The Celebutantes (4 page)

I began painting when I was very young. Art is my passion, my lifeline. I had to hide it from my parents, who were very strict and private. They knew I was interested in art, but they never understood what it was all about. They never suspected that I'd been working in private throughout my teenage years. Dozens and dozens of sketches and canvases. Painting became an escape for me. I always thought I'd have to hide it, but eventually, the need to share my particular vision of the world eclipsed everything else. I take my inspiration from the great master painters. Sometimes I feel them speaking through me….

A suitably dramatic monologue, but a sincere one. And the critics and buyers and public agreed: Tallula Kayson was a wunderkind. Her works drew comparisons to most of the modern masters. There was an internal vision to her abstractness, a mystery that both seduced and shocked. A unique use of color and light and shadow. She might have seemed too young to possess such talent, but the proof was there. A flurry of publicity followed that first showing; there were magazine and newspaper articles and brief televised clips. Headlines read
Where Has She Been All These Years?
and
Twenty-Year-Old Artist and College Dropout a Genius
and
The Mystery of Tallula.
Her first show in the little gallery in SoHo sold out, and the amount she walked away with was more than most people made in a year. She became an overnight sensation in the art world—and a bona fide celebrity.

But fame wasn't exactly a gift. She was learning that lesson more and more every day. Although being recognized and idolized made life fun and flashy, it also created roadblocks and changed the way things unfolded around you. There were petty little jealousies. There were egos. Try as she might, Tallula simply couldn't keep a handle on everything. She couldn't control certain forces…or certain people.

Elijah was proving to be her toughest battle yet.

Reaching for the dress Ina had picked out, Tallula slipped into it and looked at the full-length mirror again. Yes. She did look good. No mistaking that. She stepped into a pair of strappy sandals.

“Well?” Ina asked. “Do you love it?”

“I do,” Tallula admitted. “You were right. But it needs something. It needs a little splash.” She turned, went to her suitcase, and riffled through it. She found her favorite bright red silk scarf—which totally clashed with the outfit—and carefully smoothed it out. Then she wrapped it around her head and knotted it just over her left ear, fashioning a wacky-looking bandana. “There,” she said, glancing into the mirror again. “That makes more of a statement. Now, Ina, would you be a dove and tell me how much time I have left?”

“Just a few minutes.” A pause. “Um, Tallula? Do I…do I have to come with you today? To the luncheon, I mean.”

Tallula stared at her assistant. “Of course you have to come. Why would you ask a question like that?”

“I'm just not feeling too good,” Ina said quietly.

“What's wrong?” Tallula walked toward her, a look of concern on her face.

Ina cast her eyes downward. “I think I have a stomach flu or something like that,” she replied.

“But you look fine, and I need you, Ina. And I promise, we won't stay long.” Her tone was firm, and that ended the possibility of Ina staying in the penthouse while the luncheon unfolded. Tallula walked back to the mirror and studied herself again. “Now, Ina, would you be a cookie and tell me what the rest of my day looks like? I'd like to go shopping while I'm in Manhattan.”

Ina reached for her notepad and flipped through it. “You have an interview with
Art in America
at four-thirty, a telephone interview with the
Chicago Tribune
at five-thirty, and dinner with your agent at eight.”

Tallula blinked, confused. “Dinner? Is that tonight? I wanted to eat in tonight.”

“I can call and cancel….”

“No, don't do that.” Tallula reached for her purse. “I don't want to upset anyone. Besides, I don't plan on coming back into Manhattan for several weeks, so I guess I should keep the dinner appointment.”

Ina smirked. “Everyone wants to meet you, Madam Famous Artist.”

“I just wish
I
felt like meeting everyone.” She gave herself another quick once-over in the mirror. Then she shuffled through her purse for lip gloss and applied some. Trying to sound offhanded, she said, “I haven't heard Elijah, and he's usually so noisy. Where is he?”

“He left while you were in the shower,” Ina replied. “He said he was going downstairs.”

“To the luncheon?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well…” Tallula gulped over her rising anger. “I wonder why he'd go without me? He knows I like making an entrance together.”

Ina stayed quiet. She had learned long ago that silence was the best option when Tallula got mad.

But in truth, Tallula was more hurt than mad. She knew it was visible in her eyes. She had never been able to hide her emotions, and this was especially true when it came to Elijah. No, he wasn't perfect. He wasn't even always nice to her. He was, however, all she had. Lately they had been arguing more, and Tallula found herself having to stay quiet, to step out of his path when the threats came and her fear level spiked.

Now she stared at Ina. “Let's go, then,” she said quietly. “I guess we'll meet him there.”

“Of course.”

Two minutes later, they were strolling through the huge suite, both clasping their purses, Ina cradling an appointment book and several press kits. Then they reached the foyer and a loud knock sounded at the door.

“Who could that be?” Tallula asked no one in particular.

Ina turned the knob, expecting to shoo away a reporter or photographer. But when her eyes met Elijah's face, she stepped back and quickly let him inside.

“Oh!” Tallula smiled. “There you are, darling. Why didn't you use your key?”

“I forgot it.” Elijah stormed past her, his expression dark, his movements impatient. He didn't look at either of them as he headed for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Tallula called back into the room. “It's time for the luncheon.”

“Forget it,” Elijah snapped. “You go ahead without me.”

“What?” She stared at him, trying to sound amused. But her voice cracked and belied the little smile creasing her lips. “Why wouldn't you want to come? You know how important—”

Elijah spun around. His eyes were as sharp as daggers. “Did you hear me? I told you to go without me. I'm not in the mood for any stupid luncheon. Just leave me alone.” He went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Ina had kept her gaze cast downward. She slowly turned the knob again. And, not for the first time, she bit her tongue as Tallula stormed past her in tears.

4

Taking the Plunge

L
ex stared down at the green brooch pinned to her dress and tried not to barf. It was a garish color, shaped like a paintbrush, and way too big. From a distance, it probably looked like something obscene.

She was standing beside the podium with Park. Madison, of course, was still giving her acceptance speech—a long, rambling monologue about what art meant to her and how honored she was to be a member of the Society of the Americas. Every geezer in the audience was staring up at her with wide eyes. Nice, yes. But Lex couldn't wait for the afternoon to be over. She wished she had some of Park's ability to look interested or, at the very least, polite. But she didn't. Lex knew that boredom was showing on her face like a fat pimple.

Inwardly, she sighed. It was better to use this time wisely, so she glanced up at the beautiful chandeliers and started reviewing all the work she had to do in the next couple of weeks. Her biggest project right now was the opening of the first Triple Threat store at the Hotel Gansevoort. An Upper East Side girl by birth and by choice, she had a special place in her heart for the Meatpacking District; it was trendy and chic and always pulsing with life. She preferred the nightclubs there to any of the ones in the East Village. The area's unique architecture almost made it feel as though you were stepping back in time to a different, older Manhattan. Not that she actually wanted to visit that turn-of-the-century era: horse poop–covered streets, no cell phones, and a severe shortage of cosmetics counters made for a very unfashionable city. But the current mix of cobblestone streets and sleek clubs made the Meatpacking District a perfect place to open the first Triple Threat store.

Shopping would be a new and exhilarating experience. There would be an on-site restaurant, and a resident masseuse would relieve the aches and pains that sometimes accompanied the trying on of clothes. Bending to pull pants over your legs. Lifting your arms to get a shirt over your head. It wasn't all fun and games. A girl could easily break a sweat selecting a new wardrobe. Above the main floor, a DJ would spin beats and get shoppers into a partying mood.

The announcement of the store had been huge news. It had also been a complete surprise to Park. Busy with filming, Lex and Madison had decided to arrange the details quietly so that none of Park's attention would be drawn away from her script. But the
real
news was that the store's opening would coincide with the premiere of
Short Fuse
in late fall; a star-studded cast party was already in the works, and Jeremy Bleu had agreed to make an inaugural appearance once the front doors opened. What was more, Lex had used her connections—actually, her father's personal little phone book—to clinch a special deal with Paramount Pictures that would make the New York boutique a celebrity landmark: the studio had agreed to hold four premiere parties a year in the fashionable space, so the media blitz surrounding the store would be constant.

She had never been so excited. The Triple Threat line was selling phenomenally well around the world, and her newest collection was coming along nicely. Thank God school was out—homework had a tendency to get in the way of designing. But there was still a lot of work to be done. Tonight, Lex knew, she had to hit her desk and put the final touches on a new dress she'd dreamed up. After that, she'd have to revisit the sketches of the shoe line she had made two weeks ago. The line would be small—only three to four pairs of women's shoes—but they would be gorgeous. It was all time-consuming and exhausting. But it was also the most fun she'd ever had. She couldn't imagine doing anything else with her free time. Except maybe going out on a date every now and then. But she hadn't had one of those in ages. With her crazed schedule, how could she? People had gotten into the habit of pegging Madison as the future workaholic, but now Lex seemed to have taken over that role. Lex wanted to meet a nice guy with a brain and looks. That combination, however, seemed to have gone extinct. Some of the guys who walked in her social circle were hot, including several at St. Cecilia's Prep. In the end, though, they wanted nothing more than to hop under the sheets and then forget you, and Lex just wasn't in the mood for that kind of fling-thing anymore. Better to be single than to be with a moron running on cigarettes and testosterone.

“…and my sister Lexington,” Madison said, her voice booming across the room.

The moment Lex heard her name, she broke out of her reverie. She lifted her eyes and focused and saw that every gaze was on her.
Oh, shit.
Was she supposed to say something? Do something? She hadn't heard a word of Madison's speech. A few tense seconds ticked by. Swallowing hard, Lex finally brought her right hand up and gave the crowd a fake windshield-wiper wave. It seemed to do the trick.

A round of applause echoed on the air.

The speech was finished, and Lex smiled at no one in particular as she followed Madison and Park off the stage and back to the Michelangelo table. “Can we go now?” she asked flatly.

“Of course not,” Madison said. “We still have to meet Tallula Kayson and introduce her new painting.” She looked around. “Hey, have either of you noticed that Coco didn't come back from the bathroom?”

“You're right,” Park confirmed. “She didn't. Maybe she went home.”

“She wouldn't do that.” Madison sat down. “She wanted to go shopping after this. We had it all planned out. I just hope she didn't run back into that sleazy Elijah somewhere out there. It took all three of us to call him off last time.”

It was the cue Lex needed. “I tell you what,” she said. “I'll run out and look for Coco and make sure she's okay. She really was pretty drunk.”

“That would make me feel a lot better,” Madison said, relieved. She gave Lex's arm a thankful pat. “And make sure she isn't with Poppy van Lulu either. Coco can't resist a Hollywood divorce bet.”

Park chuckled. “Do we really need a psychic for that? We all
know
who's getting divorced next.”

Lex swung her bag—otherwise known as the magic purse—around her shoulder and bolted from the room. The moment she stepped into the empty hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was thrilled to be away from the confines of the luncheon. If she heard one more person make some snooty highbrow remark about Pollock or Rosenquist she'd positively lose it. She had an appreciation for art, but after a while, discussions of that nature tended to bore her. She ripped the ugly brooch from her dress and dropped it into her purse. Then she hung a right and headed for the bathroom. Peeking her head through the door, she called out Coco's name. When she got no response, she pushed all the way in and did a quick scan of the stalls: empty. Great. Where could the drunken Miss McKaid have gone? That question had about a dozen answers, and Lex didn't even want to consider most of them. Coco completely lost her brain after a couple of drinks. It wouldn't surprise Lex to find her standing behind the front desk of the hotel checking in guests.

She left the bathroom and decided to head for the main lobby. On her way down the wide staircase, she ran into a group of Japanese tourists, cameras hung around their necks. Several of them recognized her immediately and began nodding and pointing and chattering. An older man dressed in a bright green shirt, pale blue shorts, and flip-flops blocked Lex's path; he held out a map of Manhattan and, speaking excitedly in Japanese, pointed to the words
Lexington Avenue.

“On TV,” he said in broken English. “I see you!”

Lex smiled warmly. “Yes,” she said. “I'm Lexington.” When one of the women in the group held up a camera, Lex struck a pose and waited patiently while several pics were snapped. Her vision blurred with flashing white spots. She gave the tourists a final wave and then dashed the rest of the way down the staircase.

The lobby was crowded. As inconspicuously as possible, Lex scanned the large area. Lots of people with suitcases and several businessmen heading to the Peacock Alley bar. But still no sign of Coco. Lex didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to get a little nervous. She flipped out her cell and speed-dialed Coco; the line went directly to voice mail. That was weird. Coco never turned off her phone.

Where the hell could she be?

Lex took a few more steps into the lobby so that she could peer into the bar. She didn't want to be recognized again. Though flattering and sweet and perfectly lovely, having to give autographs would slow her down, and going back to the luncheon without Coco meant facing Madison's wrath.

She moved swiftly and quietly across the floor. She peeked over a tall plant and stared into the bar. Nothing. She took shelter beside the plant's long fronds as she pondered her options. Madison was right—Coco wouldn't have left without saying anything. Had she wandered into an open elevator by mistake? Had she tripped coming up the stairs? Or, worse, had she been nabbed by Poppy van Lulu and forced into an impromptu séance? Just a conversation with the woman was enough to ruin your day—a séance would probably have lasting effects on your personality.

Another minute passed, and Lex decided to check the gift shop. Drunk people got hungry, right? Maybe Coco was eating her way out of a bag of potato chips and drinking a Coke. That was it. That had to be it. All this time wasted when all Lex had to do was head for the one corner of the hotel that sold fast food. Totally annoying. She didn't want to risk being recognized again, so she tore off one of the large fronds and held it up in front of her face like a fan. A pointed edge poked her in the nose, and a sneeze itched its way across her face. She pinched her nostrils. She held the big leaf up higher so that it covered her cheeks. If anyone stared at her suspiciously, she'd have to convince them that she had just come out of a botanical spa treatment. She ripped off an edge of one leaf and slipped the thin piece behind her ear for effect. That was better. Made it appear as though she'd gotten a hair treatment too.

She stepped out of her hiding spot and turned around quickly.

And slammed head-on into another body.

A tall body with long arms, arms that were holding a stack of thick telephone books.

“Whoa!” Lex shrieked before falling to her knees.

But her voice was muffled by the massive bang of the other body hitting the floor, and by the telephone books raining through the air.

“Watch out!” one of the hotel clerks at the front desk screamed.

Everyone in the lobby whirled around.

Lex looked up from her place on the ground just as a phone book hit a vase, tipped it over, and spilled two dozen tulips smack-dab on the head of an elderly man sitting in one of the leather chairs.

Assailed by a shock of cold water and about two hundred dollars' worth of flowers, the man let out a yelp. Then the vase crashed and shattered into a hundred pieces. People scurried toward the man quickly, their arms outstretched. He stood up and immediately began wiping down the front of his blazer.

Well,
Lex thought,
so much for not getting noticed.
She pushed away her leafy mask and yanked the piece of leaf from behind her ear. Mortified, she considered crawling her way out of the lobby, using her purse as a shield, but the idea vanished when she felt a big, warm hand lock around her wrist. She glanced up and caught her breath. She realized suddenly that the tall boy standing over her was the body she had slammed into a moment ago.

And, in the next instant, she realized that slamming into him hadn't been such a bad thing.

“Holy Jeez!” he said. “Are you okay? Let me help you up.”

Lex nodded dumbly. “I'm…I'm fine.” She heard the words but didn't actually hear herself say them. She was too busy checking out the hottie whose hand was now wrapped around hers.

He was well over six feet. He was thin but looked strong. All smooth lines and pumped-up muscles. His eyes were brown. His hair was black and buzzed close to the scalp. Nice full lips too.

“Hey, I'm really sorry about that,” he was saying. “I know I shouldn't carry the phone books like that, but I really didn't see you. I—”

“It's okay,” Lex said gently, staring up at him. “Really, I'm fine.”
Totally fine,
she thought.

“Are you sure? I mean, maybe you need to sit down. Maybe…” He froze. His voice trailed away and he cleared his throat nervously.

Lex knew what the look on his face meant: he had recognized her. She had seen that very look thousands of times. Usually, when someone made the connection between her and the word
celebrity,
she was quick to offer a smile or a courteous wave. But now she simply stood there, content to stare up at him and let the moment play out.

“Oh, wow,” he said. “Hey, you're Lexington Hamilton.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Holy Jeez. Well…wow.”

Lex chuckled. She also found herself blushing. Which, of course, was completely out of character. She waited a few seconds for him to say something else, but he remained frozen, staring down at her with star struck eyes. She realized then that his hand was still holding hers. “Since we've already shaken hands, I guess I should say it's nice to meet you,” she remarked lightly.

“Oh, damn. I'm sorry. I…I didn't even realize that.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “Nice to meet you too. You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She gestured her head at the old man, and at the people patting him dry. “I'm glad he's okay too.”

“Yeah. That was actually really funny. Not in a mean way or anything. Just…funny.”

“It
was
funny,” Lex said. She wanted to do the right thing and walk over to the older man, but she couldn't take her eyes off the stud standing in front of her.

He flashed a quick smile, then nervously slipped his hand out of hers. “Um…well…is there anything I can help you with? Like, I mean, maybe you need a brush or something.”