Lindsay slid into the booth opposite her sister. A glass of white wine was already there. She raised it, then sighed and put it back down. She called for a Perrier. Sydney said, “You know I have a daughter, don’t you?”
“Yes, her name’s Melissa. Grandmother sent me a picture of her. She’s beautiful. She looks just like you.”
“I didn’t know you were a model.”
Lindsay shrugged, clicking her glass of Perrier to Sydney’s wineglass. A pool of pain settled in her stomach. Sydney probably thought she was still a nothing. She’d told her mother and her grandmother about her new career, but evidently neither had seen fit to tell Lindsay’s father or Sydney. Or he’d been told and he simply couldn’t care less, which was no surprise. But why hadn’t Grandmother told Sydney?
“I saw you on the cover of Elle.”
“That was a lucky hit, so Demos told me. The woman at Elle freaked out over the shape of my ears or something silly like that.”
“You’re with Vincent Rafael Demos.”
“You’ve heard of the loose cannon then. How do you know about him?”
“Most women in the upper strata of society know about Demos and his, ah, models, Lindsay.”
“Oh ho! Upper strata! No wonder I thought he was a New Jersey loan shark.” She laughed, delighted with the snobbery, and to her surprise, Sydney flushed.
“I was joking.”
“Sure you were, Sydney.” For the first time in her life, Lindsay felt an instant of having the upper hand. It felt quite good, remarkable really. “What is this about him and his, ah, models?”
Sydney shrugged. “It’s his reputation. Well deserved, I understand.”
“Glen arranges all that for him.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sydney that Glen was Demos’ lover, but she didn’t, saying instead, “Glen’s his mother, confessor, secretary, assistant, in short, his right and left hand. He decided some twelve years ago that a dicey reputation would be good for Demos’ professional image. Demos rarely sleeps with anything other than his toy poodle, named Yorkshire, and three Siamese cats.” And Glen, of course. “Now, why are you here in New York? To find out if I’m sleeping with Demos?” She paused only fractionally before adding, “You’re here alone?”
Sydney nodded, hearing the crack in her sister’s self-confidence. She’d seemed a different person, at first. But it wasn’t true. But no, some things never changed. She leaned back in the booth, smiling. “You’re thinking of my husband, no doubt. Alessandro is in Rome this week. He is rarely at the villa in Milan now. It’s just his grandfather, his mother, Melissa, and me and all the servants. His sullen pig of a sister is married to a Greek shipping magnate and spends more of her time now on Crete. I’m involved in the family business now. A munitions factory, just imagine. Father stays at the villa a good three months of the year. He enjoys Melissa and being with me, naturally. His wife is tolerable, just barely. You’ve met her, haven’t you? Holly’s a bitch, but as I said, sufferable if you know how to handle her, which I do very well. Last trip, she stayed at home. She’s jealous of me, you know. Father took a mistress after he’d been married to Holly only two months. He won’t ever be the faithful type, as your mother soon discovered after her marriage to him. You’ve changed—a bit.”
“I’m an adult now. I handle things. He was probably never faithful to your mother either, Sydney.”
“My mother died! You know that. He loved her and only her, and when she died, he changed, gave up.”
Lindsay opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d overheard Lansford, the Foxe butler, say to Dorrey, the cook, years before, how after the first Mrs. Foxe had run away from the judge, she moved to New Zealand. It appeared she hadn’t died. But surely Sydney knew this. Surely she just liked to pretend it was otherwise. She had the upper hand again. She smiled. “Is there something special you wanted to see me about, Sydney?”
“For God’s sake, why do I have to have something special in mind? You’re my sister.”
“I’ve been your sister for twenty-three years. Why now? It’s been five years.”
Sydney said nothing. She sipped her tart chardonnay. She found Lindsay’s attempt at sarcasm mildly amusing. Five years should have wrought some improvements, so the attempts at sarcasm were a help. What to tell her? She’d dangle her on the line a bit longer.
“Perhaps I’m really here to find some young virgins for Alessandro. He likes a new crop every year. You could probably throw yourself at his feet now and he wouldn’t spare you a second glance. You’re just too old, your face and your body. Do you know that Alessandro told me that you would become beautiful? He used to say that and I’d laugh because all I ever saw in you were skinny legs, elbows that stuck out, and a mop of hair that looked like a lawn mower had plowed through it. Of course he preferred you all skinny arms and legs and innocence. Seeing you like this, perhaps he would still want you. Perhaps he would even admit he’d been wrong. I’ll ask him.”
Lindsay was frozen.
“You still think about that night, do you? Really, Lindsay, what’s plain old simple sex compared to shooting your husband two times? I do remember the look on his face. Absolute astonishment, and then he toppled off you.” Sydney shrugged. “But it has been five years now, Lindsay. Time for you to forget, certainly. But you know, I’ve regretted many times that I was such a bad shot.”
“I don’t think something like that is all that easy to forget. Why didn’t you divorce him?”
“Scandal, pure and simple. Same reason you didn’t press charges against him. Father was busy working on both of us. And there was so much money at stake. But enough about my husband. How did you get into modeling?”
Lindsay was more than glad to leave it. God, so much and yet not enough. How could one forget? It hurt her throat even to talk about it. She became aware that Sydney was watching her and said quickly, “Demos discovered me last year, in a bar. I’d just quit my job at a small publishing company and a cab had splashed dirty slush on my new suede boots. I was drowning my depression when he saw me and came over. It sounds ludicrously trite, but that’s how it happened. He told me it wasn’t all that uncommon. I like Demos, regardless. He’s smart and he’s fun.”
“More fun than Alessandro?”
Lindsay snapped the stem of the wineglass that held her Perrier. The glass cut into her finger. She sat there looking at the blood welling up.
“Would you like a Band-Aid?”
“Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea.” Sydney wiped the blood off Lindsay’s finger with a napkin, then peeled a Band-Aid around it. “There, good as new.”
“Why did you say that, Sydney? Why do you want to make me feel horrible all over again?”
“I don’t, Lindsay, don’t be silly. But you did have fun with Alessandro, admit it. You were completely infatuated with him for over two years, remember? And you made no move to leave when you discovered I wasn’t in Paris with him, did you? He made you feel so special, didn’t he? Ah, his charm is legendary when he chooses to use it.”
“I was a dumb teenager!”