Free Unscrupulous by Avery Aster Page B

on. “I’ll catch up with you girls later.”
    Taddy went out to the foyer and brushed her hair back in the mirror, creating the desired Gisele Bündchen look. She spritzed her favorite tuberose perfume, followed by an aerosol hair douse round of hairspray. I’m scented, sealed and ready to go . Grabbing her Judith Leiber Aurelie croc clutch, she called out, “Take your time, Lex. Text us when you’re ready and we’ll let you know where we are.”
    “Tell Birdie—Taddy and I wish her a happy New Year.” Vive’s eyes rolled. “Let’s get a drink or two or three.” She grabbed some furry-looking dead animal thing from the counter.
    “What the hell are you carrying?”
    “Tom Ford’s latest handbag.” Vive seemed proud.
    “I’ve never seen black and white striped long fur. Except on a—”
    “Skunk…Taddy. It’s skunk and I love it.”
    “Does it smell?”
    “No, honey, it’s as in-vogue as mink. Skunk is the new thang. Wait and see.”
    You twisted magazine editor .
    * * * * *
    Marijuana proved easier to score from the concierge than finding the local watering hole. Taddy tipped the Secrète de St. Barth bellman, whose name tag read Tristan, two hundred dollars to tell her where Vive and she could go to have a nighttime pick-me-up. They were hoping for a festive night but they sure weren’t going to get that in their stuffy hotel.
    Tristan enlightened her, advising on a place sightseers didn’t linger called Privé Extreme, a members-only champagne club. Privé Extreme required an application process, a $100,000 membership fee for the winter season and had a five-year waiting list.
    Vive had already pulled her own VIP media pass out. “Get a clue, buddy, who the hell we are. I own America’s number-one-selling magazine, Debauchery .”
    “Pardon?” Tristan glanced over at Taddy.
    “Ignore her.”
    “You should be rolling out the red carpet for us.” Vive crossed her arms. “We’re doing you a favor by being here.”
    Oh brother . Taddy pinched Vive’s elbow. “Farnworth, stop it. We promised their manager no New York diva shit, remember?” She pushed her friend to the side and stepped closer to the bellman. “Tristan, chéri , in the United States we call your little runaround—bullshit.” With a squint to her eyes, Taddy leaned her cleavage over the counter and dug her nails deep into his desktop.
    The bellman stepped back. “ Je suis désolé .”
    “Your bubble club recommendation is priced higher than Manhattan’s most elite establishments.”
    Tristan eyed Taddy for more of her American dollars. He fixed his stare on her handbag.
    She grabbed her purse tighter. Taddy wasn’t familiar with having to pay for drinks let alone to get into a club. It was Chinese to Vive as well.
    “ Mademoiselle Red, those are the rules.” Tristan’s hand motioned at her with an open palm saying, “Tip me again, you stupid American.”
    “ Il m’agace vraiment . You’ve gotta be able to pull some strings—something.” She slipped Tristan two additional Benjamins.
    He took something out from his back pocket. It was a VIP card in an ivory velvet box embossed with the words “ Privé Extreme ”. Tristan handed them a map with directions to the club and pointed them in a direction south of the hotel.
    “ Merci beaucoup .” Upon receipt, she turned the white card over to read on the back as Vive eyed over her shoulder, “A Truman Enterprises Property”. Smart man you are, Mr. Truman.

Chapter Six
    Per-fucking-fection
     
    Taddy held on to Vive’s waist as they walked out into the dark.
    “I imagine this Mr. Truman as an old, fat, hairy ass hooked up to an oxygen tank, sitting in some reclining automatic bed, eating green Jell-O,” Vive said.
    “I love your imagination, Vive.” Taddy put the card in her purse. She’d never thought about the man behind the resort empire before. Having never met Mr. Truman, she’d heard he lived as a notorious recluse who hated having his photo taken.