Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls (65 page)

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.”