Stephanie shoveled another teaspoon of sugar into her third cup of morning coffee and returned to her chair at the kitchen table. The table’s surface and the floor below it were covered in newspapers. The coffee was an attempt to jump-start her body after a sleepless night spent obsessing over Jack, and the papers were meant to keep her mind off the many questions infiltrating her brain. Why had he left her? What had she done wrong, and how could she get him back now that Gabrielle had her hooks in him?
Just thinking about last night caused Stephanie to shudder in disgust. After the party when Jack had insisted they go have drinks at—of all places—The Mad Hatter, Gabrielle had played it cute and coy, deferring to Stephanie, practically ignoring Jack, knowing all the while that every man loves a chase. And Jack, that prick-for-a-brain son of a bitch, you’d think the way he was stepping all over himself trying to be charming that he was in the presence of Christy Turlington or Amber Valletta. Somebody famous. Somebody worth fawning over. Not a dimwitted former muffin maven. Jack had spent the entire evening playing the unabashed fan, filling Gabrielle’s brain with illusions of grandeur. He’s mine. She can’t have him. Oh, stop it, Stephanie commanded her brain. It will work out. I’ll make sure it does. Because one thing is for certain: There is no way in hell Gabrielle is going to take Jack away from me.
She forced herself to concentrate on the task before her. She’d spent the last hour combing the papers looking for press on last night’s party. From the New York Times to the Daily News, the reviews thus far were very positive. Nearly every reporter in attendance gave the affair, with its historical and philanthropic twists, two thumbs up.
Stephanie picked up Star Diary. She peeled away the paper’s outer pages, like the leaves of an artichoke, until she reached its heart—“The Grain Harvest.” She skimmed through the first column and was halfway through the second when she spotted what she was looking for. Her eyes grew large with amusement as she read Harry Grain’s account of the previous evening. He had saved the best for last.
What excuse did film director Lexis Richards have for his sloppy, grungy attire at last night’s opening of the Montell Spirits art exhibit? Richards showed up at the Studio Museum in Harlem wearing a washed-out T-shirt and torn jeans. This man, whose movie, Southeast, is making tons of money despite the fact that it’s raising havoc on city streets, was either too cheap or too tired from cleaning out his garage to change.
Tinseltown’s newest darling was definitely outfitted to match his disposition, as he launched into an angry tirade when asked by this reporter to explain the shootings and violence that have occurred in several theaters where his movie is playing. In fact, his harsh verbal assault would clearly have turned physical if not for the interference of Felicia Wilcot, proprietress of the little-known public-relations firm Wilcot & Associates. Ms. Wilcot was retained by the Montell Spirits Company to coordinate last night’s exhibit, which highlights African-American participation in the Old West.
Despite many famous faces in attendance—including diva songstress Vanessa Williams, megastar Bill Cosby and wife Camille, tapmaster Savion Glover, and Oscar winners Denzel Washington and Robert De Niro—the party was DOA. Masquerading as a scholarship benefit, this “gala” event was merely a tacky attempt (and I do mean tacky, darling, from the dreary Western theme to the brown-and-serve hors d’oeuvre) by Wilcot to sell wine coolers. One has to wonder how Ms. Wilcot was able to convince the “wine of our times” mogul Peter Montell to take part in this fiasco. Perhaps her power of persuasion is one of the two talents she possesses. The other being her ability to pick out the help.
“Felicia’s going to have a cow,” Stephanie snickered aloud. She, on the other hand, was fascinated by Harry’s professional audacity. He wasn’t hamstrung by the concept of journalistic impartiality. The fact that he had a national byline gave him carte blanche to call things exactly as he saw them. I want the power to influence people’s opinions. I want folks dying to know what I think about something or someone. Stephanie felt a new surge of purpose course through her body as she continued to read.
The big buzz going around town is that fashion photographer Mig Reid has found his latest diamond in the rough, an unnamed working girl hired by Ms. Wilcot. Mig, who can spot a megamodel-in-the-making, is famous for picking and plucking (read into it what you will, darling) new talent for the mannequin market. As with his past discoveries, Tatiana Krmpotic, Roya Kirsten, and the showstopping Eva G., the man has mined gold once again. Trust me on this one, my dears, Miguel Reid’s newest gem is pure Tiffany.
“Pure Tiffany my ass,” Stephanie said angrily. Wasn’t it enough that Gabrielle had obviously caught Jack’s attention last night? Did Harry Grain have to torture her wounded ego further with his enthusiastic remarks?
How did the reporter know about their meeting anyway? she wondered. Felicia had already kicked him out by the time Gabrielle met the photographer. Who told him? Who was Harry Grain’s spy, and how much had he got paid for this piece of fantasy?
“Good morning,” Gabrielle said, heading straight for the coffeepot.
“Hey.”
“Why all the newspapers?”
“I’m looking for press clippings about the party.”
“I thought it was the most fabulous party I’d ever seen. All those famous people, the television cameras—it was wonderful. My mother would have loved it,” Gabrielle added wistfully. “What did the papers say about the party?”
Stephanie thought about telling Gabrielle about her mention in “The Grain Harvest” but quickly decided against it. Why make her head bigger than Jack and that Mig character already had?
“For the most part everybody thought it was great.”
“It was great, and I can’t thank you enough for asking me to work. If it wasn’t for you, I would never have met Miguel.”
“Look, it was no big deal. I needed help, you needed a job. There’s nothing to thank me for,” Stephanie remarked impatiently. “Now can you leave me alone so I can finish clipping these articles before I leave for work?”
Gabrielle was taken aback by Stephanie’s hostility. She’d been like this since last night when the two of them went out for drinks with Jack Hollis. Poor Jack, he’d tried to keep the evening light and upbeat, but Stephanie’s dour mood kept it from being anything but long and painful. Tired of trying to understand her moody housemate, Gabrielle went back to fixing her breakfast. Their uneasy silence was broken by the ringing phone.
“I’ll get it,” Stephanie volunteered, hurrying into the hall. Please be Jack.
“Hello.”
“Stephanie, hi,” Jack said. Shit! He’d hoped Gabrielle would answer the phone.
I knew he’d change his mind. “Hey, Jack.”
“Uh, thanks for inviting me last night,” Jack said, sounding as awkward as he felt.
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I’ve been reading the papers, and the reports look very positive.”
“Yeah, everything went off pretty well.”
The two lapsed into momentary silence, Jack not knowing how to ask for Gabrielle and Stephanie reluctant to bring up last night’s discussion.
Enough of this trivial chitchat. Just come out and say it: You made a mistake and you want us to stay together.
Enough of this crap, Jack told himself. “Ah, Steph, is—uh, I’d like, um …”
This is so cute. He really is nervous.
“Is Gabrielle there?” Jack braced himself for Stephanie to erupt in an avalanche of emotion.
She didn’t dare utter a single word. Stephanie pulled the receiver from her ear and tightened her grip until her knuckles turned white. The receiver shook uncontrollably in her hand as she glared with rage at the instrument of betrayal. Her breath came shallow and fast, and soon she began to feel light-headed.
Stephanie fought to keep her voice steady. “It’s for you,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. Her eyes, full of resentment, followed Gabrielle out into the hall.
Jack held on in amazement. He’d expected hysterics or at least a good tongue-lashing. Instead he got controlled politeness. Before he had a chance to ponder Stephanie’s reaction further, Gabrielle’s eager voice was singing in his ear.
“Hello.”
“Morning, this is Jack Hollis. How are you?”
“Oh, Jack. Hi.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I thought it might be Miguel Reid.”
“Understandable. Don’t worry, he’ll call. Like the paper said, he’s found his next diamond in the rough.”
“Paper? What are you talking about?”
“There’s a write up in Harry Grain’s Star Diary column about you and Mig Reid.”
“My name is in the paper?”
“Not exactly, but there’s no mistaking Harry was talking about you.
As Jack read the “Grain Harvest” clip aloud, Gabrielle’s excitement bubbled up within her.
“So what do you think? You’re famous.”
“An unnamed working girl could be anybody.”
“Ah, but we both know it’s you—a Tiffany gem. I’ll save the paper for you.”
“Thanks.”
“I could give it to you when we have dinner tonight.”
“The three of us?” Gabrielle asked, sounding confused.
“I guess Stephanie didn’t tell you. We broke up last night.”
“She hasn’t mentioned it yet, but that explains her mood.”
“She’ll be fine. Stephanie Bancroft is one tough lady. So how about dinner?”
“Jack, I can’t. Stephanie would be very upset if she thought we were dating.”
“But we’re just two pals breaking bread together.”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“Another time, then?”
“Maybe.”
“A definite maybe. It’s a start.” Jack laughed, despite his disappointment.
When Gabrielle walked back into the kitchen, Stephanie was still at the table.
“That was Jack.”
“I know. I answered the phone,” Stephanie answered curtly.
“He called to tell me I was in the newspaper. Have you seen anything?”
“Nothing,” she lied. She’d ripped the tabloid to shreds while Gabrielle was on the phone. “Which paper?”
“Nobody reads that rag.”
“The reporter said that I was Miguel’s latest find. They compared me to Tatiana and Eva G. If that were only true.”
Stephanie was having a hard time keeping her coffee down amid all of Gabrielle’s excitement. “Is that all he wanted?”
Gabrielle looked into Stephanie’s eyes for a moment and decided to tell her the truth. “He invited me to dinner. Just as friends,” she quickly added.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we were friends and I didn’t think it was a good idea. Stephanie, Jack told me you two broke up. I’m sorry.”
“Did he tell you why we broke up?”
“No, just that you had.”
In a flash, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed. She looked at Gabrielle and smiled. “I’m sorry about my bad mood. It’s just that I’ve been really upset about Jack. It’s so sad. He was crushed when I told him we should see other people. I think he thought I was the one.”
“He wanted to marry you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Gabrielle, may I share something with you? Something you swear you won’t breathe a word of to another living soul?”
“Sure. You can trust me.”
“I know I can, and that’s why I can tell you that Jack Hollis is gay.”
“No offense, but if he’s gay, why does he care if you two are together?”
“That’s what I asked. He said he thought that I could help turn him around, but I know I can’t. I’d always be wondering if the next guy he meets will be the one who comes between us. I had to break it off with him. To be jealous of another man is a very weird thing.”
“Don’t forget AIDS,” Gabrielle added.
“Exactly. I just can’t deal with it. That’s why when he called this morning begging me to reconsider, I suggested he talk to you. I thought since you two hit it off so well last night, that maybe you could help him get over me. But I couldn’t let you get involved without letting you know the complete truth.”
“Stephanie, this must be so hard for you. I know you really liked him a lot.”
“I still do. Promise me you won’t mention any of this to him. He’d be mortified if he knew you knew.”
“I won’t say a word. You can count on it.”
“I knew I could.” Stephanie smiled slyly. “Thanks. Now, let’s drop this sad subject and get going. I have to be at work in an hour.”
“And I have laundry to do. I’ll be in the basement if you need me.”
“Okay,” Stephanie answered, still smiling. As soon as Gabrielle was out of the room, her smile turned into a menacing grimace. She was beside herself with resentment and fury. How dare Gabrielle feel sorry for her. She didn’t need her pity. And how dare Jack call up and ask Gabrielle out one day after ending their relationship. Well, I fixed your little wagon, Mr. Hollis. Try to get next to her now that she thinks you’re a flaming fag.
Stephanie headed upstairs to her room to get ready for work. As she fished through a pile of clothes in search of a pair of pantyhose, the phone rang. This better not be that bastard calling to talk her into seeing him, Stephanie thought as she picked it up.
“Hello,” she barked.
“Gabrielle Donovan, please,” a male voice requested.
“Who’s calling?”
“Miguel Reid. She’s expecting my call.”
She certainly is. It took Stephanie only a split second to plan her course of action.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reid, Gabrielle can’t come to the phone right now. She’s in bed with a terrible headache—well, to be honest, a raging hangover. She was so excited about meeting you that she stayed out all night celebrating. But not to worry, this happens all the time. She bounces right back.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know how she does it. She can party all night long, every night, and it doesn’t seem to affect her looks at all. Of course, for the rest of us mortals it’s a mystery we’re dying to figure out. Would you like to leave a message? I’m sure she’ll be up and around by two or three this afternoon.”
“Tell Ms. Donovan I’ve had a cancellation, so I can shoot her at my studio tomorrow morning at nine.” Stephanie could hear the disapproval in his voice. “Tell her that if I don’t hear from her today by three, I will assume she’s coming.”
“Tomorrow at nine, call by three. Anything else?”
“Yes, please inform Ms. Donovan that if she’s serious about becoming a model to lay off the booze and night life.”
“Gotcha,” Stephanie said, smiling broadly as she hung up the phone. Immediately she wrote down the photographer’s telephone number and the message “Call today, before three, about a shoot,” omitting the advice about partying, and headed to Gabrielle’s bedroom. She walked across the room and stood in front of the mirror.
“She deserves it,” she convinced her reflection. Before she could change her mind, Stephanie dropped the note behind the dresser.
Payback is a bitch, ain’t it, Ms. Donovan?