days when she and Philippa had run Starlite from a living room and the only legal thing involved had been a long yellow pad on which they had recorded the members' names. I wish there was some way we could find out who's behind Enriques," she said, "and why they're trying to take your company away from you."

     Philippa was thinking of Ivan Hendricks, who was at that moment snooping around Palm Springs for information on Beverly Burgess. "When we see Ivan tomorrow, I'm going to ask him to do some looking into Miranda for us."

     It excited Charmie that Ivan was back in their lives again, especially when she recalled their one stunning sexual encounter; she would swear that his hard, powerful body had left a permanent imprint on hers. "With luck," she said, wondering if she was ever going to have a second chance with him, "Ivan will have some information for us on Caanan Corp. And if there's a connection between the dummy Caanan and Miranda International, he might tell us who's behind all this."

     Philippa looked out the car window but saw only blackness. The sun had set two hours ago; she and her companions had entered barren desert, where only an occasional dwelling or billboard glowed in the dark. The headlights of traffic coming from the other direction seemed to float by on the freeway like disembodied spirits. The moment felt strangely otherworldly to Philippa; she and Charmie and Ricky seemed to glide through the night in a silent space-age capsule. They couldn't hear the car's engine or the whine of the tires on the asphalt. The bar was stocked with food and drinks; the heater staved off the freezing desert night; the moonroof was rolled back to give a breathtaking view of the stars. Philippa felt curiously safe, insulated from the world and its dangers.

     She was unaware of the black Jaguar that had followed them from L.A. and was behind them now.

     Picking up her pen, she tried returning to the work she had been doing to make use of the time during the drive from Los Angeles to Palm Springs when Alan's call had interrupted her. She was writing on her Moroccan leather lap desk, tooled in antique gold, a birthday present from her daughter, Esther, who had bought it with money earned when she had worked a summer at Sequoia National Park. The ride in the Lincoln Town Car was so smooth that Philippa's handwriting was clear and legible: "Point Fifty-two: Eat only when hungry. Point Fifty-three: Exercise for one half hour three times a week."

     She was still thinking about what she had discovered when she had visited the Starlite salon that afternoon. We haven't kept up with the times, she thought; we haven't kept our eyes and ears open to the needs of our members. We're stuck in a time warp, while other companies sprout up around us and fill the needs that we seem to be ignoring.

     Turning to a fresh page, she wrote: "Popcorn. Tortilla chips. Salsa (all you can eat?). A glass of wine a day. Need to get caloric and nutritional values. Must observe latest eating trends and design a new menu for the nineties. Note: Possible national spokesperson? Celebrity? Why don't we come out with our own exercise video? One with some kind of sex appeal, gorgeous males doing aerobics, so that women will enjoy watching it."

     She looked at Ricky then, who was asleep with his head against the window. As she studied the strong, young profile, the way his silky blond hair lay across his cheek, Philippa thought of the day of the Melbourne Cup race, when she and Ricky had watched it on TV together, and her horse, Beautiful Dolly, had won, and how she had impulsively hugged Ricky, and how he had held her tightly, a little longer than necessary, his hard body and hot kisses suddenly awakening in her all the desires that she had thought had gone down with the
Philippa.
For that, she was grateful to him. Ricky had brought her back to life.

     But where did they go from here? If she decided to stay in Los Angeles, would he stay also, or would he want to return to Australia? And if he stayed, how was Esther going to respond to her mother having a lover who was only five years older than her own daughter?

     Philippa pressed a button and her window whispered down, immediately letting in a gust of cold, slicing air. It felt good. The desert felt good. The stars were so three-dimensional, like magical Disney animation. The craggy peaks of the mountains could just barely be made out against the stars; the silence was unearthly. When she saw a shooting star streak across the black sky, disappearing into the blackness that she guessed was the craggy summit of Mount San Jacinto, she thought of Star's and wondered what she was going to find up there. Would she find a woman with her face? Would she look at Beverly Burgess and have the feeling she was looking into a mirror? Philippa felt the desert wind cut through her hair as she thought, Do my sister and I share subconscious fetal memories? Did we cuddle in our mother's womb, or did we compete for space? What embryo secrets did we whisper to each other? Were we fraternal or identical twins? Fraternal would mean that we each evolved from our own egg, but identical would mean that we came from the same egg, an egg that had been intended to be one person. So we would be like two halves of one person.