Schuyler wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Modeling thing. Linda Farnsworth has a place for the models to crash there. Bliss and I go there sometimes to hang out with a couple other girls. I didn’t realize the time. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“Well, um, since we didn’t get to meet like we’d planned, do you want to . . .”
It was easier to rebuff him this time, since she’d already made her decision earlier. Schuyler shook her head. “No, I’ve got to be back for the curfew. I’m late enough as it is, and if Charles finds out—”
“Fuck Charles.” Oliver flicked a toothpick across the table so it landed on the floor. “I mean, God, sometimes I’m so tired of all this shit.”
“Ollie—”
“I just want us to be together,” he said, looking at the ceiling again. “I mean, I know it’s not possible. But why not? Why should we follow the old laws? Why should anyone care anyway?” he railed. “Don’t you want us to be together?” he challenged, an edge to his voice.
Schuyler was moved to take his hand in hers. “I do, Ollie, you know I do.” He was her ally, her partner-in-crime, her conscience and her comfort.
Oliver’s face transformed into a look of utmost happiness and satisfaction. He smiled at her then, and Schuyler hoped with all her heart that he would never find out the truth.
TWELVE
It was late when Mimi and Jack finally wobbled out of Per Se. The bill for their meal was in the four-figure range, not that Mimi was surprised. She was so used to paying exorbitant prices for everything in her life, she sometimes complained when she discovered something was cheaper than she’d expected. “What do they think, that I’m poor?” she sniffed. “That I can’t afford FIJI Water?” Jack chided her for her extravagance. “It’s the mistake of the nouveau riche, you know, believing that having a lot of money is the same as having an infinite amount of money.” Mimi stared at him incredulously. “Did you just call me nouveau riche?” Jack barked a laugh as they got on the elevator. “I guess so.” “Bastard!” Mimi pretended to be terribly offended. “Our money is so old it’s drawing social security. Bankruptcy’s out of the question. We’re flush.”
“I hope so. Didn’t you say Lawrence reported a huge dip in earnings? And I’ve listened in on the latest investor appraisals. FNN is down several points. It’s not good news.”
She faked a big yawn. “Don’t bore me with details. I’m not worried.”
They walked out into the night. Across the street, horses hitched to hansom cabs awaited clueless tourists. It was cold—the last dredge of winter. Vestiges of the most recent snowstorm remained in the form of yellowy, cracked ice on top of garbage bins and the sidewalks.
Jack raised his hand, and a sleek black Bentley as large as a hearse pulled up to the curb.
“Home?” Mimi asked as she slid into the seat.
Jack leaned over, his arm resting on the edge of the door. “I’ll see you there in a bit. I told Bryce and Jamie I’d meet them at the club.”
“Oh.”
He bussed her cheek. “Don’t wait up, okay?” Then he shut the door and rapped smartly on the window. “Take her home, Sully.”
Mimi waved at him through the tinted glass, her good mood evaporating as she watched him walk across the street to catch a cab headed downtown.
“Home, Miss Force?” Sully turned around.
She was about to nod. She was tired. Home sounded like a good idea. Though she was a little piqued that she had to go home alone. She toyed with the idea of following him, but Jack had been so devoted of late . . . There was nothing to suspect . . . He always met Bryce Cutting and Jamie Kip at the club . . . silly boys. And besides, she’d been watching him like a hawk in the past few weeks, ever since Venice, and had felt guilty because she had found nothing. What was she so worried about anyway?
But she had to be honest with herself. She was worried. “Not yet, Sully. Let’s see where he’s going.”
The driver nodded. He’d heard this request before.
“Make sure he doesn’t see us.”
The car trailed the cab heading south on the West Side Highway. Block 122 had closed, and the new hot club of the moment, the Dante Inn, was located farther downtown, in the West Village, in the basement of one of those new glass buildings right off the highway. Mimi remembered Jack telling her how the family had bought an apartment there, as an investment. The place was currently being rented out to some celebrity.
The cab pulled up to the entrance, a velvet rope hooked between two fire escape railings and guarded by a tall man in a black greatcoat. The Dante Inn was a smaller venue, less flashy than Block 122, but even more exclusive. Jack got out and disappeared inside.
Mimi leaned back happily. “Okay, let’s go.” She watched as a white limousine drove up in front of them. God, people were so tacky. And Jack was calling her nouveau riche?