“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.