Leana Redman moved through the crowd and was amused by how the crowd parted for her.
There were faces she recognized and most of them were either stoned on whatever drug was circulating, or had been lifted so many times, a strange, permanent smile was on their lips.
She nodded at a man who made million-dollar-deals during the day and was rumored to frequent sex clubs during the night. She passed a countess who gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to a teenage delinquency fund, and yet was known to steal repeatedly from Bloomingdale’s and Saks. To her right was a sheik who loved his many wives-and how their clothes fit his plump body. And to her left, she heard a woman saying, “Brenda? Getting married? That’s absurd. Let me tell you something about Brenda. She’s so butch, she rolls her own tampons.”
Leana looked at the woman who said this and wanted to tell her friends that she might as well be talking about herself. It seemed to her that there was more corruption, drug abuse and twisted social values in Fifth Avenue Society than in any other New York social class.
Across the lobby she could see Harold Baines, Redman International’s VP for International Affairs, speaking at a dimly lit corner table with his wife, Helen. Leana smiled. Finally, someone she not only knew, but adored.
Harold had been with Redman International ever since she could remember and they always had been close. When she was a child and made one of her rare visits to her father’s old headquarters on Madison, Harold made it a point to spend time with her while everyone else paid attention to Celina-the daughter who showed promise. Leana would always love him for it.
She started in their direction. The crowd shifted and she saw Harold push back his chair, stand and kiss Helen on the forehead. The lighting above him accented the deep lines on his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, suggesting an age well past sixty. And yet Harold Baines was fifty-one years old.
Leana waved to him but Harold didn’t notice and he stepped into a nearby washroom. He seemed thinner, older than when she saw him last and Leana noticed he was carrying himself as if the very act of moving required the coordinating of muscles he didn’t have the strength to control. When the door swung shut behind him, she wondered if something was wrong with him. Was he sick? She was about to walk over and ask Helen when Michael Archer appeared in the crowd. He approached her-and held out a hand. “Dance?” he asked.
The band was playing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” As they danced with the other couples on the dance floor, Leana looked up at Michael and decided to ask a question that was certain to catch him off guard. “So, tell me,” she said. “Why did you really spend $100,000 to come here?”
The question took Michael by surprise. “I thought I already explained that,” he said carefully. “I wanted to help your mother raise money this evening for HIV.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Leana said. “That’s an explanation my mother would believe, not me.”
Michael felt a start, but stilled it. She couldn’t know why he was really here. That was impossible. Still, he was wary. She seemed to be looking straight through him. “A lot of my time is spent with the creative community,” he said. “Some of my friends have the disease, which no longer gets any attention in the press. It’s great what your mother’s doing. She’ll put HIV back on the front page.”
Leana studied his face. “All right,” she said. “I’ll buy that. But you’re here for some other reason. No one gives $100,000 to charity without having some other motivation than mere kindness. Kindness went belly up in the ‘40s.” She looked around her. “Is there somebody here you wanted to meet? A producer, perhaps? A publisher?”
His arm tightened around her waist. “I’ve got those covered,” he said.
“Then why are you really here?”
“Why do I have to be here for any particular reason? Can’t I just be a nice guy?”
“No one is nice anymore, Mr. Archer. Look around you. See that man over there, the one with the cigar? Next to him is his wife, who knows that lit cigar goes other places. Now, what’s the reason?”
He saw the humor in her eyes and he softened. This is a game to her, he thought. She knows I’m lying and is just having fun with it. Relax. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you-but on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You have to tell me something you’re not proud of. Quid pro quo. Deal?”
“Deal. Now, what is it?”
“I don’t like giving money to the government,” he said, the idea still fresh. “When I learned your mother was raising money this evening for children with HIV, I saw a chance to write off a hundred grand from my taxes. Better to help children than to hand it over to adults who behave like children, wouldn’t you say?”
Leana nodded. “Now, that I believe.” She accidentally brushed up against the woman dancing behind her. Both turned and smiled their apologies.
“Your turn,” Michael said.
“I don’t think you can handle it.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes challenged his. “I’m an addict. I don’t use anymore, but I’m still an addict-that’s the label they give you when you leave rehab. Always and forever an addict. And, my, how I used to love cocaine. Still do, really, but I just can’t use it or things tend to…collapse.”
Suddenly, his game of quid pro quo had lost its appeal. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was none of my business.”
“Oh, everyone knows,” Leana said. “It’s just another way I’ve been an embarrassment to my family.” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “Don’t look so glum, chum. It happened while I was at school in Switzerland. I haven’t been near the stuff in years.”
As they danced, Michael wondered again why his father sent him here tonight. Why was it so important that he meet Leana Redman?
A hand descended onto his shoulder. Michael turned and saw Harold Baines. “May I?” Harold asked.
Michael reluctantly handed Leana over.
“It was nice meeting you,” he said.
Leana smiled. “And you. Maybe you can dip me inappropriately later? Center of the dance floor? Thirty minutes?”
“What do you mean by inappropriately?” he asked.
“It means I’m not wearing any underwear. It means a long, slow dip for the tabloids.”
Michael held up his hands and backed away. “Okay,” he said. “Thirty minutes. But think about the repercussions in the meantime.” He was surprised to find that he liked her.
As Leana watched him leave the dance floor and move into the crowd, she found herself wishing they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Do you always put the screws to everyone you meet?” Harold asked.
“Just the cute ones.”
“You’re wearing no underwear?”
“Of course, I am. That was just to hook him.”
“You’re amazing,” he said. “But I will say that seems like a nice enough young man. Should I recognize him?”
“He’s Michael Archer.”
“The writer?”
“And movie star. I prefer his books.”
“By the look on your face, his looks, as well.” He held out a hand. “Dance.”
The band was playing an upbeat tune and, as they moved with the other couples, Leana thought Harold seemed different from the man she was concerned about earlier. The lines on his face weren’t nearly so deep and he was carrying himself with a greater sense of control. His brown hair gleamed as if he’d wet it down.
“You’re looking better,” she said.
“Better?”
“When I saw you earlier, you looked a little rough."
“That’s kind of you,” he said. “And when was that?”
“Twenty minutes ago? You stepped into a washroom before I could get your attention.”
Harold grasped her by the hand and whirled her about the dance floor. Leana’s white sequined dress fanned out and she laughed.
“I think you might need glasses,” Harold said. “I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m glad,” Leana said. “You had me worried.” She looked around her. “Where’s Aunt Helen?”
He gave her a look. “Do you really have to ask? She’s with your mother, gossiping. Sometimes I can’t pull those two apart.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go and have a drink. I haven’t seen or talked to you in days-and I want one of your martinis.”
“Martinis!”
They left the dance floor and moved over to the bar, which was handling the crowd with ease. She nodded at a young bartender who was so built, he should have been part of security. She had slept with him a week ago and he looked at her now with a smile. “You know what we want, you big lug.”
“The Leana Redman special?”
She squeezed Harold’s forearm. “Things are looking up, Harold. My father has his own building, I have my own drink. That’s fucking progress.”
While they waited for the drinks, she noticed Eric Parker leaving the dance floor with Diana Crane. Leana’s gaze followed them to the opposite end of the bar where Eric ordered a drink and Diana accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray. She finished it and was sipping her second by the time Eric turned to join her.
“Here you are, Miss Redman.”
“It wasn’t Miss Redman last week.” She winked at him as he blushed. “But manners matter. You’ve still got my number, right?”
He nodded.
“Then use it,” she said. “Like, soon.” She accepted the drinks he offered and looked back over at Eric and Diana. They were standing in silence, both nursing their own drinks. Leana noticed that Diana seemed angry. She wondered why.
She handed Harold his martini. “This will kick your ass to the moon.”
“I know it will.”
“Great. So, let’s kick our asses together.”
They touched glasses and drank.
“Can we talk in private?” Harold asked. He tossed back the martini and nodded toward Leana’s full glass. “You’re such an amateur,” he said. “Is that the best you can do? Drink up. Something tells me you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
They followed a wave of instant celebrities and old money past the candlelit buffet table. Ice swans filled with Iranian caviar gleamed orange in the flickering light and Leana could smell a tempting mixture of roast duck, Westphalian ham and salmon mousse. She lingered, but Harold embraced her arm and urged her forward. “This won’t take long,” he said. “You can eat later.”
“I want to eat now.”
When they were seated alone at Harold’s table, he turned to her and said, “Where were you earlier? You weren’t in the reception line when Helen and I passed through it.”
So, that’s what this is all about. “I came late.”
“Because of what happened with Celina and the man she helped earlier?”
How well he knew her. “Well, this proves it,” she said. “It’s still not too late for you to make a career tossing tea leaves.”
Harold sighed. Ever since Leana was a child he had tried to instill confidence in her. He had tried to make her see that she was not that different from Celina. Would he never be able to reach her? “Your sister is not better than you, Leana.”
“You don’t think so? Then tell me why Celina’s on the board of this goddamned conglomerate, and I’m not.”
“Your sister has worked hard to get where she is.”
“If I had been given the opportunities she was given, I also would have worked hard.” She lifted her head. “So, tell me, why was I shipped off to Switzerland when I could have gone to school here-as Celina did-and work for Redman International-as Celina did.”
“You know I don’t have the answer to that, Leana.”
“I know you don’t, but if we’re really going to have this conversation again, the story is the same. I’m tired of being the daughter who has accomplished nothing. I’m tired of people thinking I can’t accomplish anything. Just once I’d like to be the one getting the attention. Just once I’d like my parents to stand up and notice me.”
“Then stop bitching about it and do something,” he said. “Do you honestly believe Celina has got to where she is today by sitting on her ass and complaining like a spoiled child?” He didn’t wait for an answer. The only way to reach Leana now was by getting her angry. “Of course, she hasn’t. Yes, George gave her a chance, but that girl has worked hard and she wouldn’t be on the board now if she hadn’t earned it. I know George. He wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“No,” Harold said. “I really think you don’t. I think you only see what you want to see-and that isn’t necessarily the truth.”
Leana couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “Why are you saying this to me?”
“Because I should have said it to you years ago, instead of comforting you with words that mean nothing. The only way you’re going to make something of yourself in this world is to make it happen yourself. Just because you’re George Redman’s daughter doesn’t mean you should be treated any differently from the rest of us. In fact, it probably means you’ll have to work a hell of a lot harder.”
“Doing what? I have no skills.” She held up a hand. “Check that. I know what it takes to make a killer martini and I know how to get laid by strangers. Will that get me a job?”
“Maybe on the streets. What you do have is a college education and interests. The world is yours if you’re willing to work hard enough. Your problem is that you’re lazy. You’ve always been lazy, Leana.” He checked his watch, hating himself for having been so hard on her, but also knowing this time he might have reached her.
“Listen,” he said. “I have to go and find Helen. But I want you to come and see me soon-before Eric and I leave for Iran. Together, we’ll see if we can’t find something for you to do. You don’t necessarily need your father’s help to make your mark. Helen and I know most everyone in this town. Maybe I can introduce you to somebody who will give you a chance.”
“You’d do that for me?” Leana said.
“Leana, I’d give you to Anna Wintour.”
She brought her hands to her chest. “Really?”
“Or Putin.”
“What’s the difference? They both love fur.”
She hugged him.
“Believe it or not, I love you, Leana,” Harold said.