The Suite Life (27 page)

When he returned to Mexico that same evening, we partied hard and were lucky to be flying private when we left the next morning. Unfortunately our flight was stopped at Customs in Texas because of a tip that there were drugs on board. I sat frozen in fear as the agents came on board to search, but their professional expertise wasn't up to my husband's unlimited ingenuity. As soon as they departed empty-handed and we were once more airborne, Alec gave me one of his biggest, most self-satisfied grins and said, “I knew they'd never think to look for the stuff I Crazy-Glued onto the inside of my jeans!”

The whole birthday extravaganza was the talk of Wall Street for a month.

Alec's investment in a partnership that owned a preserve on the North Fork was but one of the more sizable ones he made in the early fall, and he always seemed to have something on the drawing board, such as a limousine that was being customized with more than two hundred thousand dollars' worth of appointments. He was always adding members to his team, in and out of the office, and he planned to hire a full-time chauffeur to go along with his Vietnam War veteran helicopter pilot, who was on permanent standby.

Only the best of everything would do, Alec reminded me often. Why own a helicopter with only one engine when you could have one with two? Such excesses were becoming overwhelming and I started to wonder where I belonged in all of it, especially after Alec ignored the advice of his lawyer and named Franco executor of his estate instead of me. I felt that was wrong, and for once I spoke up. After all, I was the one with the child, and his child had to be protected in case of his death. Luckily a kind female lawyer agreed with me. Hence the twenty-four-hour turnaround.

I'll get by.

Of course, “getting by” wasn't anything like it had been before I met Alec. We ate sushi at Nobu or had their takeout at least once a week; we attended every Broadway opening and film premiere, took tables at political and charity functions, and there was always a major trip or two on the horizon.

Alec flaunted his successes and everyone in his orbit attached themselves to him for the ride, including those from his past who came crawling out of the woodwork. One of them was his ex-wife, Katie, whom I'd almost forgotten about, as had Alec, until she phoned one night to tell him that she still thought they were soul mates. He told her she was out of her mind and threw some money at her, after which she disappeared, never to be heard from again.

My generous husband never turned down any request for money, nor did he ever ask my opinion before writing the check. Although I had unlimited money to spend, I didn't have any real say when it came to family finances.

In early October a Brink's truck delivered his new, titanium black AmEx card, which he put to good use as soon as we arrived at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington, D.C., for the NIAF ball later that month. Jim and Jeff, two divine creations of the concierge god, had taken care of our airline tickets and had even arranged for shipping our luggage ahead via FedEx. When we strolled up to their desk upon arrival they informed us that they'd made all the sightseeing arrangements as per Alec's instructions and that our evening wear had been pressed and was waiting for us in our suites.

Alec, his parents, and I toured the capital in a stretch limo. I was so grateful for the extra time I was able to spend with Giovanni during the whirlwind trip. He connected me to shared roots and to my husband, and his faith in God and in me always restored my faith in the future.

Giovanni was beside himself with pride at the cocktail party Friday night when he introduced his son, who would be officially inducted as a member of the NIAF the next day. His buttons positively burst when some senior members speculated that Alec might be designated as Man of the Year someday.

The ball that followed the next night was as festive a black-tie affair as could be. Giovanni was handsome and elegant in his dinner jacket, and when he took me out on the dance floor, I was thrilled that he complimented the understated Dolce & Gabbana black silk cocktail dress I'd chosen for the occasion. I knew we could easily have been mistaken for father and daughter, and, in truth, Giovanni was more of a father to me during that one evening than my own father had been my whole life.

Upon our return to New York, Alec and I resumed our
crazy-millionaire existence with helicopter hops to the North Fork or Atlantic City on the weekends and over to Teterboro Airport in New Jersey for regular getaways by private jet to Arizona, the Florida Keys, and the Cayman Islands, where much of the lucre from Wall Street deals is stashed away. As much as I loved traveling, I was relieved to get home to New York. I was happier when we stayed at home, especially during the year-end holidays, so that I could enjoy quiet family time with just my husband and Isabella.

Alec was more than restless by the time we rang in the New Year, and he came home after lunch one day in early January announcing his plans for a one-week getaway to Puerto Rico just for the two of us. Isabella would stay with his parents, as she often did when we traveled, and we'd put Hercules in a kennel, which always made me sad, but I was looking forward to the warm weather I found myself missing and to having some quality one-on-one time with my husband. He was unusually excited about the trip and more animated as he ticked off items on his latest itinerary, but what really surprised me was his suggestion that we take a walk around our neighborhood. Normally, my larger-than-life husband was the sort who would take a Segway to get around our apartment if that were practical.

He was also the sort who had ulterior motives most of the time, so it shouldn't have surprised me when he happened to steer us toward the site where ground had been broken for the Luxe Regent.

“Would you prefer to live in the suburbs?” he asked as he reached for the door to the sales office.

Hardly! Not after I've spent my whole life getting to this side of the bridge.

“You know, we could just buy the condo we're renting now for half a million,” I said.

“I don't want the hassle of having to unload it eighteen
months from now,” he replied as he waved me inside. “Besides,” he added, “I can get in on the ground floor here and negotiate a great deal on spec.”

A tall, elegant South African woman named Mirabelle ushered us to plush chairs and spread out blueprints on a teak cocktail table. Alec dove right into the possibilities, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. It didn't take him long to settle on combining three units into one six-bedroom, five-bath penthouse with an unobstructed view of Lady Liberty, my favorite statue besides any of the Blessed Mother.

Recognizing a live one when she saw him, Mirabelle smiled broadly. “Maybe you should consider taking the entire floor,” she said to Alec.

“Don't tempt me,” Alec said, laughing. “I'll let you know if I can pull that off down the road.”

I wouldn't bet against him.

“Are dogs allowed?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Mirabelle replied. “We'll take any animal you have.”

I guess you would, at these prices.

“I'll have my people get in touch with you, then,” Alec said to Mirabelle.

“We'll look forward to having you with us,” she replied, rising to shake our hands.

I'm sure you will.
“Would you mind if my husband and I talked privately for a moment?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Mirabelle said, scooping up her purse and heading for the ladies' room.

“Is all this really necessary, honey?” I asked when we were alone. “We have all the space we need right now.”

“It's not where I want to be, Sam. Besides, I plan on our family growing.”

I skipped mentioning the critical activity necessary to
make that a reality. “I don't think I want more than two kids,” I said.

“We can stop as soon as I have a son,” Alec said.

Who am I to disagree with his plans?
Do I even have any negotiating power anyway?

When we arrived in San Juan at noon a couple of weeks later, we went directly to the private pool adjoining our private villa. As usual, my husband cleaned out the minibar and smoked a joint, courtesy of another solicitous bellhop. He never seemed to have any problem identifying just the right one to suit his needs.

Later, after a quiet dinner, we hit the casino where I watched Alec play poker and declined his repeated invitations to sit in. He pocketed a cool twenty thousand that night, and upon our return to the villa insisted we celebrate by skinny-dipping in the pool, a bottle of champagne in a bucket on its ledge. I couldn't remember the last time Alec had been so attentive to me, and I was thrilled by his pampering.

As we sat by the pool the next day, Alec started once again to talk about the big plans he had for the millions he was making. I wasn't surprised to learn that he was planning to open his own brokerage firm, but what did surprise me was that he saw this as happening in less than two years.

“We just started a family, and we've made a huge commitment to a new multimillion-dollar home,” I protested. “Do you really think you should be leaving the security you have at Transglobal so soon?”

“I'm only as good as my last score, Sam,” he replied, using the word that never failed to remind me of Tony, as did Alec's tendency to make snap decisions and the pleasure he took in “scoring” at somebody else's expense.

“The senior partners hold all the cards when it comes to the deals I get to make. I'd rather control the game than keep looking
back over my shoulder for the axe they would never hesitate to use. That's why I'm naming my company DeMarco Futures.

“Besides,” Alec added, “the Luxe Regent pad isn't going to cost as much out of pocket as you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“They include a generous construction allowance. We only have to cover whatever we spend on top of that, and most of it will just be added to the mortgage.”

“You mean you're not buying it outright?”

“No way, Sam. Can't tie up that kind of dough. The whole key to success is using other people's money.”

“I see,” I said, but I didn't, really. I'd always thought owning a place outright was the way to go assuming you had the money to do it.

“Just leave this kind of stuff to me, Sam,” Alec said, patting my hand as if I were his child. “You just take care of Isabella and pray for a boy every chance you get.”

Do I have a choice?
“Okay,” I said softly, privately deciding that, should I become pregnant, praying for a healthy and happy baby was really all that mattered to me.

“You should think about what you want to do with your life, too,” Alec continued.

I already have, and we talked about it, remember?

“Emmanuel and his brothers invest in different things all the time, show business being one of them. You know those Greeks, their hands are in everything, and I think that investing in a play would be a great idea. Aside from the opportunity to make some money, it's a great way to entertain clients.”

“So? What's that got to do with me?”

“We know plenty of guys who would put up ten or twenty Gs for a show, and you could produce it.”

“I'm not a producer, Alec. I wouldn't even know where to start.”

“It isn't rocket science, Sam. You just flash your tits and your happy smile, and then tell other people what to do.”

I notice he left out my smarts and my moxie.

“The Stavros brothers are gonna hook you up. They know a few people in show business and Emmanuel said he'll point you in the right direction. I really think you're cut out for this, Sam,” he concluded, and for a moment I was touched because it sounded like he really meant it.

I don't know. Maybe this is up my alley.
“I'm not sure I'm comfortable being responsible for the kind of money a stage production would require, especially if it's someone else's.”