Secrets (2 page)

Sabina rode down in the elevator of her building with a look of ease. She pressed the button for the garage and the small metal cage shook as she headed down. Only now and then did she worry about getting accosted or mugged, and the only thing she would have worried about was someone hurting her body or her face. They could have had anything else she had. She rarely carried much cash, and didn't own any jewelry of great value. Whatever she'd gotten over the years, she'd sold. She had other, more important uses for the money.

Her car was a small silver Mercedes 280 SL, a model no longer made and no longer in much demand. It was racy, but no longer new by any means, like many of Sabina's things. Her clothes suited her well, and she bought them for what they did for her. She wasn't interested in the latest fashions. She was wearing a white silk skirt slit high up her thigh, and a deep blue silk shirt that set off her tan and the color of her hair. The first four buttons were left open and the cleavage she revealed was enough to weaken any man and reduce him to near incoherence. Her hair had been dried, well brushed, and swept out behind her in a healthy mane. Her nails were perfectly manicured and lacquered bright red, just like her toes. She was wearing high-heeled white sandals, and as the car roared into gear and out of the garage, she sped toward the Bistro Gardens.

On Wilshire, she made a sharp right, and then another almost instantly, passing between the tall iron gates of the driveway of the Beverly Wilshire, and she lodged herself between its two buildings like a diamond between two breasts, sparkling in the sun, as she sat waiting in her car for the doorman to come and see her. He did so with a warm smile. He had known her for years. He liked keeping her car for her, she tipped well and she was one hell of a beautiful woman. Just watching her always made him feel good. He opened the door with his broad ivory smile, and she unraveled her legs from the tiny car. As usual, she had driven with the top down.

Afternoon, Miss Quarles. You having lunch here today?

She smiled the smile that made men forget every word she said. Not too far from here. Can you keep the car for me? It was a rhetorical question. He always was pleased to help Sabina Quarles. And he enjoyed the opportunity he got just to drink her in.

Sure thing. See you in a while. He handed her the ticket stub and she walked away with a smile that made him feel sexy and important. He kept his eyes on her back until she turned right out of the driveway and he couldn't see her anymore. It was like watching fine ballet, as he watched her behind undulate in the white skirt. She would have been pleased had she seen the effect she'd had on him and four other men, who had simply stood admiring her, silently staring. Only one of them had recognized her, but that wasn't the point. Men just watched Sabina, no matter who she was, because of the way she looked, and the way she moved, and the enormous presence she had about her. Actually, it was a damn shame her career had been stalled since that last film. All she needed was the right role. And the right producer.

She waited for the light on Wilshire Boulevard, and crossed over to where the Brown Derby had been when she first came to Hollywood. She walked quickly past it, with a destination in mind. It was already ten to one and she knew she had to hurry. But the outfit needed something more, and she knew precisely what. Almost everything Sabina did was by careful calculation.

It was only a few steps from the corner to the yellow-and-white-striped canopy everyone knew on Rodeo Drive, the sacred emporium to all the most glamorous women in Hollywood. Giorgio. She swept into the door on the corner, and walked straight to the hatracks across from the bar, as the bartender eyed her appreciatively.

Would you care for a drink, madame? His accent was French, and he should have been jaded by the beauties he frequently saw. But Sabina was among the best of them. She smiled and declined the drink, as she tried on two hats and found precisely what she'd had in mind, just as a salesgirl approached her. She eyed Sabina for a moment, knowing that she should know her name, but not quite sure who she was. She knew she'd seen her there before, but Sabina stayed away from Giorgio most of the time. It was expensive for her, and she only bought dresses there when something major came up, like the time she'd gone to the Academy Awards with Mel, but they didn't see her there more than once a year, if that. And then suddenly the salesgirl knew who she was. It was exhausting remembering who these women were. Not all of them were faces one recognized, but she knew Sabina now.

May I help you, Miss Quarles?

I'll take this hat. Sabina looked pleased. It pulled low over her face, just low enough to give her an aura of unbearable mystery, and it enhanced her innate sexiness, but it was not so low as to obscure her remarkable emerald eyes. In fact, it allowed her to play with them. It was a large natural straw hat, with a big brim, but its shape suited her perfectly. It was just the accessory she'd had in mind, and that, along with the deep blue silk blouse, the high slit skirt, and the aura of perfume she wore would serve her well. It was now five minutes after one.

May we show you something else? Some beautiful silks just came in, and some wonderful evening dresses for the fall. A mere fifty-dollar sale wasn't what they had in mind, but it was exactly what Sabina had planned. Mel would spend more than that on lunch. And who knew what he had in mind. Fifty bucks was not too much to invest in her career. She could afford that.

That's all, thanks.

Our Jacqueline de Ribes are in ' Sabina smiled, easily able to repulse the woman, who would get nowhere with her.

I just bought three at Saks last week. Three Jacqueline de Ribes would have represented half her income for the previous year, but the salesgirl looked undaunted by the blow.

We have a few exclusive ones, just for us. In fact, Fred picked them out of her line in Paris himself. The illustrious Fred Hayman, impresario of Rodeo Drive's finest emporium, but even the mention of his sacred name didn't impress her. Sabina glanced at her watch. One ten.

I've got to go. I'll come back after lunch. Or next year. Or maybe next week, if he has a big part for me in his next movie. Her eyes had a look one couldn't argue with. They said, give me the goddam hat or I'll walk out of here. But she wanted the hat for her lunch with Mel, needed it. And the girl knew when not to push.

Of course, Miss Quarles. Shall I put some things aside for you? Christ, they never give up, she thought to herself as the girl finally disappeared with the hat to a hidden cash register. It was one fifteen when she returned, and Sabina carefully put it on, set it at the right angle, and shook back her hair. The effect was spectacular, and more than one head turned as she left the store and hurried from Rodeo to Beverly and then one more block to North Canon. It was exactly one twenty-one when she reached the Bistro Gardens, and swept in, looking powerful and beautiful, and her eyes stayed just above the fascinated stares as people turned to look at her. It was a habit people had, to make sure they weren't missing anyone ' Gregory Peck ' Elizabeth Taylor ' Meryl Streep ' look, Jane, over there ' the whispers were constant. But this time, people only stared at her, and then looked away again, as the headwaiter walked swiftly toward her, threading his way through the tables outside. The riot of colored flowers added to the elegance of the decor, as the brightly striped umbrellas protected each lunch table from the midday sun.

Madame? It was a question and a statement all at once as he smiled at her.

I'm meeting Melvin Wechsler for lunch, she explained, her eyes combing the headwaiter's face, as though testing the effect of the hat. She knew it was working well. It had added just the aura of mystery and panache she had wanted. She looked spectacular. And in the distance, from a quiet table, Melvin Wechsler was watching her. He watched the long legs striding gracefully, the firm breasts in the bright blue shirt, and the eyes beneath the hat. Christ, she had it. He knew she had. He'd remembered it. She was exactly what he wanted. Exactly. And he smiled to himself as suddenly she stood there, looking down at him, as sexy as she had always been, maybe even better-looking than she'd been before, or was he getting soft? Were old starlets finally getting to him? But this was no has-been beauty queen. Sabina Quarles was a woman to be reckoned with, a 9.9 on the Richter scale, he could feel his own guts give a tug as he looked at her and he was pleased. He stood up and held out a hand. His arm was long and powerful, his handshake firm, his eyes an icy blue, and his hair a carefully kempt white mane. Mel Wechsler was fifty-four, and he had the body of a much younger man, like many men in Hollywood. The lucky ones. He played tennis every day, or at least as often as he could, and like Sabina, he had a massage several times a week. But there had been no surgery. He just looked damn good for his age, and aside from the white hair, he could easily have shaved ten years off his age, if he wanted, which he didn't.

Hello, Sabina, how've you been?

Sorry I'm late. She smiled, and her voice seemed deeper, sexier than he remembered. And he got a terrific view down her blouse as she sat down. The traffic in this town is getting ridiculous. Particularly if you stop to buy a hat on the way, she smiled to herself. Mel was watching her, suddenly remembering the feline quality about Sabina, like a long, lean beautiful cat stretching in the sun. I hope you haven't been waiting for too long.

His blue eyes reached deep into hers. He was always watching, weighing, as though he had something very important in mind. He smiled a smile that had melted women's hearts for years, and if not their hearts, then their resistance. It was a half smile, a smile that touched his lips, even when his eyes were serious, as they often were, as they were now. Some things in life are worth waiting for.

She laughed. She remembered now how much she always liked to talk to him and wondered why he hadn't called her in so long. Their paths crossed from time to time, but not often enough. Thank you, Mel. He offered her a drink and she opted for a Bloody Mary after a moment's thought, and then she noticed he was drinking Perrier. He wasn't in the usual Hollywood mold. There was a great deal of substance to the man, and his success was built on hard work and an absolute genius for their business. He had a magical touch about selecting people for his television shows and films. He rarely went wrong. It was one of the many things she admired about him. Melvin Wechsler was a pro. And he was also a damn attractive man. She knew he had had a long-standing affair with one of the big female stars of Hollywood a few years before. They had been inseparable, and he had put her in three of his films, but something had gone wrong along the line and they didn't see each other anymore. Like everyone else in town, Sabina had always wondered why they'd broken up, but he never mentioned her to anyone anymore, and Sabina liked that about him too. He was proud. He had guts. And style. He wasn't one to lick his wounds publicly. Even the major tragedy in his life was something he never discussed. Particularly that. Sabina only knew about it from what she had read, and what she had heard from friends. He had been married to Elizabeth Floyd years before, she had been one of the biggest stars of Hollywood in her day, some thirty years before. They'd met when he first came to town and was still crawling his way up at MGM. He had been their golden-haired boy then, or a few years after that anyway. And she had been it, and she'd fallen for Mel. They'd gotten married a few years after that, and she had retired not long afterwards, ostensibly just temporarily for the birth of their first child. But their first child had turned out to be twins, identical baby girls, who looked just like Liz, and she had stayed home to take care of them.

They'd had a little boy two years afterwards, and once in a while you'd see them all somewhere. He kept them out of the press, even though it wasn't easy to do with Liz. She was so beautiful that photographers had trailed her for years. Sabina remembered her from when she'd first come to Hollywood. She'd already retired by then, but Christ had she been beautiful, a natural redhead with big blue eyes and creamy skin, a dazzling smile, and a figure that made men weep. She'd been involved in women's rights way back then, and she was involved in all sorts of philanthropies. They eventually had a house in Bel Air, and a ranch near Santa Barbara, He had been the perfect family man then, and it wasn't difficult to believe even now, no matter how many young actresses he'd taken out in the meantime. There was something fatherly about the man, and everyone said that working for him was like becoming part of a family. He cared about the people on his shows. Mel Wechsler took care of everyone, and he'd taken care of them. He'd been fabulous, and he'd adored Liz and his kids. They went to Europe together every year, and in 1969 he had taken them all to Israel. It had been an unforgettable trip, and he had been furious when he'd had to go back to L.A., for a network conference they'd called and insisted he attend. He had left Liz and the children in Tel Aviv, and promised to be back in four days. He was just going to fly home for the meeting and come back, but once there, everything got more complicated than he expected. There was a major problem with his biggest show, and he hadn't been as secure then. He had finally given up hope of getting back to Israel, and had urged Liz to come home, but she wanted to stop in Paris for a few days, as they had planned for the end of their trip. She didn't want to disappoint the kids. They boarded an El Al flight, and at the same time they did, Mel had been meeting with the network again, and he had had a strange feeling in his gut. He had looked at his watch, wondering if it was too late to call. He wanted her to take Air France, or another airline, and then he chided himself for foolishly worrying about them ' until he got the call ' the State Department called, before he heard it on the news. Seven Arab terrorists had boarded the plane and blown it to kingdom come, taking with them all of the passengers and crew. Two hundred and nine people dead for their cause ' and Liz and Barbie and Deborah and Jason ' he had been like a zombie for weeks, unable to believe that it had actually happened to him ' that if he hadn't left them ' hadn't come back ' if he had only called ' The if onlys of that day haunted him for years. It was a nightmare from which he thought he would never awaken, and all he wanted was to have died with them too. He had nightmares about the flight, and he hadn't flown any where for almost ten years. But there was no recapturing the past. There was no turning back. Barbie and Deb had been twelve, Jason ten. It was the kind of thing you read in the news. Only it had happened to him. His whole family wiped out by a terrorist bomb, and in many ways his life had never been the same again. He had thrown himself into his work, and the actors who worked for him were like children to him. But they weren't his own ' and there was never another Liz. Never. There was never anyone like her again, and he didn't want there to be. He lived with their memories, even now. There were other women of course, although it had taken him a long time to come to that. But he had finally, and there had been only one serious affair. But he had never married again, and knew he never would. He had no reason to. He had had it all, and had lost everything. It made him philosophical about life, and wise about the trivia of Hollywood. He couldn't take it to heart, yet he took it seriously. It was a business he cared about, a game he played well. But there was a door to his heart that would never open again. It had slammed shut when that call from Paris came. But he wasn't blind to the beauty that surrounded him day after day, and he enjoyed the company of the women he took out. But there was always that moment of truth, when he went home at night, or when they left him the next day ' that moment when he was alone the next day ' that moment when he was alone with the memories. It was why he worked so hard. It was an easy escape, and one that worked well for him. But a piece of his heart had died with his wife and children.