Fortune Is a Woman (32 page)

2. “Never.” If accompanied by any degree of emotion
never
means
not ever again
. If spoken calmly or firmly it is synonymous with
not in a million years
or simply
no.

3. “I can’t.” Under any given scenario,
I can’t
means
I won’t
. It’s used a lot because it’s nicer sounding than
no
or
never
and it’s a great hedge in the event we should change our mind.

4. “I couldn’t possibly.” Of all the terms listed here
I couldn’t possibly
holds out the greatest promise because it means
I could if you can convince me it’s proper
.

5. “No, never, I can’t, (and) I couldn’t possibly,” used in any combination means that we are confused and consider it your fault and you should leave quickly if you don’t want your feelings hurt or any other sensitive parts.

“Venus–”

“Where are you calling from?”

“The pay phone.”

“I’m not taking them back, Lydia. Wear them, please.”

“I couldn’t possibl–”

“Fine, then bring them to me right now.”

“Venus, I just can’t accept such a lavish–”

“Then bring them to me, I said. That’s the only way I’ll take them back.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Come on, Lydia. It’s you you don’t trust, not me.”

“Us, Venus. I don’t trust–”

“You don’t like the earrings?”

“I love–they’re just beaut–I could never possibly wear them.”

“Never poss–they go with your eyes! What do you mean you won’t wear them?”

“Venus, you’re sweet and I thank you but you know I can’t.”

Venus plopped onto the couch with a loud, unhappy sigh. How would Dr. Kristenson know? she wanted to ask. She could already hear the answer.
I
would know, Venus. I would know. Oh, Christ!

“All right, Lydia, I’ll send a messenger to retrieve them. Will you be home tonight?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Venus. I hope you know that if I wasn’t mar–”

“Don’t do that, Lydia.”

“No, let me speak. If I wasn’t married…tell me you understand that, because I am married, I’m married, and I feel terrible about all this, so torn all the time, and I can’t explain this to anyone, and I miss my wife desperately and it builds up, and you’re too young, I mean so young, whatever, and now the earrings. Can you understand?”

“I understand.”

_____

Helaine called around eight that evening to say that she had arrived safely and that Carlos had everything under control, hot food and a hot bath, her notes to study while she was bathing so she could be as vivacious as ever for tomorrow’s speech. Lydia could hear fatigue laced in the lilt of her voice and it was just as notable as the failure to mention the subject of bodyguards, which she, too, admittedly avoided discussing. They whispered a few sweet nothings back and forth for a couple minutes but Lydia could tell Helaine was near collapse and she let her sign off tonight with one simple I love you.

It was soon thereafter that she discovered the liquor cabinet was locked, the bar having been emptied of both scotch and gin. Could she drink straight Vermouth? she half joked.

It was not the right time to attempt it, she remembered. Someone was supposed to be coming by soon for the earrings, that is unless Venus had only been placating her. She took them out of their case again and held them to her ears, the fifth time tonight.

Sapphires.

Except for the platinum settings, they might have matched her necklace perfectly. The same quality of stone, the same cut. They did match her eyes, she observed with a quick breath. Who else had said something like that? She hooked them and let them dance from her lobes. Oh, it was Anna. I have something that belongs to you, she had bragged. Do you? But I have everything I need, she remembered telling Venus this morning. Oh, she shouldn’t have worded it that way. Sometimes she was so awkward and so thoughtless. Was there anybody in the world who could actually make such a claim as that? That they had everything they needed? In theory maybe she could, but still, she wished now she hadn’t sounded so callous. She sat on the couch and loosened her blouse, shook her hair out. The sapphires tickled her neck. She smiled capriciously. In a perfect world she would be able to keep them. In a perfect world it would be improper not to. She closed her eyes and the intercom rang.

“There’s a messenger for you, Ms. Beaumont. Should I send the young man up?”

“Yes, I’ve been expecting him.”

“All righty–that elevator there, son, straight up to the penthouse–goodnight Ms. Beaumont. I’ll see you for the morning shift, then.”

“Goodnight.”

_____

Lydia opened her door expecting to find a messenger boy and she was not prepared to see instead the debonair young man from Cicero’s tipping his hat to her. Her instinct was to slam the door in his pretty face, but he was inside the apartment before she could do that, standing in the parlor as if he had been invited.

“What th–?”

“Ly–”

She went for the intercom and he overtook her.

“Lydia, calm–”

“No!” she shouted, extricating herself. “Get out! Get out, or I’ll call the police!”

_____

“Lydia,” he said, standing under the hall light so she could get a better look at him. “Please, Lydia…it’s just me.”

The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his eyes in the shape of a mask. She took a sideways step and tripped over the divan and in his rush to catch her before she fell, the hat came off.

“Oh, god,” she whispered hoarsely, finally recognizing his face. “Oh, god,” she said again, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his overcoat. “Oh, thank god.”

Effeminate

Reality, Lydia has just learned, is subject to change without notice. In some cases a quick-change. “Venus?”

Lydia had doe-in-the-headlight eyes. Venus lowered her to the divan and knelt beside her. There was no booze on her breath tonight, so the rumors must be false. “Just Venus,” he said. “Deep breaths, Lydia.”

Lydia took a couple deep breaths. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, letting go of his sleeve and resting her hand on his shoulder. “A trick?”

He pushed the hair out of her face. She could, he suspected, part with a kiss. If it was taken quickly enough. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

“You guess so?” His coat was trimmed with lamb. Lydia ran her hands up and down the lengths of the lapels and unbuttoned it. Inside was a blue suit with pinstripes, similarly tailored to the brown one she had seen the young man wearing in Cicero’s. He had a ruffled silk shirt this time. Buttoned high on the neck. No tie. She felt beneath the coat and then sat back satisfied. Venus was indeed the young man from Cicero’s.

He gave her a sly grin, the opportunity to kiss her gone for the moment.

“Why are you dressed like this? I demand to know the meaning of this.”

“The pursuit of happiness–did you hurt your knee?”

It ached a little. “I don’t think so. What do you mean?”

“What do I mean hurt?”

There was a lock of hair out of place. Lydia tucked it behind his ear. “Happiness. What kind of happiness are you in pursuit of looking like this? I don’t understand.”

He took her hand and tugged at her ring. “It gives me a little bit of privacy.”

“Privacy? So you could be here, with me?”

He turned her hand over and kissed the palm. “So I could be anywhere.”

“Oh.” She felt a pang upon hearing him put it that way, that he had the right to be anywhere. “Exercising your rights,” she said, taking her hand away. “That makes sense.”

“You understand it?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what you understand about it, Lydia.”

“I understand that…I’m not going to say.”

“Lydia, I feel certain you’re over thinking it.”

“Am I? I feel certain you’re lying to me.”

He stole that kiss from her now. Her eyes closed. He took another before she could stop him. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said under his breath as she pulled away from him.

She shook her head in dismay. “I wouldn’t know. Is it?”

He seemed to be grinning at her expense.

“Then it must be,” she said. “And you enjoy being evil? Don’t say you don’t. I can tell you’re enjoying yourself.”

“You seem to be enjoying me, too.”

“Well…but you didn’t wear this for me.”

“What do you like best about it, Lydia Beaumont?”

She loved the coat, the shirt, the pants, the boyish haircut.

He stood up and held open the flaps of his overcoat. “Suit perfect fits, my love. What do you like best?” he asked, modeling for her. “Just for future reference.”

The suit was tailored to him. She loved him in it.

“Humor me,” Venus pursued.

She thought it prudent not to and reddened with the words she wouldn’t say.

He cupped her face and kissed it out of her.

“The coat, the suit, the pants, the shoes,” she whispered. “The hat, too,” she hastily added, handing it to him.

He set it aside and ignored her suggestion. “Everything then? What a lucky man,” he crowed, falling at her feet again. “She likes everything about me.”

Everything, even if it was a bit masculine. She brushed the coat with the back of her hand, took the handkerchief, folded it and slipped it into his breast pocket again. The coat, the suit, the man. On fashionable Venus Angelo, it all somehow still looked right, the classic styling so perfectly austere that on Venus’ flawless frame it still came off as feminine, the mannish cut not quite able to master the beauty of the woman hidden within its seams.

She shut her eyes. Little wonder she was attracted to Cicero’s youth. She opened them again and glared at the young man kneeling beside her in her parlor. It was premeditated. He had known before they met she would like everything about him.

He cleared his throat. “Earth to Lydia?”

“Venus, I…I don’t want to spar with you.”

“Good,” he said, batting his long lashes. “What do you want to do?” he asked. “Take this suit to bed?”

She appraised Venus Angelo, tall, dark, and handsome without her makeup. She was a devastatingly good-looking man, or, as Delilah had observed that night, a swaggering, effeminate, and terribly conceited man-child. A Valentino.

“Lydia?”

She dodged his invitation without commenting. This charmer, she reminded herself, had seduced her into the darkest corner of the nightclub, to take advantage of her there. Prince Charming was the same persistent suitor who had been trying to get her to say yes to him for years, relentlessly attempting to confound her, relentlessly trying to ruin her marriage.

“Wanna?” he pressed.

She narrowed her eyes at him, angry at the both of them, that he had set out to deceive her and that she had actually fallen for his deception. She was glad she had found nothing to drink tonight. Had Valentino expected her to be intoxicated?

“Lydia…?”

“Why did you come to me like this?”

“I’m here for–they look fabulous on you.”

The earrings had temporarily slipped her mind. She puzzled over why the hell she was wearing them as he lifted her face up toward the light and gloated.

“Do you like them, Lydia?”

His earrings! She gave him a look of defiance.

He nodded triumphantly and dropped his hand.

She rubbed her knee though it didn’t hurt anymore.

“As much as you like the suit?” he asked, examining the knee just in case. “I think it’s all right.”

She tugged at an earring and sat back. “I like how you look in your suits, Venus. Unfortunately for me, we both know that.”

He took her other leg and felt that knee, too. “This one’s better than all right,” he teased, holding it at the calf and whistling. “A truly magnificent gam, Ms. Beaumont.”

She pulled her leg away.

“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“I’m nev–” Lydia stopped short. Never was a lie. Surely he knew it. “Maybe one day,” she mumbled.

He flashed her a grin as if he understood what she was thinking and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again.

“You’re very–” she gripped him by the hair. “Privacy from whom?”

“Ouch–privacy? Oh, right, privacy. From Paula. Lydia, let–”

She let go of his hair and smoothed it back in place.

“Woman you’re…tell me your thoughts on the earrings.”

“I’m wearing them, aren’t I?”

“You are indeed. Pretend you don’t want me to kiss you.”

“Venus…” Her lips were dry. She licked them. “What did Paula think she’d catch you at, I’d like to know?”

He had the right to remain silent which seemed like the best response. Paula was after a much bigger fish than Anna Grisholm. For the moment, he had it dangling from a shiny lure.

The averted eyes and evasive smile told Lydia more than she had really wanted to know. So now she saw, without a doubt, that there were more Claudine’s on the landscape, probably dozens more looming out there on his horizon. The suit makes the man, her father always claimed. Then if that was true, Venus was playing the role beautifully.

“Well then, you’re a very bad boy, Venus Angelo,” she said wryly, hoping to sound nonchalant but wanting with all her heart to punish him.

He saw her eyes flickering. “For what, Lydia? For trying to enjoy life without you? For letting you be happily married?”

Yes, for starters. She wrapped her arm around his neck as if to strangle him, right there in the parlor. She could say it was self-defense. He was a prowler. “For worrying Paula so.”

“Mmhmm. Then I’m bad. And you’re bad, too, I’m always hoping.”

“That’s what you hope, is it?” Lydia asked, feeling his watchband. “You should watch what you hope for,” she said, winding the fob. “Ah, look at these,” she murmured, finally noticing the sapphire cufflinks. “Plan on pairing me? Or just adding me to your collection?”