The Stars Shine Down (22 page)

“We’ll come to that in a moment. Meanwhile, I’d like Miss Cameron to answer the question.”

“I have no objection,” Lara said. “Yes. I know Paul Martin.”

“Have you ever had any business dealings with him?”

Lara hesitated. “No. He’s just a friend.”

“Miss Cameron, are you aware that Paul Martin is reputed to be involved with the Mafia, that…”

“Objection. It’s hearsay, and it has no place in this record.”

“Very well, Mr. Hill. I’ll withdraw that. Miss Cameron, when was the last time you saw or talked to Paul Martin?”

Lara hesitated. “I’m not sure, exactly. To be perfectly candid, since I got married, I’ve seen very little of Mr. Martin. We run into each other at parties occasionally, that’s all.”

“But it wasn’t your habit to speak regularly with him on the telephone?”

“Not after my marriage, no.”

“Did you ever have any discussions with Paul Martin regarding this casino?”

Lara looked over at Terry Hill. He nodded. “Yes, I believe that after I won the bid for it, he called to congratulate me. And then once again after I got the license to operate the casino.”

“But you did not talk to him at any other time?”

“No.”

“I’ll remind you that you’re under oath, Miss Cameron.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of the penalty for perjury?”

“Yes.”

He held up a sheet of paper. “I have here a list of fifteen telephone calls between you and Paul Martin, made during the time sealed bids were being submitted for the casino.”

M
ost soloists are dwarfed by the huge twenty-eight-hundred-seat space at Carnegie Hall. There are not many musicians who can fill the prestigious hall, but on Friday night it was packed. Philip Adler walked out onto the vast stage to the thunderous applause of the audience. He sat down at the piano, paused a moment, then began to play. The program consisted of Beethoven sonatas. Over the years he had disciplined himself to concentrate only on the music. But on this night Philip’s thoughts drifted away to Lara and their problems, and for a split second his fingers started to fumble, and he broke out in a cold sweat. It happened so swiftly that the audience did not notice.

There was loud applause at the end of the first part of the recital. At intermission Philip went to his dressing room.

The concert manager said, “Wonderful, Philip. You held them spellbound. Can I get anything for you?”

“No, thanks.” Philip closed the door. He wished the recital
were over. He was deeply disturbed by the situation with Lara. He loved her a great deal, and he knew she loved him, but they seemed to have come to an impasse. There had been a lot of tension between them before Lara had left for Reno.
I’ve got to do something about it,
Philip thought.
But what? How do we compromise?
He was still thinking about it when there was a knock at the door, and the stage manager’s voice said, “Five minutes, Mr. Adler.”

“Thank you.”

The second half of the program consisted of the
Hammerklavier
sonata. It was a stirring, emotional piece, and when the last notes had thundered out through the vast hall, the audience rose to its feet with wild applause. Philip stood on the stage bowing, but his mind was elsewhere.
I’ve got to go home and talk to Lara.
And then he remembered that she was away.
We’ll have to settle this now,
Philip thought.
We can’t go on like this.

The applause continued. The audience was shouting “bravo” and “encore.” Ordinarily, Philip would have played another selection, but on this evening he was too upset. He returned to his dressing room and changed into his street clothes. From outside he could hear the distant rumble of thunder. The papers had said rain, but that had not kept the crowd away. The greenroom was filled with well-wishers waiting for him. It was always exciting to feel and hear the approval of his fans, but tonight he was in no mood for them. He stayed in his dressing room until he was sure the crowd had gone. When he came out, it was almost midnight. He walked through the empty backstage corridors and went out the stage door. The limousine was not there.
I’ll find a taxi,
Philip decided.

He stepped outside into a pouring rain. There was a cold wind blowing, and Fifty-seventh Street was dark. As Philip
moved toward Sixth Avenue, a large man in a raincoat approached from the shadows.

“Excuse me,” he said, “how do you get to Carnegie Hall?”

Philip thought of the old joke he had told Lara and was tempted to say “practice,” but he pointed to the building behind him. “It’s right there.”

As Philip turned, the man shoved him hard up against the building. In his hand was a deadly-looking switchblade knife. “Give me your wallet.”

Philip’s heart was pounding. He looked around for help. The rainswept street was deserted. “All right,” Philip said. “Don’t get excited. You can have it.”

The knife was pressing against his throat.

“Look, there’s no need to…”

“Shut up! Just give it to me.”

Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. The man grabbed it with his free hand and put it in his pocket. He was looking at Philip’s watch. He reached down and tore it from Philip’s wrist. As he took the watch, he grabbed Philip’s left hand, held it tightly, and slashed the razor-sharp knife across Philip’s wrist, slicing it to the bone. Philip screamed aloud with pain. Blood began to gush out. The man fled.

Philip stood there in shock, watching his blood mingling with the rain, dripping into the street.

He fainted.

L
ara received the news about Philip in Reno.

Marian Bell was on the phone, near hysteria.

“Is he badly hurt?” Lara demanded.

“We don’t have any details yet. He’s at Roosevelt Hospital in the emergency room.”

“I’ll come back immediately.”

When Lara arrived at the hospital six hours later, Howard Keller was waiting there for her. He looked shaken.

“What happened?” Lara asked.

“Apparently, Philip was mugged after he left Carnegie Hall. They found him in the street, unconscious.”

“How bad is it?”

“His wrist was slashed. He’s heavily sedated, but he’s conscious.”

They went into the hospital room. Philip was lying on a bed with IV tubes feeding liquid into his body.

“Philip…Philip.” It was Lara’s voice calling to him from a long way off. He opened his eyes. Lara and Howard Keller were there. There seemed to be two of each. His mouth was dry, and he felt groggy.

“What happened?” Philip mumbled.

“You were hurt,” Lara said. “But you’re going to be all right.”

Philip looked down and saw that his left wrist was heavily bandaged. Memory came flooding back. “I was…how bad is it?”

“I don’t know, darling,” Lara said. “I’m sure it will be fine. The doctor is coming in to see you.”

Keller said reassuringly, “Doctors can do anything these days.”

Philip was drifting back to sleep. “I told him to take what he wanted. He shouldn’t have hurt my wrist,” he mumbled. “He shouldn’t have hurt my wrist…”

Two hours later Dr. Dennis Stanton walked into Philip’s room, and the moment Philip saw the expression on his face he knew what he was going to say.

Philip took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

Dr. Stanton sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t have very good news for you, Mr. Adler.”

“How bad is it?”

“The flexor tendons have been severed, so you’ll have no motion in your hand, and there will be a permanent numbness. In addition to that, there’s median and ulnar nerve damage.” He illustrated on his hand. “The median nerve affects the thumb and first three fingers. The ulnar nerve goes to all the fingers.”

Philip closed his eyes tightly against the wave of sudden despair that engulfed him. After a moment he spoke. “Are
you saying that I’ll…I’ll never have the use of my left hand again?”

“That’s right. The fact is that you’re lucky to be alive. Whoever did this cut the artery. It’s a wonder you didn’t bleed to death. It took sixty stitches to sew your wrist together again.”

Philip said in desperation, “My God, isn’t there
anything
you can do?”

“Yes. We could put in an implant in your left hand so you would have some motion, but it would be very limited.”

He might as well have killed me,
Philip thought despairingly.

“As your hand starts to heal, there’s going to be a great deal of pain. We’ll give you medication to control it, but I can assure you that in time the pain will go away.”

Not the real pain,
Philip thought.
Not the real pain.
He was caught up in a nightmare. And there was no escape.

A detective came to see Philip at the hospital. He stood by the side of Philip’s bed. He was one of the old breed, in his sixties and tired, with eyes that had already seen it all twice.

“I’m Lieutenant Mancini. I’m sorry about what happened, Mr. Adler,” he said. “It’s too bad they couldn’t have broken your leg instead. I mean…if it had to happen…”

“I know what you mean,” Philip said curtly.

Howard Keller came into the room. “I was looking for Lara.” He saw the stranger. “Oh, sorry.”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Philip said. “This is Lieutenant Mancini. Howard Keller.”

Mancini was staring at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

Mancini’s face lit up. “Keller! My God, you used to play baseball in Chicago.”

“That’s right. How do you…?”

“I was a scout for the Cubs one summer. I still remember your sliders and your change-ups. You could have had a big career.”

“Yeah. Well, if you’ll excuse me…” He looked at Philip. “I’ll wait for Lara outside.” He left.

Mancini turned to Philip. “Did you get a look at the man who attacked you?”

“He was a male Caucasian. A large man. About six foot two. Maybe fifty or so.”

“Could you identify him if you saw him again?”

“Yes.” It was a face he would never forget.

“Mr. Adler, I could ask you to look through a lot of mug shots, but frankly, I think it would be a waste of your time. I mean, this isn’t exactly a high-tech crime. There are hundreds of muggers all over the city. Unless someone nabs them on the spot, they usually get away with it.” He took out his notebook. “What was taken from you?”

“My wallet and my wristwatch.”

“What kind of watch was it?”

“A Piaget.”

“Was there anything distinctive about it? Did it have an inscription, for example?”

It was the watch Lara had given him. “Yes. On the back of the case, it read ‘To Philip with Love from Lara.’ ”

He made a note. “Mr. Adler…I have to ask you this. Had you ever seen this man before?”

Philip looked up at him in surprise. “Seen him before? No. Why?”

“I just wondered.” Mancini put the notebook away. “Well, we’ll see what we can do. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Adler.”

“Really?” Philip’s voice was filled with bitterness.

“Yeah. We have thousands of muggings a year in this city, and we can’t afford to spend much time on them, but our captain happens to be a fan of yours. He collects all your records. He’s going to do everything he can to catch the SOB who did this to you. We’ll send out a description of your watch to pawnshops around the country.”

“If you catch him, do you think he can give me my hand back?” Philip asked bitterly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ll be hearing from us. Have a nice day.”

Lara and Keller were waiting in the corridor for the detective.

“You said you wanted to see me?” Lara asked.

“Yes. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” Lieutenant Mancini said. “Mrs. Adler, does your husband have any enemies that you know of?”

Lara frowned. “Enemies? No. Why?”

“No one who might be jealous of him? Another musician maybe? Someone who wants to hurt him?”

“What are you getting at? It was a simple street mugging, wasn’t it?”

“To be perfectly frank, this doesn’t fit the pattern of an ordinary mugging. He slashed your husband’s wrist
after
he took his wallet and watch.”

“I don’t see what difference…”

“That was a pretty senseless thing to do, unless it was deliberate. Your husband didn’t put up any resistance. Now, a kid on dope might do a thing like that, but…” He shrugged. “I’ll be in touch.”

They watched him walk away.

“Jesus!” Keller said. “He thinks it was a setup.”

Lara had turned pale.

Keller looked at her and said slowly, “My God! One of Paul Martin’s hoods! But why would he do this?”

Lara found it difficult to speak. “He…he might have thought he was doing it for me. Philip has…has been away a lot, and Paul kept saying that it…it wasn’t right, that someone should have a talk with him. Oh, Howard!” She buried her head in his shoulder, fighting back the tears.

“That son of a bitch! I warned you to stay away from that man.”

Lara took a deep breath. “Philip is going to be all right. He
has
to be.”

Three days later Lara brought Philip home from the hospital. He looked pale and shaken. Marian Bell was at the door, waiting for them. She had gone to the hospital every day to see Philip and to bring him his messages. There had been an outpouring of sympathy from all around the world—cards and letters and telephone calls from distraught fans. The newspapers had played the story up, condemning the violence on the streets of New York.

Lara was in the library when the telephone rang.

“It’s for you,” Marian Bell said. “A Mr. Paul Martin.”

“I…I can’t talk to him,” Lara told her. And she stood there, fighting to keep her body from trembling.

O
vernight their lives together changed.

Lara said to Keller, “I’m going to be working at home from now on. Philip needs me.”

“Sure. I understand.”

The calls and get-well cards kept pouring in, and Marian Bell proved to be a blessing. She was self-effacing and never got in the way. “Don’t worry about them, Mrs. Adler. I’ll handle them, if you like.”

“Thank you, Marian.”

William Ellerbee called several times, but Philip refused to take his calls. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he told Lara.

Dr. Stanton had been right about the pain. It was excruciating. Philip tried to avoid taking pain pills until he could no longer stand it.

Lara was always at his side. “We’re going to get you the best doctors in the world, darling. There must be
someone
who can fix your hand. I heard about a doctor in Switzerland…”

Philip shook his head. “It’s no use.” He looked at his bandaged hand. “I’m a cripple.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Lara said fiercely. “There are a thousand things you can still do. I blame myself. If I hadn’t gone to Reno that day, if I had been with you at the concert, this never would have happened. If…”

Philip smiled wryly. “You wanted me to stay home more. Well, now I have nowhere else to go.”

Lara said huskily, “Someone said, ‘Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.’ I did want you to stay home, but not like this. I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Philip said. “I just have to work a few things out in my mind. It’s all happened so suddenly. I…I don’t think I’ve quite realized it, yet.”

Howard Keller came to the penthouse with some contracts. “Hello, Philip. How do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” Philip snapped. “I feel just wonderful.”

“It was a stupid question. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mind me,” Philip apologized. “I haven’t been myself lately.” He pounded his right hand against the chair. “If the bastard had only cut my
right
hand. There are a dozen left-handed concertos I could have played.”

And Keller remembered the conversation at the party.
“Half a dozen composers wrote concertos for the left hand. There’s one by Demuth, Franz Schmidt, Korngold, and a beautiful concerto by Ravel.”

And Paul Martin had been there and heard it.

Dr. Stanton came to the penthouse to see Philip.

Carefully, he removed the bandage, exposing a long angry scar.

“Can you flex your hand at all?”

Philip tried. It was impossible.

“How’s the pain?” Dr. Stanton asked.

“It’s bad, but I don’t want to take any more of those damned pain pills.”

“I’ll leave another prescription anyway. You can take them if you have to. Believe me, the pain will stop in the next few weeks.” He rose to leave. “I really am sorry. I happen to be a big fan of yours.”

“Buy my records,” Philip said curtly.

Marian Bell made a suggestion to Lara. “Do you think it might help Mr. Adler if a therapist came to work on his hand?”

Lara thought about it. “We can try. Let’s see what happens.”

When Lara suggested it to Philip, he shook his head.

“No. What’s the point? The doctor said…”

“Doctors can be wrong,” Lara said firmly. “We’re going to try everything.”

The next day a young therapist appeared at the apartment. Lara brought him in to Philip. “This is Mr. Rossman. He works at Columbia Hospital. He’s going to try to help you, Philip.”

“Good luck,” Philip said bitterly.

“Let’s take a look at that hand, Mr. Adler.”

Philip held out his hand. Rossman examined it carefully. “Looks as though there’s been quite a bit of muscle damage, but we’ll see what we can do. Can you move your fingers?”

Philip tried.

“There’s not much motion, is there? Let’s try to exercise it.”

It was unbelievably painful.

They worked for half an hour, and at the end of that time Rossman said, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Philip said. “Don’t bother.”

Lara had come into the room. “Philip, won’t you try?”

“I tried,” he snarled. “Don’t you understand? My hand is dead. Nothing’s going to bring it back to life.”

“Philip…” Her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Philip said. “I just…Give me time.”

That night Lara was awakened by the sound of the piano. She got out of bed and quietly walked over to the entrance of the drawing room. Philip was in his robe, seated at the piano, his right hand softly playing. He looked up when he saw Lara.

“Sorry if I woke you up.”

Lara moved toward him. “Darling…”

“It’s a big joke, isn’t it? You married a concert pianist and you wound up with a cripple.”

She put her arms around him and held him close. “You’re not a cripple. There are so many things you can do.”

“Stop being a goddamn Pollyanna!”

“I’m sorry. I just meant…”

“I know. Forgive me, I”—he held up his mutilated hand—“I just can’t get used to this.”

“Come back to bed.”

“No. You go ahead. I’ll be all right.”

He sat up all night, thinking about his future, and he wondered angrily,
What future?

Lara and Philip had dinner together every evening, and after dinner they read or watched television and then went to sleep.

Philip said apologetically, “I know I’m not being much of a husband, Lara. I just…I just don’t feel like sex. Believe me, it has nothing to do with you.”

Lara sat up in bed, her voice trembling. “I didn’t marry you for your body. I married you because I was wildly head
over heels in love with you. I still am. If we never make love again, it will be fine with me. All I want is for you to hold me and love me.”

“I do love you,” Philip said.

Invitations to dinner parties and charity events came in constantly, but Philip refused them all. He did not want to leave the apartment. “You go,” he would tell Lara. “It’s important to your business.”

“Nothing is more important to me than you. We’ll have a nice quiet dinner at home.”

Lara saw to it that their chef prepared all of Philip’s favorite dishes. He had no appetite. Lara arranged to hold her meetings at the penthouse. When it was necessary for her to go out during the day, she would say to Marian, “I’ll be gone for a few hours. Keep an eye on Mr. Adler.”

“I will,” Marian promised.

One morning Lara said, “Darling, I hate to leave you, but I have to go to Cleveland for a day. Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” Philip said. “I’m not helpless. Please go. Don’t worry about me.”

Marian brought in some letters she had finished answering for Philip. “Would you like to sign these, Mr. Adler?”

Philip said, “Sure. It’s a good thing I’m right-handed, isn’t it?” There was a bitter edge to his voice. He looked at Marian and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Marian said quietly, “I know that, Mr. Adler. Don’t you think it would be a good idea for you to go outside and see some friends?”

“My friends are all working,” Philip snapped. “They’re musicians. They’re busy playing concerts. How can you be so stupid?”

He stormed out of the room.

Marian stood there looking after him.

An hour later Philip walked back into the office. Marian was at the typewriter. “Marian?”

She looked up. “Yes, Mr. Adler?”

“Please forgive me. I’m not myself. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

He sat down opposite her. “The reason I’m not going out,” Philip said, “is that I feel like a freak. I’m sure that everybody’s going to be staring at my hand. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

She was watching him, saying nothing.

“You’ve been very kind, and I appreciate it, I really do. But there’s nothing anyone can do. You know the expression. ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall’? Well, I was big, Marian—really big. Everybody came to hear me play…kings and queens and…” He broke off. “People all over the world heard my music. I’ve given recitals in China and Russia and India and Germany.”

His voice choked up, and tears began rolling down his cheeks. “Have you noticed I cry a lot lately?” he said. He was fighting to control himself.

Marian said softly, “Please don’t. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“No! Nothing’s going to be all right. Nothing! I’m a goddamn cripple.”

“Don’t say that. Mrs. Adler is right, you know. There are a hundred things you can do. When you get over this pain, you’ll begin to do them.”

Philip took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Jesus Christ, I’m becoming a damn crybaby.”

“If it helps you,” Marian said, “do it.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You’re a pretty wise twenty-six, aren’t you?”

“No. I just know what you’re going through, and I’d give anything if it hadn’t happened. But it has happened, and I know that you’re going to figure out the best way to deal with it.”

“You’re wasting your time here,” Philip said. “You should have been a shrink.”

“Would you like me to make a drink for you?”

“No, thanks. Are you interested in a game of backgammon?” Philip asked.

“I’d love it, Mr. Adler.”

“If you’re going to be my backgammon partner, you’d better start calling me Philip.”

“Philip.”

From that time on, they played backgammon every day.

Lara received a telephone call from Terry Hill.

“Lara, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

Lara readied herself. “Yes?”

“The Nevada Gaming Commission has voted to suspend your gambling license until further investigation. You may be facing criminal charges.”

It was a shock. She thought of Paul Martin’s words.
“Don’t worry. They can’t prove anything.”
“Isn’t there something we can do about it, Terry?”

“Not for the present. Just sit tight. I’m working on it.”

When Lara told Keller the news, he said, “My God! We’re counting on the cash flow from the casino to pay off the mortgages on three buildings. Are they going to reinstate your license?”

“I don’t know.”

Keller was thoughtful. “All right. We’ll sell the Chicago Hotel and use the equity to pay the mortgage on the Houston
property. The real estate market has gone to hell. A lot of banks and savings and loans are in deep trouble. Drexel Burnham Lambert has folded. It’s the end of Milken honey.”

“It will turn around,” Lara said.

“It had better turn around
fast.
I’ve been getting calls from the banks about our loans.”

“Don’t worry,” Lara said confidently. “If you owe a bank a million dollars, they own you. If you owe a bank a hundred million dollars, you own them. They can’t afford to let anything happen to me.”

The following day, an article appeared in
Business Week.
It was headlined:
CAMERON EMPIRE SHAKY—LARA CAMERON FACING POSSIBLE CRIMINAL INDICTMENT IN RENO. CAN THE IRON BUTTERFLY KEEP HER EMPIRE TOGETHER
?

Lara slammed her fist against the magazine. “How dare they print that? I’m going to sue them.”

Keller said, “Not a great idea.”

Lara said earnestly, “Howard, Cameron Towers is almost fully rented, right?”

“Seventy percent, so far, and climbing. Southern Insurance has taken twenty floors, and International Investment Banking has taken ten floors.”

“When the building is finished, it will throw off enough money to take care of all our problems. How far away are we from completion?”

“Six months.”

Lara’s voice was filled with excitement. “Look what we’ll have then. The biggest skyscraper in the world! It’s going to be beautiful.”

She turned to the framed sketch of it behind her desk. It showed a towering glass-sheathed monolith, whose facets reflected the other buildings around it. On the lower floors were a promenade and atrium, with expensive shops. Above were apartments and Lara’s offices.

“We’ll have a big publicity promotion,” Lara said.

“Good idea.” He frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about Steve Murchison. He wanted that site pretty bad.”

“Well, we beat him to it, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Keller said slowly. “We beat him to it.”

Lara sent for Jerry Townsend.

“Jerry, I want to do something special for the opening of Cameron Towers. Any ideas?”

“I have a great idea. The opening is September tenth?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

“Well, it’s my birthday…”

“Right.” A smile lit up Jerry Townsend’s face. “Why don’t we give you a big birthday party to celebrate the completion of the skyscraper?”

Lara was thoughtful for a moment. “I like it. It’s a wonderful idea. We’ll invite everybody! We’ll make a noise that will be heard around the world. Jerry, I want you to make up a guest list. Two hundred people. I want you to handle it personally.”

Townsend grinned. “You’ve got it. I’ll give you the guest list to approve.”

Lara slammed her fist down on the magazine again. “We’re going to show them!”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Adler,” Marian said. “I have the secretary of the National Builders Association on line three. You haven’t responded to their invitation for the dinner Friday night.”

“Tell them I can’t make it,” Lara said. “Give them my apologies.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Marian left the room.

Philip said, “Lara, you can’t turn yourself into a hermit because of me. It’s important for you to go to those things.”

“Nothing is more important than my being here with you. That funny little man who married us in Paris said, ‘For better or for worse.’” She frowned. “At least I
think
that’s what he said. I don’t speak French.”

Philip smiled. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you. I feel like I’m putting you through hell.”

Lara moved closer to him. “Wrong word,” she said. “Heaven.”

Philip was getting dressed. Lara was helping him with the buttons on his shirt. Philip looked in the mirror. “I look like a damned hippie,” he said. “I need a haircut.”

“Do you want me to have Marian make an appointment with your barber?”