Lois was puzzled. “Why Washington?”
“To tell them about Prima.”
And Gary explained it.
NOW GARY WAS dead. I think my life is in danger. Her brother had not been killed in an accident. He had been murdered.
Lois looked at her watch. It was too late to do anything now, but in the morning she was going to make the phone call that would avenge her brother’s murder. She was going to finish what Gary had planned to do. Lois felt suddenly drained. It was an effort to get up from the couch. She had had no dinner, but the idea of food nauseated her.
Lois headed for the bedroom and fell onto the bed, too tired to undress. She lay there, dazed, until she finally fell asleep.
LOIS DREAMED THAT she and Gary were on a speeding train and that all the passengers in the railroad car were smoking. It was getting hot, and the smoke made her cough. Her coughing woke her up, and she opened her eyes. She looked around in shock. Her bedroom was on fire, the blaze racing up the curtains, the room filled with smoke. Lois stumbled out of bed, choking. Trying to hold her breath, she staggered into the living room. The entire room was engulfed in flames. She took half a dozen steps toward the door, felt her legs give way, and fell to the floor.
The last thing Lois Reynolds remembered was the flames hungrily licking their way toward her.
Chapter 10
TO KELLY, EVERYTHING was happening at a dizzying pace. She quickly learned about the most important aspects of modeling: the agency had given her training courses in image projection, poise, and carriage. Much of modeling was attitude, and to Kelly that meant acting, because she felt neither beautiful nor desirable.
The phrase “overnight sensation” could have been invented for Kelly. She projected not only an exciting, provocative image, but also an air of untouchability that was a challenge to men. Within two years, Kelly had risen to the top tier of models. She was advertising products in a dozen countries. Much of Kelly’s time was spent in Paris, where some of her agency’s most important clients were located.
Once, after a fashion extravaganza in New York, before heading back to Paris, Kelly went to see her mother, who looked older and more careworn. I’ve got to get her out of here, Kelly thought. I’ll buy a nice apartment for her, and take care of her.
Her mother seemed pleased to see her. “I’m glad you’re doing so well, Kelly. Thanks for your monthly checks.”
“You’re welcome. Mother, there’s something I want to talk to you about. I have a plan all worked out. I want you to leave—”
“Well, look who’s come to pay us a visit—her highness.” Her stepfather had just walked in. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be strutting around in them fancy clothes?”
I’ll have to do this another time, Kelly thought.
KELLY HAD ONE more stop to make. She went to the public library where she had spent so many wonderful hours, and as she walked through the door, holding half a dozen magazines, her mind was dancing with memories.
Mrs. Houston was not at her desk. Kelly walked inside and saw her standing in one of the side aisles, looking radiant in a sleek, tailored dress, busily filling a shelf with books.
As Mrs. Houston heard the door open, she said, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” She turned. “Kelly!” It was almost a scream. “Oh, Kelly.”
They ran to each other and embraced.
Mrs. Houston pulled back and looked at Kelly. “I can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing in town?”
“I came to see my mother, but I wanted to see you, too.”
“I’m so proud of you. You have no idea.”
“Mrs. Houston, do you remember when I asked how I could thank you? You said I could thank you by letting you see my picture in a fashion magazine. Here.” And Kelly put the pile of fashion magazines in Mrs. Houston’s arms. There were copies of Elle, Cosmopolitan, Mademoiselle, and Vogue. She was on the cover of each one.
“They’re beautiful.” Mrs. Houston was beaming. “I want to show you something.” She went behind her desk and pulled out copies of the same magazines.
It took a moment before Kelly could speak. “What can I ever do to thank you? You changed my life.”
“No, Kelly. You changed your life. All I did was give you a little push. And Kelly—”
“Yes?”
“Thanks to you I’ve become a fashion plate.”
SINCE KELLY VALUED her privacy, her fame sometimes was troublesome. The constant barrage of photographers annoyed her, and she had what amounted to a phobia of being approached by people she did not know. Kelly enjoyed being alone.
One day, she was having lunch at Restaurant le Cinq at the George V Hotel, when a badly dressed man passing by stopped to stare at her. He had the pallid, unhealthy complexion of someone who spent all his time indoors. He was carrying a copy of Elle, opened to a page of photographs of Kelly.
“Excuse me,” the stranger said.
Kelly looked up, annoyed. “Yes?”
“I saw your—I read this article about you, and it says that you were born in Philadelphia.” His voice grew enthusiastic. “I was born there, too, and when I saw your pictures, I felt like I knew you and—”
Kelly said coldly, “You don’t, and I don’t like strange men bothering me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “I didn’t mean to—I’m not strange. I mean—my name is Mark Harris, and I work for Kingsley International Group. When I saw you here, I—I thought maybe you didn’t like having lunch alone and that you and I could—”
Kelly gave him a scathing look. “You thought wrong. Now I’d like you to leave.”
He was stammering. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that I—” He saw the look on her face. “I’m going.”
Kelly watched him walk out the door, carrying the magazine with him. Good riddance.
KELLY HAD SIGNED to do a week of layouts for several fashion magazines. The day after her encounter with Mark Harris, she was in the models’ dressing room, getting dressed, when three dozen roses arrived for her. The card read: Please forgive me for bothering you. Mark Harris.
Kelly ripped up the card. “Send the flowers to the children’s hospital.”
The next morning the wardrobe mistress came into the dressing room again, with a package. “Some man left this for you, Kelly.”
In it was a single orchid. The card read: I hope I’m forgiven. Mark Harris.
Kelly tore up the card. “Keep the flower.”
AFTER THAT, MARK Harris’s gifts came almost daily: a small basket of fruit, a mood ring, a toy Santa Claus. Kelly threw them all into a wastebasket. The next gift that arrived was different: it was an adorable French poodle puppy with a red ribbon around its neck with a card: This is “Angel.” I hope you’ll love her as much as I do. Mark Harris.
Kelly dialed Information and got the number of Kingsley International Group. When their operator answered, Kelly asked, “Do you have a Mark Harris working there?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
“Could I speak with him, please?”
“Un moment.”
A minute later Kelly heard his familiar voice. “Hello?”
“Mr. Harris?”
“Yes.”
“This is Kelly. I’ve decided to take you up on your invitation to lunch.”
There was a stunned silence, then, “Really? That’s—that’s wonderful.”
Kelly could hear the excitement in his voice.
“Laurent today, at one?”
“That will be great. Thank you so much. I—”
“I’ll make the reservation. Good-bye.”
MARK HARRIS WAS standing, waiting at a table at Laurent, when Kelly strode in, carrying the puppy.
Mark’s face lit up. “You—you came. I wasn’t sure that—and you brought Angel.”
“Yes.” Kelly planted the dog in Mark’s arms. “She can join you for lunch,” she said icily, and turned to leave.
Mark said, “I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Well, I’m going to explain it for you for the last time,” Kelly snapped. “I want you to stop annoying me. Do you understand that?”
Mark Harris’s face turned a bright red. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—I just thought—I don’t know what to…I’d like to explain. Would you sit down just for a moment?”
Kelly started to say no, then sat, a look of contempt on her face. “Yes?”
Mark Harris took a deep breath. “I’m really so sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you. I sent you those things to apologize for intruding. All I wanted was a chance to—when I saw your picture, I felt as though I had known you all my life. And then when I saw you in person and you were even more—” He was stammering, mortified. “I—I should have known that someone like you could never be interested in someone like…I—I acted like a stupid schoolboy. I’m so embarrassed. It’s just that I—I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt, and…” His voice trailed off. There was a naked vulnerability about him. “I’m just not good at…at explaining my feelings. I’ve been alone all my life. No one ever…when I was six years old, my parents got a divorce, and there was a custody battle. Neither one of them wanted me.”