Death Of A Supermodel Part 11

"Honestly, Ms. Schmiller-"

"Ivanah's fine."

"Ivanah. With what you said last night being true, and Thomasina dying at our show, well, I mean the news people are accosting me everywhere I turn, and the cops are scrutinizing everything. I think we're finished here anyway."

Pierre took in a heavy breath. "Of course, you mean..."

Laura shot him a look that shut him up immediately.

Ivanah's gaze did not leave Laura. "You're worried about the police and the newspapers?"

"I'm not worried," Laura said. "'Worried' means I'm wasting my time concerning myself with things I can't predict. In fact, the police dusted down my sister's apartment, and mine is probably next. So I can predict pretty well that something smelly is. .h.i.tting the fan, which means we're not going to have time to give this the attention it needs. And I know Akiko Kamichura's doing a story throwing accusations at us. I just don't have the resources or the time to fight this and still run a business. So, can you tell Bob I'm sorry we wasted his money? I feel terrible about that."

Ivanah waved her hand as if at a pesky gnat in the room. "My husband doesn't know how to waste money. His losses make profits. It's a sickness." She seemed both truly annoyed and truly proud.

Laura held her breath, then held out her hand. "I'm so sorry, anyway. It's been nice working with you, but we're closed for business."

As if blown in by a surprisingly strong wind, Jeremy walked in with a fur swatch in his hand. He looked surprised to see Ivanah there. "Ivanah! Incredible. I was just thinking about you."

During the fake hugs and air kisses, Laura realized what Pierre had been texting and to whom. When she looked up at him, he winked.

"Can you believe the quality these girls got into their line?" Jeremy asked. "This fabric..." He pulled down the magenta wool crepe. "Hundred fifty a yard and dyed in North Carolina because the flower that makes this color only grows in this one Appalachian valley. Feel it."

"The color is lovely, but-"

Jeremy cut her off. "I can't believe it." He pulled the leather bomber out of the pile. He chuckled in a way that sounded real, but Laura knew was put on. Jeremy didn't laugh that way. "I was just bringing you this swatch." He held the fake fur in his hand against the fake fur on the collar. "Well, looks like I can't use this now. Look at this, Ivanah. Feels real, doesn't it? But we use it and we don't have to alienate our younger customers. They don't want to kill animals."

"Oh, please," Ivanah squeaked. "This is a leather jacket."

"They think the rest of the cow is eaten."

Ivanah and Jeremy laughed at their customers' stupidity, and Laura could see what he'd done. He'd spoken her language. He'd walked into the room, looking for a way to agree with her, and he immediately found it. Whatever that thing was that he had that could a.s.sess a person in half a second and use it to get what he wanted, she needed. He did it with the workers in his design room by playing on their fears, and he did it in the showroom by playing on the buyers need to feel like they were "in," and he did it with Ivanah to show her the things about the line that would appeal to her and downplay the things she didn't like.

"Jeremy," Laura said, "this is fun, but we're dissecting a corpse. We're closing up."

"I'm sorry?" His back was to Ivanah when he turned to look at Laura, and she became acutely aware of the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. "Oh, right. You're going out. I'll see you tomorrow. Come by for coffee in the morning."

"No," Laura said, "we're going out of business. We're done here. Between the money running out and Thomasina, it's too much to handle."

"She's dead. What can she do to you now?" Jeremy asked.

"Akiko Kamichura and her team or whoever are totally on us. They're running a story on our relationship with her that I think is going to imply we had something to do with it, and the cops are all over Ruby."

"How is this more than a PR problem?" He looked from Laura to Ivanah and back. "Hire Tintell & Ives, and they'll turn it into an a.s.set."

"What?" Ivanah exclaimed. "They'll botch it. No, darling. We have to use Greyson. They're mine, and they're fabulous. Yes, of course, you're right. This is no more than a PR problem. We'll have it sorted out in no time."

Laura folded her arms. "I can't afford to hire Greyson Management to spin this."

"Don't insult me," Ivanah said. "I have them on retainer. I'm paying them to do nothing. It's decided. We stay open, and Greyson is on this tomorrow morning."

Laura felt pretty sure that had been decided without her, and she was okay with that. Pierre and Ivanah exited in delightful moods, leaving her and Jeremy alone in the disaster of a showroom.

She picked up the wool crepe dress and gave herself a proper mental beating. "G.o.d, I feel like such a wh.o.r.e." She drifted off, thinking about Penelope's story. Not a fair comparison. "She's going to put glitter on everything, and I have to let her now."

"She's more useful close." He hung up the leather jacket, leaning over her to do it. The movement was completely unnecessary, since there was plenty of room on his side.

She looked into his face and saw that he was sharing a deep secret with her, the secret of how to use people to get what you wanted. She felt a little queasy, and she didn't know if it was because the idea was repugnant or exhilarating.

"Her ideas aren't bad," he continued, "but they need to be reined in. Use them. Your trick is to take your own ideas and make her think they're hers. If she's invested creatively, she'll use her clout to get people in the door. And she has clout, Laura. Don't underestimate how important that is. There are no prizes for purity."

"Can I have just one season be right?"

"You're having it. And you can't make your fabric minimums." Only Jeremy could make the phrase "fabric minimums" warm and inviting and an opening to a kiss. He leaned in and did what she had wanted him to do since the day she met him. He did it smoothly, like a cat, or a snake striking, or a man who had not a cell of insecurity in his whole body.

He kissed her. Or she kissed him. Or there was some silent communication from one to the other, some change in the intensity of their pheromones, or a look or glance coded to mean now, and they understood that now was now. Now was it. Now was the end of the line for her, the time when wondering and pining and candle holding slid off her, and something new started. Something undefined. Now was the pause between the wanting and the having, where the wanting was all she knew, and the having was suddenly possible, but unantic.i.p.ated, unimagined, frightening in its unpredictability. It was a closet door that opened by itself in the middle of the night or a dark alley that was a shortcut. It was a wrapped package given by a practical joker. That moment, that now, that moment when she saw the door creak open, or considered the alley, or received the package, came before the surprise, which would be pleasant, or unpleasant, or unimagined, but different.

Their kiss went on forever and ever, when all she wanted to do was sit alone in a dark room and remember it, ask what it meant, bring it to heel. Her mind went blank, and she existed solely inside her own mouth, where he was, with the warmth, taste, and feeling that he surrounded her inside and out, and when she thought she couldn't take the pleasure of it anymore, she gave him a little push and opened her eyes.

"Do I need to apologize?" he asked, all French roast eyes and black widow lashes.

"G.o.d, no. I just... I thought of something."

He kissed her neck and she thought she would die right there when he whispered, "Tell me," into her ear.

"You're using a wool crepe for Spring. Can I tack onto your fabric orders and drop ship here? I can make my yardage if they'll ship greige."

"Yes. What else?"

"I... ah... nothing."

"Anything. Name it."

"I can't think."

She surrendered fully to his lips, letting him pull her close.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" It was Corky with a tray of frothy coffees. "About time."

They separated, and Laura felt p.r.i.c.kly heat rise to her cheeks.

Jeremy slipped Ivanah's mocha-frappa-something out of the cardboard cupholder and handed Laura hers, saying, "I'll be at the cutting table."

Once he was gone, she asked, "What do you mean 'about time'?"

"You've been mooning over him since senior projects."

"Well..."

"Well?" he asked.

"You thought he was gay. Even you said he had some gorgeous inaccessible thing going." She was speaking in sentences and hearing herself say things, but her mind was dulled by the taste of him and the desire to crawl into a corner and relive the moment over and over. But Corky was looking at her as if trying to figure out what she was talking about, and it was disconcerting. "After the show, you were on the phone, talking to I don't know who, and-"

"Oh, honey, I wasn't talking about St. James. I was on about Thomasina's brother, Rolf. He was at the bandsh.e.l.l that morning, and he is searing hot. No, no, the hunk next door is all yours."

She rolled her eyes. Rolf was good looking, but somehow unattractive to her. Her phone rang, saving her from having to answer. Corky began straightening the showroom, making little kissy noises just to irritate her. She punched him in the arm before answering.

"Hi, Uncle Graham," she said.

"How are you, favorite niece?"

"I'm fine," she said, leaving out the part where she had just kissed the love of her life, even though she had thought he wasn't anymore. "Why are you calling me at dinnertime?"

"Your sister was taken in this morning, and the police want to talk to you."

Laura abruptly left Corky with a messy showroom and mocking kissy faces.

CHAPTER 10.

He kissed me.

She kept thinking about it and feeling the pressure of him on her lips. She walked to Midtown South, but nothing about the blocks between stuck in her mind. She had trouble paying attention, smacking into a parking meter and stopped dead by a cab door opening. But she just kept walking and staring into the distance, wondering if the feeling of his lips on hers would ever go away.

She wanted to go home and tell Ruby and then warn her away from Jeremy forever and ever, but Ruby was at the precinct, and Laura had to have her wits about her if she was going to get her sister out of custody. She had to shake off Jeremy. It was nothing. It was going to lead to ickiness and discomfort tomorrow. She had to just move on immediately.

She almost got hit by a bike messenger when she tried to cross Broadway against the light. She wondered if that was why things hadn't happened with Stu. Had she known, deep down, that Jeremy would come around? Had she needed another few months to see if coming out as a heteros.e.xual changed anything for him? Or her? To see if the stolen glances and gifts of coffee had been more than appreciation for hard work and loyalty?

She walked into the lobby of the precinct as if the whole operation was an interruption of some other, far more entertaining series of events. She scanned the room for Uncle Graham, who was usually easy to spot with his white hair and snappy suits. He stood beside a pillar in the center of the room. The column had a wide, wooden shelf built around it, and he had made it into his own personal s.p.a.ce by opening his briefcase on it and spreading papers. His suit was custom-made and his wire-framed gla.s.ses were made of some lightweight metal used in s.p.a.ceships. He waved her over when he saw her, putting down the phone as if it had a cradle and the lobby was his office away from the office.

When Laura greeted him, he held her at arm's length, saying, "I'm not happy with you."

"Why?"

"You've been asking questions."

"I just talked to... wait, who do you think I was asking questions?"

"Next time," he said, wagging his finger, "you call me."

"There won't be a next time." Though standing in the lobby of Midtown South again, she wasn't so sure. "Where's Mom?"

"I sent her home. I wanted to talk to you before you went in."

"Is that allowed?"

"You're my client. They can't stop me." She couldn't help but feel annoyed that he'd made the presumption, yet she felt warm and fuzzy at the same time. "They also can't stop me from telling you why they have Ruby. I just need to elicit a verbal agreement from you first."

"Okay?"

"I do not want you getting involved the way you did this past winter."

"Uncle Graham, I can't-"

"You have to."

"You know what my sister means to me?"

He nodded as if he did, but if he truly understood it, he wouldn't have asked in the first place.

She tried to explain. "When we were kids, and Mom was working late, and we got home ourselves from Dalton, we were our own world. The rich white kids wouldn't talk to us, and the other scholarship cases didn't know we had anything in common with them. It was just us. If something happens to her, it would be like cutting my heart out."

"That's very dramatic. Also irrelevant."

"Why do they have her?"

"I need you to promise. For her sake, not yours."

Laura crossed her arms. "I cannot tell a lie. I'll do whatever I want. And if you don't tell me, I'll get whatever information I can from wherever else I can. The reason I almost got killed last time is because I was missing a piece of information about the location of a certain sample. Because Detective Don't-Know-His-First-Name Cangemi was protecting me. If I'd had that piece of information, I might have avoided the whole mess."

"A compelling argument. And unprovable." But he smiled.

She shrugged.

He said, "You could have been a lawyer."

"It's a lot of reading."

They paused, as the subject had worn itself thinner than the knees on a pair of pre-distressed jeans. She wasn't good at silences. "I can't believe they think Ruby killed Thomasina. What could they have found in the house? I mean, Ruby squeaked by in chem; I hardly think she'd mix up a poison and put it in a capsule."

Uncle Graham waved his hand. "No. I think they're aware of that. Poison on her countertop or not."

"What?"

"Who would be in her apartment, Laura? Who could have done something, mixed something up maybe, in her kitchen?"

"Uncle Graham, seriously? Thomasina and me. That's all. I think Stu came for an interview a month ago about the Pomerantz case, but otherwise? Nada." It was crazy. Ruby? Something was wrong.

"And they're telling me Ms. Wente was at Ruby's house for dinner the night before? They have her saliva on a spoon."

"No way. Ruby washed her dishes like she was going to perform surgery. This is a complete set-up. What are they holding her for, some... what do you call it kind of evidence? Begins with a C."

"She can be held for circ.u.mstantial evidence, my dear, just not convicted on it. I've been with her in all of her questioning, and personally, I don't think they have enough to arrest her. Yet."