CHAPTER 6

The Women

PARIS KENDRICK entered Spa Royale and signed in at the reception desk. The name above hers had been red-lined, but Paris could still read, “Tiffany Banning.” She smiled under her hat and dark glasses. Of course this was where she’d come. This was where everyone came.

Paris walked through the marble entry to one of several waiting areas. This one was a Chinese theme, deep red walls, black lanterns and rice paper screens, low tables and silk meditation cushions. The perfect balance of chi made you sigh as you entered. Paris helped herself to a cup of green tea and turned off her cell phone. 

A few moments later, a perfect twenty-year-old brunette in a starched lab coat appeared beside the rice paper screen. 

“Miss K.?”

Paris followed the girl to the room at the end of the hall. There would be no massage today, no vichy shower sea kelp scrub. Today, Dr. Simone would inject Botox into Paris Kendrick’s forehead, collagen around her lips and eyes, and transfer fat into her cheeks. It was a dance against time, a ploy some women used to remind them of the glory of youth. Paris wasn’t stupid. She knew she would never see thirty again, no matter what she did to her skin. But she was a vain woman, and working on her outward appearance was so much less painful than an hour on the analyst’s couch. 

She imagined if she looked young and carefree, life would reciprocate. She missed that feeling of endless possibility, perpetual hope. She needed to believe something good was on the horizon.

Gina stopped wiping the counter top and leaned into Deluca’s face. “What are you saying Eddie? You know this has nothing to do with my kid.” She looked at him harder. “Jesus. Don’t tell me. Lou’s got something on you, too?”

“Gina, I swear I wouldn’t ask if I knew any other way. I’m telling you, he’s going down. Unless—”

“Jesus, Eddie. Unless what? Unless I lie?”

“I know, I know. It sounds like a lie, but Gina, come on. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, right? Lou has spent the night. He has been drunk. These are all things that have happened, aren’t they?”

“Well, sure, but...”

“Listen to me, Gina. If he does the time, what will happen to you? What about Holly? Please. Do it for me. For old times sake.”

Gina snorted. “Old times, huh, Eddie? Yeah, I remember those old times.” Her voice was low and angry. “Turning tricks in the street, sleeping in the back of unlocked cars. Those were the good old days. Shit.”

“Gina. I need you.” 

She stood there with her arms crossed, eyes on the floor, in her sensible waitress shoes and yellow pom-pom socks. Finally she tipped her chin to the ceiling and exhaled loudly. 

“Only for you, Eddie. Not for him.” She looked Deluca in the eye. “Only for you.” 

Deluca hopped off the stool, leaned over the counter and kissed her. “Thank you. I’ll need you in the office later. Call Mimi, okay?”

Gina nodded. 

Deluca peeled a fifty from his money roll and slid it under the coffee cup just as his pager went off. He turned, halfway to the exit, shot back a wide grin and winked. 

Gina had to smile. She watched him leave, then turned away shaking her head. “Fucking Eddie. You do it to me every time.”

“What’s that, Boss?’ The cook stood next to Gina, rubbing at a stain on his apron.

“Nothing, Chuck. Just talking to myself. So, what’s the soup today?”

Sonja checked the greenhouse, study and exercise room. Maybe Miss Chetta was enjoying one of her foreign films in the media room. She passed the kitchen where the chef stood at the marble workstation, his whisk tapping the sides of a deep copper bowl. 

“Stephan, have you seen Miss Chetta?”

“Not since breakfast. She said something about going into town.” He dipped a spoon into the creamy mixture and held it out to Sonja. “Here, tell me what you think.”

The soft warm cream melted on her tongue. Honey and cinnamon mingled with a tart spike of something. She swallowed, licked her lips, then guessed, “Anise?”

“Very good. You’re learning, Sweetie. But, do you like it?” 

Sonja blushed. Sweetie. “Of course. Of course I love it, Stephan. I love all your desserts.” She tugged her long jacket over her ample hips and watched him dip another strawberry into the bowl. The fruit rested on his full lower lip as his tongue darted out to lick the dollop of cream on the tip. Sonja sighed.

Stephan popped the fruit into his mouth and turned back to the stove. “She might be in her dressing room, Sweetie. Did you try there?” 

“Um. No, I’ll just head over there, I mean up there now.” Sonja began backing out of the room. “Is there anything you need? That is, if Miss Chetta is going into town, is there anything you need her to pick up?”

He called over his shoulder, “Just one order of tall, dark, and handsome.” 

Sonja laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

In the closet of her dressing room, Maria Chetta knelt in front of a large wall safe. She added a cassette tape and two envelopes to a bulging leather satchel then closed the safe door and pulled the evening gowns back into place. 

Sonja knocked. “Miss Chetta? I have some papers for you to sign.”

Maria left the leather bag in the closet and walked to the door. “Come in.” She sat in the chair at her antique vanity as Sonja passed her the papers. “Is that it then?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get these out right away.” Sonja turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Will there be anyone joining you for dinner?”

“No. Not tonight. Just tell Stephan to serve something light, and not until seven.”

“Seven?”

“Yes, I’m going into town. I may be delayed.” 

Sonja stood at the door, a question on her face. 

“Was there anything else, Sonja?”

“No, Miss Chetta.” 

Maria heard Sonja’s receding footsteps, waited a moment then retrieved the satchel.

Paris dimmed the lights and adjusted the volume on the CD player. Music filled the room mingling with jasmine incense. She checked her reflection. Hair perfectly tousled, makeup artfully natural, lips plump, zebra-print panties barely visible under the open wrap. Smiling and humming to Ravel’s Bolero, she sashayed on feathered mules into the living room then arranged herself on the divan.

A bottle of Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin peeked from the sterling ice bucket. Two crystal flutes waited to be filled as a key turned in the lock and the penthouse door opened.

“In here, darling.” Paris Kendrick twisted the diamond band on her finger, adjusted her robe and turned to welcome Ted Montgomery.

Maria exited the bank adjusting her sunglasses. She glanced up and down the street. Boys with green and purple hair on skateboards to the north. A scattering of obvious tourists complete with maps and walking sandals to the south. Just another summer day at the cape. She hurried across the street to the parking lot, the empty leather satchel hanging loosely at her side.

Sailor cradled the phone as she finished applying the top coat of nail polish. “No Dad, I don’t sound tired. I sound like I’m working hard and learning. Now stop worrying and tell me about dinner at the Smith-Houghtons.” Sailor wished she could be there with him, wondered what he’d think of his little girl in her grungy sweats with her home manicure. He’d always provided the best for her and expected the best in return. Dr. Beaumont was tough but fair, and Sailor respected and loved him. He’d been both father and mother the last ten years, and Sailor wanted nothing more than to please him, to make him proud of her. 

“Your mother is watching you, Sailor.”

“Dad. I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“I know. You don’t want to talk about it. I’m just saying that she’s with you in spirit. Philadelphia is your town too.”

“Okay, Dad.” Sailor glanced over at the family photo on the end table. A smiling, nappy-haired girl holding a Pooh bear stood between a tanned, blond couple in tennis whites. “I’ll call you soon.” Sailor hung up, and then sunk back into the couch, blowing lightly on her drying nails.