Stephanie was tired and discouraged, and her feet were screaming. More than anything, however, she was incensed. For two days, armed with the real-estate section of the Times, she’d been crisscrossing the city trying to find an affordable apartment. But based on the astronomical rents being charged, Stephanie had come to the sad realization that she couldn’t afford to lease a shoebox in this town, let alone a luxury duplex like Gabrielle’s.
Shortly following her breakup with Doug Sixsmith, Gabrielle and Bea had moved out of the Brooklyn brownstone and into a swank high-rise on Manhattan’s East Side. Not only did the place offer an expansive view of the East River, but it also provided its tenants an elegant private lobby with a twenty-four-hour concierge and doorman, valet parking, maid service, and a rooftop health club. While Stephanie could not afford the eight-hundred dollars a month it would cost her to live in a studio the size of Gabrielle’s new bathroom, Gabrielle had purchased not one but two condominiums. She now resided in a splendid three-bedroom penthouse with a panoramic view and a garden terrace outside her bedroom. Bea, thanks to Gabrielle’s generosity, was comfortably tucked away one floor below in her own two-bedroom apartment. They’d flown the coop and were living the good life, leaving Stephanie stuck in Brooklyn, strung out on a financial shoestring, with custody of the cat and a new landlord who wanted her out as soon as humanly possible.
She had to make more money. The way Stephanie saw it, she had three options: one, find a new job that paid more; two, ask Felicia for a raise; or three, put Visa Lee to work. Finding a new job would mean working harder—something Stephanie had no intention of doing. Going to Felicia for a raise was also out of the realm of possibility. Now that she’d expanded the firm to include a new partner and the offices of Wilcot, Jourdan & Associates had moved into a bigger, more impressive office space, Felicia was in no position to increase Stephanie’s salary.
Her only choice was to approach Harry Grain about doing more Visa Lee stories. The three stories she’d written thus far had paid her substantially more than her contributions to “The Grain Harvest.” She also enjoyed the influence that having her own byline brought. Already she could see that her words had the power to change people’s lives. Just look what they had done to Gabrielle and Doug Sixsmith.
Thinking of the estranged couple caused Stephanie to smile with satisfaction. The news that their love connection had been severed came as a pleasant shock. She had expected to cause some friction between the lovers, but never in her wildest fantasy had she thought her story would split them up. Stephanie didn’t pretend to feel bad for any part she might have played in the breakup. After all, it was Gabrielle who had come between her and Jack Hollis.
Stephanie was about to step off the curb when she saw the M6 bus approaching. Quickly she jumped back onto the sidewalk. When the bus stopped at the light, so did Gabrielle. She was laid out on her side on a poster that ran nearly the full length of the bus, advertising a new mascara by Cover Girl cosmetics, the latest in her recent crop of million-dollar endorsement contracts. Nose to nose with the model, Stephanie had no choice but to study the ad. Gabrielle was dressed in a Maynard Scarborough dress that cost more than the two-months’ security deposit that Stephanie could not afford to pay, and her hair was combed to windblown, come-fuck-me precision. She was also wearing that smile.
It was more of a sexy pout than a full-fledged grin, and the camera loved it. America loved it. Hell, the entire damn planet loved Gabrielle Donovan’s stupid smile. Women all over the world stood in their mirrors each day trying to emulate it. People magazine had even done a story on the famous Donovan pout, calling it an exercise in sheer seduction and Gabrielle a master in the art of “lip tease.”
“I hate that fucking smirk,” Stephanie said under her breath. Unable to restrain herself, she pulled a Magic Marker from her purse and had just enough time to black out Gabrielle’s front teeth before the bus pulled away. She knew her actions were irrational, immature, illogical, and bordering on desperate, but shit, she didn’t care. It felt so good!
Stephanie wasn’t sure when the tolerance she felt toward Gabrielle had turned to envy. But lately even the jealousy was metamorphosing into a slow, simmering hatred. Stephanie was tired of watching things always work out for Gabrielle while nothing ever seemed to work for her. In the two and a half years she’d known Gabrielle, everything the woman wished for came to pass. It didn’t matter in what area—career, finances, love life—success rained down on Gabrielle from massive tubs, while sprinkling down on Stephanie from a thimble.
If people only knew the real deal, she thought, they wouldn’t think you were such hot shit If they could see you the way I have—wearing baggy sweats, no makeup, your hair dirty—they’d see you as the fraud you are. I should write a book and let everyone know the real you.
Stephanie felt the excitement of the best idea she’d ever had overcome her body. Writing Gabrielle’s authorized biography would be just the thing to put Stephanie’s career on the literary fast track and place her squarely among the legitimate biographers and journalists. She crossed the street and hurried toward the subway. For the first time in what seemed to be a very, very, long time, she couldn’t wait to talk to Gabrielle.
“No thank you,” Gabrielle spoke into the phone. She was polite but emphatic. “I don’t want my life story written right now.”
“It was just a thought. We can talk about it later,” Stephanie said, retreating from her request. Completely aware of Gabrielle’s skittishness about publicity, she should have known better than to start out so big. But this book was definitely possible; it was just going to take longer than Stephanie thought to convince Gabrielle. She could afford to be patient. She was the perfect writer with the perfect subject. There was no way that anything or anyone was going to stop her from doing this book.
The only problem was that Gabrielle was a bit too perfect. She led such a boring personal life. She didn’t party, she didn’t have any wacky hobbies or interests, and her private life was lived discreetly and quietly. Frankly, for being such a celebrity, Gabrielle made for dull copy, and editors weren’t interested in dull people, famous or otherwise.
The only way to get this book published was for Stephanie to create a media situation in which the publicity was so intense that the public would be clamoring to find out everything they could about Gabrielle Donovan. Once the publishers were busy outdoing each other trying to get their hands on Gabrielle’s life story, Gabrielle would be more inclined to turn to a trusted friend to write her biography, and Stephanie would have no problem selling her manuscript for big money.
Creating juicy and enticing publicity on Gabrielle was going to be great fun, Stephanie decided. Thank goodness for Star Diary. It was the perfect vehicle to take her where she wanted to go. Stephanie grabbed a notepad and started jotting down ideas. It was definitely time for Visa Lee to get to work, so that Stephanie Bancroft could finally come out and play.