Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

When she had first contacted Christopher about Ondine doing a spread for a glossy Phoenix Spa brochure, Christopher had convinced Claudia that her plan was too limited. Ondine was too huge a star to lend her famous name, face, and body to a mere brochure for a small spa in the Virginia hills. If Claudia wanted Ondine, she was going to have to think big and pay big.

The Lund Agency drew up a sophisticated advertising campaign and Christopher presented it to Claudia. She loved the ideas but not the price tag. So they scaled back the plan, finally agreeing that Ondine would come to Phoenix and be photographed amid the natural and man-made beauty. The photographs would be used exclusively in advertisements running in the fashion magazine that reached more readers around the world than any other and whose subscription base was the sophisticated, discerning readers Claudia wanted to attract.

Christopher would be able to take care of it all, he promised Claudia. He would choose Ondine's wardrobe, book the best photographer, and deal with the businesspeople at Elle , making sure that the artistic ads were well placed. Elle's base rate for a single full-page in black and white was sixty-five thousand dollars. Color cost seventy-five thousand. But Christopher impressed Claudia, saying he knew that if Phoenix Spa committed to running an ad in every issue for a year, Elle would negotiate a better price. Christopher tried to get Claudia to spring for the prized "second cover," which actually consisted of the back of the front cover and spread over to the next page. But at over eighty thousand dollars a pop, Claudia wouldn't swallow the idea. She said she had to draw the line somewhere, and budgeting almost a million dollars for the Elle ad placements was already keeping her up at night.

Christopher made two big demands. Ondine's modeling fee had to be paid up front and in cash if Claudia wanted to cut Ondine's two-million-dollar price almost in half. And Claudia was not allowed to discuss anything with Ondine. Christopher claimed he didn't want his prize model to be bothered with any of the details of their business plan. He protected Ondine from the business aspects of her career, he explained.

Claudia, eager to get on with her journey to international success and save a million dollars, agreed. The spa owner invited Ondine and her manager down for a complimentary visit and, starting on Halloween Day of last year, began paying Ondine a total of $1,025,000. She paid the money directly to Christopher Lund and then marked the amount carefully beside Ondine's name in her spa records.

It had all been working well until Claudia had demanded to see some results. Christopher had been able to stall since last fall with a series of excuses. Ondine's schedule was packed. Ondine had some sort of flu, the result of a bug she had picked up during a photo shoot in Peru. Ondine needed to rest.

Christopher absentmindedly swept his fingers through the pool water as he anxiously remembered Claudia's anger at all the delays.

"Well, bring her down here to rest, for God's sake!" Claudia had finally cried in exasperation.

" I will, I will, Claudia. I'll get her down there as soon as her schedule permits," Christopher tried to assure the spa owner.

"Well, her damned schedule had better permit it soon, or I'm going to hire myself the best lawyer money can buy and sue your ass off, Christopher! Sue your ass off and make sure that everyone knows what a swindler you are!"

He had tried not to panic. With Ondine none the wiser that her earnings had gone in Christopher's bank account, he had already spent most of the money Claudia had paid. Now it was time to pay the piper.

He laid the groundwork, suggesting to the already painfully thin Ondine that it looked like she was putting on some weight. As Ondine cried and fretted, Christopher came to her rescue, soothing her and telling her that he would take her away to Phoenix Spa. There she could work on losing a few pounds without the eyes of the unforgiving New York fashion world watching. So they had come here, ostensibly to get the fat off Ondine, but, in reality, to buy some time with Claudia.

Claudia wasn't going to be bothering him anymore.

After breakfast the next morning, Caroline took her beloved cello from its case and seated herself in the straight-backed chair that stood in the corner of her bedroom. She listened to the tones as she tuned the instrument. Caroline positioned herself carefully, as she had so many times before, and slowly pulled the bow across the cello's strings.

The two began to make their mournful music together. Caroline's long, thin fingers held the bow gracefully and moved it expertly back and forth across the strings. The prized cello faithfully emitted the haunting sounds the musician requested of it.

Caroline tasted salty tears as they slid down her cheeks and reached her lips. It was a relief to cry again. It was comforting to have the sad music as her companion.

This was not what she had planned. She had so wanted things to be different. Caroline had gone into the marriage with such high hopes and such wonderful dreams. But if Douglas had betrayed her with another woman, those dreams were shattered. How could she share her life with a man she didn't trust?

Caroline dried her eyes with the back of her hand. Why should she worry about protecting Douglas anymore? Douglas Blessing, the freshman congressman from Tennessee, the handsome young man with the high political aspirations, was no longer her husband in the finest sense of the word. He hadn't cared about her feelings or about his sacred vows to her. Why should she fight to guard him now?

Caroline had a good mind to march down to the gates right now and tell the media camped outside all that was going on inside Phoenix Spa. In fact, the more she thought about it, the better the idea seemed.

Let the chips fall where they may.

CAROLINE HAD STORMED OUT OF the cottage at full throttle, but halfway down the tree-lined drive that led to the gates of Phoenix Spa, she eased her foot off the gas. Behind the pillars and the elaborate wrought-iron barrier, a writhing mass of reporters stood before a backdrop of cars and television vans, their satellite dishes pointed toward the sky on long, slender stalks. As she approached, Caroline thought she could make out some familiar faces-a bespectacled, frizzy-headed reporter from CNN and, Lord help us, that guy with the mustache, Geraldo Rivera. Next to Geraldo stood a well-coifed reporter who reminded her of an anchor back home on Channel 5.

Home . That word again. It stabbed at her heart with a pain so intense that she sobbed and paused in her purposeful march toward the world and the truth to catch her breath. Where was home? The house where she grew up had long ago fallen to the wrecking ball. Her bachelorette bungalow on Forest View in Nashville had been sold. And she couldn't imagine returning to the Georgian-style row house on Thirty-first Street in Georgetown where Congressman Blessing had brought his new bride less than a year ago. The furniture, carpets, wallpaper, and fabrics that she had chosen with such care and joy held no more warmth for her now than the cold fist of anger and fear that seemed to be squeezing the heart right out of her chest.

Panic seized her, she recognized the signs. First a tingling in her fingers and toes, then a wave of heat that rushed up her neck, suffusing her face and scalp and overwhelming her with dizziness. Fool! Whatever made her think she was even capable of meeting the press? Caroline glanced about for a quiet spot to withdraw, but a serpentine wall of solid brick lined the drive on both sides. She could continue toward the braying pack of media hounds or retreat up the drive to the cabin she shared with her mother, to her loft bedroom, now the only home she had.