Faces of Fear (2 page)

Right now she didn't even have the energy to cry.

But she had to find the energy, had to dig deep within herself and find the resources to get her through the evening. Taking a deep breath, she twisted her head to the right and lifted her eyes from the earrings to her reflection in the mirror. For a brief moment, when all she could see was the left side of her face, she felt her spirits rise ever so slightly, and seized the moment to attach one of the jewels in her hand to her left ear.

But even as her fingers worked to slip the post through the tiny hole in her earlobe, she caught a glimpse of the puckered sag of her right eye, and almost against her own volition found herself turning her head to expose the other side of her face to her gaze. Where once she had beheld on the right side of her face only the perfect reflection of the left, now three thick jagged scars sliced from the lower edge of her jaw up through the plane of her cheek, their upper extremity pulling her lower eyelid down so a red semicircle always glowed beneath the deep blue of her iris.

Her eye, formerly so beautiful, was now as hideous as the rest of that side of her face.

Red, white, and blue. Like some fucking Fourth of July bunting, hanging from her ruined face.

Ramón, her makeup specialist, had done his best, but no amount of makeup could cover those shining purple gouges, and no mascara could mask the bloodred semicircle that underscored her eye.

Her face—the face that Conrad Dunn himself had worked so hard to make perfect—looked utterly incongruous with the elegant simplicity of the dress and the perfectly coiffed hair.

She closed her eyes and willed herself the strength to finish dressing, to accompany her husband to this fund-raiser, to eat, to drink, to smile and greet his clients, friends, and donors. To pretend to be oblivious to the fact that while the left side of her face still looked like it belonged on the cover of
Vogue,
the right side of that same face now made people turn away, trying to hide not only their revulsion at how she looked, but their pity as well.

Nothing could hide the damage their yacht's propeller had done to her face last summer.

It all seemed so impossible. It had been such a perfect day. They'd been on the foredeck, and she was enjoying the single drink she allowed herself on Saturdays and Sundays, and all she'd done was stand up to get a better view of Catalina. And the boat hit a wave, and pitched, and she felt herself lose her balance, and the next thing she knew, she was in the hospital with her entire face bandaged.

And after that, nothing had been the same again, and now, tonight, she could no longer pretend that it was.

She just couldn't do it.

Feeling Conrad's warm hands on her shoulders, she opened her eyes and saw his reflection in the mirror, concern in his eyes. "We have to go," he said softly, as if feeling every agony she was going through.

"I can't."

His grip tightened, as though merely by touching her he could transfer his own strength and character into her. "Of course you can," he urged, his voice gentle. "You must. I need you with me. You look wonderful, you know—that dress is perfect." His lips curled up into a playful smile and he lifted a single brow in a comical leer. "Shows just the right amount of your exquisite cleavage."

Margot turned from the mirror to look up into his soft eyes. "Conrad, stop lying. You can't be seen with me looking like this. Not tonight. Your father would turn over in his grave."

"My father loved you, Margot, and he would want you to be there, adding at least a little class to what has always been nothing more than our family begging for money with the unspoken threat of not keeping the women looking as young and beautiful as they like if they don't cough up enough money so our real work can go on. My father would have wanted you there, and I do want you there. You belong with me."

"But—"

"But nothing. I'm going to fix your face. You know that. I made you perfect once, and I can do it again. You know I can, and you know I will."

Margot turned back to the mirror and dabbed at the moisture that continually leaked out of the sagging lid of her ruined right eye. "I am the worst possible advertisement for a plastic surgeon," she said.

"Think of yourself as the ‘before' model," Conrad said, keeping his voice as light as he could. "Next year, you'll be the ‘after' model, and knock them all dead. Think what they'll cough up when they see what I can do! Now just put on your other earring, my darling, and let's go." He gave her shoulders another reassuring squeeze, and Margot, knowing that his will that she accompany him was stronger than her will to stay at home and hide, found the strength to add the other diamond to her right ear.

Conrad took her hand and drew her lightly from the vanity stool. He turned her to face him, and she flinched as he touched the terrible scars that had destroyed her once flawless face.

"You will always be beautiful to me," he said, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Now come on, let's head for the banquet and make the grandest entrance anyone's ever seen."

Margot closed her eyes and nodded. She had a job to do tonight. She was Conrad Dunn's wife, and she would not fail him. She took a deep, determined breath, and let her husband lead her from her room.

Somehow, she would get through the evening.

AS FAR AS RISA SHAW—AND PRACTICALLY EVERYONE ELSE IN LOS Angeles—was concerned, any excuse to go to the Hotel Bel-Air was a good one, and as she gave her Lexus to the valet and she and Alexis Montrose crossed the small stone bridge onto the perfectly groomed hotel grounds, she decided that the air in Stone Canyon smelled sweeter than it did anywhere else.

Discreet signs bearing the Dunn Foundation logo directed them past the gracefully floating swans and through a courtyard with a bubbling fountain to the Garden Room, where members of the Dunn Foundation staff waited, offering each guest a small card bearing their table number, and directing them toward the bar if they wanted more than the champagne the waitstaff was deftly carrying through the throng that had already gathered. For half an hour Risa followed Lexie though the crowd, then found her seat at a table only three away from the one at which Conrad Dunn and his wife were sitting.

An hour later, as the staff cleared the empty plates with quiet efficiency, Corinne Dunn introduced the mother of the last recipient of her brother's expertise and her family's generosity. As Rosa Alvarez spoke, so softly that everyone in the room had to strain to catch her words, images flashed on the huge screen behind her.

First came photographs of the tiny baby that had been born to her only ten years ago. José was born with a cleft palate so severe that he couldn't nurse from his mother's breast; he was fed through a tube until he was two years old. For years after his birth, his life had been lived in the shelter of his home and his mother's love, the rest of the children in his village unwilling even to look at him, let alone play with him. But then, by the grace of the Dunn Foundation and "St. Conrad," as Rosa called Conrad Dunn, her son's defect had been repaired, until all that remained was a tiny scar from his nose to his lip.

Now, even that small mark was quickly fading away.

As the photos on the screen dissolved from the baby's twisted face to that of a beautiful, smiling, brown-eyed ten-year-old, Risa saw that she wasn't the only one who took out her checkbook to divert or mask the tears glistening in eyes at every table. Then José Alvarez himself appeared, his face illuminated by both a spotlight and an enormous smile. Running to his mother, he threw his arms around her.

"It is a miracle," Rosa said, gathering her son to her. "Thank you. Thank you all for making this possible."

As Corinne Dunn rose to lead the applause for her and then led Rosa toward the garden where the party would continue, Conrad Dunn and his wife rose to follow his sister and their guest of honor. Responding to that cue, the crowd quickly began drifting from the Garden Room into the garden itself, and Risa quickly wrote out her check, adding an extra thousand dollars to the sum she'd initially decided to contribute.

Lexie Montrose, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the check, whistled softly. "Wow! Really? That much?"

"If ever there was a good cause," Risa said, "this is it. Let's go find the Dunns—I want to give this to Conrad personally."

The two women followed the flow of people until they spotted Conrad, standing next to an extravagant dessert buffet. Rosa Alvarez was at his side, and they were surrounded by his guests. Risa and Lexie joined what had become a simple reception line, as tuxedoed waiters circulated with trays filled with yet more champagne glasses. The garden glowed with subtle lighting that made it seem as if the huge old oak trees were illuminating the evening.

Conrad Dunn managed to greet each guest by name, find a few words for every one of them, accept their checks with an appreciation that was heartfelt but not cloying, and keep the line moving as if by some kind of social magic. He also managed to keep shaking hands while simultaneously passing the checks to Margot, who seemed intent on staying in the deep shadows behind her husband as she discreetly slipped each check into a silk wallet. Even in the soft and flattering light, Risa could see not only how unhappy Margot Dunn was about being on display, but also the scars that no doubt were the cause of her unhappiness.

"Risa?"

The soft voice came from behind her, and Risa turned to see Danielle DeLorian. "Danielle! How nice to see you!" Risa kissed the air just far enough from Danielle's cheek so the gesture wouldn't disturb the perfect makeup that was not only Danielle's hallmark, but her trademark as well.

A year ago, even Risa had begun using DeLorian cosmetics, despite their outrageous price. "What the hell?" Lexie had told her. "So it costs a million to look like a million—the way you're selling these days, you can afford it."

Drawing back from Danielle's cheek, Risa introduced her former client to her best friend.

"Risa navigated me through an absolute nightmare of a deal a couple of years ago," Danielle told Lexie in a soft southern drawl that belied her sharp intelligence. "I'll be forever grateful."

"I'm so glad it worked out for you," Risa said, then turned to see that the line had moved and Conrad Dunn, a bemused expression on his face, was waiting for her.

Flushing, she quickly moved forward. "Conrad!" she said, handing him her check as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for including me in this. I'm just—" She hesitated, searching for the right word, then shook her head helplessly. "I'm just overwhelmed. What you're doing is wonderful, and I'm so happy to be able to help."

"And I'm just as happy to have you here. You know we built the new clinic on that piece of land you helped us buy."

"Actually, I did know that," Risa replied. "I'm just glad I was able to help." She turned toward Lexie. "Do you know my friend Alexis Montrose?"

Conrad turned his warm gaze on Lexie. "Thank you for coming." He smoothly eased them toward Margot to keep the line moving, and Risa extended her hand, which Margot seemed hesitant to accept. Even when she finally did, she still hung back so her face was deep in shadow.

Clearly, Margot Dunn wished she were elsewhere, and was eager for the evening to be over. Risa couldn't blame her. As far as she knew, this was the first time Margot had been out in public since the accident a year ago, which had received far more publicity than Risa thought it deserved. Still, she, along with everyone else, was finding it hard not to stare at Margot's scars, and as she and Lexie moved away from her toward the dessert table, Risa heard one woman whisper to another, loud enough to be heard by everyone within twenty feet, "Did you
see
those horrible gouges in Margot's face?"

"There's Mitchell Hawthorne," Lexie said, dropping half the chocolate truffle she'd been nibbling onto the table. "You should meet him. He's in the industry." She took Risa's elbow and began steering her through the crowd. "Absolutely tons of money," she whispered, bringing her lips close to Risa's ear, "and living in a terrible piece of crap out in the Valley."

Risa winced at Lexie's habitual crude directness. "Always happy to meet a potential new client," she said, following her friend to a tall, silver-haired man holding a glass of champagne and speaking with two other men, one of whom had a familiar face.

Like the two women who had brushed by Risa a few moments ago, the men were talking about Margot's scars. "Frankly, I don't see how she can show herself in public," the silver-haired man said as Lexie reached out and took his arm to draw him around.

"Mitchell," she said, greeting him with a warm hug. "I want you to meet Risa Shaw. When you decide it's time to buy something decent to live in, she's the one to call."

Risa took Mitchell Hawthorne's extended hand, but before she could say a word, one of his friends cut in.

"Christ, Lexie," the familiar face—who turned out to be a minor TV actor—said. "What was Conrad Dunn thinking, letting Margot show that gargoyle of a face tonight? Who'd want to contribute after seeing her? If I were him, I'd lock her up where no one could ever see her again."

Risa glanced nervously around, hoping Margot Dunn was nowhere in the area, but as she scanned the crowd she realized that it wouldn't matter where Margot was; everywhere she looked, she could see people whispering to each other, then looking guiltily toward the Dunns, obviously hoping they weren't overheard. After forcing herself to chat a moment longer with the three men—and pocketing three business cards—Risa aimed Lexie toward the ladies' room. There, at least, she might not have to overhear any more talk about their hostess.

As they passed the bar, they saw Corinne Dunn standing alone, sipping a martini. "You make a terrific emcee," Risa said, pausing to introduce herself and Lexie.

Corinne smiled warmly. "I can't tell you how gratifying it is to see all these children go on to lead normal lives," she said. "You'd be amazed at how many of them stay in touch with us for years afterward."