The Secret Keeping (37 page)

“Ms. Beaumont? Is that all, or would you care to leave a message?”

“I would care. Yes, please. Tell her that I…uh…I’ll call again. Check back, I mean.”

“I’ll do that, dear. You have a nice day.”

“Thank you, Jenny. You, too.”

_____

“Good job, Beaumont.”

“It’s just a preliminary but it’ll get you through the proceedings without any surprises.”

“Excellent work. So I suppose I know what you’ve got planned for tonight?”

“Ac-tu-al-ly, no plans.”

“No plans? Why not? All the trouble I went through?”

“Paula...probably the scene here. I’m just guessing.”

“But we’ve cleaned it up. Didn’t you tell her that?”

“I didn’t get the chance.”

“What is this about? That Chambers woman?”

Lydia shrugged.

“Where is the doctor?”

“Vacation.”

“Vacation? Bullshit! She’s not going to snub our hospitality. Get her on the phone, Beaumont. I want to talk to her.”

“I–she’s on vacation, Paula. She doesn’t return my calls.”

“Beaumont, you are a neophyte. She’s not on goddamned vacation, I can assure you.”

“Then she’s somewhere else, like it says in the papers. Forget it.”

“Don’t you believe it! I know a power play when I see one. Pass me that phone.”

“Paula! I forbid you. It will work itself out.”

_____

“Hey! Here’s the reading materials you requested. Suddenly joining the human race?”

“Del, thanks! Just curious. Shaker of martinis over there.”

“Excellent. What are you having?”

“Heroin.”

“Hah! Hey, not too shabby in here, Liddy. You rank.”

“How’s things at my apartment?”

“Crowded again. The girls and I stopped in to clean up a bit. It was like a human car wash just getting in and out of the lobby. Your poor doorman. He’s all but swinging a broom at them to clear them out. Just like cockroaches.”

“What is this, Del?” Lydia asked, pointing at a front page article featuring a photo of Sharon and Helaine, heads bent together, smiling. “Can I believe in this stuff?”

“I wouldn’t.”

Lydia sighed and poured herself a martini.

“And look at glamorous Sharon Chambers, new and improved. She looks like she’s in mourning, a grieving widow, for chrissakes.”

“A grieving executive, more like it. She’s dressing like one of us, Liddy. Gosh, I wonder why?”

“And on the cover everywhere, Del. So who cares about corporate scandal, huh?”

“Paula Treadwell’s kicking ass, fixing it up, Liddy. No one wants to hear good news. Got any by the way?”

“Oh yeah! You?”

“Promotion. Still just a millionaire. Big date tonight. Yum, yum, yum.”

“Good for you. Money’s brought me nothing but trouble I fear, now with Sharon Chambers after it.”

“She’s after you, Liddy, doesn’t need the money. What’s up with your lawyer?”

“We’re not seeing eye to eye. He wants to deny everything and counterclaim for slander.”

“Wow. That ought to do the job.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Oh geesh, Liddy. Why not? She’s not entitled to your dough. Everyone knows that.”

“Money, money, money. Money can’t buy you love.”

“You’re scaring the bejeezus out of me, Marilyn Beaumont. Drink.”

“I scare myself. Cheers.”

“Cheers. Where’s Helaine tonight? What’s actually going on with your blond these days, besides that she’s got no room to breathe anymore?”

“She’s on retreat somewhere. It’s starting to get to her, I guess.”

“Oh…?”

“Del, I can’t send an answer like the one my lawyer’s cooked up. Helaine won’t go for it. It’ll be a real, real, real long vacation if I do.”

“I see.”

_____

“She’s on vacation, Ms. Treadwell. Can I take a message?”

“Yes, please do. You got a pen handy?”

“Yes?”

“Good. You tell your Dr. Kristenson that I’m sending an unmarked limo for her at the corner of Ninth and Vine. It’ll be there in an hour.”

“But–”

“And also inform her that if she fails to show she’ll be reading all about her greatest hits in Sunday’s papers. She’ll get what I’m driving at.”

_____

“What is this about?”

“It’s about Lydia Beaumont. You remember her fine ass, doctor? The one you put in a sling?”

“Please…call me Kristenson.”

“Drive,” Paula instructed the chauffeur. “Let me look at you, blondie.”

“Ms. Treadwell, I am not one of your girls.”

“And Beaumont is not one of yours. Your hair looks a little wild. Can you comb it?”

“She likes it like this. I presume that’s where we’re going.”

“Okay, leave it then. Now let me tell you something before we get there. Soloman-Schmitt has gone to great lengths to accommodate you, Kristenson, your esteemed snootiness. Please be mindful of that.”

“And let me tell you something, Vice President Paula Treadwell. Soloman-Schmitt does not impress me. I want her out of there. And we have other matters we need to square away that don’t require corporate handlers.”

“Look. I don’t care if you like me or not. I didn’t get where I am trying to be popular. But there’s one thing I don’t tolerate and that’s games, Kristenson. We cleaned up our act for you. I’m sorry if you don’t approve of our culture. I don’t approve of Sharon Chambers, the end.”

Helaine stared out the window without speaking.

“As to when Beaumont can leave, she cannot go back to her penthouse yet with all those reporters there.

That is something I can’t control. Sorry.”

“Oh? Something that escapes your micromanagement, Ms. Treadwell? That must be a painful concession to have to make. Tell me, do you plan on being our chaperone tonight?”

“If necessary. Turn into the garage, driver. You look lovely by the way. Even with the messy hair. Pull up to the elevator, please. Right here’s fine.”

Helaine produced a compact and examined herself in the mirror. “Thank you,” she said tersely, as she left the car.

“Oh, and Kristenson…?”

Helaine turned and raised her eyebrow.

“We never had this conversation, right?”

_____

“I thought you were avoiding me?”

“Darling…I am.”

“Oh.”

“I see Lydia Beaumont’s catching up on her reading.”

“Yesterday’s papers. Why? Avoiding me, I mean.”

Helaine skimmed the stack of newspapers and frowned. “This is ruining us. Oh, and look here, Keeping Mr. Right. You want me to autograph it for you?”

“I was curious, that’s all.”

“Curiosity. About what?”

“They mentioned your book. You hadn’t. I was just curious.”

“You read it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Still curious though?”

Lydia looked away.

“About what, Lydia?”

“It’s all curious, Dr. Kristenson. I don’t know.”

“What can I clarify for you?”

“Putting someone ‘on notice.’ You gave Sharon Chambers notice before–”

“I did.”

“And what about now? Are you ‘working it out’ with her, Helaine?”

Helaine threw her coat on the arm of the couch and sat down wearily. “It’s about settlement, Lydia. The reporters are lying. What else?”

“Settlement? And how’s that going?”

Helaine shrugged. “We’ve offered twenty-five percent net and the deed to my townhouse.”

Lydia nodded. It didn’t surprise her it would take that much. “And? Will she take it or not?”

“Lydia…she wants more. That’s all I’m comfortable saying.”

“Wants what? Something more is what? You, right?”

“Drop it, darling. What else can I clear up for you?”

“What else? Okay, are you sleeping with her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, is it? She’s only gorgeous, that’s all.”

Helaine sighed. “I’m tired of being photographed with her. Rumor has it I have a lover, but I’ll believe it when I see it. When are you going home, Lydia?”

“As soon as I can. Del says the reporters are living there. I can’t deal with that.”

“Oh, but I can?”

“Helaine…you have more experience with this kind of attention. You and Sharon–” she stopped herself.

“I’m not a public person. I hate all this.”

“I hate all this!” Helaine suddenly said with a sweep of her arm. “I hate you hiding from it while I’m being followed day and night. I hate your Paula Treadwell school of thought. I hate the idea that you’re hoping to sneak out under the cover of darkness. I hate the possibility that you might lie. I hate the possibility you want me only for sex. How do you respond to that charge, Beaumont? Can you take me to bed without fucking me? You can’t!”

“Fuckin–oh, my gosh.” Lydia stood up and walked around the chair, standing behind it as she collected her composure. “Helaine? I’ve fucked you? What on earth is wrong? What have I done?”

It was a poor choice of words. Helaine regretted them. “Not fuck. I didn’t mean that.” She lay her head back and closed her eyes. “You love me?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

“How?”

“How?”

“Tell me how you love me. I’d like to know.”

Lydia stepped around the chair again and sat once more. “I’m not good at that. Words aren’t really my specialty.” She took in the long legs, the high-heel shoe that dangled on the tip of a pretty foot. “Numbers.

I’m good at numbers, not words. I love you.”

Helaine sat up. “Numbers? What numbers then? My breasts, my waist, my hips? Those numbers?”

Lydia looked at her own feet. It was not the kind of conversation she excelled at. It was not the kind of evening she had expected. Her mind was racing ahead to scout out the terrain. It was rocky and treacherous and there didn’t appear to be a safe shortcut. She kicked her shoes off and slid them back on again. Pulled at her earrings.

“Can you love me without touching me?” Helaine pressed.

“Without touching you?” Lydia repeated, trying to picture it. She saw Helaine shift impatiently. “You know…I don’t disagree with your views, Dr. Kristenson. Of course, I’m aware of how things look–how they might look, especially under the circumstances. I’m always conscious of the possibility that I might be a savage like the rest of them, but I do love–”

“Without sex?”

Lydia clenched her teeth. “Without sex? You want me to go without sex?” Her face felt hot. “Why should I? I’ve already done that. What’s this about, Helaine? Sharon Chambers?”

“Concentrate on the question. Can you take me to bed without sex, Lydia? I want to know the answer to that.”

“Oh? Why? Because there’s more to love than sex? Are you accusing me of not loving you enough because I nee–”

“Answer me, top girl! Can you sleep with me without it leading to sex?”

(NO.)

They locked eyes.

“Helaine…this is bullshit. Yes, goddammit. Yes, I can. When I’m eighty years old. Okay?”

Helaine smiled and undid the front of her blouse. Lydia fell back into the chair and watched her undress.

“Tell me what I represent to a Lydia Beaumont.”

“This is a trick question?”

“I don’t think so.”

The shoes were on, the shoes were off, the shoes were on again. Lydia’s ears were pink from tugging at her earrings. “Civilization. The good things in life.”

“Expensive things, you’re saying?” Helaine asked, putting her hands into her hair and lifting it off her shoulders. “Those kind of goods?” she said, suggestively.

Tricky questions. “Rare things, Helaine. Expensive perhaps. I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“What are you thinking, darling?”

Lydia scoffed. “Guilty things. Feel vindicated?”

“I’m not staying tonight,” Helaine replied, rising to remove her skirt.

Lydia was silent.

“That is why you sent for me, isn’t it? For this?”

“Sent for you? I didn’t send for you. I left some messages, that’s all.”

The skirt was off.

“And Paula?”

It was dawning on Lydia now. “Paula? She made you come over?”

Helaine chuckled. “Oh, I see,” she said, reclining. “Skip it then.”

“Skip it? All right, Dr. Kristenson. Whatever you say, Dr. Kristenson. Am I disappointing you if I gawk, or should I leave the room with my bad self?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come and hold me.”

“Hold?”

“You said you could. Come here.”

Lydia left her shoes at the foot of the chair. “Like this?”

“Mmmm, nice.”

“Can I kiss you or is that impolite?”

“Please, kiss me.”

“Like that?”

“Mmmm. Very nice.”

“And this?”

“Mmmm…”

“Here?”

“Mmmmm.”

“More?”

“More.”

“Like that?”

“Yes…like that.”

“Lana…you’re so–”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Lana.”

“Mmmmmmm…”

“Is this all right?”

“Lydia…”

“Yes?”

“Nice.”

“This too?”

“Oh…Lydia…”

“Yes?”

“You are such…”

“Such?”

“Yes…such…”

“Such what?”

“Mmmmm…such a…”

“Such a what?”

“Such…a liar…”

_____

“Well, it’s no defense. The press will be dumbfounded, your father dismayed.”

“My father is not paying you, I am.”

“I was simply stating his emotional interest in the case. He’d like to see you out of the limelight, get back to your life again.”

“I’m not lying to achieve his happiness or to get out of the papers. There’s still no merit to her claim whether we’re lovers or not.”

Stanley studied his client’s face. “When did you become lovers, Lydia?”

She pursed her lips and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “I don’t know, Stan.”

“Then try it this way. When weren’t you lovers?”

“I just can’t say. I don’t know that, Stan.”

He looked through her and then referred to the legal pad again. “Ultimately it’s not dispositive. It’s just a shame to give her anything. And to give up defamation, Lydia? They would have dropped suit with that reply.”

She knew that.

“Okay. I’ll have it drafted by the end of the week. That’ll give you time to reconsider.”

“It doesn’t completely deprive me of a defense. Does it?”

“Of course not. Her claim is frivolous. More akin to malicious. We’ll be filing a motion to dismiss it at a later date. That’ll leave your Dr. Kristenson to fend for herself, though. Is she aware that you’re admitting this?”