B004183M70 EBOK (19 page)

"There won't be any misunderstanding when I come up
there and carry you to the train! Your mama's been pale as a snowdrop, worried
sick about you."

"I'm sorry. Give her my love," I said, and yawned.

"What are you doing awake so late? You haven't been out
at night in that heathen city, have you?"

"Daddy, I had a date with a young man who's a model. He
took me for a nice dinner."

"A male model? Don't you know all them are queer?"

I rolled my eyes. "Daddy, I need to get some sleep,
okay?"

"All right, Little Magnolia. Next time reverse the

charges. And don't get mixed up with that Williams character,
you hear me?"

I hadn't made any promises.

I sipped my coffee. Eight models were
upstairs getting into makeup and the clothes from B. Altman's. Gloria had come
in before I did, according to the talent sign-up sheet on my desk.

There was no sign of Pierre, who was
supposed to be shooting the ad.

A few minutes before ten o'clock, the
models started straggling downstairs and lounging in chairs. They were
beautiful! The girls were decked out in fashionably striped long culottes—in
shades of pink, white, pale blue, red, orange, and tan—with strawberry-pink
halter tops trimmed with large front bows. They had on big, pink plastic
earrings and plastic bangle bracelets on their arms. Simple tan sandals were on
their feet.

Gloria had done a dramatic look with their
makeup, and the girls' hair had been teased high. B. Altman's promotional
material had said the outfit was smart for home entertaining or seaside
sunning.

The men wore tan slacks with striped shirts
that matched the girls' culottes, along with strawberry-pink ties.

Gloria came up to my desk carrying a big
white makeup case. She set the case down and said, "Boy, that was one hell
of a job getting everyone done, but the money will be rockin'."

"You did a fantastic job on the
models, Gloria. I feel out of place in this sleeveless purple sheath."

Gloria snorted. She leaned closer.
"The models are jumpy because of your boss. They all think he killed
Suzie. Even Gina wouldn't come down here where 'the murderer' is."

"That's ridiculous, Gloria. We know
Bradley didn't kill Suzie. The question is, who did?" As soon as the words
were out of my mouth, I noticed that Gloria's expression changed.

"My mind is gone right now," she
said, checking her nails for chips in her red polish.

Gloria wasn't her usual friendly self
toward me. I tried for some conversation. "I had a date last night with
Louis Kinnaird."

Gloria rolled her eyes. "He is prime,
but a perfectionist. Very picky with his makeup, and, if I'm right, he's still
upstairs trying to get his tie flawless."

I sighed. "You know, I got that impression,
but figured I needed to get to know him better. He took me to the Phone Booth
for dinner."

Gloria's brown eyes grew wide. "Choice
place. Do you think Louis could change your mind about Bradley being the love
of your life?"

The question surprised me. The truth was
worse: I didn't think there was any man who could take Bradley's place in my
heart. "Like you told me at Pierre's showing, I should be dating and
having fun."

She looked at me for a long, unsettling
moment. Then she nodded. "As long as you're just having fun with Louis, I
can give you the gossip on him, if you want it."

"Tell me."

Gloria looked at Bradley's door to make
sure he hadn't left his office. "Louis used to work for Models, Inc.—you
know, the agency that is Ryan's biggest competitor, with Ford being over
both?"

"Yes, I've heard about them. Didn't
they try to steal Suzie away from Ryan at one point?"

"Yeah, but Ryan offered her better
assignments, and there were some other factors. Anyway, Louis is very
ambitious. Though Models gave him lots of assignments, it was never good enough
for him. He jumped ship and came here for the Burma-Shave gig, but"—here
Gloria paused dramatically—"that's not what he's really after."

"I know he told Bradley he was hoping
Burma- Shave would be so pleased with his print campaign that they'd use him
for a TV spot."

Gloria nodded. "That's not surprising.
But what he really wants is to be the 'Us Tareyton smokers would rather fight
than switch!' guy, and Ryan holds the account. Louis wants to have his face in
magazines across the country, on billboards, become a recognizable face to
America. A star."

"But we already have a very popular
guy doing those. I know, because when we went over accounts one day, Bradley
told me the Tareyton people were extremely pleased."

Gloria shook her head. "You've still
got a lot to learn about this business. Think of it: Louis comes in here, gets
in Dutch with Bradley . . . and you. You've already given him an assignment.
Maybe it takes a while, but soon Bradley and Louis are hangin' together, and
the next thing you know, boom! Louis is getting the prime assignments and gets
in with the Tareyton people, convincing them their guy is looking stale."

"That's quite a plan."

"Ruthless models do it all the time,
Bebe. Remember Suzie? I know you must," Gloria said, staring at me in a
peculiar manner before moving to the models. Her look indicated suspicion. But
of what?

I thought about what she had said about
Louis. If true, Louis was using me. I decided to reserve judgment.

Right then, Louis himself came out of the
elevator and walked straight to my desk. "Good morning, Bebe. You look
lovely."

"Thank you, Louis. Are you all ready
to go?" A movement out of the corner of my eye alerted me to Bradley,
coming out of his office, his eyes on Louis and me.

Louis answered. "Bebe, you made me
happy giving me this assignment." He bent down and whispered, "And
your lips taste sweet."

I know I went red.

"Good morning, everyone," Bradley
said, sta iing right behind Louis.

Louis turned and faced him. "Good
morning, Mr. Williams. We're ready for a great photo shoot."

Bradley glanced at me, ignoring Louis, his
gaze going over the other models. To my dismay, some of them looked at him with
barely concealed disgust, though they all returned his greeting.

Bradley turned to me. "Miss Bennett,
where is Gina?"

"She called me earlier and said she
wasn't feeling well enough to attend the shoot. I called Danielle from the
typing pool. She's going to cover for me so I can come and help out."

Bradley raised an eyebrow at me. The
eyebrow said that he hadn't given permission for me to go. I stared back at him
with a bland expression.

Danielle stood at the edge of the reception
area.

"Where is Pierre?" Bradley asked.

From across the room, Gloria said, "I
talked to him on the phone this morning. He'll meet us on location."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?
Miss Bennett, since you're coming along, I'll put you in charge of getting
cabs."

"Yes, Mr. Williams," I said,
smiling sweetly. I grabbed my bag and the B. Altman's order and nodded at
Danielle.

I swept past everyone and entered the
elevator, my finger on the stop button. For a second no one moved, afraid to
get into the elevator with the murderer. Then Gloria got in, followed by
Bradley and Louis.

The doors closed and Gloria said,
"Bebe, is that My Sin you're wearing?"

Bradley turned his head an inch and
glowered at me.

Louis looked at me and winked. "So
that's what it was."

I put my chin in the air. "Yes, My Sin
is my favorite perfume. I just discovered it, and I won't wear any other
scent." I kept my gaze straight ahead until we reached the lobby.

In the lead, I marched across the concrete
in front of the building, down the steps, and to the corner. I flung
my hand in the air. I repeated this until everyone, including me, was on the
way to Lincoln Center.

The Lincoln Center fountain had opened only
recently, and this was my first visit. In the center of a large place, there
was a large, sparkling pool from which many sprays of water shot upward. A
slight breeze fluttered our way, bringing a mist to my face. I turned toward
the sun and smiled, happy to be outside in the city of my dreams on this keen
day.

The models gathered to one side, laughing,
giggling, and hamming it up.

Gloria stepped over to them, ready for
touchups.

One person was missing: Pierre.

Bradley, wearing a cool pair of dark
shades, walked over to where I stood admiring the fountain. "Where's
Pierre?"

"Um, I'll ask Gloria and see if she
knows any more," I replied, and dashed away.

"Gloria, where is Pierre?" I
asked. "I thought you said you talked to him."

"He's always late. Lay off him, would
you? He likes to make an entrance." She powdered a male model's nose.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later Pierre
arrived in a huge black Cadillac. Daddy once told me Cadillacs cost around six
thousand dollars!

Pierre emerged from the long car dressed in
his usual black, complete with beret. A male assistant carried a huge
silver-and-black transistor radio with an antenna. Pierre gingerly lugged a
big, sturdy bag that I assumed held his cameras and accessories.

All at once two things happened: The female
models ran to flock around Pierre, and he spotted Bradley. Blowing kisses to
the models, Pierre left them and stormed over to my boss.

"What are you doing here?" he
demanded in his French accent.

Bradley said, "Are you addressing me,
Pierre? I'm head of Ryan Modeling."

"Good morning, Pierre, it's me, Bebe Bennett," I
tried. He nodded at me but his focus was on Bradley.

Pierre's face became as purple as my dress. "I will not
work while Suzie's murderer stands free instead of in jail where he
belongs!"

Bradley sighed. "You'll do this photo shoot unless you
want to be held in breach of contract."

"Not while you are here!" Pierre yelled, his voice
carrying over the noise of the street traffic, over the sound of the fountain,
making the models huddle together. They had a stake in this, after all.

Bradley remained unruffled. "I don't have all day. Let's
get busy."

"I tell you, I will not!"

"Pierre," I said, and was gratified when he turned
to me. "Did you hear that Jack Norton bowed out of the photo shoot just
last night?"

His brows came together. He seemed to notice me for the first
time since his arrival. "He's not here, Bebe?"

"No. He had the nerve to call the agency right at five
and say he'd be partying on a barge off the Hamptons and expected to be too
hungover to attend. Can you believe it?"

"I won't photograph him again," Pierre said, looking
toward the models.

"Don't worry, though, Pierre; I found a replacement:
Louis Kinnaird. He's so excited to be working with you," I said with
enthusiasm.

Bradley muttered, "Your boyfriend."

I'd savor that comment later. I put my arm through Pierre's
and guided him over to meet Louis. All the models fawned over Pierre, including
Louis.

Pierre's ego seemed to be sufficiently stroked. "Bebe,
you did well. I'm impressed with you," he said, rubbing my back.

I scooted out of reach and shouted, "Is everybody
ready?"

A chorus of yesses sounded.

"Come on, Pierre; I want to watch you work," I said, excitement in my voice. "That's a groovy radio.
What station are we going to play, WABC?"

I made sure to block Pierre's view of
Bradley while the photographer painstakingly adjusted one camera, then
discarded it back in the bag for another.

It wasn't long before a series of upbeat
pop tunes filled the air, and Pierre was shouting directions and encouragement
to the models, who posed over and over again by the fountain.

"Swingin'!" Pierre shouted over
"Can't Buy Me Love."

He dashed around taking shots from all
angles, his assistant supplying him with fresh rolls of film.

"Gear! Tammy, give me that haughty
tilt of your head."

After an hour it grew warm, and I thought
it best that everyone have a cool drink.

"Mr. Williams, I don't know how much
longer Pierre is going to keep shooting, but I thought I'd go out and get some
Cokes for everyone."

Bradley's gaze was on the street.

I turned to see what he was looking at, and
my mouth dropped open. Detective Finelli cruised slowly by in his Pontiac
Tempest. He came to a stop and looked our way. I didn't know how Bradley felt,
but goose pimples rose on my arms.

Then, just as slowly, the detective moved
his car back into traffic.

Bradley acted as though nothing had
happened. "Drinks ... a good idea, Miss Bennett. But I think I'd be the
better person to go. You seem to be able to charm men into doing what they
don't want to do. Pierre, for example. I dare not continue the shoot without
you here to keep him calm."