The next morning Eve and Nico took a cab to the Hilton, where Mimi Cohn, the stylist from Perfect Bride, had transformed two adjoining suites into mirrored dressing rooms lined wall to wall with racks of prospective wardrobes for the Maui shoot. Gowns, swimsuits, tuxedos, peignoirs, and sportswear were crammed on racks in various sections of the room, with accompanying boxes of accessories piled high. The sofas were strewn with straw hats, sunglasses, tennis racquets, and sandals, and the cocktail table sparkled with faux jewels, wedding veils, and scuba gear.
Mimi, a skinny dynamo in cropped black hair and jeweled eyeglasses, orchestrated her two assistants’ flurried activity with a conductor’s zeal. She waved to Eve and Nico as they entered the suite, and hooked a plastic bag filled with sunglasses and pink neon earrings on to a hanger with a pink and orange metallic bikini. “Monique, they’re here,” she sang out as an assistant handed her a pair of sandals to complete the ensemble.
Eve drew Nico through the maze of clothes and people toward Monique, who was deep in conversation with a pretty, young brunette and a tall, lanky man in jeans and a white T-shirt.
“Eve! I’m so glad you’re here in time to meet Teri and Brian!” Monique embraced Eve excitedly. “Nico, love, you’re going to slay every woman in America in the swim trunks we picked out for you. They don’t leave much to the imagination, but I know you’re just the man to pull it off.”
“Just so I don’t have to pull them off,” Nico retorted.
Monique kissed him effusively on both cheeks. “Not to worry. This isn’t Playgirl. We’re strictly PG-13.”
“Then why did I feel like one of their centerfolds when you put me in that leopard-print thing?” the man in the T-shirt shot out with a grin.
Monique chuckled. “Your mother will love it, Brian, don’t worry.”
Eve extended her hand to Teri. “I’m Eve Hamel—and this is my fiancé, Nico Caesarone.”
“This is absolutely the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing,” Teri murmured with a quick, shy smile. “Everything’s happened so quickly since the Oprah Winfrey Show. Ms. D’Arcy just kind of swept us into all this, and she insists everything will be fine.”
“Oh, it will be,” Eve assured her. “You’re very pretty, and you’ll have a couple of pros to show you the ropes. You’ll surprise yourself. It’ll be just fine.”
Monique put her arm across Teri’s shoulders. “More than fine, sweetie. You and Brian will be great. You have no idea how relieved I was when I picked you two from that audience. I kept having nightmares that my Cinderella couple would be straight out of American Gothic or else an overweight, overage frump with spiked orange hair and a biker boyfriend.”
Over the laughter, Monique told Teri, “You’ll need to come back for a final fitting right before Christmas. My assistant, Linda, will send you a schedule and your plane tickets. Meanwhile, enjoy Phantom tonight—we got you the best seats in the house. Before you know it, we’ll be partying in Maui.” She winked at Brian. “I bet you do a mean hula.”
“My Irish jig is better. Come up to Kelly’s Bar for St. Patrick’s Day and you can judge for yourself.”
As Monique walked Teri and Brian to the door of the suite, Nico surveyed the confusion of clothes, accessories, and assistants all around. “I can’t believe I ever let you talk me into this,” he groused, rolling his eyes. “That woman reminds me of a snake charmer I once knew.”
“Oh, come on. I want to see you in that swimsuit Monique mentioned.” Eve punched him playfully in the stomach.
Monique swooped down on them again. “We’re going to have to fly to LA and Washington with a ton of this stuff for Ana Cates and Senator Farrell to go through. Neither one could get away, and we couldn’t wait any longer for their schedules to clear. Deadlines. Deadlines. Tell me what you thought of Teri and Brian.”
“She’s adorable,” Eve replied, “but she seems terribly nervous. Stage fright?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s more than that, but damned if I know what. I had to practically twist her arm to get her to sign the contract and releases after the Oprah show. Brian, at least, is getting a huge kick out of the whole thing.”
“I hate to interrupt this important tete-a-tete,” Nico said, “but if you’ll point me in the direction of that bathing suit, we can get this show on the road, as you say in America. I’m meeting a sponsor for lunch in one hour and twenty minutes, so if you want my body, Comtesse, use it and be done.”
“The king has spoken,” Monique stage-whispered to Eve. “Mimi,” she called out. The stylist came running. “Show Mr. Caesarone the tentative wardrobe we’ve selected. Carla”—she signaled to the chunky redhead labeling the fresh photos of Teri and Brian in their wardrobes—“bring Miss Hamel that beaded dinner dress I want her to wear on the yacht, and find those Christian Louboutin shoes I set aside earlier. I think they’re behind the beach bags.”
Monique grabbed Eve’s hand as she headed toward the dressing area. “By the way, did I thank you for getting Nico to do this?” she asked in a low tone. “Richard and I are both convinced this is going to be the best issue ever. We’re going to have a blast on the yacht—guaranteed.” Her eyes sparkled knowingly. “It won’t be nearly as bad as Nico is expecting. I mean how bad can Maui be?”
Eve thought of twelve-hour days in the tropical sun, interminable waiting at Antonio’s whim, and only God knowing how the weather would cooperate. How bad, indeed? Eve smiled wryly. But all she said was, “It’ll be a blast.”
The phone rang just as Eve slipped behind the dressing curtain.
“It’s Richard,” Mimi announced, holding the receiver out toward Monique.
“Well? How’s it going?” Richard’s voice on the phone was brusque.
Monique surveyed the busy room. “Great. You ought to see how that darling couple from Michigan looks all decked out. This is going to be such a smash.”
“Good—it had better be. I knew you’d come up with a winner. Look, I just called to tell you there’s a fire I have to put out down in Atlanta. I’m at the airport now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a rumor that Sullivan’s negotiating with the Turner people. I can’t afford to lose him right now.”
Monique closed her eyes. Richard sounded so calm, but she knew he would go crazy if he lost Sullivan. “Promise him whatever you have to and then some,” she urged. “Do you think you’ll be back in time for the stockholders’ meeting tomorrow, or should I cover for you?”
“It’s not until three—I’ll give it a hell of a shot. Sorry about dinner tonight, Mo. You’ll cancel with Mamma Leone’s?”
“No problem, darling. As a matter of fact, it’ll give me a chance to proof the layouts for the January issue. I’ll probably just pick up some Chinese on my way home.”
“There’s my boarding call. Love you, Mo.”
Monique disconnected and immediately punched in a set of numbers. She caught sight of Nico in the mirror, magnificently bronzed and muscled, flexing his glutes as Mimi handed him a glass of Bordeaux. I knew that tush would look sensational in that skimpy little suit, she thought triumphantly. And Nico, for all his attitude, was enjoying himself hugely as he flirted with Mimi and Carla, and basked in the splendor of his own reflection.
A familiar voice answered the phone in Connecticut. Monique spoke quickly as Eve came out of the dressing area and pinched Nico’s ass.
“I’ll be there tonight,” Monique said quietly into the phone. “For dinner. And this time I can stay late.”
* * *
Maxine Goodman looked up as Ronson burst into the quiet of her office and dumped a manila folder on to her oak desk. “Your hunch was right as usual. But you’re not going to like what we uncovered about this Billy Shears.”
She looked at the craggy face of the tall black detective who folded himself into the tan tweed chair opposite her, then focused on the thick file labeled Hamel. She pulled out the shiny fax papers and scanned them, her pulse quickening.
“Shit.”
“Deep shit.”
Maxine swiveled in her seat and reached for the phone. “Better get this over with,” she muttered, her mind racing with plans. Strategies and counterstrategies clicked rapid-fire through her mind as she entered Eve Hamel’s phone number. “Shit.”
* * *
Eve’s body glistened with a faint sheen as she curled the five-pound weight toward her shoulder. Ragamuffin watched from her customary spot on the settee. Two more sets to go and she could shower and head out to Natalie’s office. There was a troublesome clause in the Estée Lauder contracts that Natalie wanted to explain in person. Eve was determined to get all the glitches ironed out and settled quickly. She really wanted this five-year deal. It would take her nicely through her thirtieth birthday. The cold facts that every model lived with were weighing more on her every day. She wasn’t getting any younger—fresher faces and more nubile bodies were clamoring for their turn in the spotlight. This campaign would spell security even if she never worked again.
Security. Financial security and personal security—that’s all she wanted. She slung the towel around her neck and wiped the sweat from her forehead. There had been no letters from Billy Shears for nearly two weeks. No word from Maxine either. But as far as Eve was concerned, no news was good news.
She was in the kitchen popping the lid on a diet Coke when the phone rang.
“Eve,” Maxine’s voice leapt across the line, calm as always, but with an undercurrent of urgency. “This is Maxine Goodman.”
“You’ve found something out, haven’t you?”
“Yes, we need to meet.”
“Fine. But first tell me what’s going on.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line.
“I really think it’s preferable that we talk in person,” Maxine replied.
Eve set the can down on the countertop. “I’m not going to fall apart, Maxine. Tell me.”
She heard the investigator sigh. “All right. The news about Billy Shears isn’t good. It seems you’re not the first woman he’s stalked.”
Oh, God. Eve closed her eyes. “Go on.”
Maxine’s voice was brisk now, businesslike. “Very well. But I think you’d better sit down.”