Too Rich and Too Dead (17 page)

“The décor looks kind of like Early Brothel,” Gordon commented after they had been seated and presented with a wine list. “But not necessarily in a bad way.”

Mallory picked up the impressively thick wine list that their waiter had presented to them with pride. “Wow, this is heavy,” she exclaimed. “I understand the wine cellar is stocked with fifteen thousand bottles. No wonder this thing is sixty-nine pages long!”

“The last thing I read that was that long was a Dostoevsky novel I was thinking of making into a movie,” Gordon said.

“It even has its own table of contents,” Mallory observed, leafing through the tome. She handed it to Gordon. “I think I'll leave this up to you.”

“I have a better idea. Let's ask the sommelier to choose something.”

After a deep discussion with an earnest young man who clearly knew his way around a wine cellar, they decided on a cabernet. The sommelier delivered it with the usual fanfare, showing both of them the label, uncorking the bottle, and pouring a sample for Gordon's approval before filling their wineglasses.

“Nice,” Mallory commented after taking her first sip. “Asking the pro to choose for us was a terrific strategy.”

“One of the most important things I learned as a director is the value of delegating,” Gordon said. “Especially when decisions need to be made in an area I know nothing about.”

“And here I would have pegged you as one of those people who can quote the best year for every wine imaginable,” she teased.

“Not at all. My feelings about wine are similar to those about art: I don't know much about it, but I get pretty excited when I stumble upon something I like.” Staring at her intently, he added, “I guess that's true in a lot of different areas.”

Was that a compliment? Mallory thought, alarm bells going off in her head. Maybe I'm not as good at this flirting business as I thought.

“Speaking of wine,” she said lightly, trying to move the conversation back to a more comfortable topic, “I'm hoping to learn something about it tomorrow. I'm scheduled to take a workshop at the Cooking School of Aspen. The participants prepare an entire five-course dinner, and then they're instructed in which wines to pair with each course. The best part is at the end, when the class gets to sit down and eat what they made.”

“That sounds like fun,” Gordon said. “Want some company?”

So much for safer territory! Mallory thought. “I—I don't know. Astrid made a reservation for me a few days in advance, so I'm not sure if there's any room.”

“I'll give them a call first thing tomorrow,” Gordon insisted. “I bet they can fit in one more person.”

“Great,” she said simply after they picked a place to meet right before the class was scheduled to start.

“It sounds as if you're really keeping busy while you're here,” Gordon observed.

“I have to,” Mallory replied with a shrug. “My job entails becoming an expert on a place in a very short time. That means squeezing in as many activities as I can.”

“I hope you appreciate what a great job you have!” he said heartily.

“I do.” She swirled the wine in her glass, watching its movement and admiring its deep red color. “But this time is different. I actually feel bad having such a nice time after what happened.” Sighing, she added, “I'm still reeling. Aspen seems like such an idyllic place that it's hard to believe that something as horrible as murder could actually take place here.”

“It's not the first time, either.” Gordon paused to sip his wine. “You're probably too young to remember this, but in 1976, an Olympic skier named Spider Sabich—his first name was actually Vladimir—was murdered by a former showgirl. She was French and spoke with a very strong accent. At the time the incident occurred, she had a mildly successful career as a singer and an actress. She'd also been married to a famous crooner, Andy Williams, which did wonders for her visibility.”

“I remember all that,” Mallory said. “Her name was Claudine Longet, wasn't it? I was barely a teenager back then, but the case was all over the news. It was a really big story.”

Gordon nodded. “Huge. If I recall the details correctly, Spider had recently told Claudine that their relationship was cramping his lifestyle. The fact that she had a few kids—three, I believe, all of them still pretty young—no doubt had something to do with
it. Anyway, the next thing you know, the two of them are in a room together right after he delivered the news and the gun she's holding goes off and kills him. At the trial, she claimed it was an accident. Her story was that Spider was showing her how the gun worked when it accidentally fired.”

“Was she found guilty?” Mallory asked. “I remember the sensational headlines, but not the outcome.”

“The jury found her guilty of criminally negligent homicide after not much deliberation. She could have gotten two years. Instead, she convinced the judge that her doing time would be bad for her kids. In the end, she spent something like thirty days in jail.”

Gordon took another sip of his wine. “Legend has it that she had her cell at the Pitkin County courthouse here in Aspen redecorated. I've heard that she had the walls painted pink. But one thing I know
is
true is that before she showed up to serve her sentence, she was allowed time to take a month-long vacation in Mexico. With her defense attorney. Who happened to be married at the time. Of course, he didn't stay that way for long. He got divorced and married her.”

“You'd think a defense attorney would know better than to marry a woman who'd already bumped off one of her lovers,” Mallory observed.

Gordon chuckled. “I guess some people never learn.”

“Still, this relationship must be going better, since I haven't seen her name mentioned in conjunction
with any other murders.” Mallory thought for a few seconds. “I seem to remember something about the Rolling Stones writing a song about the incident.”

“That's right. It was called ‘Claudine.’ They actually recorded it, but they never released it because they were so afraid of lawsuits.”

With a shudder, Mallory commented, “It all sounds like something you'd see in a movie.”

“It
was
a movie,” Gordon replied. “A TV movie. And it had an absolutely awful title:
Murder On the Slopes.”

“How dreadful!” Mallory exclaimed.

“The title or the murder?”

She couldn't help laughing. “Both, actually. Still, even though it was a terrible thing to have happened, I can see that it made for a good film.”

“Ah. So you're one of those people who has an eye for a story,” Gordon observed. “Maybe I should hire you. To help me fulfill my fantasy of finding a good script, I mean.”

“Don't tell me that's the best fantasy you can come up with.” Mallory had barely gotten the words out before she set her nearly empty wineglass down firmly on the table. She suddenly had the frightening feeling that she was overdoing it in the flirting department—and that the wine was at least partly to blame.

“Actually, my fantasy isn't to find a good script. It's to find a
great
script.” He poured more wine into Mallory's glass, then refilled his own. “In fact, that's why I came to Aspen in the first place.”

Aha, she thought. So it wasn't the excellent cuisine at the Bermans’ after all. “Let me guess—in addition to all the movie stars who supposedly live here there are also a few screenwriters.”

“There may be. But it wasn't writers who brought me here.” Now it was his turn to swirl the wine in his glass and stare at it as if he was enthralled. “I wasn't kidding last night when I joked about having an ulterior motive for being in Aspen. I was hoping to talk Carly into selling me the rights to her life story.”

“For a movie?” Mallory asked, surprised.

“That's right,” Gordon replied. “You've got to admit that she had a pretty fascinating life. Since you two grew up together, I'm sure you know that she started out on what looked like a clear trajectory. She was the star of her high school class, wasn't she? Pretty, popular, athletic, the whole kit and caboodle.”

Miss Red Delicious, too
, she thought generously.
Don't forget that.

“But it all faded fast,” he continued, “with not one but two disastrous marriages.”

Mallory was instantly jerked out of the delightful haze the wine had lured her into. “I didn't realize they were that bad,” she said. “She mentioned something about having been married twice before at dinner last night, but I wasn't even sure she was serious.”

“She was serious, all right,” Gordon assured her. “Her first husband abused her. Physically, I mean. It was actually a relief when he ended up in prison. It
gave her an excuse to divorce him that even her parents couldn't argue with.”

“I had no idea.” A wave of sympathy swept over Mallory as she realized that Carly had not only met up with a tragic end, she had also withstood more than her share of misfortune while she was still alive. “What was the story with her second husband?”

“He died,” Gordon said simply. “Once again, I'm pretty sure that having him out of the picture was actually a great relief for her.”

“Oh, my,” Mallory said breathlessly.

The dinner conversation was taking such a dramatic downward turn that Mallory was relieved when the waiter chose this moment to return for their order. An animated discussion of the pros and cons of the small plates on the menu versus the large plates was much more pleasant.

“Are you willing to order several small plates and share them with me?” Mallory asked Gordon. “I'm supposed to be evaluating the food for my article, so the more different entrees I get to try, the better.”

“So you weren't kidding when you threatened to eat the food off my plate.”

“I never joke about food.”

“I'm certainly not one to stand in the way of someone doing their job,” Gordon said seriously. “Order away. In fact, I'll leave the whole thing up to you.”

“Delegating again, huh?” she said with a grin.

“You got it.”

Mallory took a few moments to study the menu, earnestly considering each item and trying to come
up with a combination that would give her the best idea of the chef's talents. But as she sat in silence, she wasn't only weighing the pros and cons of the farm green salad with homemade goat cheese versus the Tuscan-style tomato soup.

Spending time with Gordon was giving her the chance to discover how clever he was. How intelligent. And how appealing he looked when he spoke about something he cared about and his eyes lit up. In fact, she had already reversed her initial impression of him as someone she didn't find physically attractive.

After she ordered four small plates for them to share, she turned to her dinner companion and said, “My friends back in Westchester are going to be very impressed when they find out I had dinner with a real live Hollywood director.”

His response was a grimace. “Frankly, I don't think they'll be all that impressed, since as you probably know I haven't made a picture in nearly two decades.” With a wry smile, he added, “If you hadn't known that already, Brett certainly made a point of pointing it out to you.”

“Given everything I've ever heard about Hollywood, it's hardly surprising,” Mallory said quickly, doing her best to be diplomatic. “From what I understand, talent means nothing. Instead, it's all about money.”

“Some people might argue that talent and making money go hand in hand,” he commented lightly. “Or that the ability to make money is a talent in itself.”

“At any rate, I'm sure Carly's life story would make a wonderful movie,” Mallory went on. “Especially
the part about traveling all over the world to create a potion that people have been seeking for… well, probably forever.”

“You're right. It would have made a terrific film,” Gordon said somberly. “In fact, I was convinced that her story would provide me with the opportunity to make my comeback.”

“But you're talking about it in the past tense,” Mallory protested. “You can still make a movie about her, even though this horrible thing has happened.”

He shook his head. “I'm afraid not. It's extremely unlikely, now that she's gone. Brett was never crazy about the idea. Now that she's gone, there's no way he'll ever let me get my hands on the rights.”

“Why not? Isn't he proud of everything his wife accomplished?”

Gordon just smiled. “Let's just say that while I like Brett personally, he puts a lot of effort into convincing people he's the way he wants them to see him. That doesn't necessarily mean it's the way he really is.”

Interesting, Mallory thought. Exactly Harriet's take on the man.

Of course, the word she had used—
phony
—wasn't quite as kind.

“But we didn't come here to this lovely restaurant to talk about movies that will never get made,” Gordon said jovially. “We came to get to know each other better. And to sample some of this renowned chef's cuisine. I suppose we could classify it as ‘nouvelle.’ Or perhaps we should call it ‘ nouv-elk’…?”

Even though he made a face at his own bad pun, Mallory laughed. “I like that turn of phrase,” she said. “Do you mind if I use it in my article?”

“Not at all. But I bet you anything your editor takes it right out.”

“I'm going to take the risk.” As she pulled out her notepad to jot it down, she added, “Promise that if I borrow your idea you won't think I'm doing something unethical?”

“I'm from Hollywood, where doing unethical things is as commonplace as plastic surgery,” he said seriously. “Or guzzling Rejuva-Juice in the hopes that it will take off enough years to land a coveted role.”

When they'd finished their meal and their waiter brought the dessert menu, Mallory couldn't resist poring over it.

“Fortunately, I'm not in the movie business,” she told Gordon, “so I don't have to worry about looking young enough
or
thin enough.”

But as soon as she glanced at it, she gasped.

“Are the desserts that outstanding?” Gordon asked, looking amused.

“It's more like I've never encountered an eighteen-dollar dessert before.”

“Are you joking?” Gordon picked up the other menu and studied it. “Wow! And here I thought L.A. was out of control!”