by Karen Quinn
I looked into his eyes. “Hello.”
Denis smiled at me. “Hello.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and felt his heart beating as we moved to the rhythm. When the music ended, we took our seats, quenching our thirst with more champagne.
Denis reached over and kissed me lightly on the lips, touching my cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Signorina, are you having a good time?”
“The best,” I said.
“What’s been your favorite thing we’ve done so far?”
“Gosh, everything in its own way was…unforgettable. It would be difficult to…this morning, breakfast in bed, of course,” I said. “I will cherish the meal we shared in memory as long as I live.” It was my very own Princess Ann moment.
Denis gave a smile of recognition and then touched his lips to mine like a gentle whisper.
“Denis,” someone called.
It felt like someone threw a bucket of cold water on our heads. Who knew we were here? I wondered, looking around. That’s when I saw them. A pair of pink-rhinestone-studded weights furiously moving up and down. They could only belong to one person.
The Shadow of Your Smile
DENIS GLARED AT THE sight of his fiancée with the Satan Twins in tow. He reached for my hand under the table and squeezed it. “How does she know we’re here?” “The concierge?” I said. “Did you tell your mother where we were staying?”
“I gave her the number.”
“That must be how they found us.”
“Darling,” Sydney said, setting her weights on the table and giving her fiancé a peck on the forehead. “Don’t get up. We’ll join you.” She pulled up a seat, wedging herself between Denis and me.
“Hello, Holly,” Tanya said. “How are you? Oh, never mind. I don’t care.”
“Yoo-hoo, waiter,” Sydney said, summoning the uniformed man over to take her order for a glass of club soda with a splash of chardonnay.
“Oh, and a sloe gin fizz for me,” Sammie said.
“Now, Denis,” Sydney said. “What is all this nonsense about putting me out of our suite? Have you gone mad?”
Denis’ face reddened. “I know you had an affair with Manny.”
“I did no such thing,” Syd lied, shooting me the hairy eyeball.
What? Like your screwing the manny is my fault? I don’t think so.
“A witness saw you,” Denis said.
Sydney turned to me. “You had to tell him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t tell him,” I said. “John did. But I should have.”
“Denis,” Sydney said. “Oh, thank you,” she added as the waiter delivered her drink and Sammie’s sloe gin fizz. “Even if I had a dally, so what? Your own father took lovers. He slept with my mother. She told me. They never meant anything.”
Sydney looked right at me when she said those words. And for the record, I resented that. “Maybe you had a fling with Holly here,” she continued. “If you did, consider us even. Have your giggles with girls like Holly; don’t marry them.”
Denis shot her a withering look. Bitch, it said. How dare you talk like that about the woman I love and in whose womb I desire to plant my seed (at least, that was my interpretation).
Sammie was oblivious to Denis’ angry reaction. “You see, Holly,” she said, “that’s what Tanya means about you never being able to fit in our world. Our men fuck girls like you; they don’t marry them.”
“Why, you heartless guttersnipe…” I picked up her ridiculous pink drink and threw it right up her fat nostrils.
Sammie sprang out of her chair. “Ha,” she squealed, spraying gin-laced snot from her pug nose. “You just proved my point. No one in our circle would do that.”
A pox on your circle, I thought miserably.
Sydney ignored the brouhaha and gently stroked Denis’ arm. “The important thing,” she said, “is that the Basses and the Kings are finally coming together to create a force that is impenetrable. Darling, it’s up to us. Other things being equal, I’m not sure I’d marry you either, but our families, our employees, and our shareholders are depending on us.”
Denis shook his head. “No, Sydney, forget it…” he said firmly.
I raised my hand like the class nerd, straight up like a missile, not all floppy at the end like a bunny ear. It wasn’t effective. No one called on me. “Excuse me, but last I checked this was the twenty-first century. Who in God’s name marries to create a dynasty anymore?”
“There you go again, Holly,” Sammie said as she blotted the sticky drink off her face. “That’s another thing you’ll never understand. Denis comes from a rarefied milieu. The right union is expected. The Denis Kings of the world align themselves with women of consequence and hardly ever for love.”
“Love,” Tanya said, practically vomiting out the word.
“Sammie, I am so sick of you and Tanya telling me I’m not of your world,” I started. “The difference between a woman of consequence and a nobody has nothing to do with where she is brought up, but how she’s treated. I’ll forever be a nobody to you because you treat me as a nobody and always will. But to Denis I’m a woman of consequence because he treats me as one and always will.”
“That’s right,” Denis said, touching my cheek. “Holly has more substance than any woman I’ve ever known.”
Sydney grabbed Denis’ hand possessively. “Darling,” she said. “You may think you have something special with Holly here, but trust me, you don’t. The only reason she’s with you is because she bet her boss that she could fleece you out of a million-dollar donation.”
Denis looked at me with suspicious bewilderment. “That’s not true, is it?”
Blood drained from my face. “I…I never said fleece.”
“You knew I would be on the ship,” he said in a sad but gentle tone. “You followed me?”
I grabbed his arm. “Please, I may not have started out with the purest intentions but everything changed. You have to believe me.”
“Holly,” Tanya said, all gloaty and superior-like, “you’ll be interested to know that Sammie won our little bet. She arranged for Sydney and her mother to make that million-dollar donation before you got your check from Denis. Sammie and Sydney went to Spence together. Naturally she was able to convince them. So she gets the curator position. And as for your assistantship, well, your services are no longer needed. You’re fired.”
“Don’t bother. I quit. And you’d better watch your ass,” I hissed, “because I just might decide to write one of those Devil Wears Prada books about you.”
Tanya laughed. “What a marvelous idea. You’ll need something to keep busy in jail.”
“The dresses will all be returned; no one’s going to jail, no thanks to you, Sammie,” I said, giving her a bitter stare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sammie lied.
“Denis,” Sydney said, checking her watch. “It’s time to go. The ship leaves at sunrise. Tomorrow’s a sea day and you have to talk with that daughter of yours.”
This got Denis’ attention. “Why? What happened?”
Sydney’s smile became smirky. “Apparently she posted pictures of Aston’s body on her Kidspace page. Angela, that’s the new babysitter, caught her in the computer room. She told me. I don’t know what she thought I would do about it. I’m not the child’s mother, as she so often reminds me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Denis said. “What am I going to do with her?”
“Boarding school,” Sydney suggested.
“I think he meant that rhetorically,” I said.
“Holly, do you need a ride back?” Sydney offered. “Our jet’s at the airport.”
“She can’t leave,” Denis said. He turned to me. “I have to take care of Annie. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, mustering my special brave face. Just abandon me for your daughter, I thought. But, of course, I couldn’t say that without sounding cold and selfish like Sydney, which I suppose I was because
that’s how I felt.
Sydney flashed a triumphant smile my way.
“Annie needs you. It’s all right,” I said. “But first, hear me out. I did come on board to convince you to make a donation to the museum. It was business. You, who agreed to marry Sydney to create a real estate empire, should be the first person to understand that. I never planned to fall in love with you.”
“Yes,” he whispered, “but at least Sydney was honest about why she was with me.”
“I didn’t lie to you about how I felt. Everything that happened between us was real,” I implored.
Denis shook his head in confusion. He reached in his wallet and pulled out a wad of euros. “Here’s some cash in case you run short. The hotel is yours until the ship docks on Sunday. I’ll have my people make the arrangements, okay?”
“Sure, why not,” I said, waving him away. “You guys go on to the airport. I’ll stay and have another drink.” Maybe dance by myself, I thought glumly.
“Ciao, ciao,” Sydney said, grabbing her pink weights, heading off with Denis and her two henchwomen, Tanya and Sammie. As I watched them disappear, I knew Denis was lost to me. He was a good son who honored his family duty. That’s why he chose fancy Harvard over blue-collar baseball. When it came to a marriage, no matter how well he had treated me, he would choose the heiress over the nobody.
Love and Marriage
WHEN I OPENED MY eyes the next morning, my hand reached over to the other side of the bed. The sheets were tucked in perfectly and they were cold. Then I remembered the tragic ending to my affair—Denis had gone back with Sydney and the Satan Twins. I sighed. It was the story of my life. I rolled over, pulled the covers over my head, and wept until I’d left a fat black mascara stain on the crisp white linen. Wasn’t it Coco Chanel who said that great love must be endured? Yes, I believe it was.
Well, I wasn’t going to feel sorry for myself, I decided. I was getting the Hepburn gown repaired and then delivering it to the Istituto in time for the exhibit. So Tanya fired me. There are other fashion museums out there that would be lucky to have me.
Hmmm, I thought, maybe I could convince Lucille to make a million-dollar donation to the Metropolitan Museum’s Fashion Institute as a sort of consolation prize since I didn’t come between Denis and the marriage she so desperately wanted for him. Carleen could write a big check too. She was trying to spend all her money. What better way than to help me? I could show up at the Met with two huge donations that are theirs if they make me curator. My gloom started to lift. I could still end up with a good job and a way to take care of Pops, I told myself.
I noticed my message light on the other side of the bed blinking. Was it Denis? It had to be. He was the only person who knew where I was. Oh, happy day. He does care! I leaped over to the phone. But no, it wasn’t Denis. It was one of his people, a Miss McCardle, calling to say that there would be a car and driver at my disposal until Sunday when the ship docked in Rome. She assured me I could charge all my expenses to the room, including clothes, which Denis told her I would need. I sighed. It’s good to have people.
After breakfast, I called the Prada boutique and arranged for a saleswoman to bring me several choices. I might as well enjoy the perks of the rich, since I was unlikely to experience them again. After choosing a new skirt, top, shoes, and some clean Prada underwear (yes, Prada makes underwear and it’s small!). I was ready to take on the world, or at least Magda to get the Roman Holiday gown back. The car and driver were waiting for me outside the hotel. I thought it best to attend the wedding just to protect my interest in the dress.
On my way out, I stopped at the front desk. “Has Nigel Calderwood arrived?”
The desk clerk checked his computer. “Not yet, but we are expecting him.”
“When he gets here, will you tell him not to leave the hotel, but to wait for me in my suite?” We would need every minute to repair that gown.
THE FUNERAL HOME WAS teeming with mourners wearing various outfits in every imaginable shade of black. I snuck a peek in the chapel and saw an open casket with a shrunken old lady fast asleep—er, dead—inside.
“Where is Magda?” I asked Mario’s father, who was escorting the bereaved to their seats.
“Ah, she is in the embalming room,” he said. “But she is not in a good way. Mario is trying calm her.”
I went looking for Magda, praying she wouldn’t get embalming fluid on Audrey’s dress. That stuff had better be clear, I thought. The air in the back of the mortuary was arctic and smelled like formaldehyde. After checking a few empty rooms, I came upon Mario working on a male corpse in his tuxedo (Mario wore the tux, not the corpse). Behind him, Magda sat in a green plastic chair in her modified Audrey Hepburn wedding gown, bawling like someone had died. Oh, right, someone did.
“Why the tears?” I asked. “On your wedding day?”
Magda wailed louder. Her heavy makeup was smearing and I was concerned that she might get mascara stains on the dress. Grabbing a rag off the table, I dried her eyes. I hoped there weren’t dead leftovers on it.
“Magda is upset because we are fully scheduled with funerals all day,” Mario explained. “There is no time for a wedding. And see how beautiful she looks in the dress.”
Magda stood and twirled around, sniveling as she spun. The white and silver off-the-shoulder brocade ball gown that had so elegantly adorned Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday now sported silk gussets to accommodate Magda’s unusual figure. The skirt had been taped up by a third. When I was little, I had a troll doll in a wedding dress that looked like Magda. Her name was Bubbles. She was one of my favorites.
“You’re a vision,” I said, “like a princess bride.”
“But I won’t be walking down the aisle,” Magda said, sniffing back tears. “Too many corpi to bury.” She turned to Mario. “I told you we shouldn’t marry here. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen.”
“Magda, my love, we can marry tomorrow,” Mario said. “There are no funerals on Sunday.”
“No-no-no-no-no-no,” I interjected. “I must have the dress back today. The Hepburn exhibit starts Monday. It’s now or never, my friend. Come. I’ll need you to translate.”
Mario followed me to the lobby outside the chapel, where the mourners were gathering. “Take me to the family of the woman who died.”
He directed me to the front row, where two middle-aged women sat drying their tears with freshly ironed handkerchiefs. “Twin daughters,” Mario whispered. “The Romano sisters.”
I knelt in front of them and offered my condolences. Then I asked if they wouldn’t mind if, before their mother was eulogized, we held a quick wedding ceremony. “It would be life affirming,” I explained.
Mario translated.
The women gasped in perfect unison. As twins, that probably happened a lot. “No, no,” they both said, vehemently shaking their heads.
“But if you say ‘yes,’” I added, “Mario’s family will give you this funeral for free.”
Mario gasped. “No, that’s impossible. It is too much money for my family to lose.”
“Listen to me, Mario,” I said, “if you want to marry Magda, I suggest you do it now and stop being such a cheapskate. That girl could change her mind at any moment. She already thinks you’re a dud in the bedroom.”
Mario raised his eyebrow in question. “She told you this?”
“You think I’d make it up? She says you are too quick on the trigger, that you don’t take time to pleasure her. If this wedding doesn’t take place today, well, there’s a chance it may never happen.”
Mario spoke rapidly in Italian to the Romano sisters.
They spoke back.
“What are they saying?” I asked.
“They want to know if the casket will be free. They chose one of our most expensive models. And they wondered if they would be charged for the plot and for eternal upkeep. I don’t see how—”
“YES! Give ’em everything. You want to marry Magda, don’t you? Let’s get t
his show on the road.”
Five minutes later, Magda’s and Mario’s families were scattered among the mourners. The organist began to play a bridal march, which sounded funereal to me, but it would have to do. Magda started down the aisle. Half an hour ago she was a blubbering troll doll, but now she was radiant. A halo of light followed her as she floated down the aisle in that sumptuous cream silk dress. Mario’s eyes sparkled at the sight of his bride. The funeral guests rose, and Mario broke into a wide grin. He and the priest stood in front of the open casket. Even the corpse seemed to be smiling.
In the presence of so much love, you hardly noticed the dead body lying in the open casket behind the happy couple. Someone really should have thought to close it. Just as the idea crossed my mind, Magda turned, took hold of the casket lid, and pulled it down. It must have been awfully heavy because it slammed right on the bride’s finger or hand (it was hard to tell from where I was sitting). Magda shrieked, grabbed herself, as blood spewed forth.
“NOOOOOOO!” I screamed, diving out of my seat, hoping to heave my body between the dress and the scarlet liquid, knowing I would never get there in time.
I’ve Been Down for So Long (It Looks Like Up to Me)
MARIO, GOD BLESS HIS soul, grabbed the wound with the sleeve of his jacket. The color drained from Magda’s face until it was as pale as her gown. Mario spoke to her in rapid Italian (is there any other kind?) and she nodded, biting her lower lip. There were no obvious bloodstains, at least none that I spotted from twenty feet away.
The priest resumed the ceremony as Mario continued to compress Magda’s wound. The Romano sisters stopped weeping, which made me think that combining weddings with funerals wasn’t such a bad idea.
After Mario kissed the bride and the two made their way up the aisle, the priest opened the casket up, the Romano sisters went back to bawling, and everyone settled into funeral mode. I skipped out because I wanted to congratulate the happy dress…er, couple. It was almost noon.
