Redemption Mountain (53 page)

 

CHAPTER 31

 

N
atty stood on the sidewalk as the limousine pulled away from the curb. She wished she had a camera to take a picture of it. The kids would never believe her! She wasn't sure she was in the right place until she saw the elegant silver lettering to the right of the main entrance. In small script it said
Carlos Marché Salon,
and, under it,
New York and Paris.
The large glass doors were emblazoned with black lettering:
DIETRICH DELAHUNT & MACKEY, ENGINEERS, NEW YORK, SAN FRANCISCO, WASHINGTON, D.C., BEIJING.
She looked at the sign and felt the familiar insecurity she often experienced when she thought about the life that Charlie led.

In the lobby, she spied an elegant wooden door with a polished metal plate identifying it as the salon. Inside, Natty thought she'd entered a museum. Colorful paintings adorned fabric-covered walls, and expensive-looking tables held elaborate wood carvings. To her right was a small waiting area with thick white carpeting and black furniture. A credenza held an assortment of beverages.

One of the two uncomfortable-looking chairs in the waiting area was occupied by a woman with long black hair, wearing large sunglasses, a suede jacket, and blue jeans tucked inside tall leather boots. Talking softly into a cellphone, she looked up briefly, then back at the floor. Natty was sure it was Demi Moore, who'd starred in her all-time favorite movie,
Ghost,
but, then again, maybe it wasn't. New York was filled with women who looked like movie stars.

To Natty's left, a thin black woman, her long hair cascading around her shoulders in tight braids, sat behind a wide mahogany table, with a telephone and a leather-bound appointment book. She smiled at Natty as she pressed a button on the phone. “Carlos Marché Salon,” she announced. She began to speak French. Natty waited, wondering what she should do next. Her first instinct was to turn around and find her way back to the hotel.

Then, without a sound, a woman appeared from around a corner and stopped in front of Natty. She was attractive, in her late forties, with shoulder-length brown hair with gold highlights—
serious hair,
Sally would call it. The beauty of her face was accentuated by her makeup. Natty felt plain next to her. The woman wore tight black leather pants, a white blouse, and a tan vest, and had an air of authority about her.

“Hello, Mrs. Oakes,” she said, “I'm Tina. I'll take you back to Mr. Marché's studio now.”
Maybe Demi Moore
stopped talking into her cellphone and looked up again at Natty, this time with more interest.

They walked down a hallway, past several closed doors. From behind one door, Natty could hear the sound of a hair dryer. At the end of the hallway, Tina pulled open a heavy door. The floor of the room was covered in thick white carpeting, except for a small tiled area under a styling chair. A man seated at an antique pedestal desk spoke on a cordless phone. When he saw the two women, he hung up immediately and rose to greet them.

He was probably in his early fifties, Natty guessed, with closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Just a few inches taller than Natty, he had the physique of a gymnast. He wore a beige cashmere sweater that contrasted perfectly with the most beautiful light-brown skin Natty had ever seen. As he approached her, his mouth opened in a dazzling white smile that finally put Natty at ease.

“Hello, Natty,” he said, with a trace of a Caribbean accent. “I'm Carlos Marché.” He ushered Natty to the chair and stood a few feet in front of her, his eyes moving from her face to her hair. Finally, he reached out with both hands and held her hair away from her neck. “So,” he said, letting her hair down again, “you're going to the theater this afternoon.” He winked at Tina. “And then to dinner with our friend Charlie.”

“First time I ever been to a show,” Natty admitted. “First time in New York. So I thought I'd get something done with my hair while I was here. Maybe just a little trim, you know, don't need anything fancy.”

Carlos took a half step back, studying Natty's hair for a few moments more, a serious look on his face. “How much time have we got?” he asked softly, glancing at Tina.

Natty answered. “Well, the show starts at—”

Carlos came forward a step, shaking his head to interrupt her. He took both of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Natty, do you trust me?” he asked.

“Sure I do.” She laughed. “You know this stuff a lot better than me.”

“Okay, that's good,” he said. He turned to Tina, who was already poking at her PDA with a metal stylus. “I'll need Javier for color, then Monica for nails.” He smiled at Tina. “And you'll do makeup.”

Tina smiled at Natty with raised eyebrows. It was apparent that she was getting the A-Team of the Carlos Marché Salon.

*   *   *

C
HARLIE MADE DINNER
reservations at a restaurant near the theater. It was classy without being stuffy and served a menu that Natty would be comfortable with. The reservations were for eight o'clock, which would give them plenty of time to head up to the atrium at the Marriott Marquis for a drink first. She would enjoy looking down at Times Square. At one o'clock, he pulled on a gray houndstooth jacket over a black wool jersey and started out for the Imperial Theatre. As he dodged the usual midday traffic, his cellphone vibrated.

“Hi, Charlie. Is this a good time?” It was Ellen.

“Yes, Ellen, your timing's perfect.”

“I'm on the beach at the Boca Raton Club. Linda's gone back to the room. It's hot here. How's everything in New York?”

Charlie told her about the meeting with Lucien and Mal. She listened intently as he broke the news of the management coup at DD&M. Then he told her about his imminent posting to China. “They want me as far away as possible,” he explained.

“Charlie, China was what we wanted all along, wasn't it?”

He had to smile at Ellen's use of the word
we
. “Yeah, China will be good,” said Charlie absently.

There was a long pause before Ellen spoke again. “Is your friend in New York this weekend?”

Charlie hesitated. “Um, they're going to see
Les Mis
this afternoon and then to dinner at Tavern on the Green,” he lied.

“So you won't be seeing her?”

Charlie stopped on the sidewalk. “I don't know,” he said vaguely. “Maybe for a run tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, she's a runner, too.”

“Sort of.”

Ellen waited a few seconds to see if he had any more to add. “Okay, Charlie, I'm going to go. Don't forget about Thanksgiving. We're all set for Vermont. Scottie and Jennifer are both coming.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” said Charlie softly.

“Good, okay. Love you, Charlie,” said Ellen, before clicking off.

“Damn,” Charlie said to himself, as he closed the phone. Lying to Ellen was becoming too easy, and he hated it.

*   *   *

T
HE IMPERIAL THEATRE
was filling up quickly when Charlie walked down the center aisle to find his seat. The travel agent had secured a block of tickets center right. His seat was in the row farthest back, next to the travel agent.

He watched as the rest of the group filled in the empty seats in the two rows in front of him. They were smiling and enjoying themselves. Most of them waved to him as they found their seats. Before Mabel sat, she took a quick look at the back of the theater, then smiled at Charlie. There was an empty seat next to her.

The lights blinked and Charlie glanced at his watch. Natty was nowhere in sight. Charlie read his
Playbill
to see if he recognized any of the names in the cast. Then the houselights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. Charlie looked up to see an usher leading a slight figure to the one empty seat. The theater was dark now, with the curtain open and the spotlights trained on the stage. It was a woman—a small woman—or a girl, he was fairly certain, a little taller than Natty. Her hair was very short and cut like a man's, a golden—almost white—shade of blond.

Charlie's eyes kept darting back to the woman. As the stage lights came up, she turned to Mabel.

Charlie could see the delicate profile. He smiled to himself. He should have known. Carlos Marché wouldn't play it safe with Natty Oakes. He'd bring out every ounce of her beauty and put it on display for the world to see. That's what he did for a living. Charlie turned back to the stage and tried to focus on the greatest play in the history of musical theater.

The familiar strains of “One Day More” announced the approach of intermission. Charlie watched Natty and the women from Red Bone applaud vigorously as the houselights came up, then he rose to let a few women pass through to the aisle. “'Scuse me, Mr. Burdan,” Mabel's cousin said hurriedly, “my bladder's about to burst, an' nat wouldn't be a pretty sight.” He sat down again and perused his
Playbill
as the seats emptied.

Charlie shifted his gaze and noticed that Natty was still seated. He watched as she looked to her left, then down at her lap. She hesitated before turning around to face Charlie.

He rose from his seat slowly, his eyes transfixed on the woman before him. It was obviously Natty but so incredibly transformed that for an instant he thought it must be someone else. Her hair was shorn like a man's, in a long, ragged crew cut, and colored in a shade of light blond that seemed to glow in the dim light of the theater. But it was Natty's face—the first time he'd ever seen her with makeup—that made Charlie's heart pound.

The dark sweep of her eyelashes made her blue eyes sparkle, and her pale-pink lips shone with gloss. She wore a short black dress with a high neckline and a matching long-sleeved jacket. Then Charlie noticed that she was wearing earrings—small, dangling silver chains—as well as a thin silver choker. He took a breath as the realization hit him.
Yes, of course it was Natty. And she was absolutely stunning.

She smiled nervously. “Hey, Charlie.” She wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders. “So, what do you think?”

Charlie furrowed his brow inquisitively. “You do something to your hair?” They both laughed. He motioned her toward the aisle and led her down to the empty orchestra pit. Standing next to her, he detected an alluring scent. “Perfume, too?”

She smiled shyly. “It's Tina's. You know, Carlos's assistant.” Natty touched one of her earrings. “Her jewelry, too. I have to give it to you tonight, so you can give it back to her.” She laughed. “At midnight I turn into a hillbilly again.”

Charlie couldn't help staring at her. “You look … incredible,” he said.

She smiled, embarrassed. “Thanks, it's just the makeup and the jewelry. It's still me.”

Charlie looked down and noticed that she wore high heels and nylons for the first time since he'd known her. Her legs looked like a dancer's. “You're taller, too,” he said.

“God, these shoes are killing me. Not easy, trying to be a woman.”

Charlie looked up the aisle to see that some of the women were headed back to their seats. “How do you like the show?” he asked.

Natty turned to look at the stage and clasped her hands together. “Oh, Charlie, it's wonderful! Much better than I thought it would be. And I can't believe they're going to do the whole thing again tonight.” She looked at him nervously. “Charlie, um, thanks; thank you for everything. This has been the best day of my whole life.”

Charlie gazed into Natty's face and felt his heart race. “It's not over yet,” he said, as the houselights blinked. As they arrived at Natty's row, Charlie pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She looked at him quizzically. “You're going to need it,” he said.

*   *   *

F
ROM ACROSS THE
narrow street, Charlie watched the orderly crowd flow slowly out of the Imperial Theatre. The lights from the other theaters on the street made it feel like daytime, though the November sky was dark at six o'clock. Leaning back against a smooth marble wall, Charlie wondered if it took longer for
Les Misérables
to empty out after a performance, with most of the women in the audience needing to visit the ladies' room to repair the damage done by tears and tissues.

Mabel Willard appeared with Ada and Janice Lowe, followed shortly by the rest of the group. The travel agent and a few of the other women headed toward Broadway, while Mabel, Ada, and Janice walked in the other direction. Probably heading back to the hotel for a nap before dinner, Charlie guessed. The crowd had dissipated to a trickle when Natty finally emerged.

Clutching Charlie's handkerchief, Natty started across the street. She still had the sophisticated, stylish look, but the slow, eyes-down walk in the obviously unfamiliar high heels gave her away. As she got to the curb, Natty looked up, and Charlie could see that
Les Mis
had definitely taken its toll on Tina's makeup job. Natty averted her eyes in embarrassment as she came up to Charlie. “Well,” she said, with a sniffle, “I didn't think
that
was so funny.” They both chuckled. She handed Charlie his mascara-streaked handkerchief. “You could have warned me.”

“That would have spoiled all the fun.”

“They didn't have to kill the little boy,” she said, and her eyes welled up again. Charlie smiled and gave her back the handkerchief.

“C'mon, let's go have a drink,” he said. They walked across 45th Street and down Broadway, enjoying the sights and sounds of Times Square and the feeling that comes from being surrounded by, yet completely invisible to, thousands of other pedestrians. It was a familiar sensation to Charlie but a new experience for Natty.

Charlie told her about his plan for a drink at the Marriott Marquis, but as they passed a crowded Irish-themed restaurant and bar, Natty stopped, took his hand in hers, and pulled him toward the entrance. “C'mon, let's go here.” She pulled him through the crowded bar until they found two vacant stools. Charlie was disappointed when she let go of his hand to jump onto her seat. Natty ordered two Jack Daniel's and two pints of Harp. She put a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and looked quizzically at Charlie. “That enough?”