School of Fortune (33 page)

“Could you call Painless Panes, Cosmo?” Cole's voice was barely audible over the shouting. “Five on the house speed dial.”

“No problem.”

“Would you like to raid the kitchen with me later?”

That depended on how much mustache adhesive she could scrape off her dresser. “Maybe.”

“Hey, Mo!” Kerry was pounding on her door. “The Zappo guys are leaving.”

“Gotta go.” Pippa rescued enough glue to hold her mustache in place for a few more hours. She signed the pool cleaners' receipt and waited for the same glass crew who had been there yesterday to come back and fix the broken window in the library. Kerry and Rudi left to play the slots, leaving Pippa alone at Casa Bowes. She toted the booty from that afternoon's shopping spree upstairs. On the fifth trip to the garage, obeying an impulse, Pippa went to the black Porsche parked next to her Maserati. She opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, inhaling Cole's vapors. She was sure this was his car, not Moss's. The keys were in the ignition. Pippa started the engine and cruised once around the block. Her secret ride felt as exhilarating as a stolen kiss. Cole had given the Maserati a thorough washing and waxing, she noticed. For the first time in weeks she wondered how Lance was doing. Training season would start any day now. Pippa laughed, shocked: she really didn't care.

She washed her jogging bra and, on another impulse, shaved her legs with Cole's gold razor. At midnight, hearing the front door slam, she felt her whole body quiver alive. She heard Leigh and Moss go upstairs, drunk but mostly yelled out for the evening. Their bedroom light went on, then off. Her phone rang. “Sorry, Cosmo,” Cole said. “Something's come up. I won't be able to make it.”

“No problem,” Pippa lied.

After she heard his Porsche roll down the driveway, she consoled herself with leftover flank steak and some grand cru burgundy. Halfway through, Rudi and Kerry entered the kitchen, twenty bucks ahead of Flamingo for the first time in history. They finished off the bottle and a tray of Rudi's eggplant lasagna. Eventually Kerry burped in porcine satiety. “Hey Mo, where's Cinderfella?”

“Excuse me?”

“Cole. His Porsche is gone.”

“I believe he's running an errand for Signor Bowes.” “Don't wait up for him,” Kerry laughed. Pippa did anyway. He never came back.

C
hippa had been a fixture of Cole's imagination ever since she'd whapped him in the face at the Phoenix Ritz-Carlton. Next morning he had blown her a kiss across the lobby; if anything, that speeded her escape to a limousine waiting outside. Hoping to reconnect with her, Cole had gone to lunch with an inebriated psycho named Marla, who would only reveal that Chippa loved pickles and garlic and had a Polish lover who couldn't play poker to save his ass. Marla had then tried to grope him under the table. Cole left Phoenix that afternoon; he had been there picking up an Airstream doghouse for Titian. He never thought he'd see Chippa again.

He found her reincarnation as Cosmo both amusing and unsettling. Normal women didn't hop around the country using aliases. What was she really doing here? It was a serious issue because, in addition to valeting Moss and keeping all motor vehicles in pristine working order, Cole was in charge of security at Casa Bowes. After a rash of letter bombs in the neighborhood, Moss had ordered him to inspect any incoming packages that did not come from known sources. Cole happened to be parking his Porsche in the garage when a FedEx van pulled into the driveway at eight the next morning. “You got a Cosmo du Piche here?” the driver asked.

“Yes.” Cole signed for the small, light package from a law firm in Dallas. Then he opened it. Cosmo had received four mustaches in a velvet case, six tubes of hypoallergenic adhesive, a pair of silver mustache-trimming scissors, a tiny comb, mustache wax, a brochure for villas in Lesbos, and twenty thousand dollars cash.

Frowning, Cole resealed the box. He was quite sure she had taken his Porsche out last night while he was squiring Moss, Leigh, and the Lurex people around Las Vegas. The car hadn't been parked anywhere near straight in its slot in the garage. Was she spying on him? If so, she was colossally inept. Maybe that was part of a larger deception. “Incoming package, Cosmo,” he called, knocking on her door. “Would you like me to open it for you?”

“Absolutely not!” Her door cracked an inch. “Please push it into my room.”

“What's inside, tassels for your cap?”

“None of your business.” The lock clicked.

She sounded peeved. Cole found that a poor way to start the day. “Are you okay?”

Of course not!
Pippa felt like screaming. The past eight hours had been hell. In Phoenix, when she had asked Cole how his love life was, he had immediately replied, “Fine.” The rational side of her argued that
of course
a guy like Cole would have a girlfriend with whom he would have fantastic sex seven nights a week.
Of course
the woman would be madly in love with him, and vice versa.
Of course
Pippa's jealousy was childish and petty, if not downright stupid, considering he didn't even know she was female. The irrational side of Pippa just wanted to find this woman and kill her. Mostly she was furious at herself for dreaming impossible dreams.

Kerry had not helped Pippa's insomnia by groaning through several bouts of sexual congress, either with Rudi, Moss, or herself. Maybe all three.

On the plus side, Pippa's new mustache glue worked like a champ. Shortly before nine, after she saw Cole and Moss leave, she dragged herself to the kitchen. Rudi was there making johnnycakes. Dressed in a peignoir with lots of feathers, Leigh sat at the window nursing a cup of coffee and calling every dog obedience school in Las Vegas. She had yet to locate Titian.

“Good morning, signora. Did you have a nice time with the Lurex people?”

“I don't remember. Thanks for fixing the window.” Leigh's bloodshot eyes settled on Pippa's upper lip. “You did your mustache. It's lighter. Hike it.”

“Thank you. I devoted several hours to personal grooming last night.”

“Poor thing, you've been working too hard. You look exhausted.”

The doorbell rang. Pippa went to the foyer. Dusi's Bentley stood in the driveway. Her butler, Horatio, sweating buckets in tuxedo, white gloves, and wool cap, presented her with an envelope. “Good morning, sir. I bring word from Castilio Damonia regarding the Bentley Ball.”

“Come in,” Pippa said. “Have some pancakes. Rudi's on a roll.”

Horatio hesitated; his normal breakfast at Dusi's was a day-old baguette. “I would be grateful for a glass of water,” he answered carefully.

Pippa dragged him to the kitchen. “You boys relax while Signora Bowes and I read our marching orders.” She and Leigh adjourned to the formal dining room. Pippa opened an envelope with
Castilio damonia
embossed in such huge gold letters across the top that there was no room for stamps, which was the whole point: Horatio was Dusi's postal service.

Pippa cleared her throat. “‘Dear Leigh, I think that a masquerade ball in honor of my induction into the Frequent Bentley Society is a marvelous idea, considering all that I have done for you. A masquerade is a festive and fanciful event, therefore I would like the men to come dressed as chauffeurs circa 1930, driving vintage Bentleys (they can be rented anywhere for a song), and I would like the women to come dressed as cars such as Pintos, Mustangs, Jaguars, and the like. You must have Rudi prepare a supper similar to that served to King Edward the Seventh, another member of the Frequent Bentley Society. The menu will include pressed beef, snipe, lobster, partridge, oysters, ptarmigan, truffles, quail, grouse, jellied eel, and lamb tongue; eight varieties of Persian melons; nectarines in French Sauternes; a selection of fruit jams and cream biscuits; four varieties of gently steamed vegetables, with their blossoms; and toasted almonds. For dessert you must offer persimmon flan, steamed quince pudding, and fruitcake (without walnuts, please! I'm allergic) soused in heirloom rum; and of course, have a generous quantity of alcoholic beverages on hand. Decor: I do love gondolas and harlequins! If you can get hold of a few tigers (on leashes, of course) to roam the grounds, that would be so exotic and stunning. I leave the music to you, but please hire at least a seventy-piece orchestra so that we can hear it. Have tons of gardenias, my very favorite flower. You may dispense with the relay races in the swimming pool, but please make the bowling alley available again for valets and personal attendants. Do not serve pepperoni pizza to them this time. Barbecue flown in from Dr. Hogly Wogly's in Los Angeles would be ever so much better, with Pilsner Urquell in kegs. Please have the Delta Force snipers back in the trees for our protection, as there will be major jewelry in attendance. Following is a guest list. I have been up all night winnowing this down to four hundred. You should have no problem hand-delivering the invitations, as everyone on it resides within two hundred miles of Las Vegas. I advise you to construct a raised dais with soft lighting so that we may have an appropriate ceremony at the stroke of midnight. As you know, I will be joining Caleb in Normandy tomorrow as he purchases Ethelred the Unready's suit of armor. I will be back in Las Vegas only briefly before leaving for a long-overdue vacation to Algeria. Therefore my only available date for Masqueradia Dusiana will be seven days from now, at eight in the evening. I so look forward to seeing how you fare with this large-scale effort, Leigh, and hope that with Cosmo's help, you will be not only the toast of the town, but also the newest member of the Las Vegas Country Club. With affection, Dusi. P.S. Very important: this must be a surprise party!'“

Pippa let the pages flutter to the floor. “Sure, no problem.”

Leigh went whiter than the feathers in her peignoir. “That's a million-buck bash. You only got ninety grand out of Moss.” She headed for the decanter on a side table. “We're toast.”

If they were, then so was Pippa's diploma. “Nonsense!” She removed the decanter from Leigh's quaking fingers. “Stay sober, signora. You're about to make a few hundred house calls.”

“You really think we can pull this off?”

“It is nothing. Get dressed and meet me in your office as soon as possible.”

Pippa went to the kitchen, where Horatio was consuming pancakes as fast as Rudi could flip them. “Please tell Madam Damon we love her proposal.”

She sat at Leigh's desk with a legal pad. What the heck was a snipe? If she managed to feed four hundred mouths for a hundred bucks apiece, that would leave fifty grand to play with. Booze would cost at least ten, the orchestra twenty. Flowers she could get for five. That left a measly fourteen thousand bucks for wild animals, harlequins, and gondolas. Pippa massaged the numbers this way and that. Each time she got the bottom line to work, she realized she had left something out, like the barbecue in the bowling alley.

Leigh came in wearing one of her new Armani pantsuits. Pippa handed her fifteen pages of guest list.
Delegate as much as possible to useful idiots.
“Start planning your route. You'll be visiting one hundred people each day.”

Leigh stared at the printout. “‘Page and Zelda Turnbull of Las Vegas'“?

“Obviously Dusi thinks she lives in Edwardian London. You'll have to look up everyone's street address online.” “That is a major pain in the butt.”

“I believe that is the whole point.” Pippa removed her eyeglasses. Today they seemed to weigh ten pounds.

While Leigh was researching addresses, whimpering about her missing bichon frise, Pippa ordered stationery from Neiman Marcus. She designed the invitation and even found a Bentley icon online. Pippa tried not to guffaw as she typed “Masqueradia Dusiana: A Surprise Party” across the top line in Olde English font. At the stroke of ten she rousted Kerry from bed. “Be in Signora's office in five minutes.

There Kerry was handed a map of Las Vegas and instructed to mark every one of Leigh's addresses with a dot. “What for?”

“You're going to be driving to each of those dots in the next few days.”

“I ain't driving anywhere. I'm the linen and silver person, period.” “Would two thousand bucks change your attitude?” “Yeah, I guess so.”

Pippa paid her immediately from her own slush fund. Downstairs,

Rudi was just seeing Horatio out with a picnic basket. “Rudi, we're having a party next week,” Pippa said, accompanying him to the kitchen. “It's going to make you famous.” She presented him with the menu Dusi had proposed.

His eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. “Who makes diss? Too many dishes.”

Never accept no.
“It's a historical menu prepared for English kings when they came back from hunting. Could you do it for a hundred bucks a head?”

He took another look. “For twelf people?”

“For four hundred.”

“Nein! Impossibell!”

Pippa immediately threw herself to the floor. “Please, Rudi,” she wailed, clutching his ankles. “If you don't, I'll lose my job. I'll have to go back to New Orleans.” That didn't get much traction. “My house is washed away. People beat me up down there.” No dice. “The alligators ate half my mother.” She looked up. “The top half.”

“Okay,” he finally snapped. “One hundred fifty per person. Oth-ervise
schlecht
qvality, I cannot allow. Plus you must get me five sous chefs from Flamingo.”

Pippa kissed his clogs. “Thankyouthankyou, Rudi! You're the greatest.”

“And you giff me five tousand bonus.”

“Absolutely! I have it right here.” Rudi was paid on the spot.

Pippa staggered upstairs to help Leigh and Kerry, who had narrowed their focus to the fifty-odd names on Dusi's list with out-of-town addresses. When the blank cards arrived from Neiman's, Pippa printed four hundred invitations. In flowery script she wrote names on envelopes and tucked those envelopes into larger envelopes. She shuddered: this was almost like getting married again. By two o'clock the delivery route was complete.

“Don't spend more than three minutes at each place or you won't get back for a week,” Pippa advised Leigh. “And remember to tell everyone it's a surprise party.”

“But it's not.”

“Just do it,” Pippa snapped. “You do know how to drive a Due-senberg, Kerry?”

“A car's a car.”

After that expedition to Erewhon shoved off, Pippa worked with Rudi on the menu. The price of snipe, partridge, quail, eel, and lamb tongue was ruinous. Rudi insisted on renting a refrigerated truck for eight thousand bucks and began pawing through ancient gastronomic encyclopedias in search of recipes. He was showing Pippa a recipe for pressed beef in horseradish aspic when the phone rang: Dusi calling from her jet over the North Pole.

“I forgot whelks and periwinkles,” she said. “Please add them to the menu.”

“Thank you, Madam Damon. It will be done.”

“Cosmo, you sound exhausted. You must be overwhelmed trying to put on this little party all by yourself. Were you at Castilio Damonia, I'd hire a staff of twenty for you. You'd barely have to lift a finger.” When that got no response, she added, “Whatever Leigh's paying you, I'll double it.”

“We're doing fine, Madam Damon. Bon voyage.” Pippa slammed down the phone. “Add whelks and periwinkles to your shopping list, Rudi.”

“Velk? Vatt iss dat?”

“Just get them,” Pippa shouted. The phone rang: this time it was Leigh, thirty miles away. Miscalculating a turn, Kerry had knocked over a park bench. The Duesenberg's rear fender was history.

“Moss is going to kill me,” Leigh wailed. “You can't fix these cars for less than twenty thousand bucks. It's part of the mystique.”

“Where's Kerry?”

“Trying to revive the old lady who was sitting on the bench. You've got to come get us, Cosmo. I can't be seen in a car with a dented fender. That would be an immediate blackball.”

“Stay calm. I'll send reinforcements.” Pippa called Cole. “Are you busy?”

She sounded quite sarcastic. However, the sound of her voice sent him over the moon. “I'm waiting for Moss to finish a meeting. Sorry about last night. Something came up.”