The slogan: Be your own Svengali.
To say the concept caught on would be the fashion understatement of the eighties. At first, critics scoffed at the model-playing-business tycoon’s success, claiming it was just another in a series of fads that would disappear in a matter of months. Two years after promoting women’s clothes and cosmetics, Laura expanded into casual shoes and fragrances. By the time she was twenty-six, Svengali had gone public, with Laura the majority stock- holder and chief executive officer of a multimillion-dollar conglomerate.
The taxi made a sharp right turn. “Peterson’s office on the Esplanade, right, missy?”
Laura chuckled. “Missy?”
“It’s just an expression,” the cabbie explained. “No offense meant.”
“None taken. Yes, they’re on the Esplanade.”
Copycat corporations began to crop up like so many weeds beside her thriving flower. They were all vying for a slice of the profitable Svengali business, all searching for the secret of Laura’s success. But like so many other bothersome weeds, they were pulled out of the corporate world before they could truly take root. Laura’s close administrators knew the secret that competitors sought, the aspect that made Svengali unique: Laura. Her hard work, determination, brains, style, and even warmth steered every phase of the organization. Corny, yes, but also true. The woman was the company.
Everything had gone according to plan—until she met David Baskin.
The taxi slowed to a stop. “We’re here, luv.”
THE Pacific International Hotel in Cairns was not far from the Peterson office. It was near the center of town and across the street from the Marlin Jetty, where most of the sightseeing and diving boats set sail. The hotel was a popular vacation spot, ideal for those who wanted the tropics of Australia but did not crave absolute seclusion.
But the occupant of room 607 was not here to vacation.
The occupant looked out the window but did not notice or care about the breathtaking beauty. There were more important things to worry about. Awful things. Things that had to be taken care of no matter how tragic the consequence. Things so horrible that even the occupant of room 607 had no idea of their full scope.
And they had to be taken care of now.
The occupant turned away from the breathtaking view that past visitors had gazed upon for countless hours, and walked toward the phone. There had been very little time to plan. Now, as the occupant lifted the receiver, there was a moment to wonder if there was another option left open.
No. There was no other option.
The occupant lifted the phone and dialed.
“Reef Resort. Can I help you?”
The occupant swallowed away the terror. “David Baskin, please.”
THE meeting droned on steadily. The first two hours had moved smoothly enough and the deal was nearly set. But now they were getting down to details, and as usual, a few snags tangled up the works. Laura eyed her watch and realized she was going to be back later than she had originally anticipated. She asked if she could use a phone, excused herself, and dialed the hotel. When there was no answer in their room, she asked to be transferred to the front desk. The same receptionist was on duty.
“Your husband went out a few minutes ago,” he informed her. “He left a note for me to give you.”
“Could you read it to me?”
“Of course. Would you hold on a second?”
She heard the phone being dropped heavily to the wooden desk and then the sounds of somebody stumbling around echoed into the receiver. “Here it is.” Paper was unfolded. Hesitation. “It’s . . . it’s rather personal, Mrs. Baskin.”
“That’s okay.”
“You still want me to read it?”
“You already have,” Laura replied.
“True enough.” He paused, and then reluctantly, he read David’s words. “ ‘Stepped out for moment. Should be right back.’ ” The receptionist cleared his throat before continuing. “ ‘Black garter belt and stockings are on bed. Put them on and wait for me . . . my, uh, my little sex kitten.’ ”
Laura stifled a laugh. “Thank you very much. Would you mind giving my husband a message when he gets back?”
“I’d rather not, ma’am. He’s rather a large mate, you know.”
This time she did laugh. “No, nothing like that. Just tell him I’ll be back a little later than originally planned.”
His voice was relieved. “I can do that,” he said. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”
Laura replaced the receiver, took a deep breath, and returned to the negotiating table.
TWO hours later, the deal was set. The few minor obstacles had been removed, and soon department stores throughout Australia and New Zealand would be inundated with Svengali products, maybe even before the Christmas season. Laura sat back in the taxi’s plush cushion and smiled.
So much for business.
By the time the taxi dropped her in front of the hotel, night was beginning to settle in, snatching the spare rays of the sun that still lighted Palm’s Cove. But Laura was not tired. Business rejuvenated her—business and the thought that David was only a few feet from where she now stood, waiting for her. . . .
“Mrs. Baskin?”
It was the receptionist. She walked toward the desk with a bright smile.
“Another note from your husband.”
“Would you like to read this one to me too?” she asked.
He laughed and handed her an envelope. “I think you can handle this one all by yourself. Thanks anyway.”
“Thank you.” She opened the sealed envelope and read.
LAURA,
BE BACK SOON. WENT FOR A SWIM IN THE OCEAN. I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. AL- WAYS REMEMBER THAT.
DAVID
Puzzled, Laura folded the note and went to the room.
THE black stockings were on the bed.
Laura slid them over her ankles and then slowly rolled them up her slender legs. She unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. Her hands reached behind her back and unclasped her lace brassiere. It fell forward and slipped down her arms.
She strapped on the garter belt and attached the stockings. She stood and looked in the mirror. Then she did what few people who beheld such a magnificent sight would do.
She laughed.
That man has made me completely loony, she thought with a shake of her head, remembering what a different person she had been before David had entered her life two years ago. Thinking back, Laura recalled that she and David did not hit it off right away—to be more precise, their first meeting had been about as romantic as a two- car accident.