Lauren's Designs (9 page)

“Minding,” Lauren said clearly, “my own business. You should try it sometime, Masen.”

“Then you’d better watch that honcho you were running with,” he snapped. “That’s what I was trying to tell you last night. The guy’s taking you for a ride.”

“Why should he? What have I got that he wants?” Lauren prodded. If Herbert knew something, she’d better find out what it was.

Herbert was giving her his nasty smile. “Well, I don’t suppose he’d mind a roll in the hay. But you don’t even know who the guy is, or what he does for a living—if anything.”

“His name is Michael, and he’s a talent scout.” It did seem rather bare, Lauren thought gloomily.

“Never heard of him,” said Herbert. “If he’s not a crook, he’s some cheap gigolo living off foolish women—”

“Then he must have been doing good business lately,” Lauren retorted. “I had the best dinner I’ve ever tasted in his suite last night. And you could have put my sitting room into one of his bathrooms.”

“You had dinner in his suite?” Herbert’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s between you two? Making out on deck for anyone who walked past to see—”

Lauren wasn’t going to make any excuses to Al’s old friend. “It really isn’t your business, is it? Why don’t you buzz off?”

Now the mask of hearty, close friendship slipped completely from Herbert’s pudgy features and his eyes and voice were colder than Al’s had ever been as he said, “It sure as hell is my business,
baby
. I’ve got shares in the boutique and I’m not standing still while some cheap crook robs us blind.”

“Shares,” Lauren sneered. “See my lawyer when you get back to Los Angeles. I’ll buy you out.” Relishing the pure shock on his face, she added, “The next time you’re in partnership with anybody, watch your drinking. You spilled everything you knew about me and the business to that same Michael you’re bad-mouthing now.”

She walked away, leaving the man staring after her with an empty look.

Her session with the troupe restored her faith. They were wonderful. Fresh and lively and more graceful than any men had a right to be, Derek and Tony mimed their admiration for the cleaning women in the gorgeous gowns. Even better, the display dances Tony had choreographed would show Lauren’s designs in luscious, flowing detail.

“I love it!” she breathed.

The troupe laughed. “You’re a real hard sell, Mrs. Rose.” Tony grinned. “I thought you’d have
some
criticism?”

“I have. You ought to be doing this on a real stage, before a real audience, not just for a fashion show.”

“But what a fashion show.” Violet laughed. “I can hardly wait to see the rest of your competition, so I’ll be sure how much better you are. And those audiences aren’t your run-of-the-mill folks. They’re pace-setters. Oh, we’ll get recognition.”

Lauren went to lunch with a lighter heart. They wouldn’t let her down: she mustn’t fail them. At the table, she met a frantic Dani.

“What’s wrong? Is Nella sick?”

Dani grimaced. “She’s in love, which is worse. I can’t stand her constant cooing. She’s having lunch with her doctor, so I thought I’d better clue you in—”

“I’m not worried about her crush on the handsome Britisher.” Lauren smiled. “I prefer cooing to whining any day.”

“I don’t mean about Nella. I’m talking about Herbert and that beef-cake you’ve been palsy with. You know, Mike.”

“What about Mike?” Lauren’s mouth felt dry and she sipped some water and stared at the menu.

“Just that I saw him with old Herbert not fifteen minutes ago in the corner of the Crown and Anchor. I was just looking for a friend, and I saw them. They had their heads close like they didn’t want anybody to hear what they were saying.” She glanced at Lauren shrewdly. “I thought you’d better know.”

Lauren drew in a steadying breath. “Well, unless Herbert’s won an Academy Award for acting recently, they really aren’t buddies. He’s just been giving me the third-degree for daring to have dinner with Mike last night. Claims he’s either a gigolo or a crook.”

“Since when would either of those professions put Masen off?” Dani asked. “It looked like he was trying to make a deal with the guy. Watch it, Ms. Rose.”

Rather gloomily Lauren thanked the model for her concern and then told her, with grim threats if she even breathed a word to anybody on the ship, about the dance production.

As she had feared, Dani was at first a little prickly about her own importance and position in the show. After Lauren had explained it in painstaking detail, however, Dani brightened.

“It might be fun at that,” she said, obviously thinking of the several times she would be lifted and carried around by two handsome men. “You’re sure the dancing part of it won’t make me look silly?”

“Dani, you’ll be showcased like never before,” Lauren promised. “Come on and meet them and we’ll prove it.”

The women went quickly to the reserved room and Lauren gave the agreed-upon knock. Tony let them in and gave Dani his best smile. The troupe clustered around her and told her how much they would enjoy working with a professional model. Then Violet played and the rest demonstrated their routines.

Dani loved it. “We’re going to be the hit of the trip,” she bubbled. “It’s like a musical comedy.”

“Remember you promised not to breathe a word,” Lauren cautioned. “Herbert Masen will find a way to wreck us if he finds out.”

She left Dani working with the group and went to discuss her music with Maida Hass. There was a small orchestra who regularly played for all the showings. Violet had given her the exact score the dancers required. It wasn’t difficult music, but the timing was all-important.

The leader of the musicians, a lanky young man with dreams of glory with one of the great symphony orchestras, was at first a little condescending about Tony’s choices. Lauren fixed him with a stern, business-like eye.

“Poor or badly timed playing can ruin a show,” she said quietly. “If you don’t think you’ll feel comfortable with this, let me know now and I’ll find someone who can handle it.”

“We can handle it,” the youth hurried to say. “Will there be a rehearsal? The other designers rehearse in the mornings.”

Lauren had forgotten that part of it. She couldn’t expose her idea out here in the lounge, where any passerby could watch. “Have you got free time tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” he said, consulting a clipboard. “Ten to eleven.”

“Please be in the smaller gym—the old one—at ten, will you?” She smiled at the musicians. “Thank you all.”

And Heaven help us if they talk, she thought. It was becoming harder every minute to keep a secret on the great ship. She could only hope that her failure to rehearse her one model in the lounge would convince her ill-wishers that she didn’t have a show.

She didn’t see Mike at the afternoon showing. Ben Nowak did his usual very popular presentation with a bevy of young men and women models. He had the runway enlarged by the addition of a wide crosspiece near the far end, where his youthful mannequins did their college and high-school antics. Very few of the first-class passengers attended; Nowak, already a multi-millionaire, couldn’t care less. Lauren left the show feeling reassured; although the background music was bright and modern, there was no real dancing, no threat to her show.

She wasn’t worried about Adah Shere that night, either. Shere was a lovely Hindu woman, whose signature was the gold-and-silver decorated saris she wore. Her creations were always Oriental in some particular way, either by the line of the costume or by the materials or embroidery. It was a lovely look, but not all women could carry it off. Some of her most enthusiastic and devoted clients were film and theater stars and a few wealthy patronesses of the arts, especially ballet. The audience tonight would be almost entirely made up of first-class passengers, but it would be a buyers’ group, well worth the effort.

Lauren carefully chose her costume for this showing. Some of Adah Shere’s clients might well find her own designs appealing. After all, they couldn’t dress like Chinese empresses and Indian temple dancers all the time. She chose a figure-caressing, low-cut top of pastel sequins, set on a slim, pale-green full-length skirt with a slit up the back as far as her knees. Over this was a caftan of sheerest chiffon, with long, loose sleeves. This was in the same pale green. The only ornament was a flat sequin collar three inches wide, which curved around the neck and hooked discreetly at the front. As she moved, the shimmering sequins moved sensuously with her torso under the delicate chiffon.

Lauren loved it. She wished that Mike were escorting her to the showing. In hopes of seeing him, she made up with particular care in her softest colors and let her shining hair fall naturally to her shoulders.

The first person she saw as she slipped into the lounge was Mike. He was with a beautiful brunette in black lace and diamonds. They were sitting with the audience. Mike looked splendid in white tie and tails. Several other successful and prominent-looking men and women sat next to them and chatted back and forth while they waited for the showing.

Lauren made her way quietly to a chair near the end of the runway. She couldn’t lurk on the couch tonight, not in this gown. Holding her head high, she walked to her seat. She kept her eyes away from the seats occupied by Mike and his party, but her thoughts were busy. Entrepreneur—talent scout, he had said. Obviously operating on a high level. What kind of talent? Was the gorgeous brunette a movie star or an actress? Did Mike have a special relationship with her? Lauren was telling herself to forget it and concentrate on the show as the lights dimmed for the first announcements and commentary.

Someone slid into the empty chair next to Lauren.

Startled, she turned, half-expecting to see Mike.

It was Tony, looking very British and elegantly lean in formal evening gear. “You look beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. “Like the sultan’s dream.” He mimed a devilish leer.

Lauren found herself chuckling.

The showing was a great success. Most of the costumes were special, one-wearing-and-then-lay-away-for-your-childish items. This year Adah Shere had gone into metallic and jewel-encrusted braids on heavy brocades that were themselves woven with gold and silver. It was a stunning presentation . . . for the very wealthy. The audience loved it.

During the interval, Lauren quizzed Tony as to his reason for appearing. “Is there a problem? I’ve got a music rehearsal for you in the gym tomorrow morning from ten till eleven. Okay?”

“Excellent,” Tony agreed. “We need Vi for the show; can’t let her keep tinkling away on the piano.”

His good spirits restored Lauren’s pleasant mood. She
was
here on board the greatest luxury ship afloat to show her designs, wasn’t she? Not to worry about quarrels with Herbert Masen or the real motives of mysterious strangers. However attractive they were.

She smiled at Tony. “Can I treat you to a sherry at the pub?”

He grinned with her at her attempt at an English accent. “That speech calls for an ‘old boy?’ at the end of it. Thanks, but we’re all going up to one of the nightclubs as a treat for working so hard. I really came down to ask if you cared to join us.”

“No, thanks, I think I’ll just check on Nella. I’ve left her alone so far.”

Tony expressed his regrets and escorted her out of the lounge before he left to pick up his crowd. Lauren hadn’t much desire to go single to any of the other lounges or bars, but she felt too restless to return to her room so early. Recalling her success at the slot machines, she wandered to the casino. The sight of Herbert with his young girl sent her in the other direction. She was approaching her own suite when a dark figure approached her suddenly from around a corner.

“Taxi, lady?” Mike murmured, grinning.

“Did you drop your other fare or did she drop you?” Lauren taunted.

“Jealous?” asked the insufferable man.

“Yes,” Lauren admitted.

His eyebrows, those heavy, masterful dark weapons, rose. In a very different voice—his deep, softly abrasive tone that thrilled along Lauren’s nerves—he said, “Can I believe that, Mrs. Rose?”

Lauren faced his challenging eyes.

“Do you want to?”

He moved forward and took her arm in one of his large hands. “Come up to my suite and we’ll discuss it.”

“Let’s walk on deck,” Lauren counterproposed. She was just a little nervous now of her own daring.

Mike grinned. “It’s raining hard. Come on.”

Lauren went.

The sitting room was softly lighted. Music played from an unseen tape or radio. There were flowers in bowls, diffusing their delicate sweetness, and against the closed French doors to the balcony rain pounded heavily. Mike waved his hand at it.

“Special order. I spoke to Neptune.”

You really wanted me to come here tonight?” Lauren asked. Her voice wasn’t as confidently flip as she’d intended.

“I really did,” he avowed. “I had an appointment I couldn’t get out of, for dinner and the Shere showing. When I ditched that crowd, I went right to your suite.” He moved over and took Lauren into his arms. For a long moment he held her away from him, hands hard on her upper arms, as he scrutinized the costume and the woman in it.