Gladyss of the Hunt (37 page)

I tried to push it all out of my head as I showered, tended to my face, squirted on perfume, Visined my eyes, and changed into affordable elegance. I made it downstairs just as Noel got tired of waiting in his car out front and was about to ring my doorbell. He kissed me on the lips instead.

“I missed you, dear,” he said as he helped me into the back seat.

“I miss you too.”

“How's the crazy neighbor?” he asked as we drove away.

“I'm more than a little pissed at her.”

“Why?”

“Do you know what she said to me the other day? She asked me if I would mind if she slept with you.”

His eyes widened and for a moment he was dumbstruck. “I told Crispin she was a starfucker from the very start,” he finally said as we arrived in front of Miriam's urban chateau.

The guest of honor at tonight's dinner, Noel told me, was Martinique Doll, the French writer/director Miriam had brought back with her from Cannes. He had just won the prestigious Palme d'Or for his latest flick,
The Doppelganger
, which was about two nearly identical women who coincidentally are in love with the same man. People from his production company, and other figures from the worlds of finance, film, and fashion were already there when we walked in, hobnobbing and knocking back drinks.

Initially all the talk was focused on the young filmmaker; I spent most of the time trying not to think about whether Noel would attempt to bed me again tonight, and how I would respond if he did. Several skimpy courses were eventually served and guiltily nibbled on. after which conversation broke into small, swirling groups. I was sticking to ginger ale, intent on staying sober as the evening progressed. If we did have sex again, I wanted to remember every detail.

I listened attentively, but I only participated in the conversation when I had something to add, which was seldom. At one point, though, I overheard someone refer to one dapper blond youth as Zeus. I discovered the young man was an aristocrat from some duchy in northern Europe, and when his conversation companion moved on, I asked him, “Is your name really Zeus?”

“That's me, king of the gods,” he kidded.

“What do you know about Hercules?”

“Well, I know he wasn't actually a god.”

“Do you know anything about his death?”

“I know that his wife unwittingly caused his demise.”

“Anything else?”

“And she felt so bad about it that she subsequently killed herself.”

Detective Kelly's wife had died before him, so that detail didn't fit into my pattern.

“But why are you asking me this, please?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was the goddess Diana.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” he said with a grin.

“I'm joking, but I did actually see a divine sign.” When Zeus looked at me pityingly, I added, “but maybe it was just something I ate.”

“You shouldn't shortchange signs,” he said. “Some great events in history only happened because of signs.”

“Like what?”

“The one that comes to mind involved the Roman Emperor Constantine. As he was about to go into battle, he supposedly looked up and saw a cross of light above the sun, and because of this sign, he wound up converting the Roman Empire and subsequently the Western world to Christianity.”

Suddenly Zeus' entourage. who seemed to have been scattered throughout the party, all converged on him; they were bored and wanted to go to yet another fabulous party. He bade me farewell, said he'd see me on Mount Olympus, and was gone.

I sidled up to Noel, who was putting a lot of effort into charming another flamboyant young director, who in turn was trying to interest Miriam in producing a biopic of Montgomery Clift. Noel was clearly laying the groundwork for an exciting audition.

Not wanting to interfere with his business, I stood by quietly and listened in. As their talk progressed, though, it became increasingly obvious that the filmmaker had neither money nor connections—nor, for that matter, did he have a script. He was just another bullshitter in the land of bullshit. When Noel realized the silliness of it all, he politely extricated himself from the conversation and the guy grabbed his coat and left.

All the gourmet food had long been eaten, so the other posers and frauds began defecting as well. And the VIPs were long gone. Soon Noel, Miriam and I found ourselves alone. When Noel asked Miriam whether she had succeeded in snaring the young French director for her latest project, she said she didn't know. He was in demand, however briefly, and fielding other big offers. After an interval of silence, she seemed to suddenly awaken, saying she had just read that I had been attacked while arresting a serial murderer.

“It was nothing,” I didn't want to go into it.

“Nothing!” Noel replied. “He nearly blew her brains out!”

“Really!” Miriam replied. “How modest.”

“It's sounds a lot worse than it was,” I replied.

“Show her your bruises!” Noel said excitedly.

“They're really nothing.”

As if I were a life-size doll, Noel and Miriam proceeded to pull up my shirt and spun me around so they could see the welts on my stomach and the bright scratches along my belly, as well as the colorful bruises on my back.

“Oh, Gladyss!” Noel impulsively changed the subject. “Because of you, Crispin and I are doing another fashion show.”

“Me?” I asked, rearranging my clothes.

“Yep. The Venezia incident got us even more press than the runway fist fight. Another designer called Crispin's agent and asked if we would strut our sexy stuff on
his
runway.”

“Who is this?” Miriam asked.

“Loot. He's a gangsta rap producer but he has a hot new winter line. He's premiering it on the last day of Fashion Week.”

“You're kidding!”

“Not only am I not kidding,
you've
got to come too. Everyone will want to see the fashion policewoman who keeps the drugged-up models in line.”

I thought about telling him I was awaiting possible disciplinary action over the incident, I simply moaned.

“We can go to his party at Cithaeron's afterward,” Noel added, namedropping the latest hot downtown club.

Miriam asked the question that was upper most on my mind. “Is Venezia going to be there?”

“She's gone into hiding. The sex video was bad enough, but the negative publicity from almost being arrested for drug abuse on the runway . . . Well, her family are really pissed. Her grandfather has threatened to re-inherit her just so he can disinherit her again.”

“Poor kid,” she said with a sneer.

“Did you see the sex tape?” Noel asked me.

I shook my head as Miriam asked, “So when's this rap fashion show?”

“Thursday at five. It's going to be big.”

“And he's doing it to publicize
Fashion Dogs
?”

“Kind of. It's called Fashion Dogs on the Catwalk,” he repeated. “In addition to showing his debut line, Loot is having us walk actual dogs down the runway.”

“Is he getting any other stars out there?”

“Oh yeah, he's paying Beneathra twenty-five grand to sit in the front row, to help him gain visibility for his clothes.”

“Wow, I'd sit there for twenty-five bucks,” Miriam joked.

Noel turned to me. “You really
have
to be there.”

“Actually, my boss ordered me to break up with you.”

Miriam laughed.

“I'm not kidding!”

“He can't do that,” Noel said.

“Technically, he can. Apparently sleeping with you is unethical.”

He started laughing.

“I'm serious, you're a s—”

Instead of saying suspect, I said “star.”

“It's unethical to date a star?”

“That's economic discrimination!” Miriam said.

It occurred to me that my thirty-day stint in homicide was effectively coming to an end on the very day of this show. I had an appointment to get my eyes measured that day, then on the Friday I was having the Lasik surgery, and the following Monday I'd be back in uniform with O'Ryan, the emotional snowman. “Look, I don't even have a dress.”

“The girl definitely needs a dress,” Miriam said, “Last year some big actress was turned away for looking too grungy.”

“What's your size?”

“I'm a four.”

“Perfect,” Noel said. “I happen to have an incredible Roberto Cavalli in a size four, just waiting for you.”

“You're kidding!” I'd never heard of a boyfriend getting his girl a great dress.

“I hope you two aren't running off,” Miriam fretted, apparently fearful of being alone except for the servants.

“Oh no, we'll stay till dawn,” Noel soothed her. “There's nothing like watching the sun come up over Central Park. The entire gorge just fills with copper light!”

“It's true,” Miriam said to me. “Because of the surrounding high rises, Central Park resembles the Grand Canyon at that hour. We'll have breakfast and watch.”

Miriam led us into her study, where Noel flopped onto her antique divan, and after a brief spell of conversation passed out. After a little while, Miriam excused herself, presumably to go to bed. So much for the dramatic breakfast. Softly I whispered to my date that I had to go home.

“Back to him, huh?” he said, his eyes still closed, half-intoxicated.

“Who?”

“The cop.” He sat up.

“What cop?”

“You know, that handsome brute who knocked me down when I first met you. Maggie said you two were dating.”

“I can't believe Maggie told you that,” I said, pissed. “We went on one date and it didn't go well.”

“Why not?” He asked earnestly, making me aware that I hadn't revealed the two big secrets that had sunk my big night with Eddie—that I was a twin, and that I'd been a virgin.

“I'm still not sure,” I answered.

“So you were lovers?”

“Actually, we weren't.”

“You can admit it, I don't care.”

“It's just not true! In fact . . .” I stopped just short of telling him.

“In fact what?” he pushed.

“Until you and I did it, I was a virgin,” I finally confessed.

His mouth fell open.

“It's no big deal, I was glad to lose it.”

“Are you religious?”

“I sure am, and now you'll have to marry me.”

He froze for a minute. When I broke out laughing, he didn't join in.

“You know what,” he said looking at his wristwatch. “It's late and I probably should get you home.”

“But I thought—”

“You're not the only one that has to get up tomorrow. Hell, I'm not even going to sleep, I have a packed bag in the back of the car and I'm going straight to the airport. We're doing a couple of days of preliminary shooting for a new film in Florida tomorrow morning.”

Noel hadn't mentioned this before, and I didn't believe him now, but I kept it together. He called the car, which was out front in a flash. The silence thickened as we went downstairs and the car sped south.

“I'm really sorry,” he finally spoke as we pulled up outside my building.

“For what?”

“I didn't mean to sound cavalier. A lot has happened recently, with Venezia and all, and . . . I didn't know you were a virgin.” I went limp as he hugged me and murmured, “That's why you stopped me the first time, isn't it?”

“Look,” I said, “you didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not expecting anything from you.”

“Well maybe you should. You deserve someone a lot better than me.”

“Is this your gentle way of dumping me?”

“Only if you're not joining me on Loot's catwalk,” he said with a smile. “I'm getting you a really nice dress.”

“Why is everyone so freaked out about my virginity?”

“The truth is, I'm pissed at myself.”

“Why?”

“It's just that . . . Well, call me sentimental, but to me there's something sacred about the first time. I mean, all the other times in life are just other times, but the first time should be special. And frankly I was kind of shitfaced and I guess initiating sex with a woman who was technically unconscious isn't very thoughtful.”

“Technically it's illegal.”

“I just wish you'd told me up front that you were a virgin. I would've made sure and done it right.”

I assured him there was no need to feel guilty. Hell, he had done me a favor. He looked away, and I realized he was actually ashamed. I really didn't understand the man at all. He got out of the car, saw me to my door, and kissed me tenderly on the cheek.