Sylvie's Cowboy: Cinderella In Reverse

CHAPTER 4: THE EVICTION

Wednesday Morning

Outside the front doors of Harry Pace's former offices, black crepe would have to be re-hung later because maintenance workers had removed it to install new brass lettering. The name of the firm now read "Pace-Larrimore-Stern" instead of merely "Pace-Larrimore."

Inside the firm, Les Larrimore's secretary, Diane, looked up from her desk at the sound of a door closing. She recognized Dan Stern and nodded a polite greeting.

"Go right in, sir," the secretary told him. "Ms. Larrimore is waiting for you."

Stern gave a quick knock, then entered Les's luxurious domain and took a seat in a high-backed leather chair that creaked as it took his weight. He propped his Ostrich skin boots on the edge of her desk. Les put down her pen and turned the papers in front of her face down. If Stern took offense at this evidence of mistrust, he gave no sign of it.

"You'll be glad to know the final official reports are in," Leslye announced. "Investigation closed. Faulty propane valve filled the bilges with gas, something made a spark -- maybe Harry, maybe the telephone, who knows? -- and boom. Lucky. You couldn't have arranged it better if you'd tried -- and I, for one, am glad you don't have to try."

Stern gave an amused grunt.

Les rose from her chair and made her way around to the front of the desk, where she sat on the edge and crossed her shapely legs. Stern handed her a cigarette and lit it for her. It's not a smoke-free building if the boss wants a smoke, right?

Putting away his gold lighter, he said only, "Keys?"

Les enjoyed a slow exhale of smoke toward the ceiling. "Not so fast," she answered. "The timetable still stands. I'll get her out of the penthouse, but nobody goes near it until I've run it through the Tropigale books and then through the Danmore partnership. Got it?"

"No!"

Les leaned forward and speared her partner's tie with her long-nailed index finger. "Look," she told him, "you can go ahead and set up a deal on the cars, but keep it quiet. Harry was getting suspicious, and he may have told someone else. They may be watching us. We have to act like nothing's changed. We'll have it all soon enough, and without going to prison, if we just take our time. Okay?"

Dan Stern didn't respond. Leslye said again, punching with the index finger for emphasis, "I said we take our time, okay?"

"Okay," said the man. The chair creaked again as he left it. Leslye followed him to her office door.

At the door she said, "One thing has changed, though." She made eye contact with him and smiled a cat-with-canary smile. "Without Harry snooping around, the money's as good as ours already. I don't have to marry Harry for it. You don't have to marry Silvie for it."

"Hmmph."

The door opened and closed, and he was gone. Leslye looked at the door for a long time.

Thursday Morning

Leslye Larrimore scoured the penthouse apartment's kitchen for some suitable intoxicant with which to fill her empty glass. From the bedroom, clothes hangers rattled, a mattress creaked, fabrics rustled, shoes thudded and rolled. Someone was packing. Someone in a hurry.

Leslye opened the refrigerator and wagged her hundred-dollar haircut at a wilted flower, one overripe avocado, three bottles of Perrier, and a half-inch of flat wine in an open carafe. She emptied the wine into her glass without relish.

Packing noises resounded from the bedroom. Leslye paced the kitchen carrying the empty wine carafe until she discovered a refuse chute and dropped the bottle down it. Then she meandered from the kitchen.

In the living room all personal treasures, family photos, or decorative knick knacks were gone, the trendy furnishings were bare. The mega-screen TV was silent. Leslye moved past the couches to study the blue-gray vista of the Atlantic Ocean blurred by rain pelting the endless windows of the penthouse. Muffled thunder vibrated the glass. Leslye sipped her flat, leftover wine and grimaced.

The packing cacophony from the bedroom ceased, and Silvie Pace emerged, eyes raccooned with mascara from weeping. Her classic black dress fit her like a proverbial glove, and she was barefooted. Mismatched lingerie drooped over her shoulder and a shoe hung from one hand.

Silvie crossed to the window wall and stood beside Leslye, watching the rain. Wind whistled outside. Thunder shook the glass. Silvie started sobbing.

Leslye patted Silvie on the back. "I don't know what to say, Silvie. It's like a nightmare. I can imagine how you must feel. Until yesterday I guess you'd never even heard of margin calls or collateralized debentures or leveraged buyouts. This is a hard way to learn."

Silvie nodded and pulled herself together. Never in her crudest imaginings had she thought it was possible for her father's fortune to simply disappear almost overnight. She had always been assured of plenty, of freedom, of leisure. Her intellect comprehended the definition of "working class" or even "poor," but her emotions rejected any possibility of those terms as applicable to herself. She controlled her sniffles and wiped her nose on the lingerie she carried, then she headed back to the bedroom.

Leslye followed her.

Silvie disappeared into the room-size bedroom closet.

Leslye leaned against the bedroom doorway and gagged on another sip of wine.

Silvie returned from the closet depths and tossed another load of clothing onto the heap festooning the now-invisible bed. Then she gasped and began digging through the clothing until she uncovered a Shar-Pei puppy, who immediately licked some of the mascara streaks from Silvie's face.

"You love me, don't you Maude, baby," Silvie cooed to the dog. "Yes, you do, I know you do. You love me even without Harry's old money, don't you, baby."

From the doorway Leslye said, "Are you sure you won't let me or Danny help you? A loan, maybe, or at least use my credit card to rent a car?"

Silvie set aside the dog and resumed packing. "Thank you again, Les," she said, "but, no. It's not your fault or Danny's. Harry made it, and Harry lost it. I'll make it, too. I'll be back. Somehow I'll get back."

Leslye scoffed. "Back? You may never leave. Even though you can't take the furniture, there's still an awful lot to pack."

"I'm just sorry Danny had to be away on business," Silvie said. "You'll tell him au revoir for me, won't you? So he'll know I didn't just run off without saying goodbye?"

Leslye put down the stale wine without regret and crossed to give Silvie a sincere-looking hug. "Of course, dear," said Leslye. "Dan understands deadlines. That's all part of business. It's just lucky you have somewhere to go on such short notice." Straightening away from Silvie, Leslye looked around the room and shook her head. "You will never get all this into that car," she predicted.

"That ... thing is not a car!" Silvie grumbled, slapping something into her suitcase angrily. "It isn't worthy to suck the exhaust fumes of a real automobile!"