A Half Dozen Fools (13 page)

Carla looked at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He gave me his card and said to call. He's gorgeous. Not to mention rich and famous..."

"Listen,
amiga
, you got to watch those guys. Look at all the women after them all the time. You know?"

"Well, maybe. But he's inside that world. The world I want to break into. You know? It's Big Time."

Carla stared at her. "You really want all that?"

"Yes, I want all that."

"I hope you know what you are doing."

"I don't exactly. But it beats doing nothing. I can't see me working for the Hoffenzimmers forever."

At that very instant, a gum-snapping young woman with headphones over short, spiky hair bustled through the door carrying a big, hobo-style bag over one shoulder. She popped a huge, pink bubble and pulled her headphone to one side.

Elyse jumped up.

"Hey," the lively girl said, "I was just walking by and the window caught my eye. What's it all about in here?"

Elyse rushed behind the retail counter. "We were founded twenty-five years ago by Raphael Navarro and Solomon Winters, who created the look for the Masquerade rock group."

The quirky young woman ran her eyes along a slew of eight by ten photos hung on the wall. "Really--Masquerade?"

"Uh-huh." Elyse pointed out the framed photograph of the rock stars in their heyday, dressed in costume with the full theatrical makeup for which they'd become famous.

"But," she added, "maybe ten years ago, Rod and Judy Hoffenzimmer bought it."

With a fake smile plastered on her face, she thought,
And, it's been downhill, ever since
.

The girl grabbed a foundation tester off the countertop. "May I?"

"Of course."

Elyse placed a box of tissues, swabs, and tester wands on the counter in front of her.

With confidence, the lively girl snatched up a swab and dipped it into the mouth of the bottle. She then drew a line over the skin between the thumb and wrist of her free hand. With a trained eye, she examined its color against her flesh tone. After repeating a similar action with other foundation colors, she examined eye shadows, blushes, and pencils.

"So," Elyse finally asked, "are you in the business?"

"Mm-hm," the perky girl answered. "I'm Lianna's personal makeup artist."

Elyse's eyes widened at the sound of the pop singer's name. This was one star she
definitely
knew.

"Wow," she said, "you do Lianna's makeup?"

"Mm-hmm."

Carla chimed in from across the room. "You work with Lianna?"

"Sure do. Jaycee Slater, at your service."

Carla straightened. "I ask because iss funny. She is right here in this magazine."

Jaycee wiped off her wrist and headed toward Carla. "Let's see that."

Elyse joined Jaycee for a look at the magazine on Carla's lap.

"Yup," Jaycee announced proudly, "that's my work. We were in Turks and Caicos for that shoot."

Elyse stared at the photos of the pretty singer in a host of bathing suits and gauzy outfits blowing in the breeze.

"Nice," she mumbled.

Jaycee nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty happy with them."

"You should be," Elyse said reverently. "Good for you. What an awesome job you've got!"

Jaycee let out a sardonic little chuckle on her way back to the retail counter. "Yeah, awesome, all right. I deserve a fucking medal for what I put up with."

Elyse followed on her heels. "Really? Like what?"

Jaycee rubbed a swab over rose-colored eye shadow and checked it against the soft mound of flesh by her thumb. Elyse watched, dying to know what it was like to work so closely with the one and only Lianna.

"I've always wondered," she began seductively, "what it would be like to work with such an amazing artist."

Jaycee snorted out laughter. "Oh, it's a dream job, lemme tell ya." She focused big doe eyes on Elyse.

Elyse waited in obvious anticipation. The young woman laughed again.

"Okay, girl, truth," she said. "If I didn't make the kind of money I do, I'd have moved on a long time ago. Eventually, I want to open a tattoo parlor down in Florida where my man lives. Permanent makeup and art design."

"You don't like working as Lianna's makeup artist?"

"Oh, it's all right, I guess, except when she's in a mood. Then it's a real bitch. Everybody walks on egg shells until the producers step in, or her manager makes her cooperate. You put up with a lot sometimes. But like I said--it's silly money, and I'm saving mine."

Elyse digested this information as Jaycee tested under-eye concealers. Her high-voltage energy shone brightly against the drab background of The Make-Up Place, like a shiny copper penny against a cracked old roadside. Elyse suddenly felt embarrassed at the sight of the ratty gray carpeting and tattered sofas in the waiting area. And when she ran her eyes over the glass countertops, their infinite scratches popped out along with the warped wood trim.

But hope sprung back fast as Elyse wondered if Jaycee had started out like this, too. Just as she was about to pose the question, Jaycee's cell phone bleeped that a text had been received. She read the text and texted back fast.

"Hey, listen," she told Elyse, "I've got to run--it's Lianna. Give me these two concealers please, and this...and lemme take these shadows here, too. I'm kind of in a hurry, now."

She whipped out a credit card and answered another text. "My girl needs me," she added.

Elyse hurried to complete the transaction, and Jaycee signed the bill. She grabbed her goods and rushed to the door.

Elyse watched after Jaycee Slater, who had come and gone like a fireball. A moment later, Nissa came out of her studio with Mrs. Myra Finkelstein.

Elyse tuned into Nissa who proceeded to use any and everything available to push her sale. She filled tiny jars from product testers to create free gifts and scrounged drawers for as many old samples as she could lay her hands on. Soon Mrs. Finkelstein buckled under the pressure of so many freebies and bought everything Nissa suggested.

But Mrs. Finkelstein also warned Nissa about a possible return, should her husband squawk before she'd stashed the goods. Nissa assured her it was never a problem, provided she kept the receipt.

After Mrs. Finkelstein left with her goodies, Nissa turned to Elyse. "I don't care what she brings back, long as I get my commission first!"

Carla mentioned to Nissa that Lianna's makeup artist had come and gone while she'd been working in the studio.

"Oh, shit," Nissa lamented. "I missed Lianna's personal makeup artist? I could've shown her my portfolio. Damn!"

Elyse wondered if Jaycee would've reached out to help Nissa with her career and doubted it. But, of course, one could never say for sure, so she kept her opinion to herself.

* * * *

The downstairs lounge at the Athletic Club was luxurious with old-money ambience. Since James hadn't been there when she arrived, she checked her coat and went to the lounge as he'd suggested. She took a seat at the opposite end of the room from the bar, in a wingback chair overlooking Central Park South. Eventually, she turned away from the leafless trees in the wintery park to gaze at the great room around her.

Luxurious drapery lined floor-to-ceiling windows while exquisite rugs covered the floors. Paintings in gilded frames hung on the walls, and a great, black Steinway stood proudly in one corner. Behind the bar complete with leather armrests, the bartender wore a red jacket and stirred a cocktail with a long-handled spoon. Not far from the piano sat a group of gentlemen with cognac snifters raised to the nose, sniffing with the respectability that accompanied their longstanding memberships in the private club.

Elyse had to admit--she was duly impressed by James's membership here. She hoped to feel impressed by him, too, since she could easily get used to this lifestyle. Of course, one couldn't force love. Neither could she fake it, no matter how delightful the trappings of wealth.

James breezed through the open double doors of the vast room, the flaps of his Brooks Brothers jacket whisking back with the force of his stride.

Elyse waved, and he grinned in response. She happened to glance over and see a couple of cognac sippers smile at her. . She saved her smile for James.

He bent down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I thought we'd go upstairs for dinner here tonight," he said, "unless you'd rather go someplace else."

"Oh, no--this is fine," Elyse said. "I mean, whatever you want, of course."

"Then let's go on up."

After helping her stand, he led her by the elbow from the lounge to the elevator.

The uniformed operator brought the old-style elevator to a creaky halt. Elyse received a nod of tacit approval from him as James escorted her out to the eleventh floor. On the way to the restaurant, Elyse smiled at a young family that looked like a live ad for Ralph Lauren.

Dressed in a button-down sweater with a string of pearls at her throat, the blonde-haired mom held a baby girl clad in green velveteen. By her hip walked a tiny boy in a blue blazer, complete with gold emblem. Her collegiate-looking husband carried a sports bag, having showered and scrubbed after a rousing set of squash, no doubt, prior to dinner.

As she and James followed the craggy maitre d' to a table for two by a window, Elyse knew her mother would urge her to pursue James with serious intent, as this was the style in which she'd envisioned her daughter living. Part of Elyse's problem, however, was that she generally pursued no one. She had this idea that if it was meant to be, it would all work out in the end, without either person having to push anything.

After a lovely dinner that began with oysters Rockefeller, led to grilled sea bass and ended with flan
,
James led Elyse up a set of stairs to the rooftop outside. As soon as they were through the door, the chill, blustering wind ripped her hair back off her face.

"This is one of my favorite places in the world!" James shouted above the howling. "It's great, isn't it?"

"Yes, wonderful," she cried. She gathered her hair, wild from blowing all around, and wound it into a corkscrew which she held down over a shoulder. "Is it always this blustery out here?"

He laughed and pointed out the rooftops surrounding them. They reminded her of Paris.

"Great view, huh?"

Shivering, Elyse nodded in agreement. It truly was fabulous. But a few minutes later her teeth began to ...er.

"Can we go back inside, now?"

* * * *

Dinner with James had been nice enough, but Elyse wasn't thrilled. As a matter of fact, she felt a tad bored. Maybe she was just tired and in need of a good night's sleep. From the back of their cab, she begged off his offer to have another drink.

"Just one more, Elyse?" James asked. "A little nightcap. I know this great place--"

"I can't, James. I'll feel like crap tomorrow morning."

Between the before-dinner drinks, copious wine during dinner, and the after-dinner cognacs, she was feeling pretty woozy now. Yet, in spite of rampant sleepiness, she urged herself to fall madly in love with her date. After all, it seemed the logical thing to do. But at this point in time, she wanted to go home to bed--alone. She couldn't say why, exactly, but she was not connecting to Mr. Perfect on a visceral level.

She felt a bit guilty about this because he'd bought her a lavish dinner and shared his favorite spot overlooking the city. And here she had no desire to be out with him for one moment longer. She didn't know why she felt the way she did, but she did. Well, this was only their first date, she reasoned. Who knew how she might feel tomorrow...

She rolled her eyes when he told the cabby to take the long way home through the park. She was also surprised when he cuddled up too close for comfort, squishing her into a corner. In trying to get away, there was nowhere left to go but out the door.

When he kissed her cheek, she snuffed impatiently at how long the ride was taking, hoping he'd notice her lack of enthusiasm for
amour
, and back away. When he nuzzled his nose inside her ear, she only grew more annoyed. And as he pressed himself against her body, she hoped the cabby, at least, would sense her frustration and step on the gas--because her date wasn't getting her lack of interest. As they slowed to a crawl around a bend, she wondered how badly it would hurt to pop open the door and fall from a moving cab.

"Loved that salad," she said in a cheery attempt to ease James away, "with the blueberries and goat cheese."

"Mm, yummy." He slid an arm around her neck and pulled her closer to him.

Gag, does he think I'm playing coy?

She pulled her shoulders away from him and leaned back toward the window, craning her neck to see where they were.

Damn, only in the seventies!

"You know what I'd like for dessert?" James asked with a slightly drunken slur.

"You already had dessert, after dinner, you may remember," Elyse answered acidly.

"No, that was just a snack."

Geez--what happened to Mr. Manners? Must've slipped away with that last cognac leaving Wolf-boy in his place
.

Elyse stiffened when she felt his free hand massaging her thigh.
Thank God for pantyhose
. She remained on guard as he eased it underneath her hemline. When he started sliding it farther up, she grabbed his wrist.

"Really, James?"

"What--you want me to stop?"

"Give the man a prize!"

He looked at her, confused. She turned the full force of her blue gaze on him. "And, this surprises you, in the backseat of a cab?"

He chuckled. "It's one of my fantasies, you know--to do it in back of a cab."

She looked away. "Not one of mine."

"We could always go to your place, instead."

"No, James," she said crankily. "I have to get up early in the morning--"

"So what? So do I! Have a little fun, why don't you? Be daring!"

"No, thanks, I'm not in the mood."

He stopped and looked at her. "Whatsa matter--you don't like me?"

"I like you, James, but really--this is, like, our first date here. I hardly know you."