Читать книгу New Year's Eve Murder - Leslie Meier - Страница 10

When Pablo finally finished photographing their newly made-up faces, Lucy was tired and hungry. She never would have guessed that posing was such hard work and had new respect for the models whose pictures filled the fashion magazines every month. She also wondered how they managed to stay so thin since she had worked up quite an appetite.

So far, she decided, the makeover had been surprisingly stressful. Like Lurleen, she had expected to be petted and pampered, but instead she’d spent the morning enduring Pablo’s egotism, Camilla’s abusive temper, and Nadine’s rudeness. Add to that Elizabeth’s determination to starve herself and the competitive atmosphere created by the ten-thousand-dollar prize and she was more than ready for a break. Fortunately, she’d arranged to meet Samantha Blackwell for lunch and was looking forward to spending a relaxing hour or two reminiscing about college.

“It’s a working lunch,” said Elizabeth, reading from the well-worn Xerox schedule. “Deli sandwiches and a motivational speaker in the boardroom.”

Lucy stopped in her tracks. “But I have a lunch date with Sam,” protested Lucy. The true horror of her situation was slowly dawning. “She promised to make her fabulous brownies for me, the ones with chocolate chunks, pecans, and icing.”

“No way,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “It’s pastrami on rye with a big helping of team spirit.”

“They’ll never miss me.”

Elizabeth stamped her foot. “Mom! What about the contest? You can’t sneak away. You’ve got to participate to win. That’s what you’re always telling me. ‘Showing up is ninety percent of success.’ Right?”

Lucy hated it when her kids quoted her own words back at her, but she knew Elizabeth was right. She pulled out her cell phone and called Sam.

“I’m not surprised,” said Sam, when Lucy told her she couldn’t make it. “I figured they’d keep you busy. We’ll do it another time.”

“When?” wailed Lucy. “It’s been more than twenty years.”

“I know. It’s pathetic. But I have an idea.”

“Tell me.”

“Nope. It’s a surprise,” said Sam. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Nobody enjoyed the lunch. Lucy and Maria were the only ones who actually ate the oversized deli sandwiches which contained at least a pound of salty, highly seasoned meat. Lurleen regarded hers with suspicion, declaring she preferred white bread and mayonnaise to rye and mustard. Cathy followed the Atkins diet, eating all of the meat and none of the bread, and the others ignored the sandwiches entirely and nibbled on the pickles instead. The motivational speaker was a disappointment, too, offering a single message: You can choose to be happy or sad, so why not choose to be happy? She said it various ways, of course, but each rephrasing boiled down to the same idea. Most disappointing to Lucy, however, was the fact that none of the editors had bothered to show up.

“I could have gone to Sam’s,” she complained, as they boarded the bus that was taking them to the TV studio.

“Shh,” cautioned Elizabeth, as the editors began filing onto the bus.

Lucy watched with interest as Phyllis followed Nadine, the beauty editor, carrying her assortment of bags like some sort of native bearer on a safari. She waited until Nadine had taken her place in a window seat and then arranged her bags on the seat beside her before leaving the bus. Phyllis wasn’t going to the show, and the other editors Lucy had met were also conspicuously absent. There was no sign of Pablo or the art director, Nancy Glass, or the accessories editor, Deb Shertzer. Instead, Camilla took the front seat, accompanied by a large, almost mannish woman with very short hair wearing a severe gray pantsuit.

Lucy listened to the buzz in the bus. “Who’s that?” “Camilla isn’t…?” “Oh no, I don’t think so.” “It would be ironic….” “It would be a hoot!”

Finally, as the bus pulled away from the curb, Camilla stood up and began speaking into a microphone.

“Ladies! Your attention please. As you’ve probably guessed, we’re all going to see the Norah! show!” She paused, dramatically holding up her free hand. “As featured guests! You’re all going to be on TV and you’re all going to meet Norah Hemmings, the fabulous Queen of Daytime TV, in person!”

This was greeted with excitement by the makeover winners, who cheered and applauded. Lucy, however, saw trouble ahead. She hadn’t exactly been winning any popularity contests since Camilla noticed her boots and lobster watch at the before photo shoot, precipitating the unpopular decision to put them all in absurd regional costumes. To be honest, she certainly wouldn’t blame Serena, who didn’t share her daughter’s enthusiasm for being photographed for a national magazine in a swimsuit, if she never forgave her. Ginny and Amanda had no trouble adopting the glum expressions from the Grant Wood painting; they hadn’t appreciated being portrayed as country bumpkins in overalls. Maria and Carmela were enthusiastic sports fans and had enjoyed donning pinstriped New York Yankees uniforms, but Cathy and Tiffany made no attempt to conceal their loathing for the gold-lamé twirler costumes. Lurleen and Faith weren’t happy about the Civil War–era hoop skirts they’d had to wear, either.

It wasn’t Lucy’s fault that Camilla had decided on the demeaning outfits, but she wasn’t confident she could convince the others. And now she was pretty sure that the fact that she and Norah were, well, maybe not bosom buddies but definitely more than mere acquaintances, wouldn’t sit well with them, either. Norah loved her summer home in Tinker’s Cove and made a real effort to get to know the locals; she was sure to mention the fact that she and Lucy were neighbors. Even more awkward was the on-again, off-again romance between Elizabeth and Norah’s son Lance. The two had been good friends ever since he spent a year in the Tinker’s Cove public school while Norah was involved in a nasty divorce.

“You will all be sitting in the front row,” continued Camilla, “so put on your smiles, because if you watch the Norah! show you know how often the camera pans the audience, especially the lucky ones in the front. Also, our beauty editor Nadine Nelson will select one mother–daughter team to demonstrate the make-up techniques she used this morning.”

Nadine, who was slumped in her seat, apparently dozing, didn’t respond.

“Also, our fashion editor, let me introduce Elise Frazier….”

The woman who was sitting next to Camilla lumbered to her feet and gave a curt nod. With her lumpish figure and understated business suit she didn’t seem at all what Lucy expected a fashion editor to be like, but then, Lucy reminded herself, she didn’t really know anything about fashion magazine editors, except for the handful she had met so far. But from the little she knew, Elise seemed to be the exception to the rule that they were obsessed with fashion and diet. Feeling a nudge from Elizabeth, Lucy turned her attention to Camilla, who was continuing to speak.

“Elise is going to choose one mother–daughter team to model outfits she has specially selected from our upcoming issue,” she said, bending down so Elise could whisper in her ear.

Lucy imagined she could hear the wheels turning in the makeover winners’ heads as they tried to figure out the best way to be chosen for special treatment.

Elise was scanning the group. “Elise tells me the clothes are size four. Confess, now, who wears size four?”

Carmela and Maria were waving their arms and practically jumping out of their seats.

“I guess we have our models, then,” said Camilla. “Now, enjoy the ride. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Sorry, honey,” said Lucy, patting Elizabeth’s hand. “I don’t think I was ever a size four and I’m certainly not one now.”

“I don’t think Maria is either,” said Elizabeth, as the bus pulled to a stop in front of a tall, gray stone building.

A line of women was behind a row of barriers, waiting to be admitted to the studio, and they watched enviously as the Jolie group was ushered ahead of them. Lucy wasn’t used to such special treatment and found she enjoyed it, but she also felt a bit uncomfortable, as if she didn’t really deserve it.

Sidra Rumford, née Finch and the daughter of Lucy’s best friend Sue, was waiting to greet them in the hallway. She was an assistant producer on the show and looked very professional, holding a clipboard and dressed in the New York uniform of a black pantsuit and pink blouse.

“Welcome to the Norah! show,” she said. “And a special welcome to Lucy and Elizabeth, who are here from my own hometown, Tinker’s Cove!”

All eyes were on them as they exchanged hugs and greetings; Lucy could practically feel little darts of jealousy pricking her through her thick plaid coat.

“Back home, we’re all so proud of Sidra,” she announced to the group in general, as they filed down the hall. “She’s a real success story, and so is her husband, Geoff. They’ve both left our little town and have careers in the big city.”

No one replied as they passed through a series of doors and eventually arrived in the studio, where they were seated in the front row, just as Camilla promised. A couple of make-up technicians immediately began touching up their faces with powder while Camilla and Elise consulted with Sidra. Nadine was nowhere to be seen.

After making a few notations on her clipboard, Sidra squared her shoulders and addressed the group. “There’s been a change,” she said. “Unfortunately, Nadine Nelson, who was going to do a make-up segment for the show, will be unable to appear today because of illness so we’re going to have to scratch the beauty and fashion feature to accommodate our substitute guest.”

The women groaned, politely, and Sidra held up her hand. “I’m really sorry about this. I know it’s disappointing for the moms and daughters who were chosen, but I’m afraid it’s unavoidable. You’re all still going to be on TV, and Norah herself will introduce you all by name.”

This pleased the women, who began patting their hair and checking their reflections in their pocket mirrors. All except for Lurleen and Faith, that is, who apparently didn’t carry pocket mirrors and were too disappointed to bother to use them in any case. Maria and Carmela seemed to be taking it better, shrugging and chatting animatedly with each other.

“I wonder what’s the matter with Nadine?” asked Cathy, who was seated next to Lucy.

“Probably the flu,” said Lucy. “My friend told me there’s an outbreak. I’ve been taking vitamin C.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Cathy. “I’ll get some. In fact, I’ll get enough for everybody.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Lucy, wishing she’d thought of it. It would have been a good way to rehabilitate her tarnished reputation.

Behind them, the audience members were beginning to file in. Cameramen and other technicians were taking their places and checking their equipment. It was all very casual and seemingly disorganized until suddenly the house lights went down and the familiar theme music came up, and Norah herself appeared, somehow looking larger than life as the audience burst into enthusiastic applause.

“We have a knockout show for you today,” began Norah, listing guests including pop singer Beyoncé, sitcom star Trina Hamilton, and “a special segment on kitchen design—I know you’re going to be interested in that because we all have to cook, right?”

Norah looked right into the camera and gave her signature moue, and the audience burst into laughter; she had them all in the palm of her hand and she hadn’t even announced the free music CDs they’d all be getting.

“But first, I want to introduce our special guests—the winners of the Jolie magazine winter makeover for moms and daughters!”

Here we go, thought Lucy, as the hot spotlights hit them. They were so bright that she wanted to squint but reminded herself to smile instead as Norah approached and hugged her.

“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed the star, standing between Lucy and Elizabeth and holding them by the hand. “These are my neighbors from Tinker’s Cove, in Maine, where I have a summer home. Lucy and Elizabeth Stone.”

To Lucy it sounded as if the audience was applauding madly.

“New York is very different from Tinker’s Cove, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” said Lucy, suddenly finding herself speechless.

“Are you having a good time?”

“We sure are,” said Lucy, nodding and smiling for all she was worth.

Norah turned to Elizabeth, who had suddenly gone pale. “Me, too,” she managed to squeak, and Norah gave them each a parting hug before moving on. Lucy heard Norah proclaim that Cathy was from Texas, but the rest was a blur as she concentrated on collecting herself. Who would have thought that a brief moment on the small screen would have such an effect? Lucy’s head was swimming, her heart was pounding, her mouth was dry as cotton, and her hands were sweaty. She reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand; it was ice cold. “Whew,” she whispered, hoping they were out of camera range.

“That was intense,” said Elizabeth, also whispering.

The show went to commercials after Norah finished introducing the others—at least that’s what Lucy assumed was going on as Norah settled herself in a chair and was immediately surrounded by hair and make-up technicians who made minute adjustments to her appearance. Sidra also appeared, escorting a nattily dressed man in his mid-fifties and seating him in the guest chair.

Then, Norah was sitting up straighter and talking into a camera.

“Have I got something amazing for you,” she began, introducing a video clip. “Just you watch, you won’t believe this.”

The audience was directed to a series of video monitors that hung from the ceiling where a model was demonstrating a state-of-the-art kitchen. Norah hadn’t overstated the case; the kitchen was equipped with an oven that could hold a dish at refrigerator temperature all day until signaled by telephone to begin cooking and a refrigerator with a digital display that warned when milk and other staples were getting low. When the video was over, Norah introduced her guest, real estate developer Arnold Nelson.

“Now, Arnold, is this stuff for real?” asked Norah. “I mean, I want it, we all want it, don’t we?” The audience, including Lucy, responded by clapping enthusiastically. Norah continued, “But where can we get it?”

“Well, Norah, these are the kitchens that we want to put in our new City Gate Towers, which we hope to build right here in New York on Governors Island.”

Lucy leaned back, half dozing, as Arnold described the luxury condominiums that were going to be located on an island in New York harbor formerly used as a Coast Guard base.

“You’re joshing me! You mean I can actually get a kitchen with all this space-age equipment right now?”

“In a year or two,” answered Arnold, “if things go according to schedule. As you know, a citizens’ committee is currently considering a variety of proposals for the island, and we’re awaiting their recommendations. We certainly hope that City Gate Towers will be part of the final plan.”

A second video began to run showing architects’ drawings of the towers rising from the green and wooded island. The camera appeared to swoop around the towers, showing them in relation to landmarks including the Verrazzano Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and the skyscrapers of Wall Street.

“That is a magnificent setting,” cooed Norah. “Imagine waking up every morning to that view.”

“And freshly prepared hot coffee, too, at the push of a remote button.”

Norah’s eyes bugged out, and the audience burst into applause.

“Our residents will have the whole city at their feet,” continued Arnold, “but they’ll also have the charm—and the security—of island living. It’s absolutely unparalleled. There’s nothing like it anywhere in the world.”

“Well, sign me up,” gushed Norah. “All that—and remote control coffee. It doesn’t get better than that, does it?”

The audience jumped to their feet, clapping, and the cameras turned to pan them in preparation for another commercial break. Seated once again, Lucy found herself wondering about Norah’s choice of Arnold as a guest. The segment had been little more than an infomercial for his development, but perhaps he was the best they could find as a last-minute substitute for Nadine.

“Do you believe it?” whispered Cathy.

“Some amazing kitchen,” said Lucy, keeping her reservations to herself.

‘No, I mean about Arnold.”

“What about him?”

“He’s Nadine’s husband.”

Lucy considered the implications of this. “At home, everybody knows everybody, but I didn’t expect it to be like that in New York City.”

“It isn’t,” said Cathy, lowering her voice as the house lights went down. “Here it’s only everybody who’s anybody.”

As the show continued, Lucy wondered how the last-minute switch had been arranged. Had Nadine made a quick call from the bus when she realized she was too sick to go on? Lucy hadn’t noticed if she had; she only remembered seeing her sleeping. Maybe she’d given a message to Phyllis, while she was helping her get settled on the bus, and she’d made the arrangements from her office. It all seemed less than entirely square to Lucy, who was used to following Ted’s strict rules at the Pennysaver about keeping advertisements separate from editorial policy. She shrugged mentally. Maybe TV had different standards from newspapers; she really didn’t know.

Then Beyoncé was singing, and then the show was suddenly over; everybody was on their feet, applauding madly. Even Lurleen and Faith had forgotten their earlier disappointment and were smiling and clapping.

The high spirits engendered by the show continued as they all boarded the waiting bus for the ride to the hotel, where they would have an hour to rest and change for dinner and a promised Broadway show. Petty jealousies and rivalries were forgotten as Maria treated everyone to a medley of songs about New York, finally getting them all to join in for a rousing chorus of “New York, New York.”

A wave of tiredness overcame Lucy as she disembarked from the bus and crossed the hotel lobby, but she was surprised when Elizabeth’s steps dragged, too. She was beginning to wonder if she was coming down with the flu when the desk clerk called her name.

The others, who were gathered by the elevator, watched curiously as he presented her with a couple of square, white envelopes. Lurleen, whose eyes were practically popping out of her head, couldn’t restrain herself. “What’s that?” she demanded. “How come we didn’t all get them?”

Lucy examined the envelopes, which were addressed to her and Elizabeth in calligraphic script. “I don’t know,” she said, turning them over. Seeing the name and address of the sender, she smiled. “It’s nothing to do with the magazine,” she said. “It’s from my friend who lives in New York.”

“They look like invitations,” said Cathy. “A wedding, maybe?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anything about a wedding.” Lucy was wondering what was keeping the elevator. She wanted to open the envelopes in private, in her room.

“Goodness, we’re all forgetting our manners,” said Ginny. “Lucy doesn’t need to share her private mail with us.”

“I think it’s some sort of joke,” said Lucy. “Probably one of those funny greeting cards.”

The arrow next to the elevator was alight, signaling it was on its way down.

“I could use a joke,” said Cathy.

“Oh, all right,” said Lucy, slipping her finger under the envelope flap and pulling out an engraved cardboard square. The others were clustered around, craning their necks and reading over her shoulder.

“Oh my,” she said, breaking into a big smile. “It is an invitation. To a ball at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Tomorrow night.”

“The AIDS gala,” said Cathy, as the doors slid open.

The women crowded aboard, surging ahead of Lucy and Elizabeth, who found themselves outside, looking in at a full car.

“Sorry, no room,” chirped Lurleen, as the doors closed.

Lucy and Elizabeth stood in place, looking at each other, then they burst into giggles. “A ball!” exclaimed Elizabeth, jumping up and down with excitement. “There’ll be famous people, fabulous dresses…”

“Oh dear,” said Lucy, her heart sinking as they stepped into an empty elevator. “We don’t have a thing to wear!”