Being Audrey Hepburn Page 10

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful. I love the quote. It cuts both ways, clever girl,” he said. A little smile turned at the corner of his mouth. My heart sank, fearing I had exposed myself more than I should have.

  Jess signaled we should leave. She probably could tell I was worried.

  “Well, Isak dear, I can see we could chat forever,” I said, rising from the bar, “but it’s time for me to leave. I hope you don’t mind.” I didn’t realize how much I had been drinking until I stood up.

  “I do mind quite a lot, but it’s been charming,” he said, standing and taking my hand. “I trust I will see you again soon?”

  “I hope so,” I said and did my very best to exit gracefully without stumbling on my heels.

  That night, Jess and I practically peed ourselves laughing as we clicked through the photos on her camera, reliving every glorious second of the adventure. Had we really gotten away with it so easily? Jess’s first redo was so spectacular that none other than Isak Guerrere had taken notice. I didn’t mention anything about the blog. I didn’t want her to worry.

  The next night we planned to return to the scene of the crime—the Met.

  A nagging part of me worried we were pushing our luck.

  18

  I couldn’t help mulling over in my mind the conversation with Isak. Every moment of our encounter was delicious. Although I faked every bit of my savoir faire, I had done so quite successfully. There seemed to be some value in that, as if I had stitched together a life and personality in real time as I talked to him. I had acted as if I were somebody, a person with a point of view and personality. Isak seemed to be genuinely interested in what I had to say.

  I was also somebody with opinions, but they were buried down where no one would hear or see them. Now I had a reason to drag them out of the dark pockets of my mind and bring them into the light. Specifically, the “limelight.”

  Spilling the beans to Isak Guerrere, of all people, meant that I’d have to actually make a few entries on my fledgling blog if I was going to make this work.

  In order to comfort myself and get going, I imagined bravely talking to Isak as if my opinion mattered. I opened up the blog page and began writing my first full entry.

  “Standing pigeon-toed in a new dress and posing with your head tilted at a 45 degree angle doesn’t hack it anymore,” I wrote. “If you want to find the heart of fashion, you need to start small—one detail at a time, one stitch followed by the next. It’s as much about removing the clutter as finding the next fashion design.”

  I took a deep breath to read and reread what I had written. Satisfied, I continued.

  “The film director Steven Soderbergh once said, The making of any art is just problem solving. You have to eliminate the versions that aren’t any good. Then you see what you have left.” I wasn’t sure where I had heard that quote, but at least I wasn’t quoting Chanel, like every other fashion blog.

  “Fashion is certainly more than dressing your Barbie. It’s one choice at a time, step by step.” I thought for a moment before continuing.

  “A button, a shoe, a glove that fits just right—that’s what this blog will be about. It’s about examining fashion from the ground up, detail by detail, appreciating the art and craftsmanship that goes into perfecting each item. Little by little, I’ll build from there to show you, my dear reader, that anyone can go from nothing to something and sustain your soul in all shades of limelight.”

  Phew, it almost sounded pithy.

  Laying out Jess’s modified Dior as well as a few items from Nan’s treasure trove, I clicked my little digital camera, photographing a few of the wonderful buttons Jess had added, the hem she had modified, the corner of the collar, the wonderful hand stitching inside.

  I shot everything out against white, so that the photo frame was invisible on the blog page. I wanted just the bare, stark essentials. I ended with another quote I remembered from that fashion neophyte, Winnie the Pooh.

  “Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”

  I took a deep breath and went back and double-checked everything. Filling in the “about me” link, I wrote:

  Hello. Starting a new blog is like starting a relationship. In the beginning, it’s fresh, promising, and new. I hope for both our sakes it stays that way. I pledge to be a good chum and post frequently and share a few designs from my friend, Designer X, a secret well kept who is fated to shine.

  This was the beginning. Next stop—the Met.

  19

  Crashing another event at the Met was not our first choice. It was only because we couldn’t find anything else on the social calendar that we had any chance of getting into. Jess was still worried about Mr. Myers. There was nothing else going on in the museum that night, so the chances were slim that he’d show at an event like this. Mr. Myers wasn’t exactly a socialite.

  Save the Cheetah Night was the name of the event. I hadn’t seen too many cheetahs lately, so they were definitely scarce. Although poverty also seemed like a worthy cause, I’d read there was compassion fatigue in the “what jewels should I wear tonight” set, so I guessed cheetahs were a tad easier to feel sorry for.

  I was wearing the sky-blue silk taffeta gown, the very first one we’d found in Nan’s storage unit. Jess replaced a limp satin ribbon sash with a funky hand-beaded band and thinned out the tulle under the skirt, among other alterations. It was drop-dead gorgeous.

  Slipping through a service entrance near the cafeteria, I sidestepped the beefy Men in Black security guys and snuck into the main gala without being noticed.

  The anxious little beast in my belly was squirming around like crazy. Everywhere, I saw security cameras and guards. What if my presence jogged the memory of one of the security people or gave some detective the last clue he or she needed to put the whole escapade together? I took deep breaths.

  Adam Levine from Maroon 5, who I consider a total sex god, was standing with a reporter and photographer from Us Weekly. The reporter was actually waiting for Adam and a couple other guys from the group to pose for a picture, so I just moseyed right up to them.

  Seriously. I think that Nan’s taffeta gown gave me superpowers or something. Just before the photographer snapped the picture, I jumped in between them as if I’d started the freaking band myself. Adam sort of cracked up, posing with a funny grin on his face and putting his arm around my waist, just as the photographer snapped the picture.

  “Wonderful, darling,” I said in my best Audrey voice as I twirled to face Adam, my back to the reporter before he could ask my name. I was shaking, but I channeled Holly Golightly and her “life is a continuous cocktail party” attitude.

  “And how is the secret album coming along?” I whispered.

  He seemed taken by surprise, quite clearly wondering who the hell I was and how I knew that he was working on a new album—just a total lame guess—aren’t they all working on one?

  “Insane, actually, we just finished.”

  “Lovely, can’t wait to hear it,” I said, smiling at the other band members as I sauntered off, my body tingling from my toes to my updo with a brazen sort of confidence I’d never felt before.

  I couldn’t believe it, little me, a nobody from South End mingling with fancy-schmancy rock and rollers. Who’d have thought? I spied Jess on the balcony with her camera—she gave me a thumbs-up.

  Ah, confidence … I can do this, I thought, until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “I know what you’re up to,” he said, and I wanted to die.

  I turned slowly to give myself a few extra milliseconds to formulate an excuse or find a getaway.

  He wore a sharply styled black leather jacket. His face was sort of familiar, but I didn’t know why. My eyes met his. His wry smile gave the impression he knew me. Was that a good smile or an evil one? I couldn’t tell. His lively brown eyes were inquisitive and striking against the backdrop of his tousled auburn hair, and he was holding a video camera.

  “Excus
e me, I don’t believe we’ve met?” I asked with false bravado.

  “Not formally, but I’ve seen you before,” he said. “Where was it, do you know?”

  Panicked, I scanned his eyes, searching for intent. Was he the cameraman outside the Met that first night who turned the camera light away from me? Did he already know I was the same skinny girl in jeans gawking at all the celebrities on the red carpet outside?

  I went full-on Audrey to distract him. It was my only option.

  “Darling, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, which is unfortunate…” His burnished brown eyes connected with mine, and I froze. He examined me with such intensity that I blinked.

  “Unfortunate?” he asked.

  Oh jeez, how was I going to finish that sentence? What was I even trying to say? He was just a nosy cameraman … I had to get out of there.

  “It’s unfortunate because I’m late to meet someone,” I said, scanning the room for an escape route. “Please excuse me.” I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he said, thrusting his hand in my direction. “Chase Reynold, Lux TV.” I smiled and offered my hand reluctantly.

  “So nice to meet you, Chase Reynold, Lux TV,” I said. “Funny last name, Lux TV.” Now it was his turn to be flustered.

  “Actually it’s just my production company. I had to put something on the camera. I’m a fashion shooter. I feed footage to Web sites, cover Fashion Week, parties, that kind of thing. Here’s my card in case you want more, uh, coverage.” He gave a quick glance up at the balcony where Jess was standing. She gave me a quizzical look, wondering what was going on.

  “Well, that’s very interesting, but I really must be going.”

  He laughed. “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “Always making an entrance, then slipping away. Trying to control your image.”

  “Uh yes, you’re absolutely right,” I said. “A girl has to preserve her privacy, don’t you think? I appreciate your confidentiality. Now if you don’t mind…”

  My heart pounded ferociously as I walked to the bar. I asked for a glass of champagne and sipped it quickly. I stalled and then pretended to wave at someone and moved toward the exit. It was so lame and fakey. I certainly wasn’t fooling anyone but myself. I scanned the balcony for Jess, but she was gone. Chase Lux made me nervous. We needed to get out of there, fast.

  “Miss Dulac, it’s so marvelous to see you again.”

  I jumped, surprised to hear my fake name spoken by anyone. Turning, I found my new pal, Isak Guerrere.

  “Aren’t you the girl about town? But you shouldn’t be hiding in the corner, pet, especially when you’re wearing yet another stunning party frock! Avoiding one of your many admirers, I assume?”

  “What a pleasure it is to see you,” I said. I already loved Isak. He made me feel drop-dead gorgeous in the way only a gay designer could.

  Giving me the once over, he twirled me like a ballerina as he touched the gown at my waist. “Certainly original fabric, but pristine. Another startling redux by … what did you say the designer’s name was?”

  I giggled. “Isak, darling, you know I’m sworn to secrecy.” I took another sip of my drink, noticed the Lux guy move away, and felt comfortable again.

  My phone rang, and I lifted it from my clutch without thinking.

  “Hello, darling.”

  “Lizzy, that you?” Shit. It was Jake. “You’re talkin’ kinda funny.”

  My heart jumped, I hadn’t talked to Jake in three days. I’d missed him the night before at the diner because Jess and I ditched work, and there was another one of his shows the night after.

  “Listen, Lizzy, after our shift do you want to—”

  I panicked and hung up on him.

  “Poor boy,” said Isak. How he could tell, I don’t know. I gave a tentative smile. But I felt like crap. I didn’t want to treat Jake like that, but I’d just spent the last hour doing my most convincing Audrey to an audience of reporters, celebrities, fashionistas, and one of the most famous fashion designers in the country, which meant if I uttered one more word in front of Isak, it would have blown my cover.

  “Well, I’m very happy to see you here tonight,” Isak said, breaking the awkward silence. “These events can be so tedious.” He seemed oddly weary, as though party going was boring for him. I guess new meat like me was good for a change. “Perhaps another drink?”

  Jess reappeared on the balcony, alarmed and motioning for us to leave.

  “Isak, darling, you’re so wonderful, but our timing is inopportune. I’m on my way out,” I said as calmly as I could manage.

  “So soon? Such a shame,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever will I do without you? I do hope that I’ll find you again at that event for your friend…” Before he could finish, the glare of a camera light was on us.

  “Mr. Guerrere, can I get a quick shot of you two?” Chase Whatever was back with a self-satisfied expression, his eyes locking on mine.

  My first instinct was to bolt. But it would appear suspicious if I did. So I snuggled right up to Isak and posed. How long could one photo take?

  Chase laughed.

  What had I done?

  He leaned forward and whispered, “Uh, this is video. It’s okay for you to move.” He’d said “shot”—didn’t that mean photo? I felt my face flush red.

  “Awfully sorry,” I said.

  “In fact, movement is preferable,” Chase advised. Isak rolled his eyes. My palms began sweating, and my pulse pounded in my ears. Where was Jess? How could I get out of this? I knew I could pose for a camera shot—but video? I had never even YouTubed. This was absolutely out of my league.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I whispered to Isak. “It was delightful to see you again, but I really must go.” The sad little beast inside was crying for help. But Isak firmly grasped my arm, never breaking eye contact with the camera.

  “Not so fast, cupcake,” he said. “Stand, smile, and look gorgeous while I drone on about tonight’s worthy cause. You’ll be fine.”

  I had two options: give in to my terror and run or stay and risk passing out. I decided there really wasn’t a choice. I prayed Jess could hold on.

  “Of course,” I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself, trying very hard not to think about the video camera. I’d seen celebrities stand there as the cameras rolled, appearing relaxed and poised, and I grew determined to stand up straight and smile like someone who belonged there instead of what I really was—a Holly Golightly imposter in a fifty-year-old dress.

  “So, Mr. Guerrere, you’re here at the Cheetah Conservation benefit. I know you’re a big wildlife supporter. What should we know about tonight’s event?” Chase asked.

  Chase seemed to know that if he gave Isak a softball question, he would run with it. Isak, ham that he was, launched into a speech that sounded as if he were reading from a brochure. All the right words were there: “natural heritage,” “holistic approach,” “outreach,” and “race for survival.” He even had an anecdote about Jane Goodall.

  I started to see spots in front of my eyes and realized I must be hyperventilating. But somewhere between willing myself to smile and hoping I wouldn’t faint, something magical happened. I found myself staring right down the lens of the camera, and, astonishingly, I felt warm all over. I actually loved standing there.

  Then it was over, as quickly as it began. The warmth of the light went away, and the magic of that moment was gone.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Jess, up on the balcony. Her back was turned, and she was talking to someone. As she shifted, I realized what her panic was about. Her boss, Mr. Myers, was standing inches away, yelling right in her face. Shit.

  “Thanks, Isak,” Chase said.

  I instinctively looked down at my bare wrist to check my imaginary watch. “I am … very … late. Terribly sorry, Isak darling.” Isak and I exchanged air kisses, a first for me. It was just as goofy as it appeared in the movies and felt ridiculous.

  “Chase, dear, it was so n
ice to meet you,” I said.

  “We’ll meet again soon. I’m sure of that,” he said.

  I tried not to worry what he meant when he said that.

  I glanced up and spotted Jess out of the corner of my eye. Myers was gone, and she was frantically waving her arms at me like some sort of psychotic airport-runway worker. She seemed as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

  It was time to go.

  20

  Jess threw herself on my bed, her arms spread out like she wanted to be crucified. “I’m such an idiot,” she said.

  “Come on, Jess, was it really that bad?” We’d been sitting in my bedroom all afternoon. I’d run out of arguments to make her feel better. Although we’d been gloriously successful in our debut with Nan’s dresses, she was quitting. No more Being Audrey.

  “I got so carried away with your crazy project, I forgot what I’m supposed to be doing,” she said, burying her face in the pillows. I didn’t know what to say, so I sat on the edge of the bed and worried.

  Apparently, Mr. Myers caught Jess taking photos of me in the museum. Normally that wasn’t a big deal—museum visitors could take pictures all the time as long as they didn’t use flash or put their camera on a tripod—except in certain areas. The party was in one of the contemporary galleries, and that was one of the except in certain areas you couldn’t take pictures in. Of course, not everyone knew that photography was strictly forbidden in the contemporary galleries, so usually a guard just asked you to refrain. But Jess knew because she worked there. Only she forgot because she was taking pictures of me.

  Myers didn’t fire her, but he came close. Worse, he screamed at her in front of everyone.

  When we were leaving the Met, her face was so flushed and embarrassed I thought she would fall apart crying in front of everyone, and Jess never cries. She also never makes mistakes at work—she felt totally exposed—and I could understand why. It probably hadn’t helped that I was downstairs playing ingenue with Isak and Chase.

  “Myers hates me!” she said. I could barely hear her voice muffled in the pillow. Weird reversal. Jess was always more daring than me. But unexpectedly, I was on this strange track where I was willing to risk everything. Unlike Jess, I didn’t really want to keep all those things I was risking. My life might go down in flames, but it wasn’t a life I wanted to have anyway.