The Stars Shine Down (20 page)

L
ara decided to work at home mornings.

“I want us to be together as much as possible,” she told Philip.

Lara asked Kathy to arrange for some secretaries to be interviewed at the penthouse. Lara talked to half a dozen before Marian Bell appeared. She was in her middle twenties with soft blond hair, attractive features, and a warm personal ity.

“Sit down,” Lara said.

“Thank you.”

Lara was looking over her resume. “You were graduated from Wellesley College?”

“Yes. ”

“And you have a B.A. Why do you want a job as a secretary?”

“I think I can learn a lot working for you. Whether I get this job or not, I’m a big fan of yours, Miss Cameron.”

“Really? Why?”

“You’re my role model. You’ve accomplished a lot, and you’ve done it on your own.”

Lara was studying the young woman. “This job would mean long hours. I get up early. You’d be working at my apartment. You’d start at six in the morning.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem. I’m a hard worker.” Lara smiled. She liked Marian. “I’ll give you a one-week trial,” she said.

By the end of the week Lara knew that she had found a jewel. Marian was capable and intelligent and pleasant. Gradually, a routine was established. Unless there was an emergency, Lara spent the mornings working at the apart ment. In the afternoon she would go to the office.

Each morning Lara and Philip had breakfast together and afterward Philip would go to the piano and sit in a sleeveless athletic shirt and jeans and practice for two or three hours while Lara went into her office and dictated to Marian. Some times Philip would play old Scottish tunes for Lara: “Annie Laurie,” and “Comin’ Through the Rye.” She was touched. They would have lunch together.

“Tell me what your life was like in Glace Bay,” Philip said.

“It would take at least five minutes.” Lara smiled.

“No, I’m serious. I really want to know.”

She talked about the boardinghouse, but she could not bring herself to talk about her father. She told Philip the story of Charles Cohn, and Philip said, “Good for him. I’d like to meet him one day.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Lara told him about her experience with Sean MacAllister, and Philip said, “That bastard! I’d like to kill him!” He held Lara close and said, “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Philip was working on a concerto. She would hear him play three notes at a time, over and over and then move on, practicing slowly and picking up the tempo until the different phrases finally flowed into one.

In the beginning Lara would walk into the drawing room while Philip was playing and interrupt him.

“Darling, we’re invited to Long Island for the weekend. Would you like to go?”

Or, “I have theater tickets for the new Neil Simon play.”

Or, “Howard Keller would like to take us out to dinner Saturday night.”

Philip had tried to be patient. Finally, he said, “Lara, please don’t interrupt me while I’m at the piano. It breaks my concentration.”

“I’m sorry,” Lara said. “But I don’t understand why you practice every day. You’re not giving a concert now.”

“I practice every day so I
can
give a concert. You see, my darling, when you put up a building and a mistake is made, it can be corrected. You can change the plans or you can redo the plumbing or the lighting or whatever. But at a recital there is no second chance. You’re live in front of an audience and every note has to be perfect.”

“I’m sorry,” Lara apologized. “I understand.”

Philip took her in his arms. “There’s the old joke about a man in New York carrying a violin case. He was lost. He stopped a stranger and said, ‘How do you get to Carnegie Hall’ ‘Practice,’ the stranger said, ‘practice.’ ”

Lara laughed. “Go back to your piano. I’ll leave you alone.”

She sat in her office listening to the faint strains of Philip playing and she thought,
I’m so lucky. Thousands of women would envy me sitting here listening to Philip Adler play.

She just wished he did not have to practice so often.

They both enjoyed playing backgammon, and in the eve ning, after dinner, they would sit in front of the fireplace and have mock-fierce contests. Lara treasured those moments of being alone with him.

The Reno casino was getting ready to open. Six months earlier Lara had had a meeting with Jerry Townsend. “I want them to read about this opening in Timbuktu,” Lara said. “I’m flying in the chef from Maxim’s for the opening. I want you to get me the hottest talent available. Start with Frank Sinatra and work your way down. I want the invitation list to include the top names in Hollywood, New York, and Washington. I want people fighting to get on that list.”

Now, as Lara looked it over, she said, “You’ve done a good job. How many turndowns have we had?”

“A couple dozen,” Townsend said. “That’s not bad from a list of six hundred.”

“Not bad at all,” Lara agreed.

Keller telephoned Lara in the morning. “Good news,” he said. “I got a call from the Swiss bankers. They’re flying in to meet with you tomorrow to discuss the joint venture.”

“Great,” Lara said. “Nine o’clock, my office.”

“I’ll set it up. ”

At dinner that evening Philip said, “Lara, I’m doing a recording session tomorrow. You’ve never been to one, have you?”

“No. ”

“Would you like to come and watch?”

Lara hesitated, thinking about the meeting with the Swiss. “Of course,” she said.

Lara telephoned Keller. “Start the meeting without me. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

The recording studio was located on West Thirty-fourth Street, in a large warehouse filled with electronic equipment. There were 130 musicians seated in the room and a glass-enclosed control booth where the sound engineers worked. It seemed to Lara that the recording was going very slowly. They kept stopping and starting again. During one of the breaks she telephoned Keller.

“Where are you?” he demanded. “I’m stalling but they want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there in an hour or two,” she said. “Keep them talking.”

Two hours later the recording session was still going on.

Lara telephoned Keller again.

“I’m sorry, Howard, I can’t leave. Have them come back tomorrow.”

“What’s so important?” Keller demanded.

“My husband,” Lara said. And she replaced the receiver.

When they returned to the apartment, Lara said, “We’re going to Reno next week.”

“What’s in Reno?”

“It’s the opening of the hotel and casino. We’ll fly down on Wednesday.”

Philip’s voice was filled with distress. “Damn!”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, darling, I can’t.”

She was staring at him. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I had mentioned it. I’m leaving on a tour Mon day.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ellerbee has booked me on a six-week tour. I’m going to Australia and…”

“Australia?”

“Yes. Then Japan and Hong Kong.”

“You can’t, Philip. I mean…why are you doing this? You don’t have to. I want to be with you.”

“Well, come with me, Lara. I’d love that.”

“You know I can’t. Not now. There’s too much happening here.” Lara said miserably, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I don’t want to. But, darling, I warned you before we were married that this is what my life is about.”

“I know,” Lara said, “but that was before. Now it’s different. Everything has changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” Philip said gently, “except that I’m absolutely crazy about you, and when I go away, I’ll miss you like the devil.”

There was nothing Lara could say to that.

Philip was gone, and Lara had never known such loneli ness. In the middle of a meeting she would suddenly think about Philip and her heart would melt.

She wanted him to go on with his career, but she needed him with her. She thought of the wonderful times they had together, and of his arms around her, and his warmth and gentleness. She had never known she could love anyone so much. Philip telephoned her every day, but somehow it made the loneliness worse.

“Where are you, darling?”

“I’m still in Tokyo.”

“How’s the tour going?”

“Beautifully. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Lara could not tell him how much she missed him.

“I leave for Hong Kong tomorrow and then…”

“I wish you’d come home.” She regretted it the moment she said it.

“You know I can’t.”

There was a silence. “Of course not.”

They talked for half an hour and when Lara put the receiver down, she was lonelier than ever. The time differences were maddening. Sometimes her Tuesday would be his Wednes day, and he would call in the middle of the night or in the early hours of the morning.

“How’s Philip?” Keller asked.

“Fine. Why does he do it, Howard?”

“Why does he do what?”

“This tour of his. He doesn’t have to do it. I mean, he certainly doesn’t need the money.”

“Whoa. I’m sure he’s not doing it for the money. It’s what he does, Lara.”

The same words that Philip had used. She understood it intellectually, but not emotionally.

“Lara,” Keller said, “you only married the man—you don’t own him.”

“I don’t want to own him. I was just hoping that I was more important to him than…” She stopped herself in mid-sentence. “Never mind. I know I’m being silly.”

Lara telephoned William Ellerbee.

“Are you free for lunch today?” Lara asked.

“I can make myself free,” Ellerbee said. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, no. I just thought we should have a talk.”

They met at Le Cirque.

“Have you talked to Philip lately?” Ellerbee asked.

“I talk to him every day.”

“He’s having a successful tour.”

“Yes. “

Ellerbee said, “Frankly, I never thought Philip would get married. He’s like a priest—dedicated to what he does. ”

“I know”—Lara hesitated—“but don’t you think he’s traveling too much?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Philip has a home now. There’s no reason for him to be running all over the world.” She saw the expression on Ellerbee’s face. “Oh, I don’t mean he should just stay in New York. I’m sure you could arrange concerts for him in Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles. You know…where he wouldn’t have to travel so far from home.”

Ellerbee said carefully, “Have you discussed this with Philip?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you first. It
would
be possible, wouldn’t it? I mean, Philip doesn’t need the money, not anymore.”

“Mrs. Adler, Philip makes thirty-five thousand dollars a performance. Last year he was on tour for forty weeks.”

“I understand, but…”

“Do you have any idea how few pianists make it to the top, or how hard they have to struggle to get there? There are thousands of pianists out there, playing their fingers to the bone, and there are only about four or five superstars. Your husband is one of them. You don’t know much about the concert world. The competition is murderous. You can go to a recital and see a soloist on the stage dressed in tails, looking prosperous and glamorous, but when he gets off that stage, he can barely afford to pay his rent or buy a decent meal. It took Philip a long time to become a world class pianist. Now you’re asking me to take that away from him.”

“No, I’m not. I’m merely suggesting…”

“What you’re suggesting would destroy his career. You don’t really want to do that, do you?”

“Of course not,” Lara said. She hesitated. “I understand that you get fifteen percent of what Philip earns.”

“That’s right.”

“I wouldn’t want you to lose anything if Philip gave fewer concerts,” Lara said carefully. “I’d be glad to make up the difference and…”

“Mrs. Adler, I think this is something you should discuss with Philip. Shall we order?”

L
iz Smith’s column read: “IRO N BUTTERFLY ABOUT TO GET HER WINGS CLIPPED…What beautiful real estate tycoon is about to hit her penthouse roof when she learns that a book about her, written by a former employee, is going to be published by Candlelight Press? The word is that it’s going to be hot! Hot! Hot!”

Lara slammed the newspaper down. It had to be Gertrude Meeks, the secretary she had fired! Lara sent for Jerry Town send. “Have you seen Liz Smith’s column this morning?”

“Yes, I just read it. There isn’t much we can do about it, boss. If you…”

“There’s a lot we can do. All my employees sign an agreement that they will not write anything about me dur ing or after their employment here. Gertrude Meeks has no right to do this. I’m going to sue the publisher for all he’s worth.”

Jerry Townsend shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will create a lot of unfavorable publicity. If you let it ride, it becomes a small wind that will blow over. If you try to stop it, it will become a hurricane.”

She listened, unimpressed. “Find out who owns the com pany,” Lara ordered.

One hour later Lara was speaking on the phone to Henry Seinfeld, the owner and publisher of Candlelight Press.

“This is Lara Cameron. I understand you intend to publish a book about me.”

“You read the Liz Smith item, huh? Yes, it’s true, Miss Cameron.”

“I want to warn you that if you publish the book, I’m going to sue you for invasion of privacy.”

The voice at the other end of the phone said, “I think perhaps you should check with your attorney. You’re a public figure, Miss Cameron. You have no right of privacy. And according to Gertrude Meeks’s manuscript, you’re quite a colorful character.”

“Gertrude Meeks signed a paper forbidding her to write anything about me.”

“Well, that’s between you and Gertrude. You can sue her…”

But by then, of course, the book would be out.

“I don’t want it published. If I can make it worth your while not to publish it…”

“Hold on. I think you’re treading on dangerous ground. I would suggest that we terminate this conversation. Good bye.” The line went dead.

Damn him!
Lara sat there thinking. She sent for Howard Keller.

“What do you know about Candlelight Press?”

He shrugged. “They’re a small outfit. They do exploitation books. They did a hatchet job on Cher, Madonna…”

“Thanks. That’s all.”

Howard Keller had a headache. It seemed to him that he was getting a lot of headaches lately. Not enough sleep. He was under pressure, and he felt that things were moving too rapidly. He had to find a way to slow Lara down.
Maybe this was a hunger headache.
He buzzed his secretary.

“Bess, order some lunch in for me, would you?”

There was a silence.

“Bess?”

“Are you joking, Mr. Keller?”

“Joking? No, why?”

“You just had your lunch.”

Keller felt a chill go through him.

“But if you’re still hungry…”

“No, no. “He remembered now. He had had a salad and a roast beef sandwich and…
My God,
he thought,
what’s happening to me?

“Just kidding, Bess,” he said.
Who am
i
kidding?

The opening of the Cameron Palace in Reno was a smash. The hotel was fully booked, and the casino was crowded with players. Lara had spared no expense to see that the invited celebrities were well taken care of. Everyone was there.
There’s only one person missing,
Lara thought. Philip. He had sent an enormous bouquet of flowers with a note: “You’re the music in my life. I adore you and miss you. Hub.”

Paul Martin arrived. He came up to Lara. “Congratula tions. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks to you, Paul. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He was looking around. “Where’s Philip?”

“He couldn’t be here. He’s on tour.”

“He’s out playing piano somewhere? This is a big night for you, Lara. He should be at your side.”

Lara smiled. “He really wanted to be. “

The manager of the hotel came up to Lara. “This is quite a night, isn’t it? The hotel is fully booked for the next three months.”

“Let’s keep it that way, Donald.”

Lara had hired a Japanese and a Brazilian agent to bring in big players from abroad. She had spent a million dollars on each of the luxury suites, but it was going to pay off.

“You’ve got a gold mine here, Miss Cameron,” the man ager said. He looked around. “By the way, where’s your husband? I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”

“He couldn’t be here,” Lara said.
He’s out playing the piano somewhere.

The entertainment was brilliant, but Lara was the star of the evening. Sammy Cahn had written special lyrics for “My Kind of Town.” It went, “My kind of gal, Lara is…” She got up to make a speech, and there was enthusiastic applause. Everyone wanted to meet her, to touch her. The press was there in full force, and Lara gave interviews for television, radio, and the press. It all went well until the interviewers asked, “Where’s your husband tonight?” And Lara found herself getting more and more upset.
He should have been at my side. The concert could have waited.
But she smiled sweetly and said, “Philip was so disappointed he couldn’t be here.”

When the entertainment was over, there was dancing. Paul Martin walked up to Lara’s table. “Shall we?”

Lara rose and stepped into his arms.

“How does it feel owning all this?” Paul asked.

“It feels wonderful. Thanks for all your help.”

“What are friends for? I notice that you have some heavy weight gamblers here. Be careful with them, Lara. Some of them are going to lose big, and you have to make them feel like they’re winners. Get them a new car or girls or anything that will make them feel important.”

“I’ll remember,” Lara said.

“It’s good to hold you again,” Paul said.

“Paul…”

“I know. Do you remember what I said about your husband taking good care of you?”

“Yes. ”

“He doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job. ”

“Philip wanted to be here,” Lara said defensively. And even as she said it, she thought,
Did he really?
He telephoned her late that night, and the sound of his voice made her twice as lonely.

“Lara, I’ve been thinking about you all day, darling. How did the opening go?”

“Wonderfully. I wish you could have been here, Philip.”

“So do I. I miss you like crazy.”

Then why aren’t you here with me?
“I miss you, too. Hurry home.”

Howard Keller walked into Lara’s office carrying a thick manila envelope.

“You’re not going to like this,” Keller said.

“What’s up?”

Keller laid the envelope on Lara’s desk. “This is a copy of Gertrude Meeks’s manuscript. Don’t ask me how I got hold of it. We could both go to jail.”

“Have you read it?”

He nodded. “Yes. ”

“And? ”

“I think you’d better read it yourself. She wasn’t even working here when some of these things happened. She must have done a lot of digging.”

“Thanks, Howard.”

Lara waited until he left the office; then she pressed down the key on the intercom. “No calls.”

She opened the manuscript and began to read.

It was devastating. It was a portrait of a scheming, domi neering woman who had clawed her way to the top. It depicted her temper tantrums and her imperious manner with her em ployees. It was meanspirited, filled with nasty little anec dotes. What the manuscript left out was Lara’s independence and courage, her talent and vision and generosity. She went on reading.

“…One of the Iron Butterfly’s tricks was to schedule her business meetings early on the first morning of negotia tions, so that the others were jet-lagged and Cameron was fresh.

“…At a meeting with the Japanese, they were served tea with Valium in it, while Lara Cameron drank coffee with Ritalin, a stimulant that speeds up the thought process.

“…At a meeting with some German bankers, they were served coffee with Valium, while she drank tea with Ritalin.

“…When Lara Cameron was negotiating for the Queens property and the community board turned her down, she got them to change their mind by making up a story that she had a young daughter who was going to live in one of the build ings…”

“…When tenants refused to leave the building at the Dorchester Apartments, Lara Cameron filled it with homeless people.…”

Nothing had been left out. When Lara finished reading it,
she sat at her desk for a long time, motionless. She sent for Howard Keller.

“I want you to run a Dun and Bradstreet on Henry Seinfeld. He owns Candlelight Press.”

“Right.”

He was back fifteen minutes later. “Seinfeld has a D-C rating.”

“Which means?”

“That’s the lowest rating there is. A fourth-line credit rating is poor, and he’s four notches below that. A good stiff wind would blow him over. He lives from book to book. One flop and he’s out of business.”

“Thanks, Howard.” She telephoned Terry Hill, her attor ney.

“Terry, how would you like to be a book publisher?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want you to buy Candlelight Press in your name. It’s owned by Henry Seinfeld.”

“That should be no problem. How much do you want to pay?”

“Try to buy him out for five hundred thousand. If you have to, go to a million. Make sure that the deal includes all the literary properties he owns. Keep my name out of it. “

The offices of Candlelight Press were downtown in an old building on Thirty-fourth Street. Henry Seinfeld’s quarters consisted of a small secretarial office and a slightly larger office for himself.

Seinfeld’s secretary said, “There’s a Mr. Hill to see you, Mr. Seinfeld.”

“Send him in.”

Terry Hill had called earlier that morning.

He walked into the shabby little office. Seinfeld was sitting behind the desk.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Hill?”

“I’m representing a German publishing company that might be interested in buying your company.”

Seinfeld took his time lighting a cigar. “My company’s not for sale,” he said.

“Oh, that’s too bad. We’re trying to break into the Ameri can market, and we like your operation.”

“I’ve built this company up from scratch,” Seinfeld said. “It’s like my baby. I’d hate to part with it.”

“I understand how you feel,” the lawyer said sympatheti cally. “We’d be willing to give you five hundred thousand dollars fork. ”

Seinfeld almost choked on his cigar. “Five hundred? Hell, I’ve got one book coming out that’s going to be worth a million dollars alone. No, sir. Your offer’s an insult.”

“My offer’s a gift. You have no assets, and you’re over a hundred thousand dollars in debt. I checked. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go up to six hundred thousand. That’s my final offer.”

“I’d never forgive myself. Now, if you could see your way clear to going to seven…”

Terry Hill rose to his feet. “Good-bye, Mr. Seinfeld. I’ll find another company.”

He started toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Seinfeld said. “Let’s not be hasty. The fact is, my wife’s been after me to retire. Maybe this would be a good time.”

Terry Hill walked over to the desk and pulled a contract out of his pocket. “I have a check here for six hundred thousand dollars. Just sign where the
X
is.”

Lara sent for Keller.

“We just bought Candlelight Press.”

“Great. What do you want to do with it?”

“First of all, kill Gertrude Meeks’s book. See that it doesn’t get published. There are plenty of ways to keep stalling. If she sues to get her rights back, we can tie her up in court for years.”

“Do you want to fold the company?”

“Of course not. Put someone in to run it. We’ll keep it as a tax loss.”

When Keller returned to his office, he said to his secretary, ” I want to give you a letter. Jack Hellman, Hellman Realty. Dear Jack, I discussed your offer with Miss Cameron, and we feel that it would be unwise to go into your venture at this time. However, we want you to know that we would be interested in any future…”

His secretary had stopped taking notes.

Keller looked up. “Do you have that?”

She was staring at him. “Mr. Keller?”

“Yes. ”

“You dictated this letter yesterday.”

Keller swallowed. “What?”

“It’s already gone out in the mail.”

Howard Keller tried to smile. “I guess I’m on over load.”

At four o’clock that afternoon Keller was being examined by Dr. Seymour Bennett.

“You seem to be in excellent shape,” Dr. Bennett said. “Physically, there’s nothing wrong with you at all.”

“What about these lapses of memory?”

“How long since you’ve had a vacation, Howard?”

Keller tried to think. “I guess it’s been quite a few years,” he said. “We’ve been pretty busy.”

Dr. Bennett smiled. “There you are. You’re on overload.”
That word again.
“This is more common than you think. Go somewhere where you can relax for a week or two. Get business off your mind. When you come back, you’ll feel like a new man.”

Keller stood up, relieved.

Keller went to see Lara in her office. “Could you spare me for a week?”

“About as easily as I can spare my right arm. What did you have in mind?”

“The doctor thinks I should take a little vacation, Lara. To tell you the truth, I’ve been having some problems with my memory.”

She was watching him, concerned. “Anything serious?”

“No, not really. It’s just annoying. I thought I might go to Hawaii for a few days.”

“Take the jet.”

“No, no, you’ll be using it. I’ll fly commercial.”

“Charge everything to the company.”

“Thanks. I’ll check in every…”

“No, you won’t. I want you to forget about the office. Just take care of yourself. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

I hope he’s all right,
Lara thought.
He’s got to be all right.

Philip telephoned the next day. When Marian Bell said, “Mr. Adler is calling from Taipei,” Lara hurriedly picked up the telephone.