Lady Be Bad (3 page)

Kingman Cosmetics!
Paul snapped to
attention, drained the last of the brandy and growled, "Christ,
Sylvia, how much coffee do you need!"

Sylvia's hand stopped halfway toward the
silver pot "Pour yourself another brandy, pet, and take a cue from
our hostess and relax." Her amber brown gaze shifted to Marlayna.
"You are very relaxed, aren't you."

"Disgustingly so. I feel wonderful."

"Sometimes anticipating sex is better than
the actual event," her friend cautioned.

"Not in this case."

Sylvia reached for the engraved card propped
against a blue Chinese vase on the end table. "Noah Drake. Hmmmm
..." She repeated the name half a dozen times. "I like the way it
just rolls off one's tongue." Smiling, she added: "It does sound
too virile a name for little Gwen to handle."

"Please . . ." Paul turned the word into a
groan.

"Now, now, Paulie," Sylvia retorted
matter-of-factly, "perhaps if your mother had named you . . . um .
. . Derek . . . you would vacation in Aspen instead of Fire
Island." She shifted her attention back to the card. "I wonder what
a Noah Drake looks like?"

Marlayna didn't even have to close her eyes
to remember. "He's six feet tall, has dark brown hair and chocolate
eyes. A nice face, not hard or forbidding. A ready smile, a beard
that needs to be shaved twice a day and --" she favored them with a
wink and a grin "two moles-- one on his left earlobe and one on the
inside of his right thigh."

Paul and Sylvia traded speculative glances.
"He's a photographer," the silver-haired agent accused, but
Marlayna shook her head no. "A male model, then?" Again the silent
negative answer was repeated.

"Drake . . . Drake . . . Drake," Sylvia
chanted the last name. "I know that name. I've heard it
before."

"Society column?" Paul pressed. "Gossip? Ad
agency? Buyer? Designer?"

"Paulie!" She screeched. "Please, have
another drink and shut up for a minute, would you." Sylvia massaged
her temples with gentle fingertips and strove to concentrate. The
name Drake rang a bell, but the sound was distant and muffled.
Through half-closed eyes, she watched Marlayna enjoy a second
cheese Danish.

The longer she focused on Marlayna, the
louder and clearer the bell was sounding. Airplane! Another image
burst into Sylvia's mind. Her eyes widened then shut tight.
Airplanes had become one of her standard modes of transportation.
As head cosmetics buyer for Lord & Taylor, Sylvia jetted across
the continents buying new products and training new store
personnel.

A reminiscent smile curved her lips and
softened a face that was seldom ruffled by any expression that
might possibly leave a visible trace. It was on a plane, returning
to Manhattan from a training assignment in Atlanta, that Sylvia had
ended up with a most unusual souvenir — the smiling woman now
seated sideways in the rocker.

Marlayna hadn't been so casually sprawled in
the airplane seat, Sylvia recalled. She had strapped herself in
much too tightly, three airsick bags were within easy reach, both
air blowers were aimed full blast on her face, while her death-grip
left prints in the metal chair arms.

Sylvia reluctantly belted herself into the
seat next to this mass of nerves. "First flight?" After a cough, a
throat clearing, and a hiccup, she had heard a weak: "yes."

"How about a drink, sweetie."

"Do you think it will help?"

"It'll help me," she quipped. Sylvia had,
for some unexplained reason, taken an immediate interest in her
seatmate. She usually just slept on planes, unless of course her
seatmate was an attractive man, but this time Sylvia found herself
making the overtures, seeking answers to why blue gray eyes looked
so soulful. Why such a young face looked so tired and troubled. Why
this child-woman was heading to a city that could gobble up and
spit you out with no apologies whatsoever.

"This is what's so lovely about flying first
class." She clicked her ice-filled glass with Marlayna's. "A couple
of these before takeoff and you're not even aware that you've
entered the wild blue yonder." Sylvia dipped into her
cocktail-party-chatter reserve and babbled effusively about
absolutely nothing. The ploy was effective enough so that her
companion had not even given a second thought to the fact they were
now at thirty-five thousand feet.

"So tell me," she changed tactics while they
sipped their third gin and tonic, "are you another dancer or
actress aiming to strut your stuff across a Broadway stage and make
all the critics take notice?"

Marlayna shook her head. "I am, I was a lab
tech at Grady Memorial Hospital."

"And now you're going to look through a
microscope in Manhattan?"

"I, well, I hadn't really thought about
that."

Sylvia's confused expression was a duplicate
of her companions. "Sweetie, just why are you on this
airplane."

Marlayna took two more swallows of gin.
"I...I'm running away." Tears flowed, and Sylvia found herself
becoming privy to the most unusual story.

"Now let me see if I've got this all
straight, pet." She handed Marlayna the last flowered tissue in her
purse-pack. "You were quite happily married for two years, renting
this cute two-bedroom World War II bungalow..."

"All brick with a fireplace, near Georgia
Tech."

"Right. . ." She humored her, "you worked
days as an emergency room admissions clerk and went to school
nights to become a lab technician. He was a construction foreman
days and was working on a degree nights."

"He had to take only three more credits and
his final exam before he became an architect He even had an agency
offer him a job!"

Sylvia managed a benign smile. "Then last
month you cut some grocery coupons out of the sports section, he
got mad, you wouldn't kiss him before he went to work, there was an
accident, he was badly hurt, he still won't see or talk to you and
now wants a divorce."

Marlayna nodded and sniffed. "That's it.
That's the whole thing. It's so simple and confusing and
stupid."

"Sounds like the stuff most men are made of,
pet."

"I just don't understand any of it,"
Marlayna continued to babble. "He forbid the doctors and nurses to
tell me a thing. The security guard threatened to haul me out of
the intensive care waiting area if I didn't leave voluntarily. Then
. . .this hateful lawyer showed up and started taking inventory of
the house and asking me all sorts of...of horrible personal
questions and . . .and I can't get any answers from anybody and. .
.and ... I just have no family to turn to ... all our friends are
as confused as I am ... and. . .and I don't want a divorce. I love
my husband."

"How old are you, sweetie?"

"Almost twenty-three."

"Well, I'm thirty-six and I've had my fill
of husbands."

"You . . . you have?"

Sylvia nodded. "Three were three too many.
Do you know my second husband divorced me because I didn't iron his
shirts like his mother and my dumplings weren't flaky enough."

"That's pretty silly."

"Sillier than someone divorcing you over
cutting coupons?" Sylvia signaled for another round of drinks.
"Take a little advice from a scarred veteran of marital world wars
one, two and three; if this bozo gets uptight over a few holes in
the newspaper, you're well rid of him. I think it's pretty damn
shabby for him to hit you with a fast-talking shyster lawyer. You
didn't sign anything, did you?"

"Lots of things."

"Oh, God." She gave her a consoling pat.
"Don't worry, pet, you have found a champion in Aunt Sylvia. I'll
introduce you to my attorney. Hal is a genius at handling divorces.
He does know how to squeeze blood from a stone."

Marlayna bit her lip. "Is he ...
expensive?"

"Good things are always expensive."

"I don't have much money left. The plane
fare was more than I thought because all they had was first class,
and it'll take me some time to find a job and a place to live."

One perfectly manicured fingernail lightly
scratched one perfectly blushed cheek. "I just happen to know the
owner of an independent medical lab. We'll get you in there and --"
Sylvia stared at her for a moment before coming to a decision " --
and you can move into my apartment until you get bankrolled. I
don't think you're in any condition to deal with the cunning worms
that inhabit the Big Apple."

"I...I don't know. That's a very generous
offer. I...you don't even know me. I don't even know you
...I..."

Sylvia watched the tears erupt again. "The
first time I get to play the Good Samaritan and I get it kicked
back into my face."

"Oh, no ... I'm sorry ... I didn't mean . .
."

"Sweetie, you don't plan to cry forever, do
you? Listen, I'm perfectly harmless; you can check with my
minister, my landlord, call my mother." She extended her hand. "I'm
Sylvia Davies, head cosmetics buyer for Lord & Taylor."

"I'm Marlayna Dr…," her voice faltered,
"O'Brian. Marlayna O'Brian. That. . . that lawyer said my husband
wanted his name back."

Sylvia made a rude noise. "And what is that
bastard's name?"

"Noah . . . Noah Drake."

Noah Drake!
The bell in Sylvia's head
exploded. She lunged to her feet, stared at Marlayna and then
turned to Paul Wingate. A mauve-tinted fingernail tapped the
engraved invitation. "Noah Drake is her ex-husband!"

Marlayna's calm: "That's right" made a
distressed Sylvia sit down and a distraught Paul Wingate stand
up.

"What do you mean 'that's right'?" He
shouted. "After what you went through. What
he
put you
through. That bastard!" Paul’s own face became bleak remembering
her anguish. His hands began to gesture wildly. "How can you
blithely sit there ... say you actually crave that man. That you
want him..."

"Stop babbling, Paulie." Sylvia tugged the
hem of his jacket. "Sit down and let's hear from her." She fixed a
keen eye on Marlayna. "I think it's about time you did some talking
and made sense of this whole situation."

"I suppose so." Suddenly, Marlayna's relaxed
mood vanished. She pushed free of the rocker and aimlessly paced
back and forth across the flower-strewn wool carpet. "When I first
saw the name Noah Drake printed on that invitation, I was thrilled,
excited, and blessedly relieved to find he was alive and apparently
quite healthy."

"That was your
first
reaction,"
Sylvia countered. "What about your second?" She invited, reaching
for more coffee.

Marlayna's full lips thinned in a tight
smile. "My second reaction was more emotional." She stared in
seemingly rapt fascination at her clenching and unclenching hands.
"There was my husband linked with another woman." Unseeing eyes
stared at her companions. "I wanted to kill both of them, slowly
and quite brutally." She blinked rapidly, shook her head, and gave
a scared little laugh. "I found it interesting to see how little it
took to turn a nice, civilized pacifist like myself into a
kill-crazy savage."

"Women mourn while men replace," Sylvia
sarcastically expounded the old maxim.

"I do not want to be replaced," Marlayna
intoned with firm finality. "I do not intend to be replaced." Her
bravado suddenly vanished. "My God." She dropped onto the edge of
the coffee table. "To me Noah has been irreplaceable." Her eyes
pooled with tears. "I know it sounds corny, but I took my wedding
vows seriously. Till death do us part—for me there's been no other
man, no love, no nothing during the past six years!"

Paul cleared his throat. "Nothing for you,"
he pointed out in a careful monotone, "but obviously your Noah
Drake has been busy."

"I've got to see and hear that for
myself."

"We've turned into a masochist, have we?"
His response was cool.

"I'm not, it's just. . ."

"Just insane." Paul's anger grew. "My God,
Marlayna, think back and remember how you were." His thumb and
forefinger caught her chin, forcing her averted eyes to meet his
challenging gaze. "I remember. I remember all too well what a
complete mental, emotional, and physical cripple you were. And all
of it was due to Noah Drake." His fingers squeezed tighter. "Is
that what you want for yourself again?"

"No, but. . ."

"Damn you!" His eyes blazed. "There
shouldn't be any
but!
Look at how far you've come. Look at
all you've done in the last half-dozen years without him. You don't
need Noah Drake. What can he give you that you can't give
yourself?"

Suddenly, his tone gentled; his fingers
tenderly stroked her tear-damp cheeks and combed through her hair.
"You've got it all: a fantastic apartment, a housekeeper, designer
clothes, money, friends, a blooming career, you travel all over the
world." Paul highlighted an impressive list. "What on earth are you
lacking? Just what in hell can Noah Drake give you that you don't
already have or can't buy?"

"Answers." Marlayna cried the word. "Noah is
the man with all the answers. I want them. I deserve them." She
pulled herself together. "I need to get them. I intend to get
them!"

She was back on her feet. "Look, Paul, I
know it's hard for you, but I...Sylvia, you must be able to
understand... oh, damn." Marlayna's two feeble attempts at
explaining herself failed miserably. She inhaled deeply and when
she spoke again, her voice was steadier.

"All right, Paul, let's talk about all those
material things you mentioned. This very elegant, East Side duplex,
as you well know, is a sublet from a woman in Brazil who still
hasn't made the Internal Revenue Service see it her way on five
year's worth of tax returns. I'm just a visitor here, a guest with
a three-times-a-week housekeeper who is part of the lease and makes
sure I don't hurt anything. All the designer clothes? They're perks
from some of the modeling jobs." She expanded the cuff on her
fleece jogging jacket. "You can see how simple my tastes are. The
other outfits just collect dust hanging in the bedroom closet."