One Way or Another(58)

“Well, then, Lucy, my dear,” Ahmet said, “why don’t you and I have some of this and talk about progress on my interior design.”

“I have to get back to London,” Lucy said, still desperate.

“Of course, of course.” Ahmet patted her knee as he handed her a glass, then lifted his own in a toast.

“To us. To Lucy, my lovely girl. To Marshmallows and the grand ball I shall give where you will be a star.”

Ahmet saying she’d be “a star” reminded Lucy of why she had come here in the first place. “You mean in the film? The one you were going to show me the script of. Remember?”

Ahmet walked over to the wall of shelves immediately behind her, took a bound sheaf of papers from there, came back and handed them to her.

“The title is Only the Best,” he said. “And it’s all yours, Lucy.

“Listen, sweetheart.” He spoke softly, as though worried someone might overhear, though in fact Lucy saw no one about. “I have to fly to France in a few days, to check my yacht. I thought you might come with me, enjoy a quick trip. We can discuss all your plans on the plane,” he added, catching her hesitation. “It will save time in the end.”

Lucy said okay; after all, she was getting nowhere with the pizza delivery guy and there was nobody else on the horizon, and all in all she was pretty fed up with life at the moment. Nothing seemed to have gone right since she left drama school; no jobs, no career, no men. She knew she wasn’t great-looking but, hey, she wasn’t bad either, and she was sparky and people said she was fun, so what the hell was wrong? She decided she must have lost all her sex appeal since her “almost” foray into real sex, and now nobody wanted to know her anymore. Except Ahmet, who was old and boring but he was inviting her to his yacht, flying her in his private plane, talking about the script and about the ball he wanted to give and that she and Martha would plan. How bad could it be?

*

Later, she called Martha to tell her. Predictably, Martha went crazy.

“Don’t you dare go with that man, Lucy Patron.” She actually yelled, putting Lucy’s back up.

“And why not?” she demanded, sounding, she thought, coolly dignified.

“I don’t trust him,” Martha said, quieter now but definitely worried.

“I thought you said he’d invited you to his yacht too? And Marco as well.” Lucy seemed to remember Martha mentioning it.

“Yes, but we never confirmed anything.”

“I guess he’ll get round to it now.” Lucy was suddenly tired of it all. “Can I come and stay with you tonight, Marthie? My place is such a mess.”

“Oh, God, all right, of course you can. In fact it would be better if you came here, that way I can keep my eye on you.”

Lucy had to laugh. “You can’t suspect Ahmet of evil intentions. I mean, Marthie, he’s too old for all that.”

“And you, Lucy, are too young. Come on over, and bring Morrie with you, we can discuss the plans for the ball.”

Lucy perked up immediately. “How wonderful. I can just imagine it now, all gilt and roses and … and a bunch of older people in long frocks twirling sedately to a waltz, or worse, doing a rhumba in a long line the way they do in old movies.…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, and what you don’t know is that Morrie is very well known as a party planner. He’ll tell us exactly what to do, and how much it will cost.”

“Do you really think Ahmet will care about that?”

“You’d be surprised the things Ahmet cares about, one of which is most certainly his money. How do you think billionaires get to be billionaires? Still, this is going to cost him a bomb.”

“It will be wonderful,” Lucy said, knowing that it would.





40

Marco was in bed with Martha when his phone rang. He groaned and put a hand over his eyes, not wanting to look, not wanting to admit anyone into the private place he and his lover, his woman, his lovely Martha were at. Her back was toward him, his body wrapped around hers, his leg across hers; a moment ago, the hand he now flung over his eyes in order not to check who the caller was had been cupping her breast: small, perfect, rounded, it fit as though it was made for him. Which he believed it was.

“Our Maker was good when he invented you,” he whispered in Martha’s ear. “But not when he invented the phone.” Groaning, he tried to ignore it and thankfully, after a few more rings, it stopped. Then it started again.

“Someone is persistent,” Martha murmured, taking his hand and moving it down her body. “But I’ll bet no one’s as persistent as I am when I know what I want.”

He knew what she wanted, it was exactly what he wanted; they had both wanted it already for more than a couple of hours now. “I will always love you,” he murmured, licking her ear.

“Oh, God.” Martha sat up with a sudden jolt, sending Marco flying backward. “I forgot. Lucy will be on her way over here. I told her she could stay the night. Ahmet’s invited her onto his yacht, of course I’ll have to tell her she can’t go alone.…”

“Then why don’t we go with her? I have to talk to him about his portrait, I could use that as an excuse.”

Martha smiled. “Perfect, Marco Mahoney. You are absolutely so freakin’ perfect sometimes I can’t believe you are that clever. You’ve just saved the whole situation.”