“That’s the way it is these days, isn’t it?” Ms. Smith agreed. “We’re seeing more and more women buying jewelry for themselves. But it’s better that way. At least you can get what you want . . .”
“Exactly,” Nico said. She turned around to see her reflection in the mirror.
The diamond looked stunning against the white of Nico’s skin. It was a shame, Victory thought suddenly, that they weren’t richer, because the diamond was Nico—as cool and blue and as powerful as she was. That diamond belonged to Nico, Victory thought. It was too bad there was no way she could have it.
But just wearing the diamond, even for a minute, seemed to have restored Nico to her usual self, because in the next minute, she leaned toward Victory, and in her low, cool voice, she whispered casually, “By the way. I’m having an affair.”
Chapter 10
THE PHONE WAS RINGING FROM VERY FAR AWAY, possibly from another country.
At least, that’s how it sounded in Wendy’s dream. Then she realized that it wasn’t a dream, and the phone actually was ringing next to her head. It didn’t sound like the phone at home, however. And opening her eyes and looking around at the small, muted white room, she remembered that she wasn’t at home.
She was in the Parador corporate suite at the Mercer Hotel.
She was guilty of some terrible crime that she hadn’t committed, but which everyone else seemed to think she had. And then the horrifying events from the night before came rushing back at her: Shane was trying to divorce her . . .
Oh God! The phone. Maybe it was Shane calling to tell her that he’d made a huge mistake.
She lunged for the receiver, grabbing it with both hands. “Hello?” Her voice came out in a croak.
“Wendy Healy?” an enthusiastic, official-sounding man’s voice said. All that hit her was that it wasn’t Shane. She glanced at the clock. The digital readout read 5:02 a.m. in numbers that were probably as red as her eyes.
“Yes?”
“This is Roger Pomfret from the Academy Awards committee. Congratulations. The Spotted Pig has been nominated for six Oscars.”
“Thanks a lot,” she said groggily, and hung up.
Eeeeeeeee. She’d totally forgotten. It was nomination day for the Oscars. To make it really special, they called you at five a.m.
She fell back against the pillows. How did she feel about this? She put her hands over her eyes. I really do not care, she thought. Heresy!
She sat up and turned on the light. In the next few minutes, her cell phone was going to start ringing. And then she was going to have to be all excited and cheery. About exactly what, she wasn’t sure. She’d hung up on Roger Pomfret before he could even tell her what they’d been nominated for. Not that it made any differ
ence, really.
Brrrrrp. Her cell phone chirped from the chair where she’d tossed it at about one a.m. She had to pick it up, and she had to act normal. The bedroom was tiny—only about twelve feet square—and the chair was only a couple of feet away. She tried to reach out for the phone without getting out of bed, but the sheets were those luxurious hotel kind that can be slippery, and she fell onto the floor, bashing her knee.
Ow. Fuck! “Hello?”
“Congratulations!” said Jenny Cadine.
“Congratulations to you,” Wendy said, assuming that Jenny had gotten nominated for Best Actress.
“Isn’t it exciting? I’m so excited.”
“You deserve it. You did a great job.”
“And it was a romantic comedy too,” Jenny went on. “Normally, you don’t get nominated for those . . .”
Jenny, Wendy wanted to say, will you just shut up? You probably won’t win, anyway. “I know,” she said aloud. “It really is amazing.” She sat down on the side of the bed and rested her forehead in her fingers. She’d had, maybe, an hour of sleep last night. The exhaustion, combined with the stress, made her literally think she was going to vomit. “Congratulations, again,” she said, trying to wrap up the call.
“Are you home? Have you told Shane?”
“I’m at the Mercer,” she said hesitantly, her desire to share her terrible news overwhelming her common sense about keeping her mouth shut. Shit, she thought, why hadn’t she just lied and pretended that everything was normal? “There was a leak in the apartment . . .”
“I love the Mercer,” Jenny said. “Tell everyone there I said ‘Hi.’ And congratulations again.”