A Half Dozen Fools Read online

  A HALF DOZEN FOOLS

  by

  SUSANA FALCON

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  A Half Dozen Fools

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2013 by Susana Falcon

  ISBN 978-1-61124-478-6

  Cover Art © 2013 Trace Edward Zaber

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Susana Falcon

  Chronicles Of A Lady Bartender

  Dedication

  This book is for all working women doing their best to get ahead.

  POACHED

  Chapter 1

  As the autumn sun dipped into the Hudson River, it basked the gray sky in a mellow, orangey-red glow. Elyse Wazinski kept her eye on its melting color as she strutted down Eighty-Fourth Street, her high-heeled ankle boots snapping crisply along the sidewalk. Headed toward a row of buildings in silhouette against the wash of color, a chill grabbed hold of her. She folded her arms around the waistline of her black leather jacket and stepped up the pace.

  Dylan Webber broke stride in his hurry to keep up.

  "You know," he said with a laugh, "when you decide to truck--look out! You walk faster than any other New Yorker I know!"

  "Hey," she retorted, "I like to walk, and it's cold. May as well walk fast. You burn up more calories that way."

  On West End Avenue, she turned right. Even with his long legs, Dylan skipped around the outside corner to catch up.

  "What's the address?" he asked.

  "This building, here, on the right."

  She marched up the portico flanked by white marble columns.

  "Mm," Dylan said, "how quaintly affluent."

  "Shush," Elyse said jokingly, "don't want folks to think we're impressed."

  "We're not," he said in a playfully snobbish voice. Then he spoke honestly. "But, wait--I'm still wondering how I got talked into this tonight. I've got be up at five in the morning, you know. Where's Shar, by the way?"

  Elyse stopped and looked up at him. Her gigantic blue eyes sparkled merrily under the porch light's soft reflection.

  Using a silly little voice, she said, "Shar busy. You come because you awe my fwend." Speaking naturally, she added, "Besides, you never know who you might meet at these things."

  She smiled when the doorman drew back a double door and held it. She thanked him and swept toward the lobby desk with Dylan in tow.

  "Hi, good evening," she said to the doorman stationed there. "We're here for Joel Lebanthal's party."

  The uniformed man answered wearily, having repeated the directions too many times, already.

  "Fifth floor, turn left. All the way down to Number Eight."

  She nodded and walked with Dylan to the elevator around the corner. Dylan pressed the call button on the wall.

  "Gorgeous interior," he said looking up. "Look at that crown molding. That's quality work, when they really knew their stuff."

  Elyse looked up at the star-shapes embedded in the squares of the ceiling, and at its perfect border trim.

  "Mm...Italian. You think?"

  Dylan nodded. "Probably." He then gazed at his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors and smoothed into place the honey-colored curls framing his face.

  When the doors opened, Dylan stepped aside to let the elderly couple from within pass. Elyse smiled until she and Dylan took their place. Dylan pressed the fifth floor button and the contraption jerked to a start.

  "Let's hope the mechanics are as solid as the ceiling," Elyse quipped.

  "You think there'll be any gay guys there?"

  Elyse shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not obviously gay, but you never know, if you read between the lines."

  With a flourish, Dylan swept his cashmere scarf back over a shoulder. "Well, they won't have to read between the lines with me!"

  Elyse chuckled as the elevator creaked upward. When it finally halted on the fifth floor, they stepped out into a carpeted hallway, which they followed quietly under golden-globe light fixtures.

  Dylan sighed audibly. "I love you, petunia, but I still wonder how I let you talk me into these things. I have to be on set at six A.M., all perky and ready to go."

  "Well, how did I let you talk me into working at the Make-Up Place?"

  "Me? You were the one whining about standing on your feet nine hours a day. I just made the vacancy known."

  "Yeah, but now I wonder if working for the Hoffenzimmers is really better, in the long run. Sometimes I think I ought to have my head examined."

  Dylan tsked. "What can I say? I made it work for me."

  "Sorry. Don't mean to sound ungrateful."

  They reached the door marked "8," and Elyse pressed its gilded doorbell.

  "Hey," Dylan said dryly, "at least you get to sit down between customers, now."

  "Which, unfortunately, is most of the day."

  "Oh come on, my little flowerlet. You know it's not forever. Look--you got to work on this movie from being there."

  Elyse's face lit up.

  "True! I'd never have gotten it if I hadn't met that actress who came in. What if I'd been standing at the Lady Borghella counter in Black's Fifth Avenue? Might never have happened."

  "Right! Exactly!"

  "And now, here we are, at the wrap party. At the director's place, no less."

  "Nothing like a good wrap party," Dylan said cheerfully.

  "Even for a low-budget indie."

  "Hey, we all gotta start someplace!"

  Elyse giggled. Dylan nodded sagely.

  Another minute passed. Elyse stood staring at the ceiling. Dylan stood twiddling his thumbs, then put an ear against the door.

  "Loud in there. Maybe you'd better ring the bell, again."

  But the instant Elyse reached out to do so, the door whipped open.

  An attractive woman in her late thirties stood in the door frame, dressed in low-slung jeans with a paisley scarf around brown, shoulder-length hair. She took a drag off her cigarette before greeting the new arrivals.

  "Here for the party?"

  Elyse detected a slight accent.

  "Yes. We're Joel's guests."

  "Isn't everyone?" she asked drily. "Well, come on in. He's around here, somewhere."

  She ushered them into the entryway and closed the door. From the archway by the adjacent living room, she gestured toward the crowd gathered within.

  "Anybody know where Joel is?" she called.

  People shrugged and looked around while the woman walked away, leaving Elyse and Dylan alone in the entry. They glanced at each other, then watched people partying hard, variously conversing, guzzling, laughing, smoking, or grooving to the loud Ramones tunes blasting from an unseen source. Elyse and Dylan looked at each other, again.

  "I wonder who that woman was?" Elyse asked.

  "Probably Joel's wife," Dylan answered.

  "Joel's not married."

  "You sure about that?"

  "He doesn't wear a ring."

  "Like that means anything."

  "And he flirted mercilessly with me the whole shoo
t."

  "Like that means anything!"

  Elyse gave him a sassy look.

  "Well," she said, "I guess we're on our own."

  Boldly, she pushed through the crowd in search of a familiar face. After a minute, her interest shifted to gigantic, sturdily-framed canvases covering the walls. She motioned Dylan over by her side.

  "God," she whispered in delight, "I just love Haitian art! To die for."

  "What--those, over there?"

  "The big ones on that wall. Look at the crimson and gold...that aqua sea. How vibrant the greens in the leaves..."

  "I love that sofa, over there, is what I love."

  Elyse followed his line of sight to a set of well-upholstered sofas with gilded-rope trim.

  "Not bad," she answered. "I don't mind the rugs either."

  "I guess your indie film director does all right for himself."

  Elyse caught sight of Joel's blond head bobbing above the crowd.

  She catapulted toward him calling out, "Joel!" Dylan followed her zigzag through cliques of people to greet a big, rugged man of moderate good looks wearing a denim shirt and khaki pants. He stood aside when the man pulled Elyse close and held her in a bear hug. They parted, twittering in mutual excitement while Dylan scanned the crowd. He was staring after a muscled guy in tight blue jeans when Elyse suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him over.

  "Dylan, darling, this is Joel Lebanthal, our fabulous director."

  The two shook hands and exchanged greetings.

  "Now, and listen, both of you, because this is very important," Joel announced. "What are you drinking tonight?"

  After he took off to fetch a vodka soda and chardonnay, Dylan bent down to Elyse's ear so no one else would hear.

  "Did you see? He's wearing a ring."

  "What?"

  "A ring--the wedding band on his hand!"

  Elyse's face dropped. "No--my God--I didn't. Are you sure?"

  Dylan gave his friend a sympathetic, gimme-a-break look.

  Joel returned and handed Elyse her vodka. She made it a point to check the ring finger on his left hand. Sure enough, there was a gold band as plain as the nose on his face. She glanced at his nose, just for good measure, and cursed him inwardly.

  "Hey, Joel," she said sweetly, "who was that woman who answered the door?"

  "I give up--who was it?"

  "Ha, ha. I was just wondering who she was. She didn't introduce herself."

  "I don't know. I wasn't there when you came in."

  "She has brown hair to her shoulders," Elyse explained, "dressed in jeans, with a scarf around her head."

  "Oh, that's Dominique," he said matter-of-factly. "My wife."

  A sudden urge to gag almost overtook Elyse, and she fought to control a flare of anger from showing. Even as she got a grip on herself, the burn from Joel's betrayal--or his neglect to impart facts, as they were--slowly roasted her original good mood. She felt tricked! She also felt humiliated by the casual way Joel now mentioned his wife after shamelessly leading Elyse on.

  During the entire three weeks she'd worked on the shoot, Joel had doted attention on Elyse whenever he wasn't actively directing. And he had never worn his wedding band. Of that, she had been certain. How her cheeks burned now, along with her nipples hardened from rage in place of desire. She needed to walk away immediately, before she said something rude. She glanced at Dylan who took his cue.

  "Great place you've got here, Joel," he said. "Great party, too."

  All at once, a group of guys stumbled over. Clearly, they'd been celebrating quite some time and were feeling no pain. One of them wrapped a drunken arm around the host's neck.

  "All right, guy," he said to Joel, "we got a movie trivia question for ya..."

  Relieved at the easy out, Elyse nudged Dylan to start moving. They didn't stop until they reached a dark corner between the living room and hallway. Out of earshot from the bulk of guests, Elyse stopped and turned to Dylan.

  "He's married!" she hissed in outrage. "He's frigging married!"

  "I got that."

  "I feel like leaving, right now."

  "You can't do that, Elyse. You just got here."

  "I don't give a shit! I feel like an idiot! I want to go home and lick my wounds."

  "It's not your fault. Probably takes it off just to pick up beautiful women on set. Probably does it all the time."

  "Oh, thanks, that's comforting."

  "Stay a while, girl. Network. Hold your head high. Have another drink. Grab a bite to eat. Show him you don't care."

  "But I do care."

  "Well, try and pretend you don't! Take advantage of the situation--then leave."

  Elyse bit the inside of her lip and made up her mind. "Fine. Let's hoof it to the buffet and see what they've got. But, wait, first... Which way's the bar?"

  * * * *

  After picking at some cheese and crackers off the buffet table, Elyse and Dylan made themselves at home by the bar. Elyse wasn't shy about pouring herself a big, fat Stoli-splash-soda with a squeeze of lemon. She was hoping the alcohol would numb her anger. In truth, however, it barely did a thing. She managed to keep up appearances only for the sake of future bookings. For a while, she schmoozed the actress who had brought her on board along with a couple of other actors and their friends. Then she excused herself to get another Stoli.

  Since Dylan got caught up in conversation with a documentary film maker, Elyse wandered alone down the darkened hallway off the living room. She wondered bitterly if the techies had been hip to her ignorance and how she'd been duped by Joel the whole time he'd so avidly pursued her.

  Ach, these guys are all in cahoots. Still, I better play nice if I want to get more work down the line.

  She noticed a couple of partiers slip into a room down the far end of the hall and followed to see where they'd gone. Sticking her head through the open door, she found guests seated on a sofa or stretched along the floor watching a rough cut of Joel's film on a flat screen TV. From among the shadowy figures, one of them waved her in, but she only smiled and turned away. Back out in the hallway, she saw somebody slip inside another room and close the door. She wandered toward it, and the door opened a crack, emitting a sliver of light from inside. When it opened wider, Joel's face peered out.

  "In here, Elyse," he whispered. "Come in here!"

  Before she could respond, he reached out and pulled her in, shutting the door behind her.

  He grinned broadly. "I was waiting for you to walk by!"

  Elyse found herself standing next to a four-poster bed covered in a lacy white cover lit, with mounds of fluffy pillows on top. Nine or ten others were in the bedroom, too.

  "Didn't mean to freak you out there, Elyse," Joel said warmly, "but this, here, is a private party. Not everyone's invited."

  "Right," chimed a dark-haired guy reclined casually on the bed. "This is a party within a party, only for the elite."

  Elyse glanced over at the guy who barely looked up from flipping through a stack of photographs.

  "Well," she said crisply, "aren't I the lucky one, then?"

  Joel laughed. "You are, indeed, my pretty." To the guy on the bed he said, "This is Elyse, makeup artist extraordinaire. As a matter of fact, she's the one who made Jolie look so fabulous on her deathbed. Right?" He looked directly at Elyse. "You did Jolie's deathbed makeup, didn't you?"

  "Yes. I did all of Jolie's makeup."

  The reclining guy looked at her with a crooked smile. "Who knew death could be so much fun?"

  Joel and two other listeners laughed.

  "Yes-sirree," Joel added, "this is one talented young lady, all right. Not to mention beautiful." He turned to Elyse. "You will go far in life, my dear."

  "You think?" Elyse asked.

  "Indeed I do," he answered.

  In spite of the shift in her feelings toward Joel, his statement gave her hope. After all, look how successful he was. Even after the sleazy betrayal of his marital status, his professional opinion held weig
ht.

  "The world is your oyster!" Joel added. "Great things to come, I'm sure. Here--let me get you some champagne."

  He turned to a dresser where an ice bucket held a bottle with a towel around its neck.

  Elyse turned back to the guy on the bed. "Actually," she said, "when it comes to death..."

  The guy shot her a quizzical look.

  "You just said, 'Who knew death could be so much fun,'" she explained.

  "Right," the guy said, "I remember."

  "Well," Elyse added, "the death card came to mind. From the tarot deck. For readings, you know?"

  He nodded, so she went on.

  "The Death card doesn't always mean real, physical death. It actually signifies any transformation--complete and total. Like, a really big change. Huge."

  The guy laughed. "Yeah, I'd say death is a pretty big change, all right!"

  Elyse smirked. "Okay, very funny."

  "What are you, a card reader, or something? A gypsy?"

  Elyse shot him a look. "Do I look like a gypsy?" Before he could answer, she explained. "In the neighborhood where I grew up, this cool, older woman was very knowledgeable about metaphysics--or, the esoteric arts, I guess you'd say. She taught me a few things over the years."

  "Ooh--sounds highbrow, when you put it like that."

  "Well, it's more evolved than you might think. But what I mean about the Death card is that it doesn't just mean dying. It's about changes that can shift life into a whole 'nother sphere. Like I said-- in a really big way! So big, so profound, in fact, that nothing will ever be the same, again."

  Joel returned just in time to catch the end of their exchange. "Here," he said handing Elyse a full champagne flute. "Here's to a big, profound lookin' atcha!" He clinked his own glass against hers.

  Elyse chuckled and brought the glass to her lips. She pulled away when fizzles popped against her nose. Both Joel and the guy on the bed cracked up laughing at her expression.