Breaking the Rules

  “You’re not old, and you’re not a reprobate, you’re a very lovely man, and yes, of course she’ll have you. And if she won’t, I’ll kill her. So there!”

  He laughed with her, then asked, “And what about you and Larry? How serious is it?”

  “Very.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin and said thoughtfully, his eyes riveted on hers, “You’ve got to make it right then. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, James! I wouldn’t want to have it any other way! But I do trust him, you know. There’s a lot of integrity in him, and he’s the kind of man I’ve grown up with. He’s like the men in my family, that’s what I mean.” She suddenly sounded indignant.

  “Don’t misunderstand, I like him, too, he’s a lovely chap,” James said reassuringly. “I just want you to be aware of the things Matt Branden mentioned to me.”

  “I’m grateful.” M stood up. “But now I’m afraid I’ve got to go, James. I’m taking Caresse to lunch. You know, the young woman who runs Frankie Farantino’s studio.”

  “Talk to me later,” James said, walking with her to the door.

  Caresse sat listening patiently as the man outlined the deal to her, and after fifteen minutes she interrupted him. “Listen, Howard, I’m not interested in your offer, honestly I’m not. It’s—”

  “It’s not my offer, Caresse,” Howard Dart cut in. “It’s my client’s offer, and I don’t think you should turn down two hundred and fifty thousand dollars quite so fast. That’s a quarter of a million dollars!”

  “I know it is, Howard. And it’s not enough. This place is worth a million or two, not thousands. Listen up, I know how much Frank Farantino spent on the renovations of this warehouse. A million dollars, even more. You’re coming in too low, so the answer is thanks, but no thanks. I pass. I double-pass.”

  “Maybe my client will come up in price. He owns property all over the world, and he’s anxious to have something like this building here in Manhattan, especially since it’s income-producing.”

  “You bet it is!” Caresse exclaimed, giving the young lawyer a very pointed look. “I’m no pushover. I got advisers,” she improvised. “I know what this property’s really worth, just remember that. Nobody’s gonna steal it.”

  Caresse was growing increasingly annoyed with him, convinced he was trying to get the studios for nothing since he was considered a bit of a hustler. “Anyway, who is this so-called client of yours?” she now demanded, her voice cold.

  “What do you mean by ‘so-called’? He is my client, and his name’s S. Herbert Samson. As I said, he’s a very important businessman, and you shouldn’t be so hasty, Miss Caresse. You’ll regret it.”

  “I doubt that. And on behalf of my seventeen-year-old co-owner, Frankie’s son, and myself, I’m telling you that your deal is no deal. And you can tell your client that. As for you, Howard, go fly a kite. Your offer is an insult.”

  He stood up, his face flushed, and answered in an angry tone, “You’re being a fool, Caresse. You’ll soon be back to me, and—”

  “Don’t bet on it,” she interrupted sharply.

  “I repeat, you’ll be back. Nobody’s going to offer you more, the place is not worth it.”

  “Thanks for those nice words, Howard. Please leave the premises. And don’t come back.”

  She watched him as he crossed the reception area, opened the door, and hurried out, almost knocking down M, who was about to enter the studios. “Excuse me,” he snapped.

  Caresse noticed he didn’t even bother to pause. She stared at M and exclaimed, “Don’t pay attention to that guy. He’s a real jerk.”

  “Who is he?” M asked as she closed the door behind her and walked over to Caresse’s desk, a wide smile on her face.

  “Some two-bit lawyer the real estate agent sent over, who thinks he can give me a snow job,” Caresse said and grinned. “Imagine him trying to do that to me. I told him I’m no pushover, and I’m not. Offering me two hundred and fifty thousand for this place, when it’s worth at least a million and a half.”

  “Oh, much more than that, Caresse,” M said, surprised by this low assessment. Shrugging out of her black wool coat, hanging it in the cupboard, she announced confidently, “I’d put the value at around four to five million.”

  “You gotta be kidding!” Caresse squealed, obviously astonished.

  “No, I’m not,” M answered, sitting down opposite Caresse. “Property is at a record high in Manhattan these days, whether it’s commercial real estate like this or residential.”

  Caresse was still staring at her, total shock reflected in her eyes. She shook her head and said, “Maybe I should go to a bigger real estate company. What do you think?”

  “If I were you, I would get the Farantino Studios evaluated immediately, and then I would go to a bank, take out a loan to pay operating costs, and run this place yourself.”

  “You’ve gotta be joking, M! What bank would give me a loan?”

  “A number of them, in my opinion,” M answered in a businesslike voice. “You could put up the studios as collateral against the loan, and hey, listen! I’ve just had a brilliant idea, Caresse. Why not talk to Luke Hendricks? Maybe he would become a partner with young Alex, put up money himself. How about that?”

  Caresse nodded, looking at M with greater interest, remembering how she had always told Frankie that M was smart. She had been right. She said slowly, in a low, confiding voice, “I’ve never told you this, M, but Frankie left me thirty percent interest in the studios. I also have guardianship of Alex until he’s twenty-one. And he’s cool, you know, he’ll do anything I say, well, within reason, you know what teenagers are.” She grinned, ran a hand through her spiky red hair, jumped up, went around the desk, and hugged M, exclaiming, “I haven’t yet told you congratulations! Or even said hello because of that awful jerk. So, how does it feel to be the New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont?”

  “It hasn’t really sunk in yet,” M answered truthfully and stood up. “I’d love a glass of water, and listen, just show me around the studios again before we go to lunch. I’d like to get a proper perspective on this place.”

  “Come on then, Miss Supermodel, let’s do it.”

  Taking hold of her arm, Caresse led M into the main studio. She was suddenly filled with enthusiasm for M’s idea and anxious to talk to Luke. She hoped he’d agree to this fabulous plan, which was what it had already become in her mind.

  Twenty-four

  After lunch with Caresse in the MePa, M took a cab uptown. Her anxiety about Larry and her need to see him had grown more pressing, and she had instantly agreed when Caresse suggested they skip dessert and coffee.

  “I’ve just got to get back to the studios,” Caresse had explained. “There’s a big shoot this afternoon.” And so M had swiftly paid, and they had left, each taking a cab in a different direction.

  Now, as the driver pushed his way through the heavy traffic, M sat back, her thoughts turning inward. She couldn’t help wondering what Larry would say when he heard her news. During his first week in Toronto, she had spoken to him every day, confided how well the shoot was going; he had sounded genuinely pleased for her. But he knew nothing about the unexpected events of last week and Kate Morrell’s extensive plans for her because he had not returned her calls the second week.

  Six days of silence. Far too long, wasn’t it? They were engaged to be married, after all. Her thoughts raced, zeroing in on him. Had she made a dreadful mistake about Laurence Vaughan? Wasn’t he the man she believed him to be? Was she so influenced by her girlhood crush on him that she had been swept away, caught up in the glamour of him? And finally, very simply, had she misjudged his character? She didn’t believe this was so, yet his behavior had been bizarre, even questionable.

  Still, he had gone to Canada to investigate a problem for his mother, and maybe that problem had been so overwhelming it had overshadowed everything else in his head. That was a possibility, she decided, and reminded herself
to keep an open mind.

  She began to think about all the things she had to tell Larry—that she had to leave for Paris in the middle of December because Jean-Louis Tremont had to start fitting the clothes on her, that she was about to sign a multimillion-dollar contract with the designer. It occurred to her that Larry might not want to come to Paris with her. . . . A possible dilemma suddenly loomed.

  When M walked into the apartment twenty minutes later, she was surprised to hear Larry’s voice coming from the library. That morning she had left him in bed, looking worn-out and damaged, and so she was glad he felt well enough to get up. After putting her coat in the closet, she went to join him.

  As soon as he saw her, he murmured good-bye into the phone and hung up, came to her immediately, a faint smile flickering on his mouth. He was pale and gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t look well after all, even though he was dressed and mobile, bundled up in a navy blue tracksuit and a heavy, knitted-wool cardigan of the same color. Quite suddenly she was aware that he had lost weight.

  Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around her, clung to her. “I’m sorry, so very sorry, M. I vowed I would never hurt you in any way, and look what I’ve gone and done. I’ve caused you nothing but heartache these past few days.”

  She drew away from him, saw how bloodshot his bright blue eyes were, and answered gently, “Please, Larry, don’t keep saying you’re sorry. I accepted your apology this morning, and honestly, I know how contrite you are. What I would like you to do is explain everything from the beginning, if you don’t mind. And from the moment you got to Toronto. If you can do this, I think I might be able to understand how you came to be in such a mess, so out of it, when I found you here on Saturday.”

  “I’ll tell you about Toronto. I want you to know what happened. Let’s go and sit near the fire.” Taking hold of her hand, he led her toward the fireplace.

  Settling herself in the corner of the sofa, leaning against the soft cushions, M fixed her gaze on him. “I haven’t even asked you how you’re feeling. Sorry.”

  “Better. My legs are still weak, and my stomach’s sore, but thank God I’m rid of that ghastly headache. It was doing me in. A migraine, actually.”

  “I’m glad. Let’s face it . . . Saturday was something of an ordeal for you.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  Taking hold of his hand, squeezing it, she went on in the same low, steady voice. “Come on then . . . tell me about Toronto.”

  “Well, part of it you already know—”

  She cut into his sentence, saying swiftly, “I want you to start at the beginning, please.”

  “Okay, here goes. I thought Dad was perfectly normal when I arrived. He certainly didn’t seem ill or out of sorts, and he wasn’t afraid of the play, as my mother had suggested to me. In fact, to be honest, he was relishing the idea of playing Cyrano, especially at his age. He’s seventy, you know. I went to a few rehearsals with him, and I knew at once that he had a good grasp of the part; after all, he’d played it a number of times before. And I was mystified by the worries my mother had expressed during her phone call.”

  “Did you bring that up to him?”

  Larry looked at her swiftly, a horrified expression settling on his face. “God, no!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “They’re a bit competitive, those two. He’d be furious if he thought she doubted his talent. I said I’d come to see him because I needed a break and wanted to spend some quality time with him. One thing I did notice, though, was that he was irritated Mum was filming and couldn’t join him in Canada. But this aside, he was on an even keel . . . very normal as far as I was concerned.” Larry paused, rose, went to the drinks tray, and opened a can of Coke. He filled a glass, and looking at M, he asked, “Do you want anything, darling?”

  “No thanks.”

  Returning to his place next to her on the sofa, Larry took a swallow of the Coke, then said, “Suddenly, Edward arrived, sooner than expected. Dad was pleased, because he always loves having his sons around him. He enjoys showing off a bit to us and always expects us to give him over-the-top accolades. Anyway, my teeth were troubling me that weekend, and I missed out on a few meals with them. I finally did get to a dentist on Monday morning, and apparently I had two abscesses and needed immediate surgery. The dentist put me on antibiotics and painkillers, and because I was in agony I didn’t pay much attention to them, just took them as instructed, and went about my business . . .” Larry stopped, stared off into the distance. Finally he turned to her and said in a voice that was almost inaudible, “Although I didn’t realize it at first, Edward set out to make trouble from the moment he arrived. Trouble for me and, perhaps in a certain way, for Dad as well.”

  Larry fell silent again, sat looking reflective, and after a moment, M said, “That doesn’t surprise me. In my opinion, your brother is your enemy.”

  “I think you’re probably right,” Larry agreed. “Edward started to verbally attack me on Monday afternoon, shouting at me that I should share the role with Dad, do it on alternate days to ease his burden, and then Edward dropped a real bombshell on me that night. He told me that my father believed my mother was having an affair with another man, and that was the reason she hadn’t come to Canada.”

  “But she’s making a film, isn’t she?” M asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Yes, and Edward said Dad’s positive she took the film in order to stay in London. To be with her lover.”

  M looked at him askance. “Do you believe that?”

  “No. But if you really think about it, how would I know? I live in New York, she’s in London. I suppose it could be true. On the other hand, I don’t think infidelity is quite her style.” He broke off, shaking his head. “All I know is that Edward insisted my father believed this but that I couldn’t, mustn’t broach it to Dad because it had been a confidence between them, not to be repeated to me. However, Edward has always loved to upset me by saying mean things about our mother. He’s always been a bit of a bastard, and he’s jealous of me, of my success as an actor, that I do know.

  “In any case, everything got out of hand after that. The next day I went back to the dentist, and much later, when I returned to the hotel, Edward and Dad were having a terrible row. It was all about Edward’s messy private life, the ex-wives, the live-ins, his kids. And Dad was also really furious because Edward had asked for a loan of twenty thousand pounds to solve his personal financial mess. I’ll spare you the details because none of it was pretty. Then Edward turned on me, for no reason at all, said I was a no-talent, spoiled brat and Mum’s favorite, that I hadn’t produced any grandchildren to carry on the great Vaughan theatrical dynasty, whilst he had and yet was punished for it. All his babble genuinely upset Dad, and he became even more enraged when Edward blurted out that I didn’t believe the story about Mum’s so-called affair. Edward announced that I had actually pooh-poohed it. Dad saw this as some kind of betrayal on my part, and he told me so in no uncertain terms.”

  “Where was all this happening?”

  “Mostly in Dad’s hotel suite, where else? Dad is a stickler for decorum, so our differences were put to one side when we were in public. But it was pretty bloody awful, and I think Edward was really off the wall last week.”

  “Do you think it was an act? A ruse to get money out of your father, and also to punish you by insulting your mother? And he was setting your father against you, wasn’t he?” she pointed out.

  Larry simply shook his head, looking as puzzled as M.

  She then asked, “There’s one thing I’m not clear about. . . . Did your father ask you to share the role of Cyrano with him?”

  “Not exactly. He vaguely mentioned it when I first got there, said what a wonderful thing it would be for the producers if we did that—two big names, father and son, all that crap—but when I said I wasn’t interested, had to be back in New York for my own work, he just dropped it, laughed, and said he’d only been kidding.”

  “But
was he?” M now gave Larry a penetrating stare, convinced that his father had needed help, no matter what Larry believed.

  “I just don’t know,” Larry eventually responded. “But he mentioned the same thing to Edward, and Edward took it seriously, very much so.”

  “Don’t tell me Edward’s actually sharing the role of Cyrano with your father?” M sounded astonished, and she couldn’t help marveling at the duplicity of Larry’s brother.

  “For the next month. Then Edward’s taking it on by himself, and he will play the part until the end of the run. After that one month in the play, sharing the role, Dad will be let out of his contract, and he’ll go back to London. Edward will be the star.”

  “And the producers accepted this?”

  “Why not? Don’t forget, Edward’s had the lead in a very successful American television series for years, and now it’s finished it’s gone into reruns. Listen, it plays in Canada as well as the U.S. and the U.K., and Edward’s a big name as far as the Canadian producers are concerned. Therefore, no problems.”

  “Edward’s pretty devious, isn’t he?”

  Larry grimaced. “And then some. As for my father, I do think he was serious when he asked me to share the role, but when I refused, he dismissed his offer as a joke, not wanting to appear foolish or needy.”

  “So he does require help with the part. Is that what you’re saying? And that’s why Edward is in the picture?”

  “No, I’m not saying that at all. Dad doesn’t need help with the part; he practically knows it by heart by now, he’s done it enough times. What he wants is company. He’s lonely, M. Very much so. You see, he’s used to being surrounded by his family. My mother, Thomas, and Horatio in London, and also Portia and her little girl, and his brother Jack, and Jack’s brood, his daughters, Eloise and Diana, and his son, Maximillian. Our uncle and cousins. I’m sure you know that my uncle Jack and his offspring are actors, and very much a part of our theatrical dynasty.”