The Stars Shine Down
Chapter Eighteen

On Christmas Day Lara stayed home. She had been invited to a dozen parties, but Paul Martin was going to drop by. "I have to be with Nina and the kids today," he had explained, "but I want to come by and see you."
She wondered what Philip Adler was doing on this Christmas Day.
It was a Currier & Ives postcard kind of day. New York was blanketed in a beautiful white snowfall, wrapped in silence. When Paul Martin arrived, he had a shopping bag full of gifts for Lara.
"I had to stop at the office to pick these up," he said. So his wife wouldn't know.
"You give me so much, Paul. You don't have to bring anything."
"I wanted to. Open them up now."
Lara was touched by his eagerness to see her reaction.
The gifts were thoughtful and expensive. A necklace from Cartier's, scarves from Hermes, books from Rizzoli, an antique carriage clock, and a small white envelope. Lara opened it. It read: "Cameron Reno Hotel & Casino" in large block letters. She looked up at him, in surprise. "I have the hotel?"
He nodded confidently. "You will have. The bidding starts next week. You're going to have fun with it," Paul Martin predicted.
"I don't know anything about running a casino."
"Don't worry. I'll put some professionals in to manage it for you. The hotel, you can handle yourself."
"I don't know how to thank you. You do so much for me."
He took her hands in his. "There isn't anything in the world that I wouldn't do for you. Remember that."
"I will," she said solemnly.
He was looking at his watch. "I have to get back home. I wish..."He hesitated.
"Yes?"
"Never mind. Merry Christmas, Lara."
"Merry Christmas, Paul."
She went to the window and looked out. The sky had become a delicate curtain of dancing snowflakes. Restless, Lara walked to the radio and turned it on. An announcer was saying, "...and now, for its holiday program, the Boston Symphony Orchestra presents Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. Five in E flat, with Philip Adler, soloist."
Lara listened with her eyes, seeing him at the piano, handsome and elegant. When the music ended, she thought, I've got to see him again.
Bill Whitman was one of the best construction supervisors in the business. He had risen through the ranks and was in great demand. He worked steadily and earned good money, but he was dissatisfied. For years he had watched builders reaping enormous fortunes while he got nothing but a salary. In a way, he thought, they're making their money off of me. The owner gets the cake; I get the crumbs. But the day Lara Cameron had gone before the community board, everything changed. She had lied to get the board's approval, and that lie could destroy her. If I went to the board and told them the truth, she'd be out of business.
But Bill Whitman had no intention of doing that. He had a better plan. He intended to use what had happened as lever-age. The boss lady was going to give him anything he asked for. He could sense from their first meeting at which he had asked for a promotion and raise that she was going to give in. She had no choice. I'll start small, Bill Whitman thought happily, and then I'll begin squeezing.
Two days after Christmas, work began again on the Eastside Plaza project. Whitman looked around at the huge site and thought, This one's going to be a real moneymaker. Only this time, I'm going to cash in on it, too.
The site was crowded with heavy equipment. Cranes were digging into the earth and lifting tons of it into waiting trucks. A crane wielding a giant saw-toothed scoop bucket seemed to be stuck. The huge arm hung suspended high in midair. Whitman strode toward the cab, under the huge metal bucket.
"Hey, Jesse," he called. "What's the matter up there?"
The man in the cab mumbled something that Whitman could not hear.
Whitman moved closer. "What?"
Everything happened in a split second. A chain slipped, and the huge metal bucket came crashing down on Whitman, smashing him to the ground. Men came running toward the body, but there was nothing to be done.
"The safety brake slipped," the operator explained later. "Gee, I feel really awful. I liked Bill a lot."
When she heard the news, Lara immediately telephoned Paul Martin. "Did you hear about Bill Whitman?"
"Yes. It was on television."
"Paul, you didn't...?"
He laughed. "Don't go getting any crazy ideas. You've been seeing too many movies. Remember, the good guys always win in the end."
And Lara wondered, Am I one of the good guys?
There were more than a dozen bidders for the Reno hotel.
"When do I bid?" Lara asked Paul.
"You don't. Not until I tell you. Let the others jump in first."
The bidding was secret, and the bids were sealed, to be opened on the following Friday. By Wednesday Lara still had not made a bid. She telephoned Paul Martin.
"Sit tight," he said. "I'll tell you when."
They stayed in touch by phone several times a day.
At 5:00 P.M. , one hour before the bidding was to close, Lara received a phone call.
"Now! The high bid is a hundred and twenty million. I want you to go five million over it."
Lara gasped. "But if I do that, I'll lose money on the deal."
"Trust me," Paul said. "After you get the hotel and start redoing it, you can cut corners on the changes. They'll all be endorsed by the supervising engineer. You'll make up the five million and then some."
The following day Lara was notified that hers was the winning bid.
Now Lara and Keller were on their way to Reno.
The hotel was called the Reno Palace. It was large and sumptuous, with fifteen hundred rooms and a huge, glittering casino that was empty. Lara and Howard Keller were being escorted through the casino by a man named Tony Wilkie.
"The people who owned this got a bum deal," Wilkie said.
"What kind of bum deal?" Keller asked.
"Well, it seems that a couple of the boys were pocketing a little money from the cash cage..."
"Skimming," Keller interjected.
"Yeah. Of course, the owners didn't know anything about it."
"Of course not."
"But someone blew the whistle, and the Gaming Commission pulled out the rug. It's too bad. It was a very profitable operation."
"I know." Keller had already studied the books.
When the tour of inspection was completed, and Lara and Howard were alone, she said, "Paul was right. This is a gold mine." She saw the expression on Howard's face. "What's the matter?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't like us getting involved in anything like this."
"What's 'anything like this'? It's a cash cow, Howard."
"Who's going to run the casino?"
"We'll find people," Lara said evasively.
"Where from? The Girl Scouts? It takes gamblers to run an operation like this. I don't know any, do you?"
Lara was silent.
"I'll bet Paul Martin does."
"Leave him out of this," Lara said.
"I'd like to, and I'd like to leave you out of it. I don't think this is such a great idea."
"You didn't think the Queens project was a great idea either, did you? Or the shopping center on Houston Street. But they're making money, aren't they?"
"Lara, I never said they weren't good deals. All I said was that I think we're moving too fast. You're swallowing up everything in sight, but you haven't digested anything yet."
Lara patted his cheek. "Relax."
The members of the Gaming Commission received Lara with elaborate courtesy.
"We don't often meet a beautiful young woman in here," the chairman said. "It brightens up our day."
Lara did look beautiful. She was wearing a Donna Karan beige wool suit, with a cream-colored silk blouse and, for good luck, one of the scarves Paul had given her for Christmas. She smiled. "Thank you."
"What can we do for you?" one of the gaming commissioners asked. They all knew perfectly well what they could do for her.
"I'm here because I would like to do something for Reno," Lara said earnestly. "I would like to give it the biggest, most beautiful hotel in Nevada. I'd like to add five stories to the Reno Palace, and put up a large convention center to attract more tourists here to gamble."
The members of the board glanced at one another. The chairman said, "I think something like that would have a very beneficial effect on the city. Of course, our job is to make sure that an operation like this would be run completely aboveboard."
"I'm not exactly an escaped convict," Lara smiled.
They chuckled at her little joke. "We know your record, Miss Cameron, and it is admirable. However, you've had no experience in running a casino."
"That's true," Lara admitted. "On the other hand, I'm sure it will be easy to find fine, qualified employees who will meet the approval of this commission. I would certainly welcome your guidance."
One of the members of the commission spoke up. "As far as the financing is concerned, can you guarantee...?"
The chairman interrupted. "That's all right, Tom, Miss Cameron has submitted the financials on it. I'll see that you each get a copy."
Lara sat there, waiting.
The chairman said, "I can't promise anything at this moment, Miss Cameron, but I think I'm safe in saying that I don't see any obstacles to your being granted a license."
Lara beamed. "That's wonderful. I'd like to get moving as quickly as possible."
"I'm afraid things don't move quite that fast here. There will be a one-month waiting period before we can give you a definite answer."
Lara was dismayed. "A month?"
"Yes. We have a bit of checking to do."
"I understand," Lara said. "That will be fine."
There was a music store in the hotel's shopping complex. In the window was a large poster of Philip Adler, advertising his new compact disc.
Lara was not interested in the music. She bought the CD for Philip's photograph on the back of the case.
On their way back to New York, Lara said, "Howard, what do you know about Philip Adler?"
"Just what everybody else knows. He's probably the top concert pianist in the world today. He plays with the finest symphony orchestras. I read somewhere that he just set up a foundation for scholarships for minority musicians in inner cities."
"What's it called?"
"The Philip Adler Foundation, I think."
"I'd like to make a contribution," Lara said. "Send them a check for ten thousand dollars in my name."
Keller looked at her in surprise. "I thought you didn't care for classical music."
"I'm starting to get interested in it," Lara said.
The headline read:
DISTRICT ATTORNEY PROBE OF PAUL MARTIN - ATTORNEY REPUTED TO HAVE MAFIA TIES
Lara read the story with dismay and telephoned Paul immediately.
"What's going on?" Lara asked.
He chuckled. "The DA is on another fishing expedition. They've been trying to tie me in with the boys for years, and they haven't had any luck. Every time an election comes up, they try to use me as their whipping boy. Don't worry about it. What about dinner tonight?"
"Fine," Lara said.
"I know a little place on Mulberry Street where no one will bother us."
Over dinner Paul Martin said, "I hear that the meeting with the Gaming Commission went well."
"I think it did. They seemed friendly, but I've never done anything like this before."
"I don't think you'll have any problem. I'll get you some good boys for the casino. The man who owned the license got greedy." He changed the subject. "How are all the construction jobs going?"
"Fine. I have three projects in the works, Paul."
"You're not getting in over your head, are you, Lara?"
He sounded like Howard Keller. "No. Every job is on budget and on schedule."
"That's good, baby. I wouldn't want anything to ever go wrong for you."
"Nothing will." She put her hand on his. "You're my safety net."
"I'll always be there." He squeezed her hand.
Two weeks went by, and Lara had not heard from Philip Adler. She sent for Keller. "Did you make that ten-thousand dollar contribution to the Adler Foundation?"
"Yes, the day you mentioned it."
"Strange. I would have thought he would have called me."
Keller shrugged. "He's probably traveling somewhere."
"Probably." She tried to conceal her disappointment. "Let's talk about the building in Queens."
"That's going to take a big financial bite out of us," Keller said.
"I know how to protect us. I'd like to lock the deal in with one tenant."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
"Yes. Mutual Security Insurance. The president is a man named Horace Guttman. I've heard they're looking for a new location. I'd like it to be our building."
"I'll check it out," Keller said.
Lara noticed that he made no notes. "You constantly amaze me. You remember everything, don't you?"
Keller grinned. "I have a photographic memory. It used to be for baseball statistics." It all seems so long ago, Howard thought. The kid with the magic arm, the star of the Chicago Cubs minor league. Someone else and another time. "Sometimes it's a curse. There are a few things in my life I'd like to forget."
"Howard, have the architect go ahead and draw up the plans for the Queens building. Find out how many floors Mutual Security will need, and how much floor space."
Two days later Keller walked into Lara's office. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."
"What's the problem?"
"I did a little snooping around. You were right about Mutual Security Insurance. They are looking for a new headquarters, but Guttman is thinking about a building in Union Square. It's your old friend Steve Murchison's building."
Murchison again! She was sure that the box of dirt had been sent by him. I'm not going to let him bluff me.
"Has Guttman committed to it?" Lara asked.
"Not yet."
"All right. I'll handle it."
That afternoon Lara made a dozen phone calls. She hit the jackpot on the last call. Barbara Roswell.
"Horace Guttman? Sure, I know him, Lara. What's your interest in him?"
"I'd like to meet him. I'm a big fan of his. I want you to do me a favor. Could you please invite him to dinner next Saturday night, Barbara?"
"You've got it."
The dinner party was simple but elegant. There were fourteen people at the Roswell residence. Alice Guttman wasn't feeling well that evening, so Horace Guttman had come to the party alone. Lara had been seated next to him. He was in his sixties, but he seemed much older. He had a stern, worn face and a stubborn chin. Lara looked enchanting, provocative. She was wearing a low-cut black Halston gown and simple but stunning jewelry. They had had their cocktails and were seated at the dining table.
"I've been wanting to meet you," Lara confessed. "I've heard so much about you."
"I've heard a lot about you, young lady. You've made quite a splash in this town."
"I hope I'm making a contribution," Lara said modestly. "It's such a wonderful town."
"Where are you from?"
"Gary, Indiana."
"Really?" He looked at her in surprise. "That's where I was born. So, you're a Hoosier, eh?"
Lara smiled. "That's right. I have such fond memories of Gary. My father worked for the Post-Tribune. I went to Roosevelt High. On weekends we'd go to Gleason Park for picnics and outdoor concerts, or we'd go bowling at the Twelve and Twenty. I hated having to leave."
"You've done well for yourself, Miss Cameron."
"Lara."
"Lara. What are you up to these days?"
"The project I'm most excited about," Lara told him, "is a new building I'm putting up in Queens. It's going to have thirty stories and two hundred thousand square feet of floor space."
"That's interesting," Guttman said, thoughtfully.
"Oh," Lara said innocently. "Why?"
"It happens that we're looking for a building just about that size for our new headquarters."
"Really? Have you chosen one yet?"
"Not exactly, but..."
"If you'd like, I can show you the plans for our new building. They've already been drawn up."
He studied her a moment. "Yes, I'd like to see them."
"I can bring them to your office Monday morning."
"I'll look forward to it."
The rest of the evening went well.
When Horace Guttman reached home that night, he walked into his wife's bedroom.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better, darling. How was the party?"
He sat down on the bed. "Well, they all missed you, but I had an interesting time. Have you ever heard of Lara Cameron?"
"Certainly. Everyone has heard of Lara Cameron."
"She's quite a woman. A little strange. Says she was born in Gary, Indiana, same as me. Knew all about Gary - Gleason Park and the Twelve and Twenty."
"What's strange about that?"
Guttman looked at his wife and grinned. "The little lady comes from Nova Scotia."
Early Monday morning Lara appeared at Horace Guttman's office, carrying the blueprints for the Queens project. She was ushered in immediately.
"Nice to see you, Lara. Sit down."
She laid the blueprints on his desk and sat across from him.
"Before you look at these," Lara said, "I have something to confess, Horace."
Guttman leaned back in his chair. "Yes?"
"That story I told on Saturday about Gary, Indiana..."
"What about it?"
"I've never even been to Gary, Indiana. I was trying to impress you."
He laughed. "Now you've succeeded in confusing me. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep up with you, young lady. Let's look at these blueprints."
Half an hour later he was through examining them.
"You know," he said reflectively," I was pretty well set on another location."
"Were you?"
"Why should I change my mind and move into your building?"
"Because you're going to be happier there. I'll see that you have everything you need." She smiled. "Besides, it's going to cost your company ten percent less."
"Really? You don't know what my deal is for the other building."
"It doesn't matter. I'll take your word for it."
"You could have come from Gary, Indiana," Guttman said. "You've got a deal."
When Lara returned to her office, there was a message that Philip Adler had telephoned.