West of Paradise by Gwen Davis Read Free Book Online

People made a wider circle around her than they seemed to be making around Arthur Finster. Only Sarah Nash, piling her plate high with salad and pasta, seemed unperturbed at standing next to him. “So much for the rumor that you’re anorexic,” said Arthur.
    â€œSo much for the rumor that you can’t pronounce words of more than one syllable,” Sarah said. “I heard you followed Brandy into the ladies’ room and offered her a contract on a book exposing Charley Best.”
    â€œActually, it was the men’s room,” he said, biting into a miniature pizza. A string of the cheese hung between his teeth and the crust in his hand. “I think she’s a transvestite.”
    â€œAre there no depths to which you won’t sink?”
    â€œAt least I don’t betray my friends,” he said.
    â€œThat’s because you don’t have any.”
    There was a huge tray of guacamole molded into the shape of a Mexican hat, a bowl at its base filled with blue corn chips. “Is it all right to eat this?” Lila Darshowitz asked no one in particular.
    â€œOnly if you’re not kosher,” said Arthur.
    â€œWhere’s that guy with the wine,” Lila said, loading her plate, spooning the chunky green paste into her mouth in what would have been fistfuls, had she used her hands.
    â€œGarçon!” Arthur snapped his fingers in the air. A waiter headed for them, bringing a tray with wine.
    â€œYou’re being pretty solicitous…” Sarah murmured under her breath, “… for a guy who murdered her son.”
    â€œHe OD’d, and the whole town knows it.”
    â€œHe was clean,” Sarah said.
    â€œHe was a driven man with compulsive habits.” Arthur ate another pizza, licked his fingers, took another. “Materialistic and greedy.”
    â€œAnd you’re here to make the world a better place. A safe haven for literacy.”
    â€œAt least I didn’t publish O.J. books. Or juror books. Or Faye Resnick books.”
    â€œOnly because Michael Viner got there first.”
    He drew himself up to his full height, which was still eight inches shorter than Sarah’s. “I am in competition with no one.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting Sleepy, Dopey, Grumpy, and Sleazy.”
    â€œI like red,” Lila said to the waiter. “Save yourself a trip. Bring two.” She handed him her empty glass, then wolfed a calzone. A piece of the spinach fell on her dress.
    â€œThat poor woman,” Kate observed from where she was standing. “She’s spilling things all over her dress.”
    â€œHow can you tell?” asked Wilton.
    â€œI really have to talk to her.”
    â€œWhat for?” asked Perry.
    â€œI have a project. An idea.”
    â€œWhat about the unpublished Fitzgerald?” Perry said. “When can I get a look at that?”
    â€œNever,” Kate said.
    â€œAw, come on. You’re just playing hardball. Trying to make me more interested. Well, it’s working.” He put his hand on her shoulder.
    She took it off.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “What’s your price?”
    â€œThere is no price,” she said.
    â€œHow about if I optioned both of them. Grandpa’s and yours.”
    â€œYou don’t even know what mine is.”
    â€œSo tell me.”
    â€œShe’s going to examine the life of Larry Drayco,” Wilton said. “Search it out for meaning.”
    â€œForget it,” said Zemmis, and went to get a drink.
    *   *   *
    Mortimer Schein, who was shortly to produce the duchess’s clothing line, felt awkward at parties, especially this one. There was no question it was a party. Entertainment Tonight and the E cable channel were both covering it, even though someone was screaming at their minicams that they had no respect.
    Mortimer, or Mort, as he was called by his friends, who were mostly still in New York and East Hampton,