iz Smith's column read: "IRO N BUTTERFLY ABOUT TO GET HER WINGS CLIPPED...What beautiful real estate tycoon is about to hit her penthouse roof when she learns that a book about her, written by a former employee, is going to be published by Candlelight Press? The word is that it's going to be hot! Hot! Hot!"

Lara slammed the newspaper down. It had to be Gertrude Meeks, the secretary she had fired! Lara sent for Jerry Town send. "Have you seen Liz Smith's column this morning?"

"Yes, I just read it. There isn't much we can do about it, boss. If you..."

"There's a lot we can do. All my employees sign an agreement that they will not write anything about me dur ing or after their employment here. Gertrude Meeks has no right to do this. I'm going to sue the publisher for all he's worth."

Jerry Townsend shook his head. "I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it will create a lot of unfavorable publicity. If you let it ride, it becomes a small wind that will blow over. If you try to stop it, it will become a hurricane."

She listened, unimpressed. "Find out who owns the com pany," Lara ordered.

One hour later Lara was speaking on the phone to Henry Seinfeld, the owner and publisher of Candlelight Press.

"This is Lara Cameron. I understand you intend to publish a book about me."

"You read the Liz Smith item, huh? Yes, it's true, Miss Cameron."

"I want to warn you that if you publish the book, I'm going to sue you for invasion of privacy."

The voice at the other end of the phone said, "I think perhaps you should check with your attorney. You're a public figure, Miss Cameron. You have no right of privacy. And according to Gertrude Meeks's manuscript, you're quite a colorful character."

"Gertrude Meeks signed a paper forbidding her to write anything about me."

"Well, that's between you and Gertrude. You can sue her..."

But by then, of course, the book would be out.

"I don't want it published. If I can make it worth your while not to publish it..."

"Hold on. I think you're treading on dangerous ground. I would suggest that we terminate this conversation. Good bye." The line went dead.

Damn him! Lara sat there thinking. She sent for Howard Keller.

"What do you know about Candlelight Press?"

He shrugged. "They're a small outfit. They do exploitation books. They did a hatchet job on Cher, Madonna..."

"Thanks. That's all."

Howard Keller had a headache. It seemed to him that he was getting a lot of headaches lately. Not enough sleep. He was under pressure, and he felt that things were moving too rapidly. He had to find a way to slow Lara down. Maybe this was a hunger headache. He buzzed his secretary.

"Bess, order some lunch in for me, would you?"

There was a silence.

"Bess?"

"Are you joking, Mr. Keller?"

"Joking? No, why?"

"You just had your lunch."

Keller felt a chill go through him.

"But if you're still hungry..."

"No, no. "He remembered now. He had had a salad and a roast beef sandwich and...My God, he thought, what's happening to me?

"Just kidding, Bess," he said. Who am i kidding?

The opening of the Cameron Palace in Reno was a smash. The hotel was fully booked, and the casino was crowded with players. Lara had spared no expense to see that the invited celebrities were well taken care of. Everyone was there. There's only one person missing, Lara thought. Philip. He had sent an enormous bouquet of flowers with a note: "You're the music in my life. I adore you and miss you. Hub."

Paul Martin arrived. He came up to Lara. "Congratula tions. You've outdone yourself."

"Thanks to you, Paul. I couldn't have done it without you."

He was looking around. "Where's Philip?"

"He couldn't be here. He's on tour."

"He's out playing piano somewhere? This is a big night for you, Lara. He should be at your side."

Lara smiled. "He really wanted to be. "

The manager of the hotel came up to Lara. "This is quite a night, isn't it? The hotel is fully booked for the next three months."

"Let's keep it that way, Donald."

Lara had hired a Japanese and a Brazilian agent to bring in big players from abroad. She had spent a million dollars on each of the luxury suites, but it was going to pay off.

"You've got a gold mine here, Miss Cameron," the man ager said. He looked around. "By the way, where's your husband? I've been looking forward to meeting him."

"He couldn't be here," Lara said. He's out playing the piano somewhere.

The entertainment was brilliant, but Lara was the star of the evening. Sammy Cahn had written special lyrics for "My Kind of Town." It went, "My kind of gal, Lara is..." She got up to make a speech, and there was enthusiastic applause. Everyone wanted to meet her, to touch her. The press was there in full force, and Lara gave interviews for television, radio, and the press. It all went well until the interviewers asked, "Where's your husband tonight?" And Lara found herself getting more and more upset. He should have been at my side. The concert could have waited. But she smiled sweetly and said, "Philip was so disappointed he couldn't be here."

When the entertainment was over, there was dancing. Paul Martin walked up to Lara's table. "Shall we?"

Lara rose and stepped into his arms.

"How does it feel owning all this?" Paul asked.

"It feels wonderful. Thanks for all your help."

"What are friends for? I notice that you have some heavy weight gamblers here. Be careful with them, Lara. Some of them are going to lose big, and you have to make them feel like they're winners. Get them a new car or girls or anything that will make them feel important."

"I'll remember," Lara said.

"It's good to hold you again," Paul said.

"Paul..."

"I know. Do you remember what I said about your husband taking good care of you?"

"Yes. "

"He doesn't seem to be doing a very good job. "

"Philip wanted to be here," Lara said defensively. And even as she said it, she thought, Did he really? He telephoned her late that night, and the sound of his voice made her twice as lonely.

"Lara, I've been thinking about you all day, darling. How did the opening go?"

"Wonderfully. I wish you could have been here, Philip."

"So do I. I miss you like crazy."

Then why aren't you here with me? "I miss you, too. Hurry home."

Howard Keller walked into Lara's office carrying a thick manila envelope.

"You're not going to like this," Keller said.

"What's up?"

Keller laid the envelope on Lara's desk. "This is a copy of Gertrude Meeks's manuscript. Don't ask me how I got hold of it. We could both go to jail."

"Have you read it?"

He nodded. "Yes. "

"And? "

"I think you'd better read it yourself. She wasn't even working here when some of these things happened. She must have done a lot of digging."

"Thanks, Howard."

Lara waited until he left the office; then she pressed down the key on the intercom. "No calls."

She opened the manuscript and began to read.

It was devastating. It was a portrait of a scheming, domi neering woman who had clawed her way to the top. It depicted her temper tantrums and her imperious manner with her em ployees. It was meanspirited, filled with nasty little anec dotes. What the manuscript left out was Lara's independence and courage, her talent and vision and generosity. She went on reading.

"...One of the Iron Butterfly's tricks was to schedule her business meetings early on the first morning of negotia tions, so that the others were jet-lagged and Cameron was fresh.

"...At a meeting with the Japanese, they were served tea with Valium in it, while Lara Cameron drank coffee with Ritalin, a stimulant that speeds up the thought process.

"...At a meeting with some German bankers, they were served coffee with Valium, while she drank tea with Ritalin.

"...When Lara Cameron was negotiating for the Queens property and the community board turned her down, she got them to change their mind by making up a story that she had a young daughter who was going to live in one of the build ings..."

"...When tenants refused to leave the building at the Dorchester Apartments, Lara Cameron filled it with homeless people...."

Nothing had been left out. When Lara finished reading it, she sat at her desk for a long time, motionless. She sent for Howard Keller.

"I want you to run a Dun and Bradstreet on Henry Seinfeld. He owns Candlelight Press."

"Right."

He was back fifteen minutes later. "Seinfeld has a D-C rating."

"Which means?"

"That's the lowest rating there is. A fourth-line credit rating is poor, and he's four notches below that. A good stiff wind would blow him over. He lives from book to book. One flop and he's out of business."

"Thanks, Howard." She telephoned Terry Hill, her attor ney.

"Terry, how would you like to be a book publisher?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I want you to buy Candlelight Press in your name. It's owned by Henry Seinfeld."

"That should be no problem. How much do you want to pay?"

"Try to buy him out for five hundred thousand. If you have to, go to a million. Make sure that the deal includes all the literary properties he owns. Keep my name out of it. "

The offices of Candlelight Press were downtown in an old building on Thirty-fourth Street. Henry Seinfeld's quarters consisted of a small secretarial office and a slightly larger office for himself.

Seinfeld's secretary said, "There's a Mr. Hill to see you, Mr. Seinfeld."

"Send him in."

Terry Hill had called earlier that morning.

He walked into the shabby little office. Seinfeld was sitting behind the desk.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Hill?"

"I'm representing a German publishing company that might be interested in buying your company."

Seinfeld took his time lighting a cigar. "My company's not for sale," he said.

"Oh, that's too bad. We're trying to break into the Ameri can market, and we like your operation."

"I've built this company up from scratch," Seinfeld said. "It's like my baby. I'd hate to part with it."

"I understand how you feel," the lawyer said sympatheti cally. "We'd be willing to give you five hundred thousand dollars fork. "

Seinfeld almost choked on his cigar. "Five hundred? Hell, I've got one book coming out that's going to be worth a million dollars alone. No, sir. Your offer's an insult."

"My offer's a gift. You have no assets, and you're over a hundred thousand dollars in debt. I checked. Tell you what I'll do. I'll go up to six hundred thousand. That's my final offer."

"I'd never forgive myself. Now, if you could see your way clear to going to seven..."

Terry Hill rose to his feet. "Good-bye, Mr. Seinfeld. I'll find another company."

He started toward the door.

"Wait a minute," Seinfeld said. "Let's not be hasty. The fact is, my wife's been after me to retire. Maybe this would be a good time."

Terry Hill walked over to the desk and pulled a contract out of his pocket. "I have a check here for six hundred thousand dollars. Just sign where the X is."

Lara sent for Keller.

"We just bought Candlelight Press."

"Great. What do you want to do with it?"

"First of all, kill Gertrude Meeks's book. See that it doesn't get published. There are plenty of ways to keep stalling. If she sues to get her rights back, we can tie her up in court for years."

"Do you want to fold the company?"

"Of course not. Put someone in to run it. We'll keep it as a tax loss."

When Keller returned to his office, he said to his secretary, " I want to give you a letter. Jack Hellman, Hellman Realty. Dear Jack, I discussed your offer with Miss Cameron, and we feel that it would be unwise to go into your venture at this time. However, we want you to know that we would be interested in any future..."

His secretary had stopped taking notes.

Keller looked up. "Do you have that?"

She was staring at him. "Mr. Keller?"

"Yes. "

"You dictated this letter yesterday."

Keller swallowed. "What?"

"It's already gone out in the mail."

Howard Keller tried to smile. "I guess I'm on over load."

At four o'clock that afternoon Keller was being examined by Dr. Seymour Bennett.

"You seem to be in excellent shape," Dr. Bennett said. "Physically, there's nothing wrong with you at all."

"What about these lapses of memory?"

"How long since you've had a vacation, Howard?"

Keller tried to think. "I guess it's been quite a few years," he said. "We've been pretty busy."

Dr. Bennett smiled. "There you are. You're on overload." That word again. "This is more common than you think. Go somewhere where you can relax for a week or two. Get business off your mind. When you come back, you'll feel like a new man."

Keller stood up, relieved.

Keller went to see Lara in her office. "Could you spare me for a week?"

"About as easily as I can spare my right arm. What did you have in mind?"

"The doctor thinks I should take a little vacation, Lara. To tell you the truth, I've been having some problems with my memory."

She was watching him, concerned. "Anything serious?"

"No, not really. It's just annoying. I thought I might go to Hawaii for a few days."

"Take the jet."

"No, no, you'll be using it. I'll fly commercial."

"Charge everything to the company."

"Thanks. I'll check in every..."

"No, you won't. I want you to forget about the office. Just take care of yourself. I don't want anything to happen to you."

I hope he's all right, Lara thought. He's got to be all right.

Philip telephoned the next day. When Marian Bell said, "Mr. Adler is calling from Taipei," Lara hurriedly picked up the telephone.

"Philip...?"

"Hello, darling. There's been a phone strike. I've been trying to reach you for hours. How do you feel?"

Lonely. "Wonderful. How is the tour going?"

"It's the usual. I miss you."

In the background Lara could hear music and voices.

"Where are you?"

"Oh, they're giving a little party for me. You know how it is. "

Lara could hear the sound of a woman laughing. "Yes, I know how it is. "

"I'll be home Wednesday."

"Philip?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing, darling. Hurry home."

"I will. Good-bye."

She replaced the receiver. What was he going to do after the party? Who was the woman? She was filled with a sense of jealousy so strong that it almost smothered her. She had never been jealous of anyone in her life.

Everything is so perfect, Lara thought. / don't want to lose it. I can't lose it.

She lay awake thinking about Philip and what he was doing.

Howard Keller was stretched out on Kona Beach at a small hotel on the big island of Hawaii. The weather had been ideal. He had gone swimming every day. He had gotten a tan, played some golf, and had daily massages. He was completely relaxed and had never felt better. Dr. Bennett was right, he thought. Overload. I'm going to have to slow down a little when I get back. The truth was that the episodes of memory loss had frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, it was time to return to New York. He took a midnight flight back and was in Manhattan at four o'clock in the afternoon. He went directly to the office. His secretary was there, smiling. "Welcome back, Mr. Keller. You look great."

"Thank you..." He stood there, and his face drained of color.

He could not remember her name.