The Celebutantes (17 page)

“And when I saw Poppy yesterday, I almost laughed right in her face,” Tallula said. “I can tell a fraud a mile away.”

“Wait,” Madison said. “Poppy left the luncheon—she left the hotel—before you and Ina arrived. When did you see her?”

“When Ina and I left the luncheon and walked back to the elevators,” Tallula said. “I saw Poppy coming out of that little gift shop.”

Madison's heart slammed in her chest. Could it be? She blinked rapidly. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, are you
absolutely
sure?”

“Of course.” Tallula was staring at her blankly. “Madison, would you please be a coconut and tell me what this is all about?”

Madison smiled, trying her best to appear in control and collected. She knew she couldn't spill the beans. Not here. Not yet. There were still too many unanswered questions. “Listen…you think Elijah believed in things like…channeling, right?” she asked.

“I guess so,” Tallula replied. “Why?”

“Did he know anyone named Corky?” Madison pressed, again ignoring the question.

Tallula blinked several times. She shook her head. “I…I don't understand any of this. What's with all these questions? No—I've never heard him talk about someone named Corky. Why? Corky? What kind of name is that?”

“Elijah asked Poppy van Lulu to channel someone named Corky,” Madison said. “As in, call up a spirit. Literally. I know it sounds totally lame, but it's true.”

Tallula stood up. She stared around the room unseeingly, her eyes darting here and there, her face growing longer. Tears spilled over her cheeks again. She took a step, but then stumbled and fell back onto the sofa as if about to faint.

“Oh my God!” Madison shrieked, reaching out to her. “Are you okay?”

“I'm…fine.” Tallula wiped a hand over her face. She took several deep breaths.

“Should I call someone?” Madison asked worriedly.

“No, no. Really. I'm fine. Would you be a rabbit and get me another tissue?” She grabbed Madison's hand and gave it a squeeze. “It's just that hearing all this…weird news…it's just so shocking.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. But I'm trying to help.” Madison sat down beside her and handed her yet another tissue. “Listen, Tallula. What I'm going to say isn't easy, and it won't be easy for you to hear. But the thing is…well…I think we need to start thinking about other things. Like maybe Elijah had more secrets. Maybe he was trying to hide something, or expose something. Maybe he angered someone—”

“But…who? And what does any of this have to do with him being pushed off the balcony?”

“I'm just trying to figure out if maybe there was someone else in the hotel yesterday who could have done it,” Madison said patiently, cautiously.
Like a fake psychic who doesn't want certain information made public.

Tallula shook her head. Impatiently. Not so cautiously. “None of this is making any sense! Channeling? Someone named Corky? I mean, who do I look like—Nancy Drew?”

Madison glanced in the direction of the window. She felt like a total polyester-for-brains. She wasn't making any sense. She was irritating Tallula. But she still had questions, and there was no chance of stopping now.
Here goes,
she thought, quickly running a hand through her hair. “Did Elijah ever visit the Royal Crown Society?”

“He hated the society,” Tallula said quickly.

“He did? Why?”

“He said they were a bunch of snooty fools. Oh—I'm sorry to say that to you. You're an ambassador. It's not what
I
think. It's what
he
thought.”

To the Penthouse,
Madison thought.
How did he get that code?

Tallula coughed loudly. “Oh, my throat. Would you be a mouse and grab me that bottle of water on the mantel?”

Madison crossed the room, got the bottle, and handed it over.

Tallula took a long drink. Then she stared at Madison, her eyes bright. “Do you think a member of the society could have killed him? Is that what you're saying?”

“No, it isn't. I was just curious.”
And you're sounding dumber as the minutes tick by,
a little voice in her brain said.
Dumber and dumber.
She had only
one
other possibility to toss onto the table, and the very thought of doing so sent her stomach roiling.

She got up and walked over to the window. She pretended to stare outside but was in fact taking a few deep breaths. “Tallula,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “is there any way that maybe…
Ina
isn't telling us everything?” She heard the sentence float out onto the air and waited for a reaction—a gasp, a scream, an angry grunt. When several seconds passed in silence, Madison turned around.

Tallula was staring at the floor, rapt in thought. She didn't appear disturbed or enraged or even the least bit flustered. She actually seemed to be considering the question.

That, at least, was Madison's assessment. But when another minute ticked by in silence, she figured it was just her own wishful thinking. “Tallula? Did I totally upset you? Did I—”

“No, totally not.” She looked up. “It's just that I…”

“That you what?”

“This morning,” Tallula said, “Ina and I had a little…argument. And I'm not sure what to make of it. I know she's just as upset as I am, but still…”

“What was the argument about?” Madison asked.

Tallula's eyes went glassy again. “Ina told me that she doesn't want to stay here with me. She said she wants to go back to the city for a while, rent a cheap hotel room in some Howard Johnson's on Houston Street, and sort things out.”

“You mean she quit being your assistant?”

“No. She didn't say that. She just said that she needs time to be alone. She's very shaken by what happened. But I still thought it was strange.” Tallula wiped tears from her cheeks. “It was really hard for me to hear that, because I don't have anyone without her. She and Elijah were my family. So I yelled at her. Called her an ungrateful little bitch. It was just my nerves talking—I hope she knows that. I didn't mean it.”

“I'm sure she knows,” Madison said. “But this whole thing about her wanting to leave—had she ever mentioned anything like that before?”

“Never. She was always so happy to be working for me. I treat her well. And she's great. Once a month I take her on a shopping spree—Saks, Barneys. I buy up a storm.” She sniffled. “I even bought her a John Galliano.”

“Couture?” Madison asked, shocked.

Tallula nodded. “It was the cutest little dress. Wild and outrageous but impeccably designed. You know, typical John.”

“I've only met him twice,” Madison said. “Lex would probably know exactly the piece you're talking about. She had dinner with him a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well, whatever the case…I don't know why Ina would want to leave and be away from me. I just hope she isn't planning on going back home to Romania.”

Madison flinched. “What makes you say that?”

“I heard her on the phone this morning,” Tallula said sadly. “And I could have sworn I heard her ask for the number to some airline.” She reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table and whisked three out, drawing them across her nose. “Maybe I got it wrong, but what if I didn't? How cruel can someone be? I treat her like a sister. Why would Ina want to leave me? Why would she want to run away?”

Madison stood up. “To escape from something,” she said pointedly.

Just then, footsteps sounded on a staircase in another part of the house. Ina Debrovitch came into the living room carrying a suitcase and cradling a small leather datebook against her chest. She paused when she saw Madison standing by the fireplace. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry. I hope I didn't interrupt anything.”

“Hi,” Madison said, her voice shaky. “Um…Ina…we were just talking about you. We—”

Tallula shot off the sofa, sobbing openly. “Ina! Why are you doing this? Why are you leaving me when I need you most? Haven't I been a good friend to you?”

Ina heaved a sigh. A pained expression formed on her face. She put the suitcase down and dropped the datebook onto the coffee table.

Madison stood stock-still, her gaze boring into Ina. There was something different about her today, something that hadn't been present in her demeanor yesterday. After a few seconds, Madison realized what it was—an edgy coldness, an arrogance that she exuded with her squared shoulders and tight lips.

“Answer me,” Tallula continued. “Ina, just tell me why you're leaving like this! Why won't you just be a panda bear and stay here with me?”

Ina remained silent.

“Well, Ina?” Madison said softly. “Why
won't
you be a…a panda bear?” She felt like an idiot uttering such a dumb term of endearment. She was about to ask another question, but then her eyes shifted and she glanced at the leather datebook, at the silver seal emblazoned on the right-hand corner. It was the image of a small picture frame over which the letters
CIG
were superimposed. It took less than five seconds for her to identify what she was staring at.
Chateau Innis Gallery,
she thought.
One of the most famous and highly regarded art galleries in France.

“Answer me, Ina,” Tallula pressed.

Madison momentarily forgot the drama unfolding before her. She was struck by the realization that Ina owned something so rare. The leather datebooks could be purchased only if you visited the Chateau Innis Gallery. That in itself wasn't such a big deal, but the link forming in Madison's brain was making her pulse quicken. She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the datebook. She looked at Ina. “When were you at the Chateau Innis?” she asked.

“I—I worked there briefly,” Ina stammered. She had been caught off guard, and now she was staring at Madison strangely.

“Ha!” Tallula yelled. “And you think
that
little receptionist job you had six years ago is going to help you in the art world? You're acting like an idiot, Ina! An idiot!”

Ina's eyes welled with tears. She shook her head quickly, then ran from the room.

But she didn't run quickly enough.

Madison had caught the look on Ina's face, and it was the look of pure, unarguable guilt.

13

Lex's New Favorite Borough

L
ex had two goals to achieve before midnight: the first was to gain entrance into the penthouse suite from which Elijah Traymore had taken his fatal plunge; the second was to get kissed by Brooklyn DiMarco. And she didn't have any doubts that she would be able to accomplish both successfully.

Providing, of course, that her outfit did what she wanted it to do. She was wearing a new piece from Proenza Schouler: a waist-hugging black dress with a plunging neckline. It was a total scene-stealer.

At six o'clock, she walked into Nello, her favorite restaurant in Midtown. Every table was occupied. And, almost immediately, she felt eyes zooming in on her as diners froze to gawk. Whispers crackled on the air——
Look! It's Lex Hamilton, the youngest of the triplets
—and she gave the admiring crowd one of her perfunctory nod-and-smile acknowledgments. A waiter carrying two dishes of pasta came to a dead stop in the middle of the floor and looked at her. Weeknights weren't generally good for celebrity-spotting, but she had just shattered that little rule.

She scanned the very back of the restaurant.

There, sitting at her usual corner table, was Brooklyn. He spotted her and waved.

Lex walked over to him smoothly, swinging the strap of her magic purse over one shoulder. “Hey there!” she said cheerfully.

Brooklyn pushed back his chair and stood up. “Hey yourself,” he said quietly. He picked up the single rose lying on one side of the table and held it out to her.

Lex felt herself begin to melt. It was too early in the date to melt, but there was no stopping the feeling of warmth that rushed through her. She accepted the rose and held it up to smell. “Thank you so much,” she said gratefully. “You didn't have to do that.”

Brooklyn smiled. “Holy Jeez,” he whispered. “You look really beautiful.”

“You're not looking so bad yourself.” Lex settled herself into the chair, sweeping her eyes over his tall, toned body. He was dressed in jeans and a tight black T-shirt, but his cut-up physique practically screamed through the simple clothing. She was seeing him up close for the first time—or, more precisely, without any distractions. No telephone books flying over her head, no dead body within eyeshot. He was even better-looking than she'd initially noticed.

“I was pretty surprised when you called me this morning,” he said.

“You were? Why?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “You're famous. I'm not.”

“Oh, please.” She shook her head as she reached for her glass of water. “That's just silly. Sure, my sisters and I grew up in the spotlight and all that, but we were raised to see beyond it. And like I said when I first met you, the circles we walk in can be totally overrated.”

“And totally scary!” He laughed. “I've only been working with my dad at the hotel for a few months, but I've dealt with a few celebrity types already, and let me tell you—they aren't always easy.”

“I know.” She put down the glass and leaned in closer to him flirtatiously. “But
I'm
not like that, so you don't have to worry.”

“Yeah, I already figured that out.” He smirked as he looked at her.

Not just a simple look, Lex noted quickly, but a deep, fearless stare. His eyes were expressive, and right now they were expressing a lot of sexiness. She fanned herself with the menu. “Um…so…you're going to be a senior in September, right?”

“Yeah. And you want to know the truth? I'm actually pretty bummed about it.”

“No way. Why's that?”

He shrugged. “Because I like high school. Sounds weird, right? But it's fun for me. I like being able to focus a lot of my time on playing violin and doing concerts. Plus I have a lot of close friends, and it's hard to hold on to them when you all go away to college.”

“Have you started looking at colleges?”

“Yeah. I think I want to stay here in the city. Either NYU or Columbia. I'm pretty nervous about those applications. The SATs totally sucked.”

“Tell me about it.” Lex made a sour face. “At my school, St. Cecilia's, we had to do a whole term of that pre-SAT stuff, and I think it confused me more. My sister Madison—she's the one who'll score ten million on her SATs.”

“You think you'll major in fashion design?”

It was a good question, and Lex really didn't know how to answer it. College, for her and Madison and Park, wasn't about earning a degree that would start you off on a career. It was about earning a degree that would enrich your life intellectually. Whatever they decided to do in the future was already planned out for them in great and meticulous detail: Lex could easily go on designing, Madison could choose to help run Hamilton Holdings, Park could make more movies or take on Broadway. They had the connections that would further their dreams. And if those dreams changed? That would be fine too.

Lex knew that much. She had always known it. She wasn't the type of celebutante who could sit in front of Barbara Walters and say something like:
Oh, nobody gave me an ounce of help, I made it all on my own.
It was absolutely true that she worked hard at designing. But it was also true that she had a powerful last name and the media empire to prove it.

“I'm not so sure,” she replied. “I mean, I'll always love fashion, but in college I might want to take up something else.”

“That's totally sweet. Maybe in college you'll end up majoring in business—because you've done such an amazing job with your fashion line.”

“Eh, business means a lot of math, and I'm not too good at that. How about you? I bet you'll always play violin.”

“Definitely,” Brooklyn said. “My goal is to make it to the Philharmonic. So I figure in college I'll get a BFA in music. You like classical music?”

“I do,” Lex said. “We grew up listening to it—Mozart, Chopin, Bach. I think you'd have to be twisted not to like it—it's so romantic.”

“Yeah, it is. But that's the thing about classical music—it can be anything. Romantic, sad, scary. When you listen to a Mozart requiem, you can totally feel the darkness. And with Bach—some of his pieces, you can feel the passion.”

She resisted the urge to fan herself with the menu again. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on his heart-shaped lips and broad, muscular shoulders.

“Maybe one day I can play for you,” he said with yet another smile. “We can walk to Central Park and find a nice secluded spot. I'll sneak some champagne out of my house. We can have, like, a picnic. Maybe that'll be our second date.”

“Definitely.” Lex felt her heart beating faster. She had never experienced such sincere and unabashed sweetness. The moment was so damn
perfect.
Hell, she felt like kicking off her heels and running through a field of daisies. She loved that she could sit here, look at the gorgeousness of Brooklyn DiMarco, and just talk to him about simple, everyday matters. He wasn't going to bring up the subjects that most people brought up when she joined a dinner table. No chitchat about celebrities or trendy nightclubs. No name-dropping. His world was a galaxy away from hers, and yet the light-years between the two seemed impossibly close.

“So,” she said, steering the conversation in another, but equally significant, direction. “How long have you been single?”

“About a year. I broke up with my ex-girlfriend at the beginning of last summer.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He shook his head. “Don't be. We weren't right for each other. She was obsessed with keeping a leash on me, calling me every hour on the hour. She never believed me when I told her I was going to work, or that I had to help my dad with stuff around the house. She, like, wanted to be together
all the time.
But that's not how I am. I think it's good to have space when you're in a relationship.”

My kind of guy,
Lex thought.

“How 'bout you?” he asked. “I can't believe a girl as beautiful as you is single.”

“Oh, stop,” she said with a fluttery wave of her hand.

“No, seriously.” Brooklyn gave her an open, honest stare. “I'm not trying to score points here. I'm just telling it like it is.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat nervously, and the action shocked her. Was it possible? Was the no-guy-can-make-me-feel-weak-in-the-knees Lex Hamilton getting…weak in the knees? “I've been single forever,” she finally said. “A really long time.”

He shot her another wink. “Well then, I guess today's my lucky day.”

“You know, Brooklyn, I'm beginning to think it's
my
lucky day too.” She leaned in closer to him, her chin resting in her palm, her eyes cloudy with the look of hotness-at-first-sight.

The rose. The talk of playing his violin for her. The mention of their second date in a quiet place away from the glare of the public. It all appealed to Lex a lot. It made her feel like a different person—not in any way ashamed of her wealth and fame, but at ease with the thought of leaving it behind for a little while. Of not being dominated by it.

She had been on plenty of dates with hot guys, but in the end, they always proved too shallow for her taste, and too obsessed with the details of the high-society world. They talked about getting into the newest clubs and buying another Ferrari and getting stoned at whoever's mansion in L.A. They certainly didn't mention growing up in a middle-class New York City neighborhood and working part-time at a hotel for extra cash.

But Brooklyn DiMarco did. Over the course of the next hour, over appetizers and sodas, he told Lex all about his “crazy Italian family” and how he had played Little League as a kid. His mother ran a bakery in Bensonhurst. His father had worked security at the Waldorf for nearly twenty years. He had three uncles who were cops and two aunts who were nurses. He had spent every Christmas of his life in Brooklyn and every summer working some odd job or another. He had never been to Paris or London or Monaco. He hadn't even been to Aspen. But he
had
gone on a school trip to Florence last year.

Lex listened to him intently, entranced by his good looks and at the same time attracted to his intelligence. He spoke about the great composers and their masterpieces. He spoke about the performances he'd seen at Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center in the past two months. And then he mentioned his other passion—his dog, Tequila.

“Wait a minute,” Lex said, holding up her hand. “You have a dog named
Tequila
?”

Brooklyn nodded. “A Lab,” he said. “I swear, she doesn't have a mean bone in her body.”

An image of Champagne, her teacup Chihuahua, popped into Lex's mind. How could you go wrong with two dogs named after booze? “Brooklyn,” she said with a laugh, “I think we have a hell of a whole lot in common.”

At eight o'clock, Brooklyn paid the bill—he insisted—and they walked out onto Madison Avenue. Lex linked her arm in his, but she kept their pace deliberately slow, wanting to enjoy as much time with him as she could. Before a photographer showed up and ruined the moment.

When they got to the corner a few minutes later, she finally stared up at him and said, “So, listen. I have a favor to ask of you.”

The wry expression on Brooklyn's face said it all. “You want me to bust you into the penthouse, right?”

Lex frowned. “Yeah, I do. But I hope you don't think that's why I called you.”

“I don't think that.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and his triceps flexed deliciously. “But for me, it's always pleasure before business.” And he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

“It's a definite link,” Madison said excitedly, looking at her sisters.

She, Park, and Lex were standing in one of the first-floor bathrooms of the Waldorf-Astoria, changing into their requisite disguises. Lex and Park had the good fortune to be slipping into gray maids' uniforms. Madison, on the other hand, had been given an oversized green jumpsuit and a matching cap reserved for maintenance workers.

“Explain it one more time,” Lex said.

Madison nodded. She had spent most of the afternoon piecing together the strange little puzzle that had formed in her mind, and now it was a clear picture. “Yesterday, when we were in Poppy's apartment, remember how I commented that she had a Stefan Luchian painting on her wall? Well, he happens to be one of the greatest Romanian painters. Been dead for a long time, but his works are amazing. Anyway, when I was at Tallula's house today, I noticed that Ina had a datebook from Chateau Innis Gallery in Paris. Turns out Ina interned there six years ago for a couple of months as a receptionist. And I remembered something really interesting: six years ago, Chateau Innis held a huge auction for a number of Stefan Luchian's works—it was written up in the
Times, Art in America,
the
New Yorker.
A pretty big deal in the art world. And
that
was when Poppy van Lulu bought the painting.”