Lovers (59 page)

“You’re utterly pathetic,” Billy said. “I’ve never heard such absurd crap in my life.”

“But it’s the truth,” he said painfully.

“Oh, I know
that,”
she said, scornfully, “I can hear it in your voice, the bell rang for me too … that’s what’s so god-awful. You, of all people!”

“Me, just an unreconstructed caveman at heart. Could I have some more wine, please? I’m still in shock.”

“If I’d known that before we got married …”

“What?”

“I’d still have married you, you poor idiot. You, Spider Elliott, are like most other men on the planet, you’ve just hidden it better. And now that you know the hideous truth about yourself, you can work on crawling out of your cave, or at least you can remember you’re a caveman, give yourself
a sharp kick in the ass, and go. back to acting and thinking like the enlightened human being I expect you to be.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, faint with gratitude, refilling his glass.

“And none of that! No fake humility. You’d better be straight with me or I’ll remind you that you want a girl just like the girl who married dear old dad, you … you … 
pervert!”

“That song is kinda sick, when you stop to listen to the meaning of the words.”

“Maybe it was written before anyone knew how sick that was,” Billy said generously.

“Nah, the songwriter was Freud’s nephew. He knew what he was saying. Listen, darling, I’m not finished.”

“Don’t tell me there’s something worse?”

“I thought back to the beginning of Scruples,” Spider said, drinking wine as he remembered, “and I realized that you’d been the one who’d seen the need and had the original idea for a different kind of boutique on Rodeo Drive and the drive and determination to get it built—all I’d done was change the decor and the point of view and hire new salespeople … details.”

“But that’s what made it a success, as you reminded me frequently.”

“Still, it was definitely your baby. And Scruples Two was
my
baby—well, to be fair, Gigi had the original idea, but I saw the possibilities and talked you into it. Let’s drink to that! Once you agreed, you threw yourself into the job, you persuaded Prince to design the capsule collections, you hired all the right people to run the technical side, and that’s what made
it
a success … so we’ve been working hand in hand all along, sometimes one of us doing the more important part and sometimes the other. We’ve had a true and equal partnership in every way.”

“Hmmm … true and equal? I could have told you that, but you wouldn’t have listened. Why did you think the
decorating catalog was such a terrible idea, if I’m not all that hopeless?”

“I don’t! I think it could be huge, a major success—but I don’t want it to become a mania with you, the way Scruples was when you started opening new ones all over the world. That’s where you were making big money. You were at it twenty-four hours a day. You
did
earn it the hard way, don’t lose sight of that. If you hadn’t closed all the stores after Valentine died, you’d have doubled the fortune Ellis Ikehorn left you … and there’s no chance we’d ever have enough time together if that happened. You have a way of throwing yourself into things that scares me.”

“It scares me too. If you hadn’t been here today, I’d own Chanel by now. Not just the clothes,
the whole company
. And I’m not kidding. In fact, I bet it’d be a great investment, now that they’ve hired Lagerfeld … you know, darling, we should really think about it seriously …”

“Look, all those problems I mentioned,” Spider interrupted, finishing his glass, “there isn’t one of them that can’t be solved. Furniture must be delivered and returned thousands of times a day … why was UPS invented? Or we could buy a fleet of trucks … so what if you have to get rid of some fabric and a few headboards? That’s what factory outlet stores are for … factory outlet … Billy, beautiful, gorgeous, wild and woolly Billy Winthrop, did you ever seriously think about the incredible possibilities of factory outlet …”

“How much of that wine have you had?”

“Almost a bottle? Bottle and a half?”

“Darling love, you’re on a talking jag. You’re drunk. I hope you remember everything you said tomorrow.”

“But, Billy … factory outlet … hasn’t even … been … explored …”

Spider staggered over to the bed, crawled into the blankets, and passed out.

After she’d watched Spider sleep for a while, Billy wrote out a list of provisions and sent Marie-Jeanne out to buy butter, bread, ham, cheese, and other delicacies that didn’t have to be cooked, like a thick slice of paté and a cold chicken, so she could feed him the minute he woke up. Maybe then he’d be sober enough to re-think buying Chanel … it wasn’t that bad an idea …

When he continued to sleep, Billy made herself a hasty picnic supper, and then, more weary than she’d realized, crept into the bed, and fell asleep so quickly that she only had a few seconds to feel the intense bliss of being in bed with Spider again. He was still sleeping when she woke up early in the morning. Enough was enough, Billy thought, and woke him up with difficulty.

“Where am I?” Spider asked.

“Paris, France. Who are you?”

“Spider something.”

“What are you?”

“A caveman.”

“Just testing,” Billy laughed.

“Come into my cave,” Spider ordered, grabbing her gently by the hair. “We cavemen can endure anything but separation from our mates.”

“Is this house really empty?” Spider asked later, as he dressed to go down to the kitchen for a very late breakfast.

“Except for this room, yes. Most of the furnishings are packed up in the stables. I’d show you everything, but I can’t wait to go home and see the boys. Let’s call the Ritz and find out when we can get the first plane back.”

“I’m starving!” Spider complained. “Let’s not call until after breakfast, darling.”

“But what if we miss the next plane just because I waited too long?”

“A day won’t make any difference.”

“That’s easy for you to say … you saw them yesterday. Or the day before yesterday, I’ve lost track.”

“Where’s the coffeepot?” Spider asked as soon as he reached the new kitchen.

“There isn’t one. Now that I think about it, there isn’t a pot or a pan, just a couple of knives the workmen left, and a corkscrew, and my cup. There’s a café down the next street—I’ll send Marie-Jeanne.”

“What did you do for breakfast?”

“I let the hot water run till the water was steaming, turned it low, and then held a tea bag under the faucet in the cup.”

“My Girl Scout. Such a clever baby. How do you contact Marie-Jeanne, by smoke signals?”

“I think I hear her opening the front door. Madame Marie-Jeanne, is that you?” Billy called.

“Yes, Madame. There are more visitors asking for you at the gate. Shall I let them in?”

“A man, Madame Marie-Jeanne?”

“No, not precisely, Madame.”

“A woman, then? Did she give her name?”

“She did not say, Madame.”

“Let them come in, Madame Marie-Jeanne,” Spider said in his never-forgotten photographer’s French.

“Yes, Monsieur. I suspect they have followed me,” Marie-Jeanne said as Hal and Max ran unsteadily around Nanny Elizabeth and rushed into the kitchen, almost knocking each other down in their hurry to get to Billy. They swarmed up her legs into her lap and grabbed her around her neck with fat strong arms.

“Mama!
Bow-gow
, Mama!”

“Mama!
Boo-goo
, Mama!”

“Spider, they’re talking!” Billy said through her kisses and tears, “Oh, I missed hearing them say their first word!”

“They want a dog, Mrs. Elliott,” Nanny Elizabeth said, beaming. “A bow-wow.”

“How long have you been here?” Billy asked Nanny Elizabeth. “Did you just get in?”

“Oh, no, we took the first direct flight right after Mr. Elliott left. The boys enjoyed the trip immensely. We’ve been most comfortable in a suite at the Ritz, at Mr. Elliott’s instructions.”

“I told Nanny to bring them here today if she didn’t hear from me,” Spider explained. “I figured that if all else failed, they were my ace in the hole. I was going to play on your feelings for my paternal position.”

Without regret, Marie-Jeanne gave up hopes of a tall, dark man with one black shoe. Monsieur was, undoubtedly, the husband of Madame, or, if not legally wed, at the very least the father of her children. Those two blond angels looked even more like him than they did like her. And they were just the right age to begin to learn to speak a civilized language.

Later in the day, leaving the children taking their naps at the Ritz, where they were now all staying, Spider and Billy returned to the Rue Vaneau to say good-bye to Madame Marie-Jeanne and look over the house one last time before she put it on the market. It didn’t make sense to keep it, she’d decided sadly, not on the basis of a week’s unexpected visit every three or four years, not when you couldn’t even make a cup of coffee in the kitchen. It didn’t fit into her life, this marvelous shell of a house in this much-loved city. The house deserved to be lived in and used. It was cruel to keep it empty.

“Will you show me around?” Spider asked as they paused inside the empty courtyard, for the gatekeeper and his wife had gone to visit their daughter to relate the newest events of the day. He drew her cherished head to his shoulder, watching the vivid autumn light play tricks in her dark brown curls.

“I want to,” she answered, her expression kindled in a flood of feeling he didn’t recognize. “Come with me.”

Billy led Spider through every one of the rooms of the house on the Rue Vaneau, pausing as she left each lovely space, as classic and permanent as a great piece of sculpture,
turning to look back as if it had laid an invisible claim on her. She touched each of the mirrors softly and traced the carvings above the fireplaces and the moldings on the doors with gentle caresses of her fingertips. She stopped at the windows and looked out at each vista, bidding it adieu before she passed by for the last time.

“Poor Monsieur Delacroix,” Billy sighed as they reached the empty master bedroom with its wide view of the glorious old trees in the park of the Matignon. At that moment the bell of the cathedral of St. Clotilde began to ring, signaling the start of the thrilling chorus of bells that sounded from every part of the neighborhood.

“Delacroix?”

“My decorator. The most frustrated man in Paris. Just when everything was ready for the installation, down to the last pair of curtains, just when we’d finished buying all the antiques—everything but things for the kitchen—I went back to New York. He never saw it furnished. I think it broke his heart.”

“So you didn’t move in?” Spider asked very quietly, disturbed by the depth of her love for this house that was evident in every gesture she made, even in the delicate, precise sound of her feet on the floorboards, a footfall as personal as a signature. He knew why she hadn’t lived here. He remembered every word of that magazine article about Billy and Sam Jamison. This was where she’d planned to live with him, that poor stupid idiot who’d lost the most lovable woman in the world, thank God.

“No, somehow it didn’t seem destined to happen,” Billy said, trying valiantly to hide the regret in her voice.

“Maybe not then, but, speaking personally, I can’t bear not to see it furnished. We’re staying right here, in Paris, with Delacroix helping, until everything’s been unpacked and placed properly and the rooms are filled with flowers and there’s wood in the fireplaces and candles in the candlesticks, and a ton of food in the kitchen and someone to make a decent cup of tea—even coffee—and then, if you still love it even half as much as you do now, we’ll live here
until you feel like going back to California, and if you don’t, we won’t.”

“Spider!” Billy exclaimed. “What about Scruples Two? You can’t just leave it like that!”

“Of course I can. The damn thing practically runs itself. What’s the point of hiring expensive executives if they can’t function without you? And there’s always the telex or the phone if they need to reach me quickly. We both have a tendency to get too involved in work at the expense of enjoyment. After you had the children, it was as if you were working two jobs plus a night shift.”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” Billy shook her head in self-knowledge. “That’s the way I do things.”

“If I can learn not to be a caveman, you can learn to be a little less …”

“Compulsive? Isn’t that the word you’re looking for?”

“Compulsive and … obsessive … two halves of the same thing. Oh, Billy, we need to take some time for ourselves. There are so many things we might discover that aren’t all work, but we’ll never know if we don’t spend a few months looking around … and, if you stop to think about it, this house owes you a roof over your head after you’ve kept it up in perfect condition for all these years. If you truly wanted to sell it, you’d have done it long ago. You’ve always hoped to come back here, even if you didn’t realize it.”

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” Billy said, gravely considering him.

“Who?”

“Spider Elliott … the one who could always talk me into anything.”