The Rothman Scandal by Stephen Birmingham Read Free Book Online Page B

eclipse all the other stars on the horizon, who would remain eclipsed until she began to fall. At the top of her career, Alex Rothman stood out as an easy target, a sitting duck. Tonight, an open season had been declared on Alex.
    Lenny Liebling moved about the terrace, smiling his bland and somewhat condescending party smile, from group to group, receiving and bestowing kisses, saying not much of anything, but listening, always listening, gathering bits and pieces that might be woven into something resembling solid information.
    â€œI don’t care what you say. No model on earth is worth two thousand an hour, regardless of her pelvic bones.”
    â€œFucking her must be like fucking a venetian blind.”
    â€œActually, she’s not a bad lay.”
    â€œThere’s Betty Zimmerman. Her husband got a year in the state pen.”
    â€œIt’s more like a country club, really. Minimum security. I hear they can even have girls in. Besides, he’s getting a book out of it. I hear Doubleday has offered a million five, and there’s talk of a miniseries.”
    â€œLook who the cat dragged in. Dolores Blearman. God, she looks awful. Tom left her, you know.”
    â€œOh? Another woman?”
    â€œNo, darling. Another man .”
    â€œWell, it’s either one or the other, isn’t it? Dolores! How marvelous you look.…”
    â€œHim? I forget his name. He’s really nothing but a gofer for Helmut Newton, but they say that in the darkroom he can salvage some of Helmut’s worst shots.”
    â€œDarling, you can imagine what else goes on in Helmut’s darkroom, can’t you?”
    â€œPhotographed her through gauze? It had to be more like burlap, darling, or linoleum—to block out all her stretch marks. Look at that neck. It’s one solid stretch mark. She looks like a turtle.”
    â€œWell, if she had as many dicks sticking out of her as she’s had stuck into her, she’d look like a porcupine.”
    â€œThere’s Dodie Applegate, getting drunk again. The Washington Post trashed her last novel. They called it ‘clitorature.’ Don’t you love it?”
    â€œAlex’s June cover? I hear it was a desperation move, darling—desperation city. Herb Rothman told her, ‘Get me five million, or you’re finished. Finished .’”
    â€œSpeaking of finished, there’s Portia Perlman.…”
    â€œWell, none of us are getting any younger, darling, including our hostess. Oh, Alex! Darling! You’re looking marvelous tonight!”
    Lenny moved slowly about the terrace, listening here, listening there, as the noise of the party rose, as the pink-coated waiters scurried about, as a few pale stars began to appear in the evening sky, as the lights of the city began to come on, and the clothes-pinned tablecloths swelled and billowed and slapped in the breeze like spinnakers. Lighted candles guttered from the centerpieces.
    In the northeast corner of the terrace, Lenny overheard an interesting conversation.
    â€œHas Alex Rothman had her face lifted? I’d say yes.”
    â€œHmm. How old is she, anyway? Forty-six? Forty-seven?”
    â€œLet’s just say she’s a few years older than her friend Mel Jorgenson, darling.”
    â€œDoesn’t she look pleased with herself tonight? No wonder her husband killed himself.”
    â€œShe actually did kill a man once, you know. With a gun. Bang-bang. It was years ago, but it was in all the papers.”
    â€œOh? Was it a lover?”
    â€œNo one knows, exactly. But there were the usual rumors.”
    â€œIs it true that if a woman wants to get ahead at Rothman Publications, she has to fuck Herb Rothman?”
    â€œWhat a ghastly thought, darling. But it’s certainly not true of Alex. She and Herb loathe each other.”
    â€œWell, perhaps that’s why?”
    â€œI always assumed it was Ho Rothman she was fucking. She’s always been