Aspen Gold (16 page)

She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. "You're outrageous."

"That's how I stay in the game," he replied smoothly, then went on without missing a beat.

"Tell me, has anyone warned you about Hollywood's golden boy here?" He flicked a hand in John's direction. "The affairs he's had with his leading ladies are positively legendary. I've often wondered if this penchant of his is a case of proximity, convenience, or expediency."

"Maybe it's a simple case of excellent taste," Kit suggested.

"That was fielded very deftly, my dear."

Tony Akins arched a dark brow in approval.

"There may be a future for you in Hollywood after all."

"Who will you sell that quote to, Tony?"

John challenged, then addressed his next remark to Kit without his gaze leaving Tony. "You should know that Tony is often the "reliable source" cited in various gossip columns and

tabloids. Peddling newsworthy items is a lucrative sideline for him."

"Gathering dirt is a rotten job, but somebody has to do it." He continued to smile, not at all troubled that John had told her.

"Luckily it pays well."

Kit tried not to be shocked by his callousness, but not even eight years in Hollywood had made her immune to it.

"John, darling." Madelyn St. James swooped toward him in a shimmer of silver brocade and kissed the air near his cheek, making sure a nearby photographer had a shot of her best side. "How are you? It's been ages,"

she gushed, drawing back. "When was the last time?

I remember--that celebrity tennis tournament.

Heavens, that was two years ago."

"Impossible." John smiled at the thrice-divorced brunette, ten years his senior. "You're looking younger than ever."

"I discovered the most marvelous spa in Switzerland," she replied as if that explained it all. "They pamper you with glorious facials and beauty packs--and starve you with berries and nuts.

But the result is better than a facelift

... and infinitely less painful."

"I'll take your word for it," John replied, then turned and introduced her to Kit.

"What an absolutely stunning gown."

Madelyn skimmed her from head to foot. "Is that from Dior's fall collection?"

"No. It's from Sophie DeWitt, the costume designer for the new film. A preview of the clothes I'll be wearing."

"Oh." Madelyn lost interest immediately and turned to John, pursing her lips in a ridiculously petulant pout. "I'm still angry with you for not coming to my party last winter."

"It couldn't be helped. I had other commitments."

"I'll have you know that you missed one of my best.

It was held the very evening Ivana and Donald had their little blowup on the slopes. I was at Bonnie's when it happened and saw it all."

She smiled a little wickedly. "What a delicious little avalanche that started. Of course, I'm speaking as a woman who's found herself standing in the same shoes facing a two-timing husband."

"Not the same shoes, darling," Tony inserted.

"Your feet are much daintier than hers."

"True." Madelyn preened a little, then took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "You see why I keep Tony around, don't you? He's so good for the ego."

"I hope I'm good for more than the ego." He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss in her palm, his tongue darting out to add a suggestive lick.

Her throaty laugh had a purr to it.

"Definitely more than that."

Kit knew her smile was getting stiff, and covered it by taking a slow sip of champagne.

She lowered the glass, curling both hands around its fluted sides and calling on her skills as an actress to maintain a pleasant and interested expression.

"Now look what you've done," Madelyn chided Tony. "You distracted me so I completely forgot what I was talking about."

"Avalanches," John said in a tone that had Kit fighting a smile.

"Avalanches? Of course." She smiled away her initial blankness with the curve of her orange-red lips. "Lord knows how many avalanches have started in Aspen. Why, it was in this very hotel at Don Henley's New Year's Eve bash that Gary Hart met Donna Rice.

That man is a story in himself. I mean, can you imagine a politician changing his name? I grant you Hartpence doesn't exactly have a memorable ring to it, but only actors can get away with that sort of thing."

Maury Rose chose that moment to join them, arriving at a fast walk. "So this is where you slipped off to, Kit. I've been looking everywhere for you. I was just talking to some people who know you.

Forgot their names." Without drawing a breath, he turned to the others. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm Maury Rose, Kit's agent."

He pushed a stubby hand at Madelyn, forcing an introduction.

"Madelyn St. James." She gave him her limp fingers, reluctantly.

"To tell you the truth, Miss St. James, I knew who you were. And I have to say, your life story would make a terrific movie. My Kit here would be the perfect actress to play the part. You could search the world and never find anyone better. You mark my words--she'll be a bigger star than Elizabeth Taylor ever was.

I knew it the first time I saw her," Maury boasted. "Kit has fire and laughter. She's loyal and straight. Why, she could feed chickens on a farm or stroll through Buckingham Palace and look right at home in either place."

Kit grew increasingly uncomfortable with the praise he continued to heap on her. When she heard someone call her name, she turned, welcoming the interruption. The welcome became a wholehearted one the instant she recognized the chestnut-haired woman gliding toward her, sleek and elegant in a gown of basic black.

Chanel, of course.

"Angie," she cried in delight and embraced the woman who had been her best friend through grammar and high school. "I was hoping you'd be here tonight."

"Someone said they had seen you and I had to track you down." Angie drew back from the warm hug.

"My God, don't you look marvelous? I can't believe it's really you."

"Thanks." Kit laughed at the backhanded compliment, then spared a glance at the audience to their reunion. "You'll have to forgive us. Angie and I go back a long way."

"Yes. We were Aspen's gruesome twosome when we were growing up," Angie acknowledged, her hazel eyes twinkling with memories of their mischief. "Remember?"

"Do I?" Kit laughed.

"It's been ages since I've seen you. I think the last time was--"

"Daddy's funeral."

"Yes." Angie's expression sobered as her hand tightened its grip on Kit's gloved fingers. "I don't know if I had a chance to tell you how sorry I was. I know how close you and your father were. I tried to call you the day after the funeral, but you'd already left."

"I couldn't stay. I had to fly back right away. Mother had gotten worse--the doctor said it was the emotional shock of Daddy's death."

A shock that had caused a full twenty-four hours to go by before she'd learned the news. She'd been on location in Italy at the time, taping her segments for the soap. Then she'd had trouble getting a flight out of Rome, arriving in Aspen on the morning of the funeral. The next day she'd left for Los Angeles to take care of her mother. She remembered too well the numbness, the grief, the fatigue, the anxiety of those days--

days she never wanted to live through again, and ones she definitely didn't want to dwell on.

Mentally shaking off the brief spate of melancholy, she smiled at Angie. "But tell me about you. How have you been? How's the new husband?"

"Mark thinks he's found his calling."

"Really?" The first name struck a familiar chord, then Kit remembered Angie had married Mark Richardson of the Denver Richardsons. His father was a heavyweight in Colorado's financial circle. "What is it?"

"He's thinking about running for the U.s.

Senate in three years. And with Daddy Richardson's contacts, he shouldn't have any trouble building up his war chest. But can you picture me as a politician's wife?" she asked with a mild shudder.

"Who knows? You might surprise yourself."

"I suppose it's possible," Angie conceded, her gaze traveling over Kit. "I mean, look at you. Who would have thought our little Kit would be in Aspen to star in a movie with John Travis? We always thought you were the girl most likely to get married and have kids."

"So did I."

"Tell me--" Angie paused and threw a look at the others, then took Kit by the arm and discreetly drew her apart. "Is it true?" she asked, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level.

"Is what true?"

"Is John Travis really as fabulous in bed as they say he is?"

For a split second, Kit was too stunned to speak. In the next, the question was reminiscent of a hundred others they'd exchanged as girls curious about sex. She burst out laughing.

"Angie, you haven't changed a bit."

"Not about some things." She grinned naughtily.

"So? Are you going to tell me or not?"

"I honestly wouldn't know," Kit replied, still amused by the turn the conversation had taken, finding it just like old times.

Angie shook her head and smiled. "You haven't changed either, have you, Kit? You never thought it was right to sleep and tell. But you can't blame me for being curious," she said, throwing another sidelong glance at John Travis.

"He has a reputation of being the best fuck around. There has to be some truth in it--not a single one of his old loves has a bad word to say about him." She grinned suddenly and wickedly at Kit. "Do you see now why I'd be rotten as a politician's wife? I'd be as bad as Jimmy Carter; only in my case I'd be looking at other men with lusting thoughts."

Kit had to laugh, glad to discover that Angie was as frank and funny as ever. "Then you'd better learn from his mistake and keep your thoughts to yourself."

"Impossible."

"Probably."

A waiter stopped and Angie took a glass of Haut Brion from his tray, then turned to Kit, lifting it in a toast. "Here's to lusting thoughts." Their glasses touched with a crystal ring.

As Angie sipped from hers, she let her glance wander over Kit's party. "Madelyn St.

James looks fabulous, doesn't she?"

Kit nodded in agreement and lowered her glass.

"She went to some spa in Switzerland and got the full beauty treatment."

"She got the full treatment, all right, but at a clinic, not a spa. She's had her thighs sucked, her tummy tucked, and God knows what else."

"Meow," Kit murmured, hiding her smile behind the fluted glass but not the twinkle in her eyes.

Angie grinned back at her. "But isn't it delicious fun?" she countered, then paused and raised a forefinger as if to interrupt herself. "By the way, have you run into the Bannons tonight?"

"No. Are they here?" She automatically turned to scan the ballroom, stiffening slightly.

"Somewhere. I spoke to them earlier. They're here with Sondra. Naturally."

"Sondra?" Kit hesitated over the name for a split second. "Oh, you mean Bannon's sister-in-law."

"Believe me, she plans to be more than his sister-in-law. Lord only knows how ugly things could have gotten for Bannon if Sondra hadn't stood up for him when his wife died so mysteriously." Angie's voice dropped to a confiding level. "You weren't here then, but there was an investigation into her death. All very hush-hush, of course. Still, the whole town knew their marriage was hardly a happy one. His wife complained to anyone who would listen that Bannon kept her a prisoner on the ranch and refused to let her friends visit. And--he was the only one with her before she died. But the autopsy came up with nothing. I think heart failure was listed on the death certificate, although they don't know what caused it. According to Sondra, her sister had rheumatic fever as a child, which might have weakened her heart. Anyway, it was all dropped. But I shudder to think what would have happened if Sondra had pointed the finger at Bannon."

Kit had heard most of this before. As far as she was concerned, it was absurd then, and absurd now.

Bannon had his faults, but he was not the kind of man who could knowingly cause his wife's death.

Anyway, his love life, past or present, was the last subject she wanted to discuss.

Instead, she commented, "Sondra sells real estate here in Aspen, doesn't she?"

Angie looked at her askance. "My God, you are behind the times, aren't you? Sondra Hudson owns one of the largest real estate firms in Aspen. More than that, she's become one of the most influential social doyennes here. When word gets out she's having a party, everybody holds their breath to see if they receive an invitation. She has this uncanny knack of knowing who's "in"

and who's "out." And if your name isn't on her guest list, it's like the kiss of death."

"Sondra Hudson?" Kit frowned, trying to equate this statement with the vague memory she had of the woman--most recently of the cool, slim blonde at her father's funeral who had led Bannon's daughter away from the graveside.

"I admit I've only met her one or two times, but she never struck me as the social type. I always had the impression she was all business."

"Darling, her parties are business. What better place to meet future clients wanting either to buy or sell here in Aspen?" It was a question that didn't require an answer, and Angie didn't wait for one. "Men use golf courses, tennis courts, and ski runs to widen their contacts; Sondra uses her parties. It's really quite ingenious when you think about it. Of course, it isn't as simple as it sounds." Idly she surveyed the gathering. "This is a tight little clique. They don't let just anyone in."

"Then how in the world did Sondra manage it?" Kit wondered aloud, her curiosity aroused.

"Well, first of all, she's no social climber. She's not interested in belonging to the social scene, only in using it. Oddly enough, she's respected for that, even admired.

Secondly, she started small." She paused and took a quick sip of her champagne. "I'm surprised you haven't heard the story before. It's become practically a legend in Aspen."

"Don't forget, counting college, I've been away for the better part of twelve years,"