Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (64 page)

     He went onto the balcony with her, the desert wind cutting through their hair and clothes. "There," he said pointing straight ahead. "That highest
peak is San Jacinto. Do you see the two smaller peaks just below it? And the saddle in between? That's where Star's is. Nestled in that saddle."

     Philippa stared at the spot, where a band of white lay cozily between two craggy peaks. There was no evidence of a fabulous resort there; all she could see was snow. "To think," she said, "that I might be looking at my sister right now..."

     When Ivan heard the hopeful tone in her voice, he had to give himself a mental kick in the pants. At times like this, he always came perilously close to telling her what he really knew—the truth. But he had promised to be silent, and Ivan Hendricks kept his promises.

     "And about Caanan Corporation," Ivan said, returning to the room and glancing at Charmie before helping himself to a slice of pineapple from the room service cart. "The address is a drop all right, nothing but a vacant store. I've got a man watching it, but I doubt our friend will show. Most likely whoever is behind the bogus Caanan knows we're on to him. When are you holding the board meeting?"

     "Day after tomorrow."

     "You'll probably get your answers then."

     Answers, Philippa thought, that she was dreading to hear. "Ivan," she said, "I need to find out some information about a company based in Brazil. Could you do that for me? It's very important."

     "You want me to go to South America," he said.

     "Can you?"

     "You don't ask for much, do you, Miss Roberts?" he said, but smiling as he said it. He shrugged. "Okay. What's the name of the company?"

     "Miranda International. They're trying to take over Starlite. I have to find a way to stop them."

     "Brazil, huh?" he said, looking at Charmie, even though she hadn't spoken. "Sure, I'll go. When do you want me to leave?"

     As Hannah hurried into her office, she thought her purse felt heavier than usual. But of course she knew this was her imagination—the added weight of a tiny safe deposit box key couldn't possibly make a difference.

     Still, she felt it there all the same, tugging at her arm like a fretful child,
as if telling her to forget her mad folly, go back to the bank, get those stock certificates out of there and safely back into the wall safe in her bedroom where they belonged. But Hannah knew there was no turning back. By this time tomorrow she would no longer own five percent of Starlite stock. Her portion was going to belong to the party whose telephone call had finally come, someone who had agreed to her offer and who would collect the shares at the arranged meeting place.

     And after that, what? Philippa will have to be told the truth, she decided as she entered her office. I'll tell Philippa what I've done, and then I'll resign.

     "Mrs. Scadudo," her secretary said. "Miss Roberts's secretary just telephoned from Palm Springs. The board meeting has been moved to a place called Star's."

     Hannah looked at the slip of paper. The meeting was the day after tomorrow, but the stock certificates would be transferred in time, and she would have received the nearly one million in cash for them. What she prayed for now was that when Alan returned from Rio, he wouldn't go to the wall safe for something and find the certificates gone.

     "And Miss Lind is back from Singapore," the secretary added before hurrying away.

     Ingrid came in from the designing room, fabulously dressed in a navy blue suit, white silk blouse, and low-heeled shoes. Her blond hair was carefully swept back into a small bun at the nape of her neck, where a large navy blue bow framed the sharp lines of her neck and jaw.

     "Welcome home!" Hannah said, receiving her friend in an embrace. "How was your trip?"

     "Exhausting and invigorating!" Ingrid said with a laugh. She towered over Hannah; she towered over everyone. "Here, I've brought you this. It's not your Christmas present, just a souvenir from Singapore."

     Hannah gasped when she opened the gift box and saw that it contained an exquisite gold rope chain with a jade clasp. "Ingrid, you shouldn't have!"

     "Believe me, that's what I was thinking when I bought it," Ingrid said as she drew a pack of Gauloises out of her purse and proceeded to light one. "I purchased it at Poh Heng, where the prices are calculated by abacus and based on the weight of the necklace and the prevailing price of gold.
After which came the requisite haggling. It took me an hour just to pay for it!"

     Hannah gave her another quick hug and said, "It really was sweet of you. Thank you."

     "What did you think of the Kashmiri silk I sent this time?" Ingrid asked as they walked into the noisy designing room, where people worked at drafting tables and dressmaker's dummies.

     "I've never seen such colors," Hannah said, linking her arm through Ingrid's. "The sea green is stunning! I have everyone working on it already. We have something summery in mind— bathing suit cover-ups, wraps for cocktail parties, that sort of thing." Hannah spoke energetically to hide her distress. In less than forty-eight hours she would no longer be working with Ingrid. And most likely they would no longer be friends.

     Ingrid blew rancid smoke into the air, receiving a few covert looks from the designers. "Tell me about this emergency board meeting I was called back to attend. Alan sounded annoyed on the phone."

     "He was annoyed because Philippa sent him to Rio and he didn't want to go."

     "I don't see what he's complaining about. Rio is where you find the best seafood on the South American continent, and nothing surpasses Brazil for amethysts." Ingrid didn't mention the men, in which Rio also excelled.

     "I'm afraid Alan doesn't see it the way you do!" Hannah wished Alan and Ingrid weren't so antagonistic toward each other. Their instant, mutual dislike when Ingrid was first brought in seven years ago had not softened. Hannah went on to explain about the threatened takeover by Miranda International and added that Philippa had called for an internal audit of all departments.

     "An internal audit! What for?"

     Hannah looked away. "Apparently she's found some discrepancies in the figures."

     "Oh," Ingrid said as she paused to look over an artist's shoulder, where an illustration for evening wear was laid out on the drawing board. "Palm Springs, you say? That suits me just fine. The desert's a great place to find good silver jewelry, turquoise, and semiprecious stones."

     "I don't know that it's in the desert exactly. We're meeting up in the mountains, at a place called Star's."

     Ingrid's face lit up. "Star's! Well, well. It looks as if my aborted vacation in Singapore won't be a total loss after all." She was suddenly intrigued by the prospect of what Star's had to offer in the way of food. And men. "I think," she said after a moment, "that it is going to be a very interesting meeting indeed."

B
UNNY'S SITTING ROOM WAS A MESS WITH THE SUITECASES
flung open, their contents strewn about, and canvas duffel bags lying limp and empty among bolts of fabric, wig boxes, scattered shoes, even a dressmaker's dummy. Frieda and her weary-eyed companions had just a little over twenty-four hours left in which to perform a miracle.

     "This!" Frieda said at last, pulling out a bolt of dark chocolate velvet. "This is it! It's perfect!"

     Jeanine, a gray-haired woman with small eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, groaned and said, "I was afraid you'd pick that."

     "You can do it, sweetheart," Frieda said. "I've seen you work miracles."

     "Yeah, yeah," Jeanine said as she took the bolt from Frieda and draped it over the dressmaker's dummy, giving it a dubious look. But, plucking some pins out of the little cushion she wore on her wrist, she soon began to work magic, like Cinderella's little animal friends. Within minutes a gown began to take shape.

     Even though Frieda's hastily gathered crew complained about the task they had been called upon to perform, none had refused the assignment. In fact, they had all agreed that this was a stroke of genius on Frieda's part and were happy to be on the team; happy also with the payment, for three of them, and the chance to work off owed favors for the other two. When they had asked her how she had come up with the idea, Frieda had just smiled. She couldn't very well tell them about her marathon sex with Raoul, which had ended just before dawn, a few hours ago. They would get visions of Faye Dunaway and William Holden in
Network
—Dunaway having sex with Holden, he on the bottom and she on top, while she talked excitedly about television ratings strategies.

     It hadn't been like that with her and Raoul. When they got down to the business of making love, that was what they did: make love. That was after the brilliant idea had come to her when she had experienced the most stunning orgasm of her life and the face of Larry Wolfe had popped into her mind.

     Raoul. Frieda hadn't felt so refreshed in years.

     Now that the fabric had been chosen, Frieda addressed herself to the pastel sketches Sam was executing on a pad. She thumbed through them, discarded most, and said, "This one comes closest, but not close enough."

     "You gotta understand," Sam said, "I ain't seen Bunny in her new metamorphosis," he said, pronouncing it meta-mor-
pho
-sis. "So I'm working blind. Where is she, anyway?"

     "I sent her downstairs, to the theater."

     "Did she get cheek implants?" he asked, a piece of chalk poised over his most recent sketch. Sam was the roundest man Frieda had ever seen, with an enormous round middle, big round head, and pudgy hands and feet. He reminded her of the tire man on Michelin guides. He was also the most talented artist she had ever known; all the studios used Sam, and so did various southern California police departments. "No," she said. "No cheeks."

     "Chin? As I recall, Bunny had a chin like Andy Gump's."

     "I think her chin might have been augmented," Frieda said.

     Helen came out of the bathroom with a wig on a dummy's head. "What do you think, Frieda?"

     She frowned. "Nowhere near. It has to be...I don't know, vampier or something. It's too nineties. And the color isn't right."

     "You want black, don't you?"

     "I don't know. She never made a color picture. Dark. Just dark."

     The sitting room door opened and Bunny came in, red eyed from having been up all night, ever since Frieda's mind-blowing phone call. When Frieda told her the new idea, Bunny had immediately snapped out of her depression and begun making plans. She had thought Frieda would come up to her room right away, to discuss strategy. It was funny, though; Frieda had said, "I'll be there in a while," but had in fact shown up hours later. If Bunny didn't know better, she would have sworn there had been someone there in the cabin with her.

     "Sweetheart!" Frieda said, jumping up. "What did you see?"

     "
Robin Hood
and
Her Wicked Ways.
Frieda, I'm going blind from staring at that screen!"

     "Show us something."

     They all sat down and waited while Bunny got into character, Helen and Sam and Jeanine staring at her, hardly believing the transformation. When Frieda had said Bunny had had some plastic surgery, they hadn't expected
this.
She was a beauty; Sam couldn't wait to get to his sketch pad, Helen to her wigs, and Jeanine to the dress form. Now they knew what they were working with. When Bunny walked across the room and did the famous head toss, her small audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically.

     "All right, come on!" Frieda said, retrieving her purse and taking Bunny by the arm. There wasn't a minute to lose; the Christmas ball was tomorrow night.

     "Where are we going?" Bunny said.

     "Back to the movies!"

     Bunny laughed wearily. Where on earth had Frieda suddenly gotten such energy? It didn't matter; it was the result that counted. And when Bunny reminded herself of the secret plot she and her six companions were hatching, when she imagined the sensation she was going to cause at the ball tomorrow night, her weariness vanished and she went hurrying off with Frieda to fill her head with another few hours of Marion Star.

     Queen Cleopatra was luxuriating in an enormous marble bathtub filled with goat's milk that just barely covered her breasts. As she ran a sea sponge over her body, the milk undulated, occasionally exposing her nipples. She invited her two handmaidens to undress and join her. As they did, the camera zooming in on their lower legs to show garments falling to the marble floor and then delicate feet walking down the bathtub steps, the music became erotic and sensual, intimating what was going on in the tub between the Egyptian queen and her maidservants.

     Andrea had seen enough, as had been the case with
Her Wicked Ways
, which she had walked out on yesterday. She collected her things and left the small theater, stepping over the legs of Frieda Goldman and Bunny Kowalski as she went. Since it was one of Marion's talkies, she had gone hoping to see a more dignified film, but she had quickly realized that it was only another exploitation movie designed to titillate the public's prurient curiosity.