One Dangerous Lady by Jane Stanton Hitchcock Page B

who had the villa next door and she took me. ‘This is not to be missed,’ she said. And, honey, she wasn’t kidding.”
    â€œWhat was it like?”
    â€œOh, my dear. Well, for starters, as you came in you had to pass by this huge tower with turrets at the top and there were about a dozen men with machine guns peering down at you, ready to open fire if you so much as sneezed the wrong way. Then you walked through this kind of mazey tropical garden and suddenly, there was Yankee Stadium—the biggest, most vulgar house you’ve ever seen in your life! It had two Olympic-size swimming pools on two different levels, and a terrace the size of a football field, studded with life-size plaster camels.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œAnd that was the tasteful part. That’s where we had cocktails. The place had its own disco with a big, blue dolphin in the center, spouting rainbow-colored water. Worst-looking thing you’ve ever seen. No expense had been spared except, I gather, in the guest rooms, which everybody complained were cramped and dark. Hernandez spent the money where it showed and not for the comfort of others.”
    â€œSo what was Hernandez like?” I was fascinated.
    â€œA shy, exceedingly uncomfortable man. Hardly spoke to anyone. Just lurked in a corner, looking furtive and miserable the whole entire time.”
    â€œMaybe he hated parties.”
    Larry shook his head. “No, I think it was much more than that. He was a very strange man. A famous depressive. I made an effort to talk to him because I felt sort of sorry for him and also because I was curious about Mexico’s ‘pharmaceutical king,’ as he was always referred to. Most stilted conversation I’ve ever had, Jo. Filled with aborted takeoffs. He’d start to talk, then stop dead right in the middle of a sentence. He couldn’t focus on anything but Carla. He was obsessed with her. Watched her like a hawk. I remember how those beady little eyes of his darted around after her wherever she went. Of course, she was much younger than he was, and very flirtatious. It was kind of touching in a way.”
    â€œSo is it true that he committed suicide by shooting himself twice in the chest? Miranda told us that.”
    Larry laughed. “No, I think he just shot himself once. As I said, he had a history of depression. That was well known.”
    â€œThen why do people say he was murdered?”
    â€œPeople love scandal.” He took another puff of his pipe and smiled at me through strings of blue smoke.
    â€œOkay, so is it true that the reason Russell gave Lulu such a big settlement is because Lulu found out that Carla used to be a call girl and they were afraid she would broadcast it to the world?”
    Larry shook his head in amusement. “Well, first of all, the world thought Carla was a call girl. So if Russell gave Lulu a big settlement to keep her mouth shut about that , I’d say he wasted his money, wouldn’t you? And besides, who cares anymore? That’s one scenario we’re all quite used to by now among the ranks of rich men’s wives . . . I won’t name names, of course,” he quickly added. “But just think of old Madame Celeste.”
    Madame Celeste ran a famous French bordello whose international call girls were renowned for their looks, their charm, and their fabled ability to marry or otherwise insinuate themselves into the precincts of power all over the world. Over the years, a few international socialites and wives of powerful men were reputed to be former Madame Celeste girls. But it was one of those associations that is tough to prove—secrecy being as closely guarded a commodity in the courtesan trade as certain exotic sexual techniques.
    â€œDo you think Carla was a Madame Celeste girl?” I asked Larry.
    â€œNot literally. Madame Celeste must be long gone by now. But do I think Carla was once a ‘lady of the