Talk of the Town (7 page)
S
trolling into the Empire Room of the Palmer House on Friday, Rebecca hoped she looked more confident than she felt. Even with the gorgeous suit, and her good pearls from her granny, and a red Nancy Gonzalez bag that was the most beautiful one she owned, Rebecca didn’t have her usual feeling of well-being when she knew she looked good.
This was her first party in fifteen years as a guest instead of a source of publicity. Just Rebecca, with no perks. How
would
people treat her? Would they be dismissive, like Jessica at Très Treat? Or supportive, like Simone at Luca Luca?
She’d thought about nothing else but Kate’s words for the last few days.
Of course
Rebecca wanted to attend this party for charity. Just as the invitation requested, she had brought a beautiful collectable Judith Leiber bag to donate to the Howard Brown resale shop.
But
there was another reason, one that kept her up at night. Certainly she recognized her behavior was reckless, but she needed to show David Sumner that she would not give up her identity and would do whatever it took to get it back, with as little bloodletting as possible.
Just inside the wide double doors of the ballroom, Dayson, as always splendidly dressed from head to toe in Ralph Lauren, waited to greet his guests. “Rebecca, hi. Love your suit!” Usual air kisses. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
It was shocking how relieved she felt at his exuberant greeting.
Normal. No need to worry I’ve been forgotten already.
His cherub cheeks growing slightly rosier, he blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure where you’re seated this year.”
Feeling like she had in high school when she’d been one of five friends
not
invited to the biggest and best graduation party, she forced a laugh. “Darling, put me anywhere.”
“We would love to have Rebecca at our table,” Lynda Silver offered in her strong, cultured voice.
Saved!
Rebecca turned to smile at Lynda, who looked impossibly chic from her platinum hair to her impeccable brown Chanel suit and matching slingbacks. No, wait. The shoes were actually Dolce & Gabbana and perfectly accented the suit, instead of being an exact match.
Très chic.
Dayson’s smile widened. “Lynda, hi. That’s wonderful. Have fun, ladies!” He rushed off to greet three of his swans, Dolly, Mamie, and Hazel, who were waiting politely in the doorway.
“The Service Club of Chicago has put together a table, but if you’d rather sit with the press?” Lynda inquired politely.
“Thank you. I adore the Service Club ladies. Lead on.” Rebecca followed her across the crowded room to a table for ten already half-full.
Before they reached it, Shannon loomed in front of them, with Chuck, the
Daily Mail
photographer, hovering behind her. Shannon’s narrowed eyes and tight lips screamed that there was going to be a scene. Now that she knew how bitchy Shannon could be, the idea of verbal combat with her sent a little shiver along Rebecca’s skin.
“What are you doing here, Rebecca?” If Shannon could have spoken and hissed in the same breath, Rebecca felt sure she would have. Instead it came out a sputtering croak of rage.
“I was invited as a contributor to this charity.” Rebecca smiled, her vaunted self-control kicking in. She would behave well and channel Shannon’s nastiness into some good. “I know you stopped us because you want a picture of the Service Club ladies. It
is
one of the oldest and finest charities in the city. And with no paid staff!” In truth, these ladies who lunch actually
did do
all the hard work themselves, and they deserved some publicity.
Chuck, obviously relieved to have something to do besides listen to his colleagues snipe at each other, immediately started posing the six women staring expectantly toward them.
Unblinking, Shannon continued to glare. Rebecca glared right back, but of course with more finesse, as she was older and wiser.
God forbid we start tearing out each other’s hair at Dayson’s party!
Thinking of Kate, Rebecca vowed to be especially conciliatory. “Relax, Shannon. I’m only here to support a worthy cause. Please don’t wor—”
“Don’t you dare write a word about this event!” Shannon interrupted her. “It’s my job now, and don’t you ever forget it.”
A flurry of excitement in the doorway made Shannon turn. “Quick, Chuck!” she yelled. “Nadia’s here. She’s back from the Paris couture shows. I want her picture.”
Shannon shoved past Rebecca, stomping on one of her new Manolos and sending a sharp pain through her foot
.
Refusing to acknowledge the burning ache in her toes and trying not to limp, Rebecca seated herself at the Service Club table. All the women were watching Nadia strike several perfect model poses. Dark chocolate hair swirling around her shoulders and her exotic eyes smoldering, she played to Chuck’s camera.
“She’s wearing Yves Saint-Laurent straight from the runway,” Lynda whispered. “I heard she bought the entire collection.”
On Rebecca’s right, Evie, a tiny former opera star, sighed. “Look at that waistline.”
In unison all the women at the table pushed away their bread plates. Except Lynda. “I refuse to stop eating. I’ll exercise tomorrow.” She took one bite of roll and glanced over at Rebecca. “I prepared the soup recipe from your hilarious column for our alumni group. It was quite good.”
Her toes and dignity ached from Shannon’s footprint. She needed this compliment. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”
“You know, the Indiana University alumni group is still eager to honor you as a distinguished alumna.” Lynda raised her perfectly arched brows. “Perhaps this is a good time to finally allow them to do so.”
The implication that her bruised ego could use some stroking was not lost on Rebecca. But the reason she had always declined this honor hadn’t changed.
“I’m not sure this is the right time,” she demurred, still fearful of that skeleton in her closet. But it
was
tempting to wallow in the memories of those halcyon years at IU.
In those carefree days she could eat
two
helpings of a decadent dessert like the chocolate soufflé she had planned for Sunday’s column and not worry about carb bloat. In those days she had truly believed the world was hers for the taking. She could have it all.
That was before Peter proved her parents’ desertion was not a fluke. She was easy to forget.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders to protect herself from that particular life lesson. She
needed
to focus on the good years. Why not? She was very good at rationalization. It had been decades ago. Old news. Silly news, actually. Although at the time, her lie had been deadly serious. She’d needed to put a roof over her head and eat. Did IU even have computer files in those days? No one had ever bothered to look. Kate might have folded on this hand, but Rebecca felt reckless and she bluffed.
“On second thought, Lynda, I’d be delighted to accept the honor this year. Please call the paper on Monday and let me know the details.”
Lynda smiled like she was sharing a secret. “Wise decision. You know, we’re all in this together.”
During the luncheon, Rebecca began to understand that Lynda’s words were a call to arms for “women of a certain age.”
They
approached Rebecca in droves, eager to offer their support, yet no one under forty came near her. In the old days, meaning two weeks ago, before evil Monday, Rebecca would have been surrounded by everyone eager to have their pictures and names in her column.
Of course, she’d always known much of her appeal was based on her power to put people in the limelight for good deeds or bad, as the case might be. Had any of them ever
really
liked her? Thought she was even
mildly
interesting in her own right?
Today those same beauties were fawning over Shannon. All except one.
Nadia glided toward her. “Hi, angel,” she called in her lilting Eastern European accent. No air kisses from Nadia. A soft fragrant brush on Rebecca’s left cheek, right cheek, and left again. “You’re too beautiful to work, angel.”
Nadia’s way of acknowledging Rebecca’s altered status was positively charming, but she felt compelled to be honest. “I liked what I did.”
Laughing, Nadia shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Then everything will be wonderful when David arrives in town. You’ll love him. I met him in Paris. He’s one of the great guys, like my husband. And I’ve only met four such men in my life.” Three more quick cheek kisses. “Must go, angel. I can’t be late to pick up my bunny, Chloe, from junior high.”
As Nadia floated away, Lynda turned to Rebecca. “Are you encouraged?”
“
Encouraged?
Far from it.” Her image of David Sumner was becoming clearer, and, for the first time, pinpricks of fear shot down her spine at the thought of meeting him.
“
Of course he was charming to Nadia. She’s beautiful. Sexy. And has yet to see forty.”
“You have a point,” Lynda murmured while they both watched Nadia slip through the door with Shannon a few steps behind. “I would be careful of that Shannon, if I were you.” Lynda offered her opinion with cool confidence. “She’ll bury you if she can.”
A great rush of affection for Lynda nearly undid her composure. “Thank you for your concern, darling. I’m so grateful not
everyone
believes I’m already dead and buried.”
A
s David drove out of the city toward the Pizza Palace near Ellen Sumner Park for the end-of-the-season party with the Little League team, his cell phone buzzed in his ear. He hated the damn earpiece he wore but had no choice since he refused to have a driver.
“I wanted to let you know some news.” David heard the excitement in Tim’s voice. “I got a call tonight from the Culinary Institute. They want Rebecca to be a guest chef at their big fund-raiser. We couldn’t have paid for better exposure for the Food section, or a bigger PR opportunity for you as a new player in Chicago.”
David smiled, thinking of Rebecca’s last column. “I’ll bet she’s pleased to be showing off her cooking expertise.”
“I’m telling her in the morning.” Tim’s hesitation was nearly imperceptible, but David caught it. “I think she’ll be pleased, but honestly I didn’t know she was such a good cook until she took this job.”
Again, David felt that jolt of amused surprise at Rebecca’s actions. But this time his instincts, like a burning itch, told him something wasn’t ringing true. Great cooks usually liked to show off their talents.
“In all the years you’ve worked together, Rebecca has never had you over for dinner?” David asked incredulously.
“No. But she sometimes brings in cakes and cookies whenever anyone has a birthday. She brought in a delicious cake for Rose Murphy about a month ago. Until now I always thought she picked the stuff up at a bakery in Lincoln Park.”
David’s itch spread. “When is this fund-raiser?”
“In two weeks. I plan to do a promo on it in every edition.”
David rapidly thought through his schedule. The party for the team to give out new uniforms was tonight. He hoped it would keep the kids looking forward to next season so they would all continue to play. Tomorrow he flew to California to be with his sons to celebrate Ellen’s life, like they did every year on the anniversary of her death.
He tensed, gripping the wheel tighter. Like the last four years, he would put on a good act for the boys. No sorrow. He would continue to embrace life like Ellen wanted for all of them. But he knew deep inside he could never escape the pain. Even though the boys told him he was too rigid in his faithfulness to Ellen’s memory. She’d thought him rigid sometimes, too, especially in business. He knew he had the tenacity of a terrier when it came to getting what he wanted. He brought his type-A game to improving the worth of the
Chicago Daily Mail.
He made his decision and did his best to hide the interest in his voice. “Tim, I’ve decided to come into Chicago earlier than planned. Book me for the fund-raiser. It’s time for me to meet Rebecca Covington in person.”
On Monday morning, Rebecca stepped inside the
Daily Mail
revolving doors and through the glass saw Kate, Tim, Pauline, and Shannon staring back at her.
What now?
Resisting a powerful urge to keep whirling right back onto the comparatively safe sidewalk, she stepped into the cool lobby.
“Here’s our celebrity chef now,” Tim called out.
“I beg your pardon?” Totally confused and hoping it didn’t show,
especially
in front of Shannon, Rebecca looked pointedly at Pauline for help.
Pauline gave her a brilliant smile. “Rebecca, you’ve been invited to be a guest chef at the Chicago Culinary Institute of America’s Black-Tie Benefit for Young Chefs. Celebrities prepare their favorite dish in front of everyone,” Pauline blurted out. Reddening to her scarlet roots, she glanced at Tim. “Sorry, Mr. Porter.”
He nodded, his face flushed. “I know. I know. I didn’t think you could do it, Rebecca, but you rose to the challenge. Now I recognize I was a genius for moving you to the Food section. When David Sumner heard about this great exposure for the new Food section, he decided to fly in early to watch you do your magic.”
Complete and utter disaster!
She wasn’t ready yet to meet her foe face-to-face.
Faking a show of excitement and totally ignoring Shannon’s existence, Rebecca moved slowly forward. “Fabulous news! When did this all happen?”
Kate was watching her carefully, a furrow deep between her eyes. “They called Tim last night, and we agreed this morning to accept on your behalf. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m ecstatic.” Rebecca lied, smiling so wide her cheeks felt numb. “Now I have a good excuse to shop for a new evening gown.”
“Oh, Rebecca, you always have the best clothes of everyone on the paper.” Pauline sounded as proud as she did bragging about her darling daughters. “Indiana University called this morning, too. About the local alumni group honoring you this year. They want to do a piece on you in the national alumni magazine.” She glanced past Rebecca. “Oh, Shannon, you should write something in your column about it.”