The Stars Shine Down (17 page)

T
he following morning, a dozen red roses were delivered to Lara’s apartment.
So, he enjoyed the evening, too,
Lara thought happily. She hurriedly tore open the card attached to the flowers. It read: “Baby, looking forward to our dinner tonight. Paul.”

Lara felt a sharp sense of disappointment. She waited all morning for a call from Philip. She had a busy schedule, but she was unable to keep her mind on her work.

At two o’clock Kathy said, “The new secretaries are here for you to interview.”

“Start sending them in.”

There were half a dozen of them, all of them highly qualified. Gertrude Meeks was the choice of the day. She was in her thirties, bright and upbeat, and obviously in awe of Lara.

Lara looked over her resume. It was impressive. “You’ve worked in the real estate development field before.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I’ve never worked for anyone like you. To tell you the truth, I’d take this job for no salary!”

Lara smiled. “That won’t be necessary. These are good references. All right, we’ll give you a try.”

“Thank you so much.” She was almost blushing.

“You’ll have to sign a form agreeing not to give any interviews or ever to discuss anything that happens at this firm. Is that agreeable?”

“Of course.”

“Kathy will show you to your desk.”

There was an eleven o’clock publicity meeting with Jerry Townsend.

“How’s your father?” Lara asked.

“He’s in Switzerland. The doctor says he may have a chance.” His voice grew husky. “If he has, it’s because of you.”

“Everyone deserves a chance, Jerry. I hope he gets well.”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I…I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I…”

Lara stood up. “I’m late for a meeting.”

And she walked out, leaving him standing there, looking after her.

The meeting was with the architects on a New Jersey development. “You’ve done a good job,” Lara said, “but I’d like some changes. I want an elliptical arcade with lobbies on three sides and marble walls. Change the roof to the shape of a copper pyramid, with a beacon to light up at night. Any problem with that?”

“I don’t see any, Miss Cameron.”

When the meeting was over, the intercom buzzed.

“Miss Cameron, Raymond Duffy, one of the construction foremen, is on the line for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Lara picked up the telephone. “Hello, Raymond.”

“We have a problem, Miss Cameron.”

“Go on.”

“They just delivered a load of cement blocks. They won’t pass inspection. There are cracks in them. I’m going to send them back, but I wanted to tell you first.”

Lara was thoughtful for a moment. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. The point is, they don’t meet our specifications, and…”

“Can they be fixed?”

“I guess they could, but it would be expensive.”

“Fix them,” Lara said.

There was a silence at the other end of the line.

“Right. You’re the boss.”

Lara replaced the receiver. There were only two cement suppliers in the city, and it would be suicide to antagonize them.

By five o’clock Philip still had not called. Lara dialed the number at his foundation. “Philip Adler, please.”

“Mr. Adler is out of town on tour. Can I help you?”

He hadn’t mentioned that he was leaving town. “No, thank you.”

That’s that,
Lara thought.
For now.

The day ended with a visit from Steve Murchison. He was a huge man, built like a stack of bricks. He stormed into Lara’s office.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Murchison?” Lara asked.

“You can keep your nose out of my fucking business,” Murchison said.

Lara looked at him calmly. “What’s your problem?”

“You. I don’t like people horning in on my deals.”

“If you’re talking about Mr. Guttman…”

“You’re damn right I am.”

“…he preferred my building to yours.”

“You suckered him into it, lady. You’ve been getting in my hair long enough. I warned you once. I’m not going to warn you again. There’s not room enough for both of us in this town. I don’t know where you keep your balls, but hide ’em, because if you ever do that to me again, I’m going to cut them off.”

And he stormed out.

The dinner at her apartment that evening with Paul was strained.

“You seem preoccupied, baby,” Paul said. “Any problems?”

Lara managed a smile. “No. Everything’s fine.”
Why didn’t Philip tell me he was going away?

“When does the Reno project start?”

“Howard and I are going to fly there again next week. We should be able to open in about nine months.”

“You could have a baby in nine months.”

Lara looked at him in surprise. “What?”

Paul Martin took her hand in his. “You know I’m crazy about you, Lara. You’ve changed my whole life. I wish things could have turned out differently. I would have loved for us to have had kids together.”

There was nothing Lara could say to that.

“I have a little surprise for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewelry box. “Open it.”

“Paul, you’ve already given me so much…”

“Open it.”

Inside the box was an exquisite diamond necklace.

“It’s lovely.”

He stood up, and she felt his hands on her as he put the
necklace around her neck. His hands slid down, caressing her breasts, and he said huskily, “Let’s check it out.”

Paul was leading her into the bedroom. Lara’s mind was spinning. She had never been in love with him, and going to bed with him had been easy—the payment for all he had done for her—but now there was a difference. She was in love.
I’m a fool,
Lara thought.
I’ll probably never see Philip again.

She undressed slowly, reluctantly, and then they were in bed, and Paul Martin was on top of her, inside her, moaning, “Baby, I’m nuts about you.” And she looked up and it was Philip’s face she saw.

Everything was progressing smoothly. The renovations on the Reno hotel were proceeding rapidly, Cameron Towers was going to be finished on schedule, and Lara’s reputation kept growing. She had called Philip Adler several times over the past few months, but he was always away on tour.

“Mr. Adler is in Beijing…”

“Mr. Adler is in Paris…”

“Mr. Adler is in Sydney…”

To hell with him,
Lara thought.

During the next six months Lara managed to outbid Steve Murchison on three properties he was after.

Keller came to Lara, worried. “The word around town is that Murchison is making threats against you. Maybe we should cool it with him. He’s a dangerous enemy, Lara.”

“So am I,” Lara said. “Maybe he should get into another business.”

“It’s not a joking matter, Lara. He…”

“Forget about him, Howard. I just got a tip about a property in Los Angeles. It’s not on the market yet. If we move fast, I think we can get it. We’ll fly out in the morning.

The property was on the site of the old Biltmore Hotel and consisted of five acres. A real estate agent was showing Lara and Howard around the grounds.

“Prime property,” he was saying. “Yes, sir. You can’t go wrong with this. You can build a beautiful little city in this area…apartment buildings, shopping centers, theaters, malls…”

“No.”

He looked at Lara in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not interested.”

“You’re not? Why?”

“The neighborhood,” Lara said. “I don’t think people are going to move into this area. Los Angeles is moving west. People are like lemmings. You aren’t going to get them to reverse direction.”

“But…”

“I’ll tell you what I
am
interested in. Condos. Find me a good location.”

Lara turned to Howard. “I’m sorry I wasted our time. We’ll fly back this afternoon.”

When they returned to their hotel, Keller bought a newspaper at the newsstand. “Let’s see what the market is doing today.”

They looked through the paper. In the entertainment section was a large advertisement that read: “TONIGHT AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL-PHILIP ADLER.” Lara’s heart gave a little jump.

“Let’s go back tomorrow,” Lara said.

Keller studied her a moment. “Are you interested in the music or the musician?”

“Get us two tickets.”

Lara had never been to the Hollywood Bowl before. The largest natural amphitheater in the world, it is surrounded by the hills of Hollywood, the grounds a park, open year-round
for visitors to enjoy. The Bowl itself seats eighteen thousand people. It was filled to capacity, and Lara could sense the anticipation of the crowd. The musicians began to come onto the stage, and they were greeted with expectant applause. Andre Previn appeared, and the applause grew more enthusiastic. There was a hush, then loud applause from the audience as Philip Adler walked out on the stage, elegant in white tie and tails.

Lara squeezed Keller’s arm. “Isn’t he handsome?” she whispered.

Keller did not answer.

Philip sat down at the piano, and the program began. His magic took over instantly, enveloping the audience. There was a mysticism about the night. The stars were shining down, lighting the dark hills surrounding the Bowl. Thousands of people sat there silently, moved by the majesty of the music. When the last notes of the concerto died away, there was a roar from the audience, as the people leaped to their feet, applauding and cheering. Philip stood there, taking bow after bow.

“Let’s go backstage,” Lara said.

Keller turned to look at her. Her voice was trembling with excitement.

The backstage entrance was at the side of the orchestra shell. A guard stood at the door, keeping the crowd out. Keller said, “Miss Cameron is here to see Mr. Adler.”

“Is he expecting you?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” Lara said.

“Wait here, please.” A moment later the guard returned. “You can go in, Miss Cameron.”

Lara and Keller walked into the greenroom. Philip was in the center of a crowd that was congratulating him.

“Darling, I’ve never heard Beethoven played so exquisitely. You were unbelievable…”

Philip was saying, “Thank you…”

“…thank you…with music like that, it’s easy to be inspired…”

“…thank you…Andre is such a brilliant conductor…”

“…thank you…I always enjoy playing at the Bowl…”

He looked up and saw Lara, and again there was that smile. “Excuse me,” he said. He made his way through the crowd, toward her. “I had no idea you were in town.”

“We just flew in this morning. This is Howard Keller, my associate.”

“Hello,” Keller said curtly.

Philip turned to a short, heavyset man, standing behind him. “This is my manager, William Ellerbee.” They exchanged hellos.

Philip was looking at Lara. “There’s a party tonight at the Beverly Hilton. I was wondering…”

“We’d love to,” Lara said.

When Lara and Keller arrived at the Beverly Hilton’s International Ballroom, it was filled with musicians and music lovers, talking music.

“…have you ever noticed that the closer you get to the equator, the more demonstrative and hot-blooded the fans are…”

“…when Franz Liszt played, his piano became an orchestra.…”

“…I disagree with you. De Groote’s talent is not for Liszt or Paganini etudes, but more for Beethoven.…”

“…you have to dominate the concerto’s emotional landscape.…”

Musicians speaking in tongues,
Lara thought.

Philip was surrounded, as usual, by adoring fans. Just watching him gave Lara a warm glow.

When Philip saw her arrive, he greeted her with a broad smile. “You made it. I’m so glad.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Howard Keller watched the two of them talking, and he thought,
Maybe I should have learned to play the piano. Or maybe I should just wake up to reality.
It seemed so long ago when he had first met the bright, eager, ambitious young girl. Time had been good to her, and it had stood still for him.

Lara was saying, “I have to go back to New York tomorrow, but perhaps we could have breakfast.”

“I wish I could. I’m leaving for Tokyo early in the morning.”

She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. “Why?”

He laughed. “That’s what I do, Lara. I give a hundred and fifty concerts a year. Sometimes two hundred.”

“How long will you be gone this time?”

“Eight weeks.”

“I’ll miss you,” Lara said quietly.
You have no idea how much.

D
uring the next few weeks Lara and Keller flew to Atlanta to investigate two sites at Ansley Park and one at Dunwoody.

“Get me some prices on Dunwoody,” Lara said. “We might put some condos there.”

From Atlanta they flew to New Orleans. They spent two days exploring the central business district and a day at Lake Pontchartrain. Lara found two sites she liked.

A day after they returned, Keller walked into Lara’s office. “We had some bad luck on the Atlanta project,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone beat us to it.”

Lara looked at him, surprised. “How could they? Those properties weren’t even on the market.”

“I know. Word must have leaked out.”

Lara shrugged. “I guess you can’t win them all.”

That afternoon Keller had more bad news. “We lost the Lake Pontchartrain deal.”

The following week they flew to Seattle and explored Mercer Island and Kirkland. There was one site that interested Lara, and when they returned to New York, she said to Keller, “Let’s go after it. I think it could be a money-maker.”

“Right.”

At a meeting the next day Lara asked, “Did you put in the bid on Kirkland?”

Keller shook his head. “Someone got there ahead of us.”

Lara was thoughtful. “Oh. Howard, see if you can find out who’s jumping the gun on us.”

It took him less than twenty-four hours. “Steve Murchison.”

“Did he get all those deals?”

“Yes.”

“So someone in this office has a big mouth.”

“It looks that way.”

Her face was grim. The next morning she hired a detective agency to find the culprit. They had no success.

“As far as we can tell, all your employees are clean, Miss Cameron. None of the offices is bugged, and your phones haven’t been tapped.”

They had reached a dead end.

Maybe they were just coincidences,
Lara thought. She did not believe it.

The sixty-eight-story residential tower in Queens was half completed, and Lara had invited the bankers to come and inspect its progress. The higher the number of floors, the more expensive the unit. Lara’s sixty-eight stories had only fifty-seven actual floors. It was a trick she had learned from Paul Martin.

“Everybody does it,” Paul had laughed. “All you do is change the floor numbers.”

“How do you do that?”

“It’s very simple. Your first bank of elevators is from the lobby to the twenty-fourth floor. The second bank of elevators is from the thirty-fourth floor to the sixty-eighth. It’s done all the time.”

Because of the unions, the construction jobs had half a dozen phantoms on salary—people who did not exist. There was a Director of Safety Practices, the Coordinator of Construction, the Supervisor of Materials, and others with impressive-sounding titles. In the beginning Lara had questioned it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Paul had told her. “It’s all part of the CDB—the cost of doing business.”

Howard Keller had been living in a small apartment in Washington Square, and when Lara had visited him one evening, she had looked around the tiny apartment and said, “This is a rattrap. You’ve got to move out of here.” At Lara’s urging, he had moved into a condominium uptown.

One night Lara and Keller were working late, and when they finally finished, Lara said, “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, Howard?”

“Good idea,” Keller yawned. “See you in the morning.”

“Come in late,” Lara told him.

Keller got into his car and started driving home. He was thinking about a deal they had just closed and how well Lara had handled it. It was exciting working with her. Exciting and frustrating. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he kept hoping that a miracle would happen. /
was blind not to have seen it before, Howard darling. I’m not interested in Paul Martin or Philip Adler. It’s you I’ve loved all along.

Fat chance.

When Keller reached his apartment, he took out his key and put it in the lock. It did not fit. Puzzled, he tried again. Suddenly the door flew open from the inside, and a stranger was standing there. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man asked.

Keller looked at him, bewildered. “I live here.”

“The hell you do.”

“But I…” Realization suddenly hit him. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered, red-faced. “I
used
to live here. I…”

The door was slammed in his face. Keller stood there, disconcerted.
How could I have forgotten that I moved? I’ve been working too hard.

Lara was in the middle of a conference when her private phone rang. “You’ve been pretty busy lately, baby. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been traveling a lot, Paul.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that she had missed him.

“Let’s have lunch today.”

Lara thought about all he had done for her.

“I’d like that,” she said. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to hurt him.

They had lunch at Mr. Chow’s.

“You’re looking great,” Paul said. “Whatever you’ve been doing agrees with you. How’s the Reno hotel coming?”

“It’s coming along beautifully,” Lara said enthusiastically. She spent the next fifteen minutes describing how the work was progressing. “We should be ready to open in two months.”

A man and woman across the room were just leaving. The man’s back was to Lara, but he looked familiar. When he
turned for an instant, she caught a glimpse of his face. Steve Murchison. The woman with him looked familiar also. She stooped to pick up her purse, and Lara’s heart skipped a beat.
Gertrude Meeks, my secretary.
“Bingo,” Lara said softly.

“Is anything wrong?” Paul asked.

“No. Everything’s fine.”

Lara went on describing the hotel.

When Lara returned from lunch, she sent for Keller.

“Do you remember the property in Phoenix we looked at a few months ago?”

“Yeah, we turned it down. You said it was a dog.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” She pressed down the intercom. “Gertrude, would you come in here, please?”

“Yes, Miss Cameron.”

Gertrude Meeks came into the office.

“I want to dictate a memo,” Lara said. “To the Baron Brothers in Phoenix.”

Gertrude started writing.

“Gentlemen, I have reconsidered the Scottsdale property and have decided to go ahead with it immediately. I think in time it is going to be my most valuable asset.” Keller was staring at her. “I’ll be in touch with you regarding price in the next few days. Best regards. I’ll sign it.”

“Yes, Miss Cameron. Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

Keller watched Gertrude leave the room. He turned to Lara. “Lara, what are you doing? We had that property analyzed. It’s worthless! If you…”

“Calm down. We’re not making a deal for it.”

“Then why…?”

“Unless I miss my guess, Steve Murchison will. I saw Gertrude having lunch with him today.”

Keller was staring at Lara. “I’ll be damned.”

“I want you to wait a couple of days and then call Baron and ask about the property.”

Two days later Keller came into Lara’s office, grinning. “You were right,” he said. “Murchison took the bait—hook, line, and sinker. He’s now the proud owner of fifty acres of worthless land.”

Lara sent for Gertrude Meeks.

“Yes, Miss Cameron?”

“You’re fired,” Lara said.

Gertrude looked at her in surprise. “Fired? Why?”

“I don’t like the company you keep. Go back to Steve Murchison and tell him I said so.”

Gertrude’s face lost its color. “But I…”

“That’s all. I’ll have you escorted out of here.”

At midnight Lara buzzed Max, her chauffeur. “Bring the car around to the front,” Lara said.

“Yes, Miss Cameron.”

The car was there waiting for her.

“Where would you like to go, Miss Cameron?” Max asked.

“Drive around Manhattan. I want to see what I’ve done.”

He was staring at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want to look at my buildings.”

They drove around the city and stopped at the shopping mall, the housing center, and the skyscraper. There was Cameron Square, Cameron Plaza, Cameron Center, and the skeleton of Cameron Towers. Lara sat in the car, staring at each building, thinking about the people living there and working there. She had touched all their lives.
I’ve made this city better,
Lara thought.
I’ve done everything I wanted to do. Then why am I restless? What is missing?
But she knew.

The following morning Lara telephoned William Ellerbee, Philip’s concert manager.

“Good morning, Mr. Ellerbee.”

“Good morning, Miss Cameron. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering where Philip Adler is playing this week.”

“Philip has a pretty heavy schedule. Tomorrow night he’ll be in Amsterdam, then he goes on to Milan, Venice, and…do you want to know the rest of his…?”

“No, no. That’s fine. I was just curious. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Lara walked into Keller’s office. “Howard, I have to go to Amsterdam.”

He looked at her in surprise. “What do we have going on there?”

“It’s just an idea,” Lara said evasively. “I’ll let you know if it checks out. Have them get the jet ready for me, will you?”

“You sent Bert to London on it, remember? I’ll tell them to have it back here tomorrow, and…”

“I want to leave today.” There was an urgency in her that took her completely by surprise. “I’ll fly commercial.” She returned to her office and said to Kathy, “Get me a seat on the first flight to Amsterdam on KLM.”

“Yes, Miss Cameron.”

“Are you going to be gone long?” Keller asked. “We have some meetings coming up that…”

“I’ll be back in a day or two.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Thanks, Howard. Not this time.”

“I talked to a senator friend of mine in Washington. He thinks there’s a chance they’re going to pass a bill that will
remove most of the tax incentives for building. If it passes, it’s going to kill capital gains taxes and stop accelerated depreciation.”

“That would be stupid,” Lara said. “It would cripple the real estate industry.”

“I know. He’s against the bill.”

“A lot of people will be against it. It will never pass,” Lara predicted. “In the first place…”

The private phone on the desk rang. Lara stared at it. It rang again.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Keller asked. Lara’s mouth was dry. “No.”

Paul Martin listened to the hollow ring a dozen times before he replaced the receiver. He sat there a long time thinking about Lara. It seemed to him that lately she had been less accessible, a little cooler.
Could there be someone else?
No. Paul Martin thought.
She belongs to me. She’ll always belong to me.

The flight on KLM was pleasant. The first-class seats in the wide-bodied 747 were spacious and comfortable, and the cabin attendants were attentive.

Lara was too nervous to eat or drink anything.
What am I doing?
she wondered.
I’m going to Amsterdam uninvited, and he’ll probably be too busy to even see me. Running after him is going to ruin whatever chance I might have had. Too late.

She checked in at the Grand Hotel on Oudezijds Voorburgwal 197, one of the most beautiful hotels in Amsterdam.

“We have a lovely suite for you, Miss Cameron,” the clerk said.

“Thank you. I understand that Philip Adler is giving a
recital this evening. Do you know where he would be playing?”

“Of course, Miss Cameron. At the Concertgebouw.”

“Could you arrange a ticket for me?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

As Lara entered her suite, the telephone was ringing. It was Howard Keller.

“Did you have a nice flight?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I thought you’d like to know that I’ve spoken to the two banks about the Seventh Avenue deal.”

“And?”

His voice was vibrant. “They’re jumping at it.”

Lara was elated. “I told you! This is going to be a big one. I want you to start assembling a team of architects, builders—our construction group—the works.”

“Right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She replaced the receiver and thought about Howard Keller. He was so dear.
I’m so lucky. He’s always there for me. I have to find someone wonderful for him.

Philip Adler was always nervous before playing. He had rehearsed with the orchestra in the morning, and had a light lunch, and then, to take his mind off the concert, had gone to see an English movie. As he watched the picture, his mind was filled with the music he was going to play that evening. He was unaware that he was drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat until the person next to him said, “Would you mind stopping that awful sound?”

“I beg your pardon,” Philip said politely.

He got up and left the theater and roamed the streets of Amsterdam. He visited the Rijksmuseum, and he strolled
through the Botanical Gardens of the Free University, and window-shopped along the P.C. Hooftstraat. At four o’clock he went back to his hotel to take a nap. He was unaware that Lara Cameron was in the suite directly above him.

At 7:00
P.M
. Philip arrived at the artists’ entrance of the Concertgebouw, the lovely old theater in the heart of Amsterdam. The lobby was already crowded with early arrivals.

Backstage, Philip was in his dressing room, changing into tails. The director of the Concertgebouw bustled into the room.

“We’re completely sold out, Mr. Adler! And we had to turn away so many people. If it were possible for you to stay another day or two, I would…I know you are fully booked…I will talk to Mr. Ellerbee about your return here next year and perhaps…”

Philip was not listening. His mind was focused on the recital that lay ahead. The director finally shrugged apologetically and bowed his way out. Philip played the music over and over in his mind. A page knocked at the dressing-room door.

“They’re ready for you onstage, Mr. Adler.”

“Thank you.”

It was time. Philip rose to his feet. He held out his hands. They were trembling slightly. The nervousness before playing never went away. It was true of all the great pianists—Horowitz, Rubinstein, Serkin. Philip’s stomach was churning, and his heart was pounding.
Why do I put myself through this agony?
he asked himself. But he knew the answer. He took one last look in the mirror, then stepped out of the dressing room, and walked through the long corridor, and started to descend the thirty-three steps that led onto the stage. There was a spotlight on him as he moved toward the piano. The applause grew thunderous. He sat down at the piano, and as
if by magic, his nervousness disappeared. It was as though another person were taking his place, someone calm, and poised, and completely in charge. He began to play.