Being Audrey Hepburn Read online

  “So, how are you?” I asked, wondering where we stood relative to my meeting with Robert.

  “Great!” she said from behind the armoire before popping her head back out. “Thanks to you!”

  “Me?”

  “What about this?” She was wearing a nude-colored, skin-tight, studded tank dress and some strappy sandals. It was very close to being naked.

  “Well, that’s an interesting dress. I like the sandals,” I said.

  “I don’t like it either,” she replied, frowning, and ducked back into her vast racks of clothes. I contemplated the rows and rows of shoes. This walk-in was the final resting place of so many of Tabitha’s cocktailing shopping sprees. You could dress an army of pop stars from this one closet.

  “I don’t know what you said to RF, but it certainly worked,” she said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  Tabitha popped back out in her underwear.

  “Robert said he’s willing to start the process. And my mom is coming, so we’re going to meet in the Hamptons. You have to join us. We’ll celebrate!”

  The Hamptons? For me, the Hamptons were a bigger fantasy than I dared ever dream of, even bigger than New York City. After all, in Jersey we have the Jersey Shore, the McMansions of Brigantine and the old historical houses of Cape May, but nothing compared to what I had heard about the Hamptons. I hadn’t fully comprehended that summering in the Hamptons was a likely requirement for a Park Avenue Princess or a SoHo Darling.

  “We desperately need a little getaway, and I want you to meet my mother.”

  “I have a few obligations,” I said. “So I can’t say for sure.” My mother for one. Then there was the fact that I still had no means of supporting myself and Jess’s show. Although Jess didn’t have an exact date, we wanted to time her show at FIT to Fashion Week at the end of the summer. How much she would need me before, we hadn’t discussed. We both knew she could stage the show herself. Getting people there was the problem. She would kill me if I didn’t make that happen for her.

  “Well you’ll have to let me know. You should definitely come,” she said.

  “Thank you for asking. That’s quite nice of you.”

  “I hear you’ve contacted Flo. She’s coming to stay with me, too,” Tabitha said as she pulled on a skirt. “You certainly know how to get around.”

  “I’m just not quite sure if there’s anything she can do,” I said. “But she’s so lovely, and it’s just a small hobby of mine.” Tabitha made a half smile as if she didn’t believe me, and I thought it better to change the subject.

  “So Robert is giving you what you want? Are you surprised?”

  “Not really. You talked to him, right?” she said, hidden from view.

  “But Tabitha, we didn’t really talk about very much.”

  Tabitha popped back out again. “Oh really? It didn’t seem that way to Robert,” she said. She was half-dressed in a sheer black-and-white dress and tights. The kind of thing Lindsay Lohan might wear at her tackiest. Tabitha noted my expression.

  “I don’t really like this, do you?” I didn’t even have to answer.

  “Damn, I just don’t have anything to wear.” She ducked behind the mirror. “I just bought these.” She thrust out a pair of black and nude heels. “What do you think I should wear with them?”

  Clearly she wasn’t in the mood for a serious talk. I scanned the closet. I plucked a black silk shirt with spiky beaded sleeves and sorted through the hangers and endless dresses until I found a short black mini.

  “Try this,” I said. She took the two hangers, ducking behind the armoire again.

  “By the way, RF said you were absolutely stellar and impressive,” she said as she dressed. “He said he admires you.” She reappeared, her strawberry-blonde hair falling in luxurious waves over the black silk shirt.

  “What do you think?”

  “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

  “Good. We’re all ready to go,” she said and noticed for the first time what I was wearing. “Wait, aren’t you getting dressed? What’s in the bag?”

  44

  Robert greeted us at the door, and you’d think I was his long lost daughter. He was holding Morris, a tiny shih tzu that all the girls cooed over as they passed by. The apartment was magnificent with floor-to-ceiling windows and enormous unobstructed views of the Hudson. There was a huge skylight over the oversize dining room, and if it ever got dark enough in New York City, I’d bet you could see the stars from there.

  “Allow me to give you the tour,” Robert offered as Tabitha and I followed him from room to room. It was jarring how quickly Tabitha’s mood had shifted again. She and Robert seemed fine with each other. I didn’t know what to make of it.

  Partygoers were everywhere, young girls lounging on the couches picking at hors d’oeuvres and sipping sugary pink martinis, men smoking cigars and playing billiards.

  On the rooftop garden, guests reveled beneath the towering Empire State Building, which loomed overhead and seemed close enough to be next door, its upper stories glowing red, white, and blue. But everyone seemed so used to it they didn’t notice. Ho hum, another dazzling skyline, another gorgeous view. I found myself in awe of it all.

  There were huge paintings in all the rooms like the ones I’d seen at Palazzo Chupi and in the Mary Boone Gallery, and the place was packed. Music blasted from invisible speakers in each room, young girls danced and writhed to the beat, and bars were set up at every corner. Though it was only 9:30, the crowd already seemed to have imbibed significantly more than usual.

  Scattered throughout the apartment were attractive, refined, slightly woozy young women. Interspersed were noticeably older men, some of them Robert’s age and even older, chatting and flirting.

  I turned to Tabitha to remark on the intense number of young girls, but she was gone. Only Robert was there, holding Morris and surveying the scene like Dracula presiding over his subjects. I almost expected to see his fangs come out.

  Back inside, I wondered if ZK was actually here or if Tabitha simply said so to lure me.

  “May I offer you something to drink?” a waiter summoned by Robert asked, carrying a tray of the sugary pink cocktails. I sipped one, wondering how I let myself be convinced to come to Robert Francis’s penthouse. An antique clock sitting on the fireplace mantel reminded me that I’d forgotten again to call in sick to work that night. Work. Jake. It all seemed so far away. I flashed on Mom, Courtney, and Ryan.

  “I’m flattered that you actually came to my little gathering,” Robert said, waking me from my trance. “I didn’t think you would, considering our last meeting.” I felt curiously silent, and he seemed not to mind that I wasn’t responding. I remember trying to come up with something witty to say.

  “You look absolutely stunning. Wearing a new Designer X creation, I see. I wouldn’t expect anything less. I hope you’ll introduce me to your designer at some point. I’d love to invest. Perhaps a show this fall? We should talk about that right away. Come, let me show you the rest of the penthouse.”

  I sipped on the foaming pink confection, feeling oddly lightheaded and thinking how I might excuse myself to find Tabitha. I wanted to sit down. I wouldn’t put it past Sleazebag Mr. Armani to add something narcotic to these pink drinks. It took a moment to realize that the short tour had ended. We were in an enormous room with vaulted ceilings, a large mirrored armoire at one end, and a bed at the other.

  Scooting across the floor, Morris jumped up on a footstool at the bottom of the bed and barked as if expecting something. Robert said a few words I couldn’t quite understand and offered me a flute of champagne, which I groggily accepted. As I tried to make sense of where I was, a light crossed the room and reflected in the mirror. I saw an immense tiled bathroom and Robert’s silhouette entering the light.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and I remembered wondering, Right back from where? To where? What was I doing here? Why was I in his bedroom? I thought about the St. Regis and the story o
f Jacob Astor and his schoolgirl wife. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  I staggered, and Morris yelped at me. The incessant barking gave me an instant headache. I could see him yapping at himself in the mirror. I wanted to just fall on the bed and go to sleep, but in my reflection I saw myself in Jess’s new dress and felt the urge to get out of there.

  I burst out of the bedroom and ran past the partygoers, who barely noticed me, until I reached the terrace and the summer night air, breathing in and out as deeply as I could, until I felt a little better. I found a bar and drank two glasses of water to clear my head.

  Still groggy, I sought out a room filled with partygoers and sat on an armchair in the corner to rest. I resisted the desire to close my eyes for fear I’d fall asleep, and decided to keep moving. I needed a bathroom to throw water on my face. I must have turned around without knowing and found myself a few steps away from the bedroom I had run away from moments ago.

  The door opened, and there was Robert in his bathrobe, smoking a cigarette and holding Morris. I stepped back in the shadows so he wouldn’t see me, and I watched as he took a girl, my age, just like me, gently by the elbow into his room. He paused for a moment, scanning the hallway until his eyes met mine.

  He nodded, a slight smile on his lips, and dragged the door closed behind him.

  45

  I wanted a cup of coffee, but I settled for an espresso at the espresso station by one of the bars. The bitter shot of caffeine did the trick, and I felt awake and a tad wired.

  I scanned the room for Tabitha. I texted her twice, without response. Walking quickly through the penthouse, I couldn’t find anyone I recognized. That was okay. I just wanted to go home anyway.

  In the elevator, I tried to make sense of what had just happened when the doors opened one floor below. Incredibly there was Tabitha with this ubercute boy, and I mean boy. He might have been sixteen. Where on earth did she find him in this party of creepy old men?

  “Lisbeth!” Tabitha screamed, squealing as usual. She dragged me out of the elevator before the doors closed.

  “This is Liam,” she said. “He’s in one of those new boy bands.”

  “We’re really famous on YouTube, actually,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. He had a nice, soft Irish accent.

  “Maybe with eight-year-olds,” Tabitha said and kissed him. I was happy to see her having fun for a change. I didn’t understand what had happened with Robert Francis, but Tabitha seemed liberated. Totally smashed, too.

  “Let’s go back to the party,” she said excitedly.

  “I’m afraid I’ve had my fill of pink martinis,” I began, trying to regain some of my Hepburn poise. I wanted to crawl home to New Jersey, unless I could figure out how to crash at Jess’s house without Sarrah throwing a fit. But I realized Tabitha wasn’t listening. She and her boy toy were snogging right in front of me.

  “Darling, I’m going home,” I said, turning to press the elevator again. Tabitha drunkenly pulled away from Liam long enough to register that I was leaving, and together they dragged me from the elevator. Linking their arms in mine, they marched me down the hallway.

  “I’m not talking about the old-man party upstairs,” she said. “There’s a much better one down the hall.”

  “Really, I’m exhausted.”

  “It’ll be fun,” she said. “And ZK is here somewhere.”

  We entered yet another gorgeous apartment with younger people, a completely different vibe from upstairs. A cluster of girls were chatting in the common room, samba music was playing throughout, the lights were low—overall a much cooler scene. There were couples coming in and out of a room in the back.

  “Remember me?” ZK’s soft familiar voice asked from just behind me. I turned, and he offered me a glass of champagne. I nodded gratefully. Tabitha winked at me as she led Liam off somewhere.

  “For someone so lovely, wearing such an exquisite dress, you seem oddly disturbed,” he said. “Everything okay?”

  I didn’t know how I’d talk about it, where I would even begin. So I managed a small smile and a weary nod.

  “Well, I’m grateful for another opportunity to entertain you. Come,” he said, reaching for my hand. “It’s time for me to dazzle you with my wit and good looks.” I followed him through the apartment. “Besides, I need a good-luck charm,” he added.

  As we passed from room to room, I heard a shrill cackle, and I knew instantly that Dahlia was somewhere nearby. I glanced around and saw her in the den off the side of the main room. She was smoking a cigar and shooting pool with yet another brace of handsome men. She sunk her shot, and they all laughed, toasting whiskies. I had hoped she was sufficiently preoccupied to miss our crossing, but I was wrong.

  Her head turned with laser precision, catching my glance. Her fierce gaze seemed utterly aware of what I was doing and where I was going and whose hand I was holding, mocking me as if saying, you won’t get away with it. Then she went back to her crowd, laughing and joking as though she had never left their company. It chilled me.

  ZK led me into a room that was heavy with smoke and dark except for a bright light hovering over a poker table. We took our seats near the end of the table. There was a big haphazard pile of cash in the middle.

  One by one, the gents all stood as I arrived, introducing themselves: Brad, Hugh, Ian, Baird, and names like that, one blue-eyed trust-fund type after the next, all incredibly handsome. They already had summer-in-the-Hamptons tans and were built like they were on the rowing team somewhere. I bet they had jackets in their closets with Harvard, Yale, and Princeton logos on them. They sat and resumed their high-stakes poker game.

  “Okay, everybody show ’em,” the dealer said. Four of the five players turned over their hands, but the last guy, Brad, was teasing each card, turning them over one at a time, “slowrolling” they call it, while everyone sat and watched. I knew a little bit about poker from Nan, who taught me how to play when I was seven. Brad had a very good hand, an ace high flush, so he was rubbing it in and being a major jerk. “A gracious winner,” Nan used to say, “never slowrolls.”

  “Flush!” Brad yelled, and took a big puff of his cigar as he scraped up the pile of money. The other players groaned and bowed their heads.

  ZK anted up, and the next dealer dealt him in. I peeked over at his hand. He was on his way to a high straight, but not by much. He smiled when he noticed I was watching his cards and everyone else’s for that matter. He drew a two of spades and folded after a few minutes. The same guy, Brad, won again with a fist pump, and everyone mumbled under their breath.

  Twenty minutes later, these boys were losing huge amounts of money to each other, mostly to Brad, who couldn’t resist declaring that he was on a roll every time he won a hand.

  I wished Nan were there. “Nothing is more charming than an elegant lady who plays poker,” she would say, and she should know. Nan could always clean up on “casino night” at Montclair Manor if she wanted. She used to count the cards so that she didn’t win all of the time. I’ve sat with Nan and watched her fold a perfectly good hand to let some other old biddy get the pot.

  The deal moved to the next player, who dealt ZK another hand, two down. The cards were lousy—a queen of diamonds and a ten of spades—“rags” Nan used to call them. But when they dealt ZK a card up, it was an ace of spades. Everyone else showed poor cards, except of course Brad. He had an ace of diamonds showing. I knew from playing with Nan that the chances of two aces up were slim and would probably unnerve the other players. But ZK was smart enough to know that he didn’t have much of a hand, so he was ready to fold. But I wanted to see what would happen if everyone thought he had a good hand, just to find out.

  “Hold,” I whispered in his ear.

  “What? But it’s…”

  “Just ante and hold,” I whispered again. He gave me a sly questioning look, but turned to the guy dealing and said he’d hold and anted up. Everyone perked up, especially the big winner, Brad, who also had an ace. I knew h
e wouldn’t fold as long as he thought he was still on a winning streak.

  After a few more cards, ZK’s hand appeared decent if you didn’t know that there wasn’t anything good in the down-turned cards. Because Brad and ZK kept anteing up, the pot grew steadily bigger. Brad was hanging in, even though his table cards were terrible. I couldn’t imagine he had any kind of hand.

  Finally it was time for the players to make one more bet.

  “Double down,” I whispered. “Make it big.” ZK examined my face to see if I was serious, and then shoved half of his cash into the pile.

  “I call,” he said. A couple of guys dropped out right away. Then everyone grew quiet waiting for Big Man Brad to make his move. He puffed and puffed on his cigar, and after debating for a few moments, he folded. ZK took the pot, which had to be a couple of thousand by my reckoning. I threw ZK’s cards in the pile before anyone could ask to see them. ZK was laughing and shaking his head as he raked it in.

  “Brilliant, you really know how to play,” he whispered under his breath. I guess I’ve always been a better faker than I thought.

  “Why don’t you play a round?” ZK asked.

  “I never carry cash,” I whispered, my new excuse for not having any money. He laughed.

  “No problem. I’ll stake you. Come on—let’s switch seats.” He stood up, offered me his chair, and slid out a wad of hundreds. I wondered how he had the cash to play with this crowd. Or for that matter, stake me, considering what Tabitha had said about his status as a Madoff Millionaire.

  “Hey boys, get ready, ZK’s brought a ringer to the table,” Big Brad said, giving me a wink as he shuffled the deck. Everyone laughed.

  “How about I split my winnings with you?” I said to ZK quietly.

  Brad, Hugh, Ian, and Baird overheard me and found the idea to be completely uproarious.

  “Lucky guy, ZK, she’s going to split her winnings with you!” chortled Brad. I noticed he was wearing a twenty-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe watch. He really was a show-off. I decided to play innocent, as I knew Audrey would.