Lace II (12 page)

Lili came across the room and shyly kissed her mother on the cheek; they had never kissed on the mouth.

Judy said, “There’s something I want you to have.” She opened her desk drawer and produced a small, silver photograph frame; in it was a black-and-white, much-creased, blurry snapshot of a laughing young man, wearing a wool hat with a tassel, and brandishing a bamboo ski pole.

“That’s Nick,” said Judy, “your father.” She held out her little paw-like hands to Lili. On each central finger was a thick band of gold, mounted with a tiny, coral rosebud. “Nick gave me these rings when we said good-bye, he said they were to remind me that I could always depend on him. I’ve worn them ever since. Now, I’d like you to have one, Lili, so that you will feel you can always depend on me.”

“I already depend on you,” Lili said, as Judy slipped the ring on Lili’s slim finger. “Maxine was so kind to me. And Pagan and Kate were so supportive about Simon. It helped me get through the humiliation and the pain.” She hesitated, then shyly said, “I’ve never really had a woman friend before, never felt this unconditional acceptance and silent affection.”

Someone yelled in the corridor, then Pagan stormed in. “For God’s sake, Judy, the security in this building is ridiculous! Some lout’s just searched my purse!”

“Sit down, you stupid Limey, Lili’s just telling me how warm and silent our relationship is.”

Pagan flung herself onto the cream art deco sofa as Lili said, “I feel that I need female support to help me to learn to live on my own. After Simon, I’ve decided that I must live alone and learn to stand on my own two feet, or I’ll never know what I’m capable of, I’ll never get to know myself
properly.” She looked at the endless, anonymous rows of windows in the opposite building. “I still don’t know who I really am, and I’m tired of relying on love to give my life some meaning.”

Judy looked across the room. “A quest for identity is a journey that we all have to make.”

“Spare me the psychobabble.” Pagan propped her red leather boots on the sofa.

“Going through tough times is what forges your identity so fast that you don’t have time to notice it.” Judy walked to the door.

Pagan said quietly, “I don’t think Lili and I would agree with you, tough times almost pushed us under. Friends are to keep you afloat.”

*   *   *

Jostling photographers filled the
VERVE!
boardroom.

Journalists rapid-fired questions: “How does it feel to be a mother, Judy?” “Have you seen Lili’s films?” “What do you think of the tire-calendar pictures?”

Suddenly, “Who was Lili’s father?” the girl from the
New York Post
asked.

“Lili’s father was a British student whom I met in Switzerland,” said Judy smoothly.

Pagan looked carefully at the ceiling. No doubt there was an excellent reason for Judy’s little fib, but this was not the right time to ask about it.

“Tits ’n’ ass, that’s all there is to Lili,” a balding photographer brayed over his shoulder, as he jostled past Pagan on his way to the exit. “None of these junior sex symbols turns me on, give me the mother. Fifty if she’s a day and she still looks terrific.”

“Ms. Jordan is forty-five,” the
VERVE!
publicity girl said quickly.

“Oh sure, another child bride.”

Judy felt the first painful wrench of readjustment to the new status of motherhood as the press turned away from her and clustered around Lili. “Is it really all over between you and Simon Pont?” “Are you marrying Spyros Stiarkoz?” “Is this true about Senator Ruskington?” “Is it true that you’re pregnant?” “Is it true that you’re dying of cancer of the breast?”

Lili smiled, looked somber, turned left, turned right, crossed and uncrossed her legs because, after a basic clinch picture with Judy, each photographer wanted an exclusive shot of Lili.

“Can’t think why I came,” Pagan laughed at Tom. “Nobody’s interested in me or the benefit for the Institute that Lili’s promised.”

As Judy listened to them, she suddenly caught sight of her reflection in the ornate mirror. Fifty if I’m a day, she thought bleakly. So that’s it, is it? You become a mother and next thing you know your life is over—bang—just like that. Tomorrow, I’ll give away this boring dress; no one’s gong to write me off just because I’ve got a beautiful daughter.

*   *   *

The December issue of
VERVE!
was a sellout.

The day after publication, Tom Schwartz, Judy, and the magazine’s lawyer met in Griffin’s gray, suede-paneled conference room.

Griffin rubbed the side of his nose with his left index finger. “Is this true or not?” He tossed the writ back to the lawyer.

“Doesn’t matter,” said the lawyer. “Truth is no defense in a case like this. Senator Ruskington claims malicious libel.”

Judy leaned back in her gray-suede swivel chair. “Personally, I don’t think we should lose sleep over this. We’ve had writs like this before. It happens all the time.”

Griffin looked over at the lawyer. “What’s the substance of the allegation?”

“In Lili’s life story as carried in
VERVE!
, Lili states that Senator Ruskington tried to rape her when they were both staying in Spain at the seashore mansion of the Duchess of Santigosta.”

Griffin looked puzzled. Tom leaned towards him. “Lili is quoted as saying that he looked like an ugly old tortoise and behaved like a billy goat on LSD.”

Judy grinned. “He
does
look like a tortoise and every Washington call girl knows he’s an old goat. Our readers love it when these sanctimonious jerks get their comeuppance.”

Griffin said, “Aren’t we covered by the first amendment?”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Not in this case, because the Senator claims malice on the part of Miss Jordan. In essence, he’s saying that
VERVE!
magazine is repeatedly
attacking him because he opposed Equal Rights legislation in his state.”

“He did,” said Judy, “and certainly we wrote about it, and we have repeatedly criticized Senator Ruskington, with good cause.”

Griffin asked, “How much is he claiming?”

Tom said, “Sixty million bucks, which means about five, but that’s enough to put the magazine out of business, at this moment in time. Unfortunately, we’re financially vulnerable right now.”

Griffin pulled out his alligator note pad and scribbled on it.

Judy burst out, “I can’t believe that a lecherous old senator can send us sliding into bankruptcy when
we’re
telling the truth, just because
he
has a smart lawyer!”

“Judy, you know perfectly well that the law isn’t about truth or justice.” Griffin was irritated by her naiveté. “The law is about obeying a certain set of rules.”

Tom said, “Maybe if we call his bluff, we won’t hear about it any more.”

“Senator Ruskington has been my good friend in Washington,” Griffin said slowly. “I assume that Lili will back her story?”

Judy looked at the serious faces around her. “Of course she will!” But suddenly she wasn’t sure.

*   *   *

Two days later, Judy walked briskly up Fifty-Seventh Street toward Griffin’s office. It was odd that he wanted another office meeting, when they would be having dinner together that evening. But Griffin’s recent behavior had been strange. Or had Griffin always been odd, but she’d viewed him through rose-colored glasses, she wondered, as she waited for the lights to change at Madison. Or was his behavior simply a masculine reaction to rejection? After ten years of explaining to her—at least once a month—why he wouldn’t marry her, Griffin had been amazed, angry, then sulky, when Judy had carefully explained why she didn’t want to marry him.

From that moment, Griffin had acted strangely, particularly about Lili, whose name he never mentioned, but to whom he always referred, with sarcasm, as “your daughter,” as in “I see that your daughter’s faggot boyfriend has left town.”

If it hadn’t been for the new, and so far secret, excitement
in her life, Judy realized that Griffin would have had her running in circles as usual, wondering what she’d done wrong. Instead of which, every time Mark suggested a date, she minded less if Griffin broke one at the last minute; every time Mark laughed, Judy minded less when Griffin evaded giving an opinion; Judy sometimes wondered whether Griffin would commit himself to anything, even agreeing on the date, let alone promising to love and honor her for life. The only thing both men had in common was their concentration on their work, but, whereas Griffin never forgot his, Mark seemed willing, if not eager, when they were together, to concentrate on Judy. And what Judy most enjoyed was her increasing feeling of freedom, now that she wasn’t bound to Griffin’s routine of adulterous deception. So Judy didn’t feel a bit guilty about these wonderful weeks with Mark. Well, not very guilty. Well, not guilty enough to stop seeing Mark, and feeling Mark, and feeling Mark feel her. Judy hugged her Burberry around her; the weather was almost cold enough for her new lynx, she thought, as she sniffed the tang of smoke from the hot-chestnut vendor’s stand on the corner of Fifth.

To Judy’s surprise, there were two lawyers in Griffin’s office.

After a long preamble about the corporate image of his publishing empire, and the editorial policy of
VERVE!
, Griffin avoided Judy’s eye as one of the lawyers leaned toward her. “Therefore, Judy, you will appreciate our reluctance for these two concerns to be further associated, and in view of Orbit Publishing’s long-standing relationship with Senator Ruskington.…”

“What long-standing relationship?” exploded Judy.

“Naturally, we do not care to publicize our Washington connections, but you should have known that the Senator is aware of our position on the quotas related to imported wood pulp.”

Judy realized that, indeed, she should have made the connection, and she also realized that it would not have damaged the story’s impact, had she dropped those fatal paragraphs about Senator Ruskington.

“In view of Orbit’s wish to distance itself from this issue, it has been decided to sell Orbit’s 50 percent shareholding to Creative Magazines.”

“At what price?” There was a steely glint behind Judy’s tortoise-shell spectacles, as she realized that this was Griffin’s uptown, gray-suede, bum’s rush.

“Two ten. Ten above market price.”

“We might offer you two twenty.” Judy and Tom both held 24 percent of the
VERVE!
shares, Kate held the remaining two percent.

*   *   *

“Judy, two thirty is a crazy price.” Tom was an experienced stock-market speculator. “Don’t make a fool of yourself for that rat fink’s benefit. Tom leaned back in his office chair. “God, I wish Kate were here, she’d talk some sense into you. Sure, we made a wonderful profit last year, but it’s not in a heap in a wheelbarrow. It’s all tied up, and we’re going to need all our cash to fight that scumbag, Ruskington.”

Judy had never seen Tom look so worried, and she also felt that he was holding something back; gradually she realized what it was. “I know what you’re thinking, Tom. You’re thinking that if it hadn’t been for my asterisk-asterisk daughter, Lili, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Tom said nothing. Judy added gloomily, “I suppose I think that as well. But I also suppose there’s no parent alive who hasn’t thought that at some time or other.”

Tom said, “Kids! You hope that when they grow up the problems will stop … but that’s when the big ones start.”

Tom leaned over and patted Judy’s shoulder. “It’s pointless to worry about what’s happened or whose fault it is. We should be concentrating our energy on how to get out of this mess. But this time, I don’t think we can, Judy. I don’t think even you can wriggle out of this one.”

Judy thought, it’s one of those rare occasions when we both need moral support from each other, and neither of us is strong enough to give it. She tried to sound cheerful as she said, “Miracles sometimes happen.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tom. Give me time to think. How about you kidnapping Lili for ten million dollars, then handing the money over to me?”

Tom laughed. “Sorry, I wouldn’t know how to
start
to kidnap someone.”

“Weakling! If I can’t rely on you, who
can
I rely on?”

As she lifted the telephone, Tom asked, “Who’re you calling?”

“Curtis Halifax.”

“I could never understand why Curtis backed us in the first place. I know he’s your old beau, but you can’t expect the poor sap to be a perennial Santa Claus.”

Judy leaned back in her leather chair, grinned at Tom and lifted the telephone.

*   *   *

“Get out of here!” Tony slammed his black-booted foot into the photographer’s stomach to keep him out of the limousine. The man fell into the road, yelling obscenities at the back of the departing Rolls as it sped away from the airport. “Those guys sure are persistent,” Tony said in amazement, as the limousine cruised back to the
VERVE!
office.

Lili ignored him, grabbed the radiophone and called the
VERVE!
office. “Judy, it’s impossible,” she shouted. Limo telephones always sounded as if you were calling from outer space. “We just couldn’t move—if Tony hadn’t been there, I’d have been torn to pieces. I had to lock myself in the cloakroom and climb out of the window to get away.”

“Did Pagan get off all right?”

“Yes. You were right, it was crazy of me to see her off. These photographers really frighten me. I think I’ll have to go back to Europe.”

“Don’t worry, Lili.” Judy’s voice crackled soothingly. “I’ve arranged for you to hide out until this fuss dies down. You can stay at Mark’s apartment in the Village for a couple of days. I’ll send someone to the Pierre to get your things. Tony will see you safely into the apartment and I’ll come down later.”

*   *   *

Mark’s white loft in Greenwich Village had been transformed by Judy’s staff with a speed and care which Lili found touching, as she noticed huge vases of white lilies, the freshly made bed with lace-edged linen sheets, ample supplies of essences and scents in the bare little bathroom beside a complete range of cosmestics, courtesy of the
VERVE!
beauty editor.