Final Appeal (25 page)

Ebony Rose woke up to the musical peal of her alarm clock at one in the afternoon. It played her theme song, “Second Hand Rose.” Her boyfriend had given it to her for Christmas. She'd slept for seven hours. That was enough. She had to get up. It had been daybreak before she'd come home to her penthouse apartment. She'd thrown a prenuptial party for one of the girls.

There was a smile on Ebony Rose's face as she pushed back the pink satin sheets and got out of her canopied bed. She slept in the nude because she loved feeling of satin against her skin. It was her favorite material, and she'd never been able to afford it when she was young. Now she surrounded herself with it. Her cocoa-brown skin glistened in the sun as she slipped into a rose-colored satin kimono and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The party had been sensational. They'd locked the doors of the club at 2 a.m. on the dot, and then they'd given Rennetta a real send-off. Ebony Rose always threw a lavish party when one of her girls got married. The stripper she'd hired had been the best, handsome and rugged enough to have been a movie star. He'd performed his regular act, and the girls had all shrieked and applauded. It was a reversal of roles, and they had loved it. Then, for his finale, he'd lifted Rennetta right out of her chair and carried her off to the waterbed they'd set up in the back room.

Ebony Rose figured that Rennetta wouldn't forget her party in a hurry. It would be a long time before she was treated like that again. The man she was marring today was sixty-five years old, filthy rich, and completely impotent. He wanted Rennetta around for window dressing. It was a status symbol for him to have a beautiful young wife. Unfortunately, he was also the jealous type and he'd threatened to divorce her at the drop of a hat if she ever played around. Since he was as healthy as a horse in every other way, Rennetta could look forward to a celibate life for the next twenty years or so. Ebony Rose figured that Rennetta would earn every penny of the inheritance she'd eventually get.

There was a time when Ebony Rose had harbored a similar ambition for herself. A rich older man and an easy life of luxury. But now she was very grateful that things had turned out the way they had. She liked being her own boss, and she was sure she wasn't good wife material. She was now thirty-two years old, and she'd never met a man she'd wanted to marry. Except one, of course. And that was completely impossible.

Bridget, her housekeeper, had prepared a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, and Ebony Rose poured herself a Waterford tumbler full of the delicious liquid. That, with one piece of whole-grain toast, would be here only meal until the light dinner that Bridget would fix tonight. Ebony Rose ate her toast and sipped her juice. Even though she was way behind schedule today, she had to spend at least an hour working out in her dance and exercise studio. She didn't perform at the club except on very special occasions, but she still kept herself in prime condition. After all, her nude dancing had earned her the down payment on the club she now owned free and clear. And it had paid for this luxury penthouse and the custom rose-colored Jaguar she drove. At one time her body had been her most valuable asset, and it was only right to treat it well.

Her breakfast finished, Ebony Rose set the crystal tumbler on the pink-veined marble counter, where Bridget would find it and wash it. Then she picked it up again and rinsed it out. Even though Ebony Rose, the daughter of a black domestic, had an Irish maid of her own, she still rinsed out her glasses.

It was time to get to work. She walked back to her bedroom and chose a leotard from the long rack of clothes in her walk-in closet. She had at least thirty exercise outfits, ranging in color from the palest cotton-candy pink to vivid fuchsia. Today she chose one that was the color of the pink geraniums her mother had grown in a cracked ceramic pot on their kitchen windowsill. Then she put on matching satin dance slippers and hurried down the hall to her dance studio.

For her first set of exercises she used the ballet barre that ran the length of the room. The muscles in her left leg were painfully tight, and no amount of stretching seemed able to loosen them. Her old injury had come back to haunt her. She'd have to start doing the therapy exercises she'd learned from the doctor, and avoid wearing her favorite high-heeled shoes for a month or so.

Ebony Rose had been only ten when her mother's friend had pushed her down a flight of stairs, and she'd torn some ligaments in her ankle. The doctor at the emergency room had taped it, and she'd had to wear a brace for six months. She'd never told her mother exactly why the boyfriend had pushed her, but her mother must have suspected because the boyfriend had disappeared that night, and he had never come back.

Ebony Rose remembered crying because she couldn't roller-skate any longer. Her mother had dried her tears and told her that her injury could be a blessing in disguise, if she got in the right frame of mind. She could have been killed on those steep steps, and she should think of that. And now, because she couldn't run around with the neighborhood kids for a while, she should concentrate on getting the best marks in the class, and maybe she could win a scholarship to college. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

So Ebony Rose had studied instead of doing everything else she'd wanted to do. And she'd discovered that she liked being the smartest kid in class. She won a scholarship, just as her mother had wanted. And she'd finished two years of college before she'd been forced to drop out to take care of her mother.

Now she'd strained her ankle again, and it was her fault for not being careful. Why had she worn those ridiculously high-heeled satin shoes? And she'd let the girls talk her into drinking a whole bottle of champagne. And after that, she'd attempted to do an acrobatic disco dance with the male stripper.

Ebony Rose sighed. She'd broken a lot of rules last night, and now she was paying the price for it. Her regular regime was very stringent. She ate the proper foods, and she didn't smoke. She never touched drugs of any kind, and she took no pills unless her doctor prescribed them. She limited herself to one glass of premium wine a day, and she only drank that on special occasions.

She supposed the girls regarded her as a bit of a prude, if that was possible for a woman in her line of work, but Ebony Rose followed her self-made restrictions for a very good reason. It was a rough world out there and there were plenty of people who'd like to knock her down a peg or two. She had to be healthy and alert if she wanted to stay on top.

An hour later, finished with her workout for the day, Ebony Rose tossed her special blend of herbal essence into the Jacuzzi and climbed in to relax her tired muscles. She loved her Jacuzzi. The closest she'd ever been to a Jacuzzi in her childhood was the lukewarm bath she'd taken once a week in the old-fashioned tub at the end of the hall.

Ebony Rose sighed deeply as she remembered those occasions. Almost every time she'd climbed in the tub, the man in the next apartment had banged on the wall to use the toilet. She'd suspected he did it on purpose, watching her go down the hall, giving her enough time to get in the tub, and then pounding on the bathroom door to yell that he had an emergency. The bath water had always been cold by the time he came out, and there was never enough hot water to run more.

She'd known it would do no good to complain to her mother. They couldn't afford to move into a place with its own private bathroom. But she remembered sitting at the old kitchen table and dreaming over the glossy decorator magazines her mother had brought home when her ladies had thrown them out. Jacuzzis, swimming pools, decks, and tennis courts. Kitchens with butcher-block tables and a whole array of copper pans hanging from the beamed ceilings. A dining room with crystal goblets and a lace tablecloth. A master bedroom suite with an enormous round bed covered with a pink satin coverlet, and huge walk-in closets with mirrored doors holding more clothes and shoes than you could find in a store. And if you actually owned a mansion like the ones in the magazines, you didn't have to lift a finger. There would be a housekeeper to clean, and a cook to prepare the meals, and a maid to help you dress, and a butler to answer the door, and a chauffeur to drive you wherever you wanted to go. Ebony Rose was determined to have all that someday.

Her mother's dreams hadn't been that elaborate. When Ebony Rose had asked, she'd said all she wanted was a nice two-bedroom apartment with wall-to-wall carpeting and a bathroom with a tub and shower.

It gave Ebony Rose satisfaction to know that she'd made a few of her mother's dreams come true during that last painful year of her life. Her mother had loved the apartment Ebony Rose had rented for her with the view of the park and the full-time maid who was a registered nurse. It had been proof that her daughter had made it up out of poverty, the first of the family to go to college and the first one ever to make that much money.

Even though Ebony Rose had some regrets, she was glad she'd dropped out of college and gone into the business so she could give her mother a little of what she deserved. It was just a pity her mother hadn't lived a few years longer. Now she could easily afford to buy her a big house and staff it with plenty of domestics. Her mother would probably have insisted on doing most of the work herself, but Ebony Rose knew she would have loved sitting in the back of a limousine for a drive through the old neighborhood.

A few minutes later, dressed in a shell-pink caftan, Ebony Rose sat down at her French provincial desk to make out the daily schedule. The red light on her answering machine was blinking, and she pressed the play button. She'd been too tired to take her messages when she'd come home, and she'd forgotten all about checking it earlier.

“Hello. You have eight messages.”

Ebony Rose stifled the urge to say thank you to the recorded voice and picked up a pen to write down her messages. The first was from Miles, her hairdresser. He'd be here at five this afternoon to do her hair, if that was acceptable. It was. The second message was from a client who wanted Giselle and Leona to work a party tonight. Ebony Rose checked their schedules, booked them, and made a note of the time and the address. The third message was from her boyfriend and it made her laugh in delight. He was very naive sometimes, and she found that refreshing. He was also the brightest man she'd ever met, and he treated her like a lady, even though he knew damn well she wasn't. He was the only person she still saw from her old life.

The fourth and fifth messages were just heavy breathing with a couple of extremely rude phrases that where far from original. It was probably the usual hassle from some joker down at the police station. They were still mad that she'd walked away from their last attempt to bust her.

The sixth message was from her lawyer, and it was important. He said there was no problem he could anticipate with the corporation she wanted to form, Ebony Rose smiled. It really paid to hire a high-priced, powerful attorney. He had connections, he kept her out of trouble, and his advice was always sound. It was definitely worth the five-figure retainer that she paid him.

The seventh message presented a problem. It was a dinner invitation from an important private client, eight o'clock this evening at Le Petite Chateau, a well-known French restaurant in Beverly Hills. Ebony Rose shook her head as she listened. She was spending the evening with her boyfriend, and there was no way she'd break that date. Even if she'd wanted to go, and she didn't, her lawyer had advised her never to appear in public with a client, especially a private client.

Ebony Rose stopped listening to her messages and called Chloe to book her for the client. Her client had admired the color of Chloe's aquamarine eyes. The tinted contact lenses had been a wise investment.

Chloe was thrilled with the invitation. Eight o'clock? That was perfect. What should she wear? The little black dress, Ebony Rose advised her, with a rope of pearls. Real pearls, not that costume junk that Chloe liked to wear. She could drop by at seven to get something out of the safe, and Ebony Rose would help her choose the correct accessories. This was an important evening, and if Chloe played her cards right, she could make a real conquest.

A moment later, Ebony Rose had her client on the phone. She was sorry to tell him that she had a touch of the flu and she wouldn't want him to catch it. It was really quite a coincidence that he'd mentioned Le Petite Chateau. She'd heard Chloe say just the other day that she'd always wanted to go there. Chloe would fit right in with his sophisticated crowd, and she'd tell her to wear something very special. She was certain that they'd have a wonderful evening. And she'd be sure to get some rest and drink plenty of liquids. It was very sweet of him to be so concerned.

When Ebony Rose hung up, she gave a big sigh of satisfaction. She was free and clear, if Chloe did things right. He'd been the last of her private clients. She'd managed to refer all the rest to other girls without causing any hard feelings on anyone's part. It just went to prove that she was a great matchmaker. Her boyfriend would be relieved to know that she was finished with that aspect of her life. Not that he hadn't understood, but he'd been concerned for her safety in spite of her lawyer's expertise and the other precautions she'd taken. Ebony Rose knew she'd been playing on the edge. Now she'd be legal, completely and totally legal. There was one last call on her answering machine, and Ebony Rose smiled as she listened to it. It was her boyfriend again, promising to call her today and reminding her that they had a date for tonight.

The recorded voice came on again. “That was your last message. To save your messages, press nine. To erase your messages, press seven. Edony Rose pressed the button to erase her messages, and the voice spoke again. “I will erase your messages.”