Sweet Revenge Read online

  “When I left, you and I were pretty much on equal terms.” On a sigh she looked around the penthouse. “You’ve gone up, and I’ve gone nowhere.”

  Celeste sat on the arm of the sofa. “Phoebe, you took a wrong turn. People do.”

  “Yeah.” She found she wanted a drink badly. To fight it off, she thought of Adrianne and the life she wanted to give her. “I have some jewelry. I had to leave most of it behind, but I did get some out. I’m going to sell it, then after I begin divorce proceedings, the settlement Abdu makes on me and on Addy will keep us well enough. Of course, I’m going back to work, so money won’t be a problem for long.” She turned to the window again to stare at the blank sky. “I’m going to give her everything, the best of everything. I have to.”

  “Let’s worry about that later. Right now I think Addy could use a couple of pairs of jeans and some sneakers.”

  Adrianne stood on the corner of Fifth and Fifty-second with one hand gripping her mother’s and the other fiddling restlessly with the buttons of her new fur-collared coat. If her brief glimpse of Paris had made that city seem like another world, then New York was another universe. And she was part of it.

  There were people everywhere, millions of them, it seemed to her, and none of them looked the same. There was no unity of dress here as there was in Jaquir. At a glance it was often difficult to tell men from women. Both sexes tended to wear their hair long. Some of the women chose to wear pants. New York had no law against it, nor against the other costume women wore—the tiny skirts that rose high above the knee. She saw men in beads and headbands, men in business suits and overcoats. There were women wrapped in mink and women in tight denim.

  No matter what they wore, they moved fast. Adrianne crossed the street between her mother and Celeste and tried to see it all at once. They filled the city, every inch, every corner, and the noise of their existence rose off the pavement like a celebration. They traveled in packs, or they traveled alone. They dressed like beggars and like kings. Thousands of words in thousands of voices rang in her ears.

  Then there were the buildings. They rose right into the sky, taller than any mosque, grander than any palace. She wondered if they had been built to honor Allah, but she had yet to hear a prayer call. People hurried into them, and out of them, yet she saw none that were restricted to women.

  Some shopkeepers spread their goods on the pavement, but when Adrianne stopped to look at the wares, her mother pulled her away.

  She went patiently into the shops, but for once buying didn’t interest her. She wanted to be outside, absorbing. There were smells to remember. The stink of exhaust from the hundreds of cars, trucks, and buses that crept along the streets, horns blaring. There was the smoky tang she learned was roasting chestnuts. And there was the rich fleshy scent of so much humanity.

  It was a dirty, often unforgiving city, but Adrianne didn’t see the layers of grime or the jagged edges. She saw life, in a variety and with an excitement she’d never known existed. And she wanted more.

  “Sneakers.” Pleasantly exhausted, Celeste dropped into a chair in the shoe department of Lord & Taylor. She grinned at Adrianne. The child’s face, she thought, told a thousand stories. All of wonder. She was glad they’d dismissed the driver and opted to walk, even though her feet were killing her. “What do you think of our big, bad city so far, Addy?”

  “We can see more?”

  “Yes.” Already in love, Celeste tucked Adrianne’s hair behind her ear. “We can see all you like. How are you holding up, Phoebe?”

  “Fine.” Phoebe forced a smile and unbuttoned her coat. Her nerves were raw. All the noise, the people, after so many years of silence and solitude. The decisions. There seemed to be hundreds of decisions to make when for so long she had none. She wanted a drink. God, she would kill for just one drink. Or a pill.

  “Phoebe?”

  “Yes, what?” On a long breath she brought herself back and smiled calmly at Celeste. “I’m sorry. My mind was wandering.”

  “I was saying you look tired. Do you want to call it a day?”

  She started to agree, gratefully, then caught the quick look of disappointment on Adrianne’s face. “No. I just need to catch my second wind.” She bent down to kiss Adrianne’s cheek. “Are you having fun?”

  “It is better than a party.”

  Celeste laughed and flexed her toes. “Honey, New York’s the biggest party this country has got.” Then she crossed her legs and smiled flirtatiously up at the salesman. “We want to see some sneakers suitable for a little girl. I noticed those pink ones over there, with the flowers? And maybe a pair in plain white.”

  “Of course.” He crouched down to smile in Adrianne’s face. He smelled like the peppermint cream Jiddah sometimes ate, and had only a thin fringe of gray hair. “What size do you wear, young lady?”

  He was speaking to her. Directly to her. Adrianne stared at him without the least idea what to do. He was not a member of her family. She looked helplessly toward her mother, but Phoebe was staring off at nothing.

  “Why don’t you measure her?” Celeste suggested, reaching over to give Adrianne’s hand a quick squeeze. She saw, with a combination of amusement and distress, the way Adrianne’s eyes widened when he took her foot in his hand to remove her shoe. “He’s going to measure your foot to see what size you wear.”

  “That’s right.” Cheerful, he slid Adrianne’s foot onto the measuring board. “Stand up, sweetheart.”

  Swallowing, Adrianne did so, looking straight over his head as her face filled with color. She wondered if the shoe person was like a doctor.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll go see what I have in stock.”

  “Why don’t you take off your other shoe, Addy? Then you can walk around in the new ones and see if you like them.”

  Adrianne bent to unfasten the buckle. “It is permitted for the shoe person to touch?”

  Celeste bit her lip to prevent a smile. “Yes. It’s his job to sell you shoes that fit well. To make sure, he has to measure your foot. As part of the service, he takes off your old shoes and puts on the new ones.”

  “A ritual?”

  At a loss, Celeste sat back. “In a way.”

  Satisfied, Adrianne folded her hands and sat meekly when the clerk returned with boxes. She watched solemnly as he laced up the pink flowered sneakers and slipped them on her feet, tying them in a bow.

  “There you go, sweetheart.” The clerk patted her foot. “Try them out.”

  At Celeste’s gesture, Adrianne stood and took a few steps. “They are different.”

  “Different good,” Celeste asked, “or different bad?”

  “Different good.” She grinned at the idea of wearing flowers on her feet. She didn’t mind when the clerk pressed his thumb against her toe.

  “It’s a good fit.”

  Adrianne took a deep breath and smiled at him. “I like them very much. Thank you.” She let the breath out on a giggle. For the first time in her life, she had spoken to a man not of her family.

  The three weeks Adrianne spent in New York were some of the happiest and the saddest days of her life. There was so much to learn, so much to see. Part of her, the part that had been raised with the strict, unwavering rules of behavior, disapproved of the brashness of the city. Another part, the part that was opening, was thrilled by it. New York was America to Adrianne. It would remain America always, at its best and at its worst.

  The rules had changed. She had a room of her own, but it was bigger and brighter than the room she had been given in her father’s palace. She wasn’t a princess here, but she was cherished. Still, she often slipped into her mother’s bed at night to comfort if Phoebe wept, to lay awake if Phoebe slept. She understood there were demons inside her mother, and it frightened her. Some days Phoebe seemed full of life and energy, of joy and optimism. There would be talk about past glories, and the glories of the future. Plans and promises were made in a whirl of laughing words. Then a day or two later the animation would b
e gone. Phoebe would complain of headaches or fatigue and spend hours alone in her room.

  On those days Celeste would take Adrianne out to walk in the park or to go to the theater.

  Even the food was different, and she was allowed to take what she wanted when she wanted. She became addicted quickly to the sharp, sparkling taste of Pepsi straight out of a cold bottle. She ate her first hot dog without any idea it was made of pork, forbidden to Muslims.

  Television became both teacher and entertainment. She was both embarrassed and fascinated when she saw women embrace men—openly, even aggressively. The stories often had fairy-tale endings about falling in love or losing your heart. In the stories women chose what man they wanted to marry, and sometimes chose not to marry at all. She watched, silent and astonished. Bette Davis in Jezebel, Katharine Hepburn’s Philadelphia Story, and, wonderingly, Phoebe Spring in Nights of Passion. From that point grew an admiration for strong women who could win in a man’s world.

  Yet it was the commercials, where the people dressed oddly and solved their problems in seconds, that delighted her more than the comedies and drama. Through them her American-style English was refined, fleshed out.

  In those three weeks she learned more than she might have in three years of school. Her mind was like a willing sponge eager to absorb.

  It was her spirit, so in tune with Phoebe’s, that suffered the highs and lows.

  Then the letter came. Adrianne knew about the divorce. It was still her habit to creep down the stairs at night and listen to her mother and Celeste talk of the things neither would tell her. So she understood that her mother was going to divorce Abdu. And she was glad. If there was divorce, there would be no more beatings, no more rapes.

  When the letter had come, the letter from Jaquir, Phoebe had gone to her room. She had stayed there all day, not coming out to eat, asking to be left alone whenever Celeste knocked on the door.

  Now, as it neared midnight, Adrianne was awakened from a restless sleep by her mother’s laughter. Moving quickly, she climbed out of bed and ran on tiptoe to Phoebe’s door.

  “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Celeste paced the room, her silk lounging pajamas whispering around her.

  “I’m sorry, darling, really. I needed some time.” Adrianne pressed against the crack in the door. She could see Phoebe sprawled in a chair, her hair tumbled, her eyes bright, and her fingers drumming to some rapid inner tune. “Hearing from Abdu hit me hard. I knew it was going to happen, but I still wasn’t ready. Congratulate me, Celeste, I’m a free woman.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her movements jerky, Phoebe rose to refill her glass from a decanter. She smiled, toasted, then drank deeply. “Abdu has divorced me.”

  “In three weeks?”

  “He could do it in three seconds, and he has. Of course, I’m still going to go through the formalities on this end, but it’s as good as done.”

  Celeste noted the level of whiskey in the decanter. “Why don’t we go down and have some coffee?”

  “This is a celebration.” She pressed the glass against her brow and began to weep. “The bastard didn’t even give me the chance to end it in my own way. Not once in all these years have I had a choice, not even in this.”

  “Let’s sit down.” Celeste reached out for her, but Phoebe shook her head and went back to the decanter.

  “No, I’m all right. I needed to get drunk. The coward’s way.”

  “No one who’s done what you’ve done could ever be called a coward, Phoebe.” Celeste took the glass from her hand, then drew Phoebe to the bed to sit. “I know it’s rough. Divorce makes you feel as though you’ve put your foot down, knowing just where you’re going only to find out there’s nothing there. Sooner or later you come to solid ground again, believe me.”

  “There’s no one else for me.”

  “That’s foolish. You’re young, you’re beautiful. This divorce is a beginning for you, not an ending.”

  “He took something from me, Celeste. I can’t seem to get it back.” She covered her face with her hands. “It doesn’t matter. Only Addy matters now.”

  “Addy’s fine.”

  “She needs things, she deserves things.” Phoebe fumbled for a tissue. “I need to know she’s well taken care of.”

  “She will be.”

  Phoebe wiped her eyes and drew a deep breath. “There’s not going to be a settlement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s not going to make any financial arrangements for Addy. Nothing. No trust fund, no child support, nothing. All she has is a worthless title that even he can’t strip her of. He’s keeping it all, what I had when we married, what he gave me. Even The Sun and the Moon, the necklace he bought me with.”

  “He can’t. Phoebe, you have a good lawyer. It might take some time and effort, but Abdu has a responsibility to you and to Adrianne.”

  “No, his terms were very clear. If I try to fight him on this, he’ll take Adrianne.” The whiskey had thickened her tongue. She drank more to loosen it. “He can do it, Celeste, believe me. He doesn’t want her, and God knows what he would put her through if he got her, but he would take her away from me. Nothing’s worth that, not The Sun and the Moon, not anything.”

  For the second time Celeste took Phoebe’s glass and set it aside. “All right, I agree with you that Addy’s welfare comes first. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve already done it.” She was up, pacing, her long white robe billowing. “I got drunk, then I got sick, then I called Larry Curtis.”

  “Your agent?”

  “That’s right.” She swung around. Her face was alive again, still pale, but gorgeous. “He’s flying right out.”

  Gorgeous, Celeste thought—the way a fire was when it burned too brightly. “Darling, are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I’ve got to be ready.”

  “Okay.” Celeste held up a hand. “But Larry Curtis? There’s talk about him, not very nice talk.”

  “There’s always talk in Hollywood.”

  “I know, but … listen, he’s a good-looking bastard and very slick, but I remember you were toying with dropping him before you retired.”

  “That’s behind me.” Phoebe picked up her glass again. She felt on top of the world. And sick to the bone. “Larry was good for me once; he’s going to be good for me again. I’m making a comeback, Celeste. I’m going to be somebody again.”

  Adrianne couldn’t say why her first glimpse of Larry Curtis made her uneasy any more than she could say why he reminded her of her father. There was certainly no physical resemblance. Curtis was stocky and a fraction shorter than Phoebe’s five ten. He had a mass of curling blond hair that reached his collar and framed a smooth, boxy, tanned face. And he had smiled constantly, showing big white teeth, uniformly straight.

  Adrianne had liked his costume. She still thought of Western clothing as costumes. He’d worn a lavender shirt with big sleeves, the collar opened low to show off a thick gold chain. His pants with a tiny checked pattern flared at the ankle and were cinched at the waist with a wide black belt.

  Her mother had been glad to see him, embracing him openly when he walked in. Adrianne squirmed and looked away when Larry casually patted Phoebe’s bottom.

  “Welcome back, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, Larry, I’m so glad to see you.” She laughed and kept her tone light, but he was sharp enough to recognize the desperation beneath. And to play on it.

  “Good to see you too, baby. Let’s have a look.” He held her at arm’s length, scanning her up and down in a way that made Adrianne’s cheeks warm. “Looking pretty good. Lost a little weight, but thins in fashion now.” He thought it was too bad about the lines around her eyes and mouth, but figured a tuck here and there and some soft focus would take care of them.

  Phoebe Spring had been a gold mine when she’d left Hollywood. With a little effort and a lot of savvy she would be one again.

  “So, Cele
ste.” With his arm still around Phoebe’s shoulders, he swung around. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.” Celeste reminded herself that Phoebe wanted him, perhaps needed him. He did have a reputation for making the right moves. And gossip, particularly the sleazy kind, was often just gossip. “How was your flight?”

  “Smooth as silk.” He grinned, moving his fingers up and down Phoebe’s arm. “But I could use a drink.”

  “I’ll get it.” Phoebe jumped to serve in a way that made Celeste wince. “It’s bourbon, right, Larry?”

  “That’s right, sweetheart.” He made himself at home on Celeste’s long white sofa. “Now, who’s this pretty little thing?” He flashed a smile at Adrianne as she sat stiffly in a chair by the window.

  “That’s my daughter.” Phoebe offered the glass, then sat beside him. “Adrianne, come meet Mr. Curtis. He’s a very dear, old friend of mine.”

  Reluctant, and unconsciously regal, Adrianne rose and crossed to him. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Curtis.”

  He laughed and took her hand before she could avoid it. “None of that Mr. Curtis stuff, honeybunch. We’re practically family. I’m just Uncle Larry.”