Fortune Is a Woman (13 page)

“May I?”

“Of course you may. You all right?”

“Hung over. Nothing to it. Martini, Harry, and a menu, please.”

“Certainly. Are you all right?” he inquired.

“Yup, hair of the dog, please. And a bowl of coffee.”

“Late night?” Venus asked.

Delilah was bleary-eyed. All night she had dreamt of a woman being murdered, all night the poor thing screaming bloody murder, refusing to die, disturbing her sleep. The petite morte she had found in the kitchen this morning explained everything. Lydia Beaumont’s multiple resurrections. “Yeah,” she laughed. “Wait till you see the other guy.”

“Who?”

Menu, martini and coffee. “Thanks, Harry–your interim president, that’s who. You’ll be real impressed.” She took a few swigs of her drink and then chased it with black coffee. “And that’s how that’s done, in case you ever need to know.”

Venus hoped she wouldn’t. She also hoped that Lydia wouldn’t be joining them. Didn’t want to deal with that issue today. Dr. Kristenson apparently would be lunching with them, she realized. There she stood at the entranceway, fresh as a daisy.

Delilah beckoned to her. “Where’s Liddy?” she asked.

Helaine smiled patiently. “She’ll be here shortly–Venus, how lovely.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Kristenson. How’s your little patient?”

“Rare form, I’m afraid to report.”

“Hormone levels the same, though,” Delilah haplessly offered. “If not worse.”

Venus flinched and feigned to be amused. Helaine shot Delilah a reproachful look, but Delilah didn’t see it and, because it appeared that she was intent on further qualifying that remark, Helaine felt she had no choice. She kicked her under the table.

Delilah gasped.

“Oh, goodness…I’m so sorry, Del.”

I can’t do this.
Venus glanced anxiously at the door.
I just can’t.

“Menu, Harry,” Helaine said sweetly, taking note of Venus’ agitation. “Two, please,” she said, lowering her voice. “Ms. Beaumont has promised to join us soon.”

“Oh, wonderful.” His favorite. “Hair of the dog for her, too, I presume?”

Helaine watched Delilah sip her martini and with a shaky hand pick up the coffee cup. “Uh…no. I don’t think that would be wise. Just coffee.”

“Coffee it is.”

Lydia Beaumont, hormones and hair. Damn, Delilah was a fright! Venus smiled as opaquely as possible and relaxed in her chair. She was curious.

“Well, Venus,” Delilah said, dipping her napkin in the finger bowl and swabbing her forehead, “I haven’t seen you in eons. How’s that Sebastion of yours doing? Gawd, what a handsome man.”

Delilah was batting zero. Venus laughed uncomfortably, inadvertently attracting Dr. Kristenson’s scrutiny. “I…um…threw him out,” she felt compelled to disclose. These were not the kind of matters she and the doctor usually discussed. “Um…yesterday, actually.”

“Oh.” Delilah put the soggy napkin in her lap. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Helaine nodded sympathetically but said nothing.

“There’s your polecat now.” Delilah said, with a wink. Lydia had materialized at the coat check.

“Oh, good. There she is.”

Venus turned to see.

Mmmmm. There she was.

_____

It was not his fault, Venus confessed upon returning from her late lunch. He had, she admitted in the privacy of her penthouse, tried to accommodate her wishes, cater to her contradictory whims. She had been quick to blame, had gone and “harshed his mellow” as he liked to jest, but he was a good man and it wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault. It was the way things are, or the way they go, or fate, or something in that order. Sebastion Jones had tried to please her. She had made him fail to. But nobody was really to blame for the fiasco. Not herself, because she couldn’t help how she felt. Not Sebastion, because he didn’t understand how she felt. Not Lydia, though she could think of nothing to add to her defense.

Venus debated returning Sebastion’s call but concluded she needed more time to review things. She was still embarrassed about the tie incident. Distracted, too, by lunch with the girls.

She was in love with the wrong woman, she had realized at Frank’s, while the four of them ate. If she was as smart as people claimed, she should have fallen in love with a woman like Dr. Kristenson instead. Mature, responsible, together, grounded. Not like Lydia Beaumont who was simply a…a…what were the words she was looking for now?

Oh, what were they? She knew her evening would be shot on a word search.

What she was, Lydia Beaumont.

Venus sat on the floor and did some stretches to relieve the tension that had accumulated in her legs and shoulders.

What was Lydia Beaumont?

Tousled. That was one word for it. Giddy, another. Sex marathons can do that. Venus folded her hands behind her head for sit-ups. The woman had been, all through lunch, sensually delirious. Too full for sit-ups, Venus plopped back on the rug and stared up at the ceiling. Lydia Beaumont had been high on sex. How cute is that? Shit, throw in cute and irresistible. Limpid, soft, supple, bending. Those were good words, too. And her smile. Damn! Her hair. Damn! Venus sighed. Perhaps the “Intimate President” had still been drunk from yesterday’s binge because she was also, somehow…what is the word?

The word is flirtatious, though Venus couldn’t pinpoint this observation.

Sit-ups. Three. And then she rolled over, leaning dreamily on her elbows with her legs crossing and uncrossing behind her in the air.

Okay, so what she was, Lydia Beaumont. Well, she was probably still intoxicated and she was more than a little addicted to her beautiful wife. But she was, notwithstanding those defects, absolutely flawless and–Venus forgave her everything.

Conforming To Circumstances

Power share. Lydia eyed Helaine across the room, framed her in her glass. Helaine smiled seductively in return and then averted her gaze, giving her attention once more to whoever that was trying in vain to keep it.

“Beaumont, I’m talking here.”

Another cocktail party at the Treadwells. Paula had been skillfully navigating Lydia toward the study where Lydia did not wish to go. Dickie looked good. Still pale and thin. Venus–

“Beaumont!”

“Paula…yes, power sharing. I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” She was not.

Helaine was making her way now to the punch bowl. Lydia saw her hook her arm in Venus Angelo’s as she passed her. Venus complied self-consciously. She was not a particularly affectionate woman. Not very touchy-feely. Lydia studied the ladies with interest, holding Paula off as long as she could.

“Give me some feedback then, and I can just infer the rest from your grunts.”

Feedback. Lydia felt suddenly warm from her chest up. Helaine glanced her way and there it was, a different smile, a variation on a theme. She could not take her eyes from Helaine. That evening dress, the long blond hair. Maybe she was obsessed, like Delilah claimed. She was something in a black dress. Helaine Kristenson was so hot. Even cool, cool Venus seemed to be melting. Paula yacking in her ear. The melting Venus. Question: power sharing. Venus had a nice dress, too. “Mmmm…well…I don’t know, Paula.” She liked how they looked together, minus Venus’ ever growing perplexity.

“You’re flushed, Beaumont. Ignore them for the moment.”

“Ah, Paula. Did you know it’s my birthday in a couple of days?”

(Birthdays. When you’re over forty, who the hell cares anymore?) “No, I didn’t. Happy birthday, dear.”

Lydia shot another look at the ladies at the punchbowl. Paula stepped in front of her and shut the door to the study.

_____

“Did you know it’s Lydia’s birthday in a couple of days?” Helaine asked, slipping her arm free and ladling punch into empty glasses for a handful of thirsty guests who had collected around the table. “Oh, you’re perfectly welcome. I am? Well, I thank you. Whoops–there you go.”

“No, I…wasn’t aware…no.” Venus had seen the study door close from the corner of her eye, had known that the interim president had been watching them before that. She rubbed her bare arms to get rid of the goosebumps. A tête-à-tête with Paula Treadwell. Yuck.

Question: Lydia’s birthday. She thought she had had an understanding with the doctor, an unspoken agreement not to discuss Lydia Beaumont. Thought wrong, apparently, because she had already mentioned her twice tonight. “Big plans?” she finally responded.

“Mmmm…big, maybe. But quiet. She wants it quiet.” Once again she took Venus by the arm. “Here, let’s move away from this table.”

_____

“I’ll fire her if I have to. Don’t doubt me on that.”

Lydia exhaled impatiently. “And what would that accomplish, Paula Treadwell?” She was trying desperately not to get angry. “Just what could that possibly accomplish?” She already knew the answer. What had her father said about only asking questions she knew the answer to? She needed to talk to Edward Beaumont. Soon. Or to let him talk so she could listen. “Tell me, Paula. I’d like to know.” Tell her why she’s excited tonight at the sight of those two women together. Or didn’t she know the answer to that, too?

“Ruin her, that’s what.”

Lydia sat on the corner of the desk and folded her arms. “Not if I’m president, you won’t. That’s what you want, right? One way or another, I’m president?”

“One way or the other, the end.”

“Okay. I’m president. Venus stays. Happy?”

They were equals at last, with nothing to mark the occasion, nothing more to say.

In her mind Lydia was talking with her father. In her mind she was listening very carefully to him, no longer angry, as she had been since she was fourteen. In her mind it dawned on her that she had been angry with Daddy since she was fourteen, a deep-seated anger toward him ever since she had discovered his…his…what? Paula pressed for a date certain. Toward her father. Untoward. His womanizing. Tuesday? Is this womanizing, this sensation she had? Paula always got her way, one way or the other. She was a perfect player. Maybe it was genetics. It was useless to struggle. “Fine, Paula. Fine. I’ll announce Tuesday. And then–because I know you so well–you’ll step down without so much as a heads-up, and I’ll be stuck with the whole damn job.”

Paula wore an inscrutable smile.

Lydia wanted to leave the little room now. “You know I’m not suited for it.” She was suffocating. “I think, in fact, that everyone knows I’m not suited for it.”

“You’re quite mistaken, Beaumont. You’re dead wrong.”

She was not up for the pep-talk. She was thirsty. She needed some punch and to find Del. Del, Paula, Helaine, Venus. Why were there so many women in her life? She needed some male companionship. She wanted to talk to her daddy. She wanted to make love to her wife by the punchbowl. With Venus. No, she hadn’t thought that. Where was Del, tonight?

“Oh, Paula. You’re wrong and you know it.”

Paula peered over her glasses and nodded. But it was worth the gamble even if Beaumont could be taken for too timid, for being too nice. She would have to carry her sword at all times to counter those impressions. That would be a burden for her and something she most likely wouldn’t want to do. If she didn’t, though, then what? Paula stopped nodding.

Then she will have to fake it. They would both have to fake it for her.

“Then you will pretend to possess those qualities that would make you appear suited for it. And there’s nothing to doing that, Beaumont. Carry a big stick and shout loudly. Say shit when you have a mouth full of it. You always choose to get pent up, instead. Bad choice, I tell you. Besides, everyone’s behind you on this. All but one member of the board.”

Vice versus virtue. Power versus glory. Blah, blah, blah. “Which member?”

“Oh, it’s that wretched Goodman. Difficult name to live up to.”

Goodman. Good to know. “Lovely. And what’s the problem there?”

Paula threw up her hands. “You’re too flamboyant, he complains. ‘Latent flamboyance’ I think is how he puts it.”

Goodman. Lydia bit her lip pensively. That was not good.

“Beaumont, he’s just an old shit. He thinks you’re more like a rock star than a corporate officer. Just watch your back, that’s all.”

Yeah. Okay. Well, she had just given her word, hadn’t she? She was job-sharing with Paula Treadwell, if Treadwell could get the board and the shareholders to approve it. She studied Paula’s face. She could pass it by them all right.
So here we are
, Lydia said to herself, already preparing an exit strategy.
The two of us president of Soloman-Schmitt, the kings of the shitheap
. Truly she was out of her mind to go along with it. “You watch my back,” she said, and then she promptly left the room.

“Liddy!”

“Hey, Del.”

“Drinkie-pooh?”

“Yes, or ten. Have you seen Helaine?”

“She may have eloped with Venus, I’m sorry to say. That means you and I are finally free to marry. I think I’ll wear black. Or should I maybe go with red? Liddy, my love, what would you say to red boots and a black gown?”

“Just the red boots. And a veil. Don’t forget the veil.”

“A black veil?”

There they were over there. Helaine waved. Same smile. Lydia intended to take her home now. “Black. Oh, and be certain the invitations say property of Soloman-Schmitt somewhere.”

“Uh-oh.” Delilah threw the rest of her martini to the back of her throat. “You Soloman-Schmitt’s bitch for life now? President Beaumont?”

“Mmhmm. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. You didn’t forget my birthday?”

Delilah looked as if she had swallowed a fork.

“You did. You forgot my birthday, Delilah Lewiston.”

“Did not.”

“I want a divorce.”

“Never.”

_____

“Darling?”

“Time to go home.”

“Nice chat with Paula?”

Lydia huffed. Venus smiled tautly.

“Home it is. But first, I’d like you to meet the newest and certainly the youngest and most beautiful member of the Board of Directors of the Kristenson Foundation, Venus Angelo. Ms. Angelo, this is my wife.”