Читать книгу The St James Affair - Сьюзен Виггс, Susan Wiggs - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

ELAINE HURRIED under the awning leading to Fezzywig’s, a supertrendy spot that had recently become the hottest in the city. Thanks to Elaine’s publicity firm, the upscale place was currently the favorite midday rendezvous of the twenty-somethings whose names graced the society pages and celebrity columns.

She dashed inside, and was immediately enveloped by the sleek, dimly lit decor of chrome and leather, the cheerful clink of glassware, and—mercifully—no piped-in Christmas Muzak. Instead, sinuous strains of vintage Coltrane provided a tasteful sound track for the ultrachic crowd. Gratefully, she shrugged out of coat, hat and gloves and handed them to the coat-check girl.

She ducked into the ladies’ room. Her ivory cashmere slacks and sweater looked fine—particularly with the buttery-soft Manolos, she thought—but her hair and makeup were a disaster. Yet another thing she hated about Christmas—the rough winds, not to mention the brutal cold and the icy streets.

She fluffed her hair back into a shining blond bob, then took out her compact and went to work, restoring order to her face with practiced strokes. Her mind worked furiously as she performed the damage control.

So Byron had dumped her. She had to decide the best way to play it. On the one hand, she could assume the role of the wounded party, fragile and in desperate need of support. That would allow her to bask in her friends’ soothing platitudes about how the jerk didn’t deserve her, how he’d never been good enough for her in the first place, how he’d grow old and bitterly regretful, thinking of the opportunity he’d passed up with her.

Leaning toward the mirror, she used an eyelash comb to de-clump her mascara. On the other hand, she could mask her humiliation and disappointment behind sarcasm, turning Byron Witherspoon into the joke of the day among their crowd. In throwing her over for a grade-A bimbo, he’d certainly given her adequate material.

Okay, she thought, holstering her lip-gloss wand and pasting on a smile. It’s Christmas Eve. The perfect time for amusement. She’d breeze through this, pretending the loss of her boyfriend was nothing.

Except she didn’t have to pretend. Her brow puckering a little, she studied her image in the mirror. Not bad, with that tousle-haired, cashmere-sweater, gold-earring thing going on. She hardly looked like a woman scorned.

Searching her feelings, she discovered she’d suffered no emotional breakdown over this. The only twinge of regret she felt was that losing Byron now meant showing up at her parents’ party dateless tonight. How terribly inconvenient. She’d never hear the end of it.

She was actually a little disappointed in herself. Where were the pain, the trauma, the weeping and the wailing? The wallowing? Wasn’t this supposed to be a personal train wreck rather than the emotional equivalent of a broken nail? At least if she wept and carried on, even for a few minutes, it would mean that she hadn’t wasted the past six months dating a guy she didn’t care about. But she had no urge to cry and carry on. She felt like getting some work done.

Although it was still early, a good crowd had gathered to fuel themselves for the last day of shopping and tonight’s round of parties. Elaine greeted, waved and air-kissed her way across the room, her practiced smile untroubled by Byron’s betrayal. She loved this crowd of socialites and actors and trendsetters, and they loved her. She was in her element here, in the spotlight as she made her way to meet with her partners, who also happened to be her best friends.

Yet Elaine had a problem. And it had nothing to do with her recent, very public conversation with Byron.

She wasn’t sure why it happened, but sometimes, at the least convenient of moments, she felt something a person in her position wasn’t ever supposed to feel. Loneliness.

It was absurd, given the full, busy life she led, but she couldn’t help it. No matter how much she tried to deny the truth, she often found herself gripped by a sense of futility and the bone-deep ache of emptiness.

That emptiness was the enemy. She battled it with direct action. Land that account, grab that media spot, get out there in the glitzy world of fashion and entertainment and make a name for yourself. A willful, determined nature had compelled her to turn herself, in just a few short years, into one of the busiest, most influential publicists in the city.

Bolstering herself with the thought, she strode across the bar to the high-backed booth where her friends waited, nursing Seven-and-Skyy cocktails and chattering at warp speed.

“There you are, Elaine.” Melanie paddled her hand in the air. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” Elaine slid into the horseshoe-shaped booth next to Bobbi, who was not just her best friend, but her very best friend. “I had a lot of calls to make from the office.” She felt mildly annoyed at her partners. Just because it was Christmas, they thought they could take time off and neglect important business. They were supposed to know better. Public relations opportunities didn’t disappear just because the calendar declared a holiday. In fact, that was even more reason to get busy.

Larry the elf was dead wrong. The magic of the season wasn’t the spirit of giving. It was that Christmas added an extra media hook to their press releases.

Since it was past noon, she ordered a kir royale, slipped her purse strap off her shoulder and made a conscious effort to smile. Jenny P (her last name was Pinkwater but she’d dropped it long ago) looked perfect and polished in Kajal lipstick, black merino and knee-high suede boots. Melanie Benz, affectionately known as Bitchcakes by her adoring clients, laid out her Day Timer and Palm Pilot on the table. She was chopstick-thin. Her white-blond hair was spiked, her eyebrows pared into arches of perpetual surprise. Bobbi, graced with the looks of a supermodel, was a walking billboard for their clients in a T. Gallagher sweater and leather skirt, Chez Moi makeup and a hairstyle by Iago.

Elaine had handpicked Bobbi, a nobody from a North Carolina mill town looking to break into show business or modeling. Elaine and her partners had other plans. Through the magic of their power over the press, they turned Bobbi into the city’s latest girl-about-town. They gave her the right look, posed her with the right stars and socialites, dropped her name in the right ears. And it had worked. She appeared in all the magazines that mattered—W, Vogue and Quest. Within days, the phone had begun to ring, invitations rolled in. Within weeks, Cosmo was calling to get her take on the best spot-reducing exercise for summer. Bobbi’s launch was a ringing success.

There was an unexpected bonus in Elaine’s project to create a media darling. As bubbly and refreshing as a split of Moёt, Bobbi had become her best friend and confidant, the sister she’d never had. She was someone to share secrets and dreams with, someone to whom Elaine might even dare to admit that breaking up with Byron didn’t actually hurt, but had frightened her by making her doubt her ability to sustain any sort of relationship.

No. She wouldn’t go that far. Even her soul sister would not be privy to that fact.

Tonight Bobbi would play a key part in moving their firm up the food chain. It was going to be her job to beguile the mysterious and ambitious Axel, a hip Swiss parfumier they were trying to lure as a client. Everything important rode on landing this account. Axel would be proof at last to her parents that she was capable of doing something that mattered, of making a life for herself and standing on her own two feet. They’d always believed she was dabbling, their Upper East Side princess, playing at being a publicist to pass the time until she settled down and married someone with the right credentials, someone like Byron Witherspoon.

Now Elaine needed Axel more than ever. Acquiring the business of the Swiss billionaire would lessen the humiliation and soften the betrayal of losing Byron.

“If we manage to sign him, he’ll open the door to major accounts in Europe,” Elaine said as they went over the final details of tonight’s event, known for decades in the society pages as the St. James affair. Each year, as her grandparents had before them, her parents invited everyone who was anyone to their annual Christmas Eve bash. Unlike past years, however, this time they’d allowed Elaine’s firm to handle the planning. She didn’t want to screw up.

“What’s he like?” asked Bobbi. “I’m ninety-seven-percent sure I’ve never done it with a billionaire.”

“He’s perfect.”

“What, you’ve done it with him?” asked Mel.

“Of course not. But Axel and I go way back. Boarding school days, actually. Looks that good should be banned from boarding school. You’ll see.” Elaine felt a surge of ambition. Playing the power matching game and teaching someone else the ropes were what she did best. She never stopped playing or thinking of the next move. It was what kept her going, how she made sense of the world.

Melanie and Jenny put their heads together like a couple of battle commanders, mapping out a seating strategy for the party.

“I guess I’ll find out tonight.” Bobbi lowered her voice. “Um, Elaine … do you think I could get a teeny weeny advance on my check? I’m a little strapped.”

Elaine gritted her teeth. “Your advances are already taking you into the summer,” she said.

“I know, but it’s so expensive to keep up this lifestyle. Everything just piles up. My credit cards are totally maxed out. Tomorrow’s Christmas, Elaine. What do you say, honey?”

She forced her jaw to relax. Honestly, some people had no self-control or work ethic. “Stop by the office in the morning and I’ll write you a check.”

“Actually, I wasn’t planning on coming in tomorrow.”

“It’s our busiest time of year, Bobbi.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I rest my case. Busy.” Elaine took a gulp of her drink.

“It’s only once a year.” Bobbi’s tone wheedled. “I was hoping to fly home to see my family. My sister Jimmi just had another baby. Oh, Elaine. What could be sweeter than a baby at Christmas?”

“A contract with a Swiss billionaire,” Jenny said.

Melanie ran a shiny-tipped finger down a list in her planner. “By the way, Elaine, your mom’s a peach to work with.”

Elaine forced a smile over the rim of her glass. “Isn’t she just?” In fact, Freddie St. James had given only the most grudging approval to Elaine’s list of suggestions. Despite her skepticism of the edgy menu items and trendy guest list, her appreciation of Elaine’s handling of the press had persuaded her.

To Freddie, the only thing more important than putting on a successful affair was having the papers report that she’d put on a successful affair. Perversely, having this goal in common had brought Elaine closer to her mother than she’d ever been. Now they were merely oceans apart instead of galaxies.

“You look nervous,” Jenny commented, tilting her head to one side to study Elaine. “You’re never nervous. What’s up with that?”

“It’s my parents’ party, for heaven’s sake.”

“So? We do parties all the time. We’re the best in town. People are still talking about the Helpline Foundation fundraiser we did last Thanksgiving in Bridgehampton. What’s really eating you?”

Elaine took a deep breath. She might as well spill. “I hate Christmas. I hate my life. Byron dumped me for a bra model.”

The announcement fell into a collective, stunned silence.

“But you were supposed to marry him,” Jenny said after a horrified pause. “His father practically owns a broadcasting empire. You two were going to be the ultimate media power couple.”

Bobbi leaned in close to give her a hug. Her forgiving nature made Elaine feel small. “Oh, honey,” Bobbi said in her delightful Southern accent, “We’re so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m more annoyed by his timing than anything else.”

“It’s not too late to find another plus-one for tonight.” Mel started a search on her Palm. “It’s Christmas. You can’t be dateless.”

Elaine bit her tongue. The truth was, she didn’t want a date. Or even Christmas, for that matter. She just wanted to make it through the holiday rush and get back to work.

“Tonight will be perfect,” Jenny declared, raising her glass. “Your parents will be blown away, we’ll have Axel eating out of our hands and everyone will live happily ever after.”

Elaine’s smile felt stiff as she lifted her champagne flute to her friends’ highball glasses. “To happily ever after.”

The bright sound of clinking glasses penetrated the din of piped-in music and high-octane conversation. She would get past this, Elaine told herself. Loneliness and yearning were for losers. Tonight would be perfect.

She watched the bubbles in her champagne cocktail. Through the half-empty glass, she spied something—someone—that made her freeze. She forgot to breathe, to move, to think.

Everything receded into a blur of color and sound, everything except him. He came into sharp focus, each detail about him familiar despite the passage of—she counted quickly in her head—seven years. Seven years this very day, in fact.

She felt trapped, yet at the same time helplessly enchanted, as though she were drowning in honey. All the intensity of first love came roaring back at her, possessing her, waking up feelings she had thought long dead.

It was, she discovered, physically impossible to tear her gaze from that broad-shouldered stance and easy smile, that air of assurance and electric sex appeal. Time had only deepened and sharpened the attributes that still sometimes haunted her dreams.

A classic Bob Marley tune filled the air.

“Elaine, what’s the matter?” asked Jenny. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ducking her head to hide the flush in her cheeks, she set down her glass. “The ghost of Christmas past.”