“I’ll call you when I land.”
“Please, don’t—” Before he could argue with her anymore to stay, or persuade her he’d fix the situation, she’d picked up her bag and stalked out the door. He mumbled, “Leave me.”
Lex was gone.
His mother had left him at eight and his father at seventeen. Anyone he’d ever loved departed with the promise to return. Massimo had learned people never kept their promises.
Superwoman Taddy Brill
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing at JFK International Airport in about twenty minutes,” announced an American Airlines flight attendant. “The weather in New York City is eighty-nine degrees. The local time is 12:10 p.m. Thank you for flying with us.”
The House of Tittoni had offered Lex private jet service, but she’d boarded a commercial flight, landing her tired ass at Terminal Eight. Lex didn’t get one peaceful wink in the nine-plus hours. She’d underestimated the media storm upon her the second she passed customs. To her left, thirty or so reporters clamored against the security ropes to talk to her. Crap! She scanned the crowd for Taddy. Where is she? Then she spotted Jose, Taddy’s driver. He was an attractive Puerto Rican who stood at six-foot-four and could mow down the paparazzi with one fist.
“Jose, I’m glad to see you.”
“Miss Brill is outside smoking by the car. Hold my arm and we’ll get through the crowd. Miss Brill asked that you don’t respond to any reporters.”
“Agreed, let’s go.” Taken aback by how many people waited for her, she pushed her way through the crowd with Jose.
“You having four-ways, Miss Easton?” shouted a TV reporter.
“Will you be going into rehab?” asked a woman with a microphone to her face.
NBC, E! Entertainment, CNN—everyone vied to get her to comment.
Easy to spot, Taddy sat on the cherry-hued Cadillac Escalade’s hood in passenger pickup. Her penny-copper hair swarmed around her Tom Ford Havana sunglasses in the balmy air. She puffed on a Nat Sherman Fantasia Light cigarette, her signature addiction, each with neon-colored paper wrapping and a gold leaf charcoal filter.
Everything about Taddy blazed red—hair, nails, cars, and even her quintessence illuminated at times in various auburn, cerise and scarlet tones. She branded “red” to go with her PR firm when it launched, claiming it embodied her passion in life and bloodthirst in business.
“Thank you for leaving St. Barth’s for me.” Lex breathed a sigh, seeing a familiar face.
“Lex! Jesus, you look like shit!” Taddy shrieked, sliding off the vehicle’s hood and dropping her cigarette. Stepping on the smoldering butt with her designer heel, she gave Lex a hard squeeze, wrapping her arms around her.
“It’s called a punch to the face,” Lex joked.
Taddy stepped back and said, “Let me see the damage. My sweet Jesus cinnamon tits, did you get decked.” She yanked on Lex’s chin. “Nothing a little high-definition makeup can’t fix.”
“And some sleep. I’m going straight to bed.”
“No, no, no, you’re all over the TV and in the paper.” She pulled out The Wall Street Journal from her lambskin Birkin bag. The headline read, Girasoli Set to Acquire Easton for Three Hundred Million. “Lots to do, my little damsel. This is a great press mention compared to the nasty others.”
She glanced at the paper. “I love how you’re showing me the positive editorial and not the negative papers.”
“That’s what besties are for, honey. We’ll get to your Scilla/Ottavia smear later. I worked on the strategy on my plane ride up. Warner gave me the Truman Enterprises jet. Thanks to having the flight all to myself, I figured out your shitstorm.” Taddy held the door open for her, and they piled into the back of the SUV. Taddy shouted at the driver, “Jose, Manhattan and hurry!” She slammed the door and turned up the rear AC vents.
Jose floored it as the SUV accelerated and merged onto the Van Wyck Expressway.
Taddy continued, “Jesus Christ, they call this city the world’s center, but the humidity makes this town the last place on Earth I’d be. It’s cooler in the Caribbean. These Manhattan late Indian summers are Hell.”
“How did St. Barth’s go?”
“The travel editors loved the renovations for Secrète de St. Barth. You know Babe Potter? Writes a travel blog? Well, dear ol’ Babe drank four pitchers of mojitos and cowgirled the resort’s lifeguards.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Mrs. Potter’s married to a guy who is a far cry from a lifeguard.”
“Oh!”
“I have enough dirt on these editors to blackmail—” She coughed. “I mean I have my insurance that Secrète de St. Barth will see press galore come this busy winter season.” Notorious in the industry for showing the media a good time, she kept a scorecard on their extracurricular activities. If they didn’t return the media coverage favor to her clients, she’d be sure to remind them.
“Have you talked to my mom?” Lex felt guilty for not calling Birdie since her Charmaine Whitedove confession.
“A bobblehead doll,” Taddy replied. “That’s how your mom’s head spins when you leave her and dodge her calls.” She shook her head like a crazy person to amplify her statement. “Aunt Muffie called me last night while I was on the beach, minding my own business when your pussy orgy hit the world. She took Birdie to dinner at Barbuto to calm her ass down. Aunt Muffie mentioned the veal is dahlicious, by the way.”
“When the drama unfolded, I knew she’d be curled up in bed crying and blaming herself. What did my mom have to say to Muffie?”
“Aside from your recent celebrity four-way in Milan, Birdie told Auntie Muffie if this new collection doesn’t sell, you’ll be bankrupt for the second time and won’t be able to pay me back the retainer which is way past due.”
“True. In addition to this Massimo drama, we have this little thing about getting the next Easton collection off the ground.” She was mortified. Leave it to Birdie to spill the beans. No decorum. She felt her hands clam up.
“Aunt Muffie mentioned she learned this when the check for the meal arrived and she had to pay. But how is this possible, Lex, when you’re rolling in it, right?”
“Wrong. I wish. Although Massimo offered to acquire the company, I turned him down.”
“You must be high.”
“No, stupid with pride.”
“How so?” Taddy asked, suddenly very interested.
“My checking account is overdrawn. We’ve used up the bank’s credit line. We won’t be able to pay you or the staff ’til after the fashion show and we get our purchase orders. I’m sorry.” And she was. She felt as if she’d failed.
“I don’t understand.”
“No fabric equals no inventory, no purchase orders, no sales and no money. We’ll start back up into production with the new shipment.” Lex tried to follow up her reassurance with a smile, but knew Taddy could see right through her.
Taddy put her hand on Lex’s knee and patted it. “Honey, it’s okay. We’ll get through this. For freak’s sake, I’ve seen you richer than God and poorer than dirt. You talk to Vive and me every day. Here we thought everything seemed hunky-dory. Don’t ever keep a stupid fabric debacle a secret and jet off to Italy as if going to Queens or Brooklyn. We’re here for you.”
“I know.” She appreciated all her friends more than ever.
“What’s gotten into you?”
Lex decided she would tell her about Massimo. “Okay, okay, okay.”
“You always shut down and go into hiding every time something colossal occurs in your life—all hushed and clammed up. It drives me nuts. Vive expressed concern, stating you’re the most paranoid woman she’s ever met. And that bitch knows everyone.”
“And for good reason. Hello, come on.”
“Tell me how on Earth you got the arm of the prince. I saw the pictures and video on TV. How did you get him to escort you to those events? You must have him by the fashion fabric balls. Vive mentione
d you two fought. She surmised the romance was staged.” Taddy didn’t have any idea.
Lex took in a breath before fessing up. “I’m in love.”
“What?” Taddy shouted. “I thought The Fashion Ball was a platonic spin to help your brands grow together.”
Lex shook her head. “We were no Michael Jackson and Madonna at the Oscars, Taddy. It’s real.”
“And here I sent him a nasty email.” Taddy choked. “I assumed Girasoli executed some PR stunt without my say-so. And then the Milan Art Auction thing the next night kind of blew up in your face.”
“It did more than blow up in our face.”
“Love him? Swear to baby Jesus, you love him?” Taddy spoke ‘love’ as if it were some disease.
“Consider it sworn. I’m in love, as in never before and will never be again.” She held up her hands. “I’m shaking from this emotion. I puked on the plane twice.”
Taddy cracked the window down farther and put her head back on the leather headrest, pulling her sunglasses up into her hair and closing her eyes. “When I first saw the images from The Fashion Ball, I became excited but didn’t want to jinx you. I could see it on your face,” she said. “Lovesick! Love sucks donkey balls. I despise feeling insecure, not knowing if it’ll be returned, major paranoia, blah.”
“Yes, you’re spot-on with what’s going on inside.”
“I’m convinced love leads to schizophrenia.” Taddy sat back up as her bloodshot eyes focused. “Now, did he say he loves you, too? Have you guys expressed this to one another?”
“Massimo.” Lex let the word slide over her tongue. She loved saying his name. “Yes, he said I love you first.” The thought became more familiar in a good way, but was it too late?
Taddy’s tongue hung from her lower lip like a bichon frise thirsty for a Perrier. She glared down at Lex’s left hand and asked, “And? Hello! Get the Harry Winston,” she barked.
“We barely know each other. Of course he hasn’t asked me to marry him. I could tell he wanted to, but we didn’t go there.”
“Did you two have sex? Ahh, Maaa Gad! You didn’t? You did! Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Taddy’s sexual capabilities turned the odometer well over one hundred thousand miles, whereas Lex’s were, well, maybe over three miles.
“Taddy!” Lex shouted and gave the “cut” sign with her hand across her neck.
“How’s the royal’s peter anyway?” Taddy laughed, entertaining herself with her own jokes.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Spare me. You don’t kiss period. But look at you! My, my, my. Aside from your bashed-up face, you’re glowing. I haven’t seen you look happy in years.” Taddy studied her from top to bottom. “He slammed your pussy, didn’t he?” Taddy gunned for an answer. “The longtime Miss Prudence of Prudeville, my frigid friend, the ‘Big Apple Starved for Sex’ got her McIntosh plucked. Or should I say fucked and made into applesauce.”
“Shut up, Taddy!”
“Oh, honey, we’re having a party for your fashion show and…for your clit being back on the sex wagon. Jesus, it took you long enough.” She laughed to herself again, louder that time, and snorted. “I wish you’d experienced a tad more than a handful to compare it to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you have fucked about two men in your whole life. I’m dying to know if an Italian royal makes love better or worse than a Manhattanite.”
“Massimo’s an amazing lover. He’s sweet and patient and kinky.” Lex pressed her lips together.
“I’m starting to wonder if your eye blackened from Massimo clubbing you with his Italian dick.” She screamed, “How hung is he?”
Oh, Jesus. “Never you mind, but he’s gifted.” She wanted to slap Taddy back to reality.
Taddy grinned, giving her a look up and down then up again. “Okay, back on media talk. Your press is all over the place. Most reporters are talking about the Milan Art Auction four-way crystal meth party.”
“Which is bullshit.”
“And some reporters are talking about your love story. Can’t believe I assumed it was fictitious. But it’s real. You two are the next Victoria and David Beckham. I’ve never seen anything this fierce before. My trained eye should know better.” She pulled out the magazine again and studied the cover. “This photo at The Fashion Gala is saaaalacious. With you two in love, I have much more to add to this PR spin.” She rubbed her palms together, preparing to launch a campaign as no other. Her red acrylics rapped together, making a clinking noise.
“The vintage Valentino dress is beautiful, isn’t it?” The article and those images were taken before everything turned to Hell.
“I almost fell off my barstool when the screenshot came across the TV. I thought I saw a movie star. No offense.” Taddy snickered.
“My body double, perhaps?”
“Birdie always says your beauty matches Charlize Theron. In Valentino, I agree with her.” She reached for Lex’s face. “Did you get any facial injections in Milan? I mean before the girls beat you up. Did you have your tits done to resemble mine?” Taddy pushed silicone on everyone. She received a huge Park Avenue discount from her cosmetic surgeon every year for all the referrals she’d given him.
Tears blinded her and choked her voice. Not over the beauty compliments—she couldn’t care less—but thoughts of Massimo flooded over her. God, she loved him.
“Don’t start blubbering. You know my credo: no crying. I came back from my press trip, leaving Big Daddy behind, because we have nonstop work ahead.”
“The next seventy-two hours will make our heads spin.”
“Since you avoided Birdie plague-style, she’s called me every hour on the hour. Your mother is jacked up to get this show off the ground.”
“Mom’s back on her speed.”
“Birdie confirmed the shipment arrived this morning.”
“Great.” Slight relief blessed Lex’s anxiety—not enough, but a little to allow her to sit back in the car seat. They could move on to the next phase for product development. “I’m sorry about putting Birdie on you, but I couldn’t manage her and Massimo at the same time.”
“I understand. She’s sewing to the patterns and sketches you left. Birdie and I agreed I’d do the PR for the show. You’d pay me net thirty after your orders come in.”
“Okay,” Lex said. She could manage this.
“But I want to decline on our usual status quo and opt for no payment, not now. Instead, I want to increase my shares in Easton and take a higher percentage when you sell to Girasoli.”
“I knew you’d say that. I could feel it in my bones.” You’re ruthless. She’d learned a lot from how Taddy worked with her clients. It made Brill, Inc. millions.
“Bones, my love, have nothing to do with it. It’s what I do. I have you by the balls.” Taddy squeezed her right hand into a fist.
“How so?”
“Easton needs Brill to work around the clock as media mules.”
“True.”
“Brill shall be rewarded for our hard work. With this said, here’s your schedule for the week.” A sheet outlining media appointments went from Taddy’s bag to Lex’s hands. She shouted at the driver, “Jose, how much longer ’til we get into the city?” They inched down the Long Island Expressway, moving in and out from the carpool lane.
“A few more minutes, Miss Brill. I’m going to take you into town via the FDR on the east side.”
“Jose, I want midtown. You know, Poppy White’s studio.”
“The TV station?” Lex piped up.
“Blake Morgan, my vice president aka media maven and your favorite guy in town, booked you for TV appearances today.”
“Oh, no, Blake didn’t…” She held her breath.
“One segment today with Vive, but the real work begins at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“What’s tomorrow morning?”
“We drop you for a live news feed to every single TV station in the country.” Taddy’s eyes widened as
if she’d lit the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
“Taddy!” When everything couldn’t get any worse, she felt the Brill, Inc. media pie smack her in the face. I want to crawl under the covers and hide. I don’t want to do TV. Not today. Not now. Not ever.
“Suck it up, honey. We start taping with Poppy White in two hours.”
Meet Me at Sunset
“Taping?” I haven’t done a TV interview in years.
“Yes, today you’re going on The Poppy White Show. Then tomorrow, Blake booked you on Good Morning America followed by The View.”
“Tabitha Adelaide Brillford! I’m exhausted. I can’t go on TV today or tomorrow. I’m a mess. I don’t know what I’m going to say.”
Taddy squinted. “Don’t assume that by calling me by my birth name you’re gonna get me to change my mind. It’s Taddy Brill, bitch! We have two hours to rehearse and prep you before you go live.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you want Blake to come after you? You know how hard Blake’s team works to keep Easton in the media’s best light. And since you’ve claimed your fame as the face for the brand, we have to do this.” Taddy pointed her finger at her to buckle up.
“I didn’t claim this shit on purpose. I’m being forced into this.”
“Would you care for another black eye?” Taddy held up her fist with a smile.
“I have nothing to wear,” Lex sulked. I’m not doing this.
“Birdie and Aunt Muffie are meeting us at The Poppy White Show. They’re bringing you a suit to put on.”
“My face is banged-up.” Does it really matter, though? The world saw her at her worst in Milan.