by Kylie Adams
"Go back there and try that on," Kiki told Suzi-Suzi, pointing to the barely there top. "See if you can get a good look at them. Maybe strike up a conversation."
Suzi-Suzi looked uncertain. "What would I say? As much as I love Kirsten, she would take one look at me and know that I want to sleep with her husband."
Danni just stood there with a bemused little smile. "Could definitely put a strain on a new friendship."
Kiki huffed and snatched the blouse from Suzi-Suzi's hands. "Then I'll try it on." She made a beeline for the private fitting area.
Suzi-Suzi and Danni squealed like two little mice.
Kiki boldly stepped into the VIP sanctuary to find Tom Brock playing the role of bored-silly husband as he sat patiently in a chair holding his wife's purse (a gorgeous quilted Chanel bag in pink with white logo).
Tom gave her a slight grin and a rolling of the eyes.
Kiki smiled back. It was a real moment with Tom Brock! Would it be rude to ask him to sing for her? Just one song. Maybe "Fly Me to the Moon." That was a jaunty number. He could just snap his fingers and give it a go.
Clink.
What was that? Damn! Kiki realized that the heart charm had just fallen off her Juicy Couture bracelet and landed somewhere near Tom Brock's Prada-clad feet. He had great taste in shoes. The sign of a very sophisticated man.
Kiki crouched a bit to scour the area.
"Did you lose something?" Tom asked.
Kiki rejoiced in his unsolicited heroism. Memo to the women of America: Chivalry is not dead! "Oh, it's just a stupid charm from my bracelet. It's got to be around here somewhere." Kiki bent down to retrieve it, momentarily lost her balance, and found herself between Tom's denim legs. Actually, not a bad place to be (but only under the proper circumstances).
All of a sudden, Kiki sensed the firing of flashes and the snap-snap-snap of a shutter release. She glanced up to see a photographer. The icky, unwashed variety. The kind of bottom-feeder who hides in a Dumpster to get shots of Paris Hilton stumbling out of a nightclub. But just as quickly as he appeared, he scampered away like a rodent.
Kiki looked away, terribly embarrassed, trying to put all the pieces together about what had just happened. The charm! There it was, right under Tom's chair. She snatched it up and presented it to him as evidence. "This is just a fun costume piece. I really have better taste in jewelry."
"I'm sure that you do," he said graciously as he helped Kiki stand up. How gallant!
"God, I'm so clumsy. Do you think I looked retarded in that picture? I could use some good PR right now. I'm an actress. Mostly soaps. But right now I'm in between projects."
Tom Brock laughed. "If I'm being honest, I don't think it was the best angle for either one of us."
Up close, Kiki realized that his teeth could stand to be bleached. This upset her terribly. It put a major ding in the picture of perfection she had built up. Regardless, the man still oozed charm.
"I love your last CDlisten to it all the time. But I have to say, as gorgeous as your voice is, it's becoming a bit of a bore. I want a new set of tracks."
Tom seemed amused by her candor. "Actually, I'm just starting on a new record. Should be out early next year."
"May I be so bold as to suggest a song?" She didn't wait for his answer. "What about 'Almost Paradise'?" You know, from the movie Footloose . It's a great love ballad!"
His look was quizzical, as if half wondering if her idea might be a joke.
Kiki merely peered back at him earnestly.
"Urn that's an interesting idea but I tend to stick with standards," Tom said.
"That is a standard, silly," Kiki informed him. "Do you have any idea how many schools have used 'Almost Paradise' as their prom theme? Thousands ."
Kirsten emerged from the changing room. "Tom, I'm almost done here. I promise. You must be about to die."
"I'm fine, baby. Take your time," Tom said.
Kirsten glanced at Kiki, then back to Tom.
"I'm sorry. What's your name?" Tom asked Kiki.
"Kiki. Kiki Douglas." She extended her hand to
Kirsten, who returned a sincere smile and a firm shake.
"Kirsten Brock. Nice to meet you."
"Kiki and I were just mugged by one of those tabloid photographers," Tom explained.
Kirsten gave him a strange look.
"I'll tell you later," he said, laughing and waving off the joke at the same time.
Kirsten glanced at Kiki's selection and raised her perfectly waxed eyebrows. "That's nice. Don't you just love all of her stuff?"
"I do!" Kiki said. A bit too enthusiastically. But this was Kirsten Brock talking to her about fashion. The excitement level was off the charts. Possible comparison: a political junkie getting the chance to talk shop with Bill Clinton.
"Don't even think about trusting a dry cleaner with that," Kirsten said. "I hand wash all my couture. It's a chore, yes, but it's the only way."
"Oh, I agree," Kiki lied. "Totally." The truth was, she had never hand washed so much as a delicate wineglass. If it shattered in the dishwasher, then it just wasn't meant to be. And then Kiki stood there, overjoyed. To be on the receiving end of confidential information from Kirsten Brock! It was a major social coup. Lesser events have ended up as items in "Page Six," the gossip column in the New York Post that everybody reads. "A friend of mine saw you riding a Vespa on Fifth/' Kiki said, racking her brain for anything to extend the conversation. "I'm thinking about getting one."
"Oh, you should," Kirsten encouraged her. "It's great freedom, and they're easy to ride."
Suddenly, Kiki was distracted again by the discovery of Tom Brock's less-than-sparkling-white teeth even more so by Kirsten's complicit role in the matter. Why was she dragging her feet on the issue? If Tom were Kiki's husband, then she would've just pushed him through the doors of BriteSmile and been done with it. At the very least, Kirsten should refuse the man blow jobs until he used those over-the-counter Crest Whitestrips.
The shopgirl appeared and gave Kiki a cool appraisal that translated You don't belong here .
That's when Kirsten piped up with a friendly, "You look so familiar, Kiki. Where have I seen you before?"
Kiki shot the bitchy shopgirl a look of triumph. "Well, I've done some"
"Wait a minute!" Kirsten interjected, reaching out to claim Kiki's wrist in her excitement. "You're Jean-nette from All My Children* ."
"Actually, I was Jeannette," Kiki corrected. "I got pushed off a cruise ship, remember?"
Kirsten shrugged. "I haven't watched a single episode since the baby was born."
"I've seen pictures," Kiki said. "She's beautiful."
"Thank you." Kirsten glanced at her watch (a sleek little Dolce & Gabbana number). "It makes me crazy to be away from her for even this long." She turned imploringly to Tom. "Do you mind if we skip the bakery? I'm anxious to get back. Music didn't poop before we left, and I'm worried."
Kiki blanched. Talking about bowel movements in a Stella McCartney boutique well, that should get you arrested for public indecency. Okay, one free pass for New Mother Syndrome.
Tom's sigh was equal parts exasperation and uxo-riousness. He patted his stomach, generally firm but not necessarily in fighting shape. "I guess it won't kill me to go without a few cupcakes."
Kirsten laughed at him. "A few? You always eat at least half a dozen." She gave Kiki a little smile, as if in confidence. "He's completely obsessed with the cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery. It's on Bleecker. Have you had them?"
" Yes ," Kiki answered dramatically. "That frosting is addictive. There should be a surgeon general's warning on those things."
The shopgirl lingered, waiting for direction from Kirsten, glowering at Kiki.
"Could you have everything I tried on sent to my apartment?" Kirsten asked.
"Of course," the shopgirl said, practically tripping over her own words as she no doubt factored out the killer commission that came with such requests.
"Great. Thank you. If I don'
t get home to my baby right away, I think I might explode." Kirsten offered Kiki a demure wave. "Nice to meet you." With a conspiratorial wink, she pointed to the blouse in Kiki's hands and whispered, "Buy it. You'll look amazing in that."
Kiki watched the supercouple go, then peeked at the price tag. She swallowed hard. Eight hundred dollars. Completely out of the question. Especially considering her current financial circumstances. But Kirsten had told her under no uncertain terms to purchase the top. And who was Kiki to second-guess the fashion judgment of Kirsten Brock?
She rushed back to the sales floor to rejoin Suzi-Suzi and Danni.
"Oh, my God!" Suzi-Suzi gushed. "We wanted to listen, but I made Danni rate the way I looked carrying every Stella handbag. Did you talk to them? What did they say? What did you say? Tell us every-thingl" The questions came with the rat-a-tat-tat rapidity of assault weapon fire.
"And please tell me you didn't tell Tom that ridiculous idea about recording 'Almost Paradise' for his next CD," Danni put in.
Kiki reeled back with imperial indignation. "I most certainly did. And he's considering it."
Danni smiled, shaking her head.
Suzi-Suzi's face was a masterpiece of desperation. "I'm dyingl What were they like? What was he like?
What was she like? Did she act like a bitch? I read somewhere that she once snapped at a waitress for bringing her coffee that wasn't decaf."
Kiki went over the encounter in luxurious detail, feeling like a college professor who might be lecturing to a gifted class. After all, Suzi-Suzi and Danni were well-versed on the subjects of fashion and celebrity. They got the nuance and subtext. Kiki didn't have to dumb it down.
"I can't freaking believe it," Suzi-Suzi said after minutes of paying silent, rapturous attention. "How could his teeth be that way? They live just a few blocks away from a BriteSmile!"
Kiki nodded somberly. "I know. Isn't it awful?" She glanced down at the skimpy top, then back to Suzi-Suzi. "Kirsten told me that I should buy this. She said it would look great on me."
Suzi-Suzi beamed. "And I picked it out, which means Kirsten and I practically have the exact same taste."
"So you don't mind if I get it?" Kiki asked.
Suzi-Suzi shook her head. "Any finders-keepers claims are trumped by a direct recommendation from Kirsten Brock. It's yours." One beat. "Besides, I can't afford it anyway. It's eight hundred dollars, and I have to get my hair colored this week. And you know how much Trish charges."
"But she's so worth it," Kiki said.
"Completely," Suzi-Suzi agreed.
Kiki turned to Danni. "Are you sure there's lots of money in that Gucci boot box? I mean, if it's filled with ones, I'm going to be in serious trouble."
Danni smiled shrewdly. "What do you think I am? A stripper in a small town? I do not dance for single dollar bills."
Kiki marched back to the bitchy salesgirl and nervously chewed on her lower lip until the credit card was approved. Amazing! Maybe MBNA raised her limit on account of her on-time payment history. Well, many times Kiki had been late, but she always called to offer detailed reasons why. Certainly creditors appreciated that.
Walking out of the Stella McCartney boutique with her Stella McCartney bag and the secret knowledge of her new almost-friendship with Kirsten Brock, Kiki felt the day could not get any better. Of course, a job would improve things. Not to mention a man in her life. Preferably an independently wealthy and straight one.
Suzi-Suzi wanted to step into Jeffrey, another expensive boutique, but this time Kiki begged off. She would at least have to count the money in Danni's boot box before entertaining the idea of more shopping.
"Well, I'm going in," Suzi-Suzi said defiantly. "I need an outfit to drive Chad insane with desire before I dump him. I know I said I was broke, but now that I think about it, this is an emergency situation."
Kiki and Danni left her to the seduction/destruction plan, jumped into a cab, and headed for Danni's digs on the Upper West Side.
"So," Kiki began once inside the taxi, "do you really think that she'll break up with him?"
"Absolutely not," Danni said.
And then they both laughed.
"Leave it to Suzi-Suzi to go about things the bizarre way," Danni went on. "You're in whatfour weddings this summer?"
" Five ," Kiki corrected. "Counting my brother's shotgun thing."
"So most girls are doing it the old-fashioned way. You know, getting engaged and driving all their friends insane with a big wedding. But our Suzi-Suzi is doing a practice marriage with somebody else's husband."
Kiki shook her head with a giggle. "Maybe she's onto something."
The taxi kaboomed along, a few hours ahead of the worst traffic.
"So this guy keeps coming into the club," Danni announced. "Have I told you about him?"
"The creepy one who wants you to star in his independent film?"
Danni pulled a face. "Oh, Godnot him. By the way, I found out he was legit. But his movies are low-budget horror. I'd be running around in the woods getting chased by a psycho with a chain saw. No thanks."
Kiki rolled her eyes. "Sounds like my first marriage. Except for the woods and the chain saw, of course."
Danni gave her a quizzical look.
"Walter was psycho," Kiki explained. "And the prenup was definitely low budget."
" Anyway ." Danni pressed on. "Usually, I don't look twice at any guy that comes into the club. But there's something about this particular one. He's really sweet, and he shows the girls a lot of respect. Every dancer has tried to get him into the Champagne Room"
"What's that?" Kiki asked.
"That's where they do private dances. Management says every customer who goes into the Champagne Room should walk out with a maxed-out credit card. But I don't go there. Champagne Room guys tend to get touchy-feely. Besides, I need a full stage to do my choreography."
"So what about this guy?"
Danni's eyes sparkled. "He works on Wall Street. Hedge funds, I think. His name's Thad Davis, and he loves, loves, loves eighties music. He says I remind him of Tawny Kitaen. Remember her? The girl from the Whitesnake videos?"
"I heard she went crazy and beat up her husband," Kiki said. "It was all on the E! True Hollywood Story . But I'm sure he means that you remind him of pre-arrest Tawny, the girl who was rolling around on top of David Coverdale's car."
"Exactly," Danni chirped proudly. "So this Thad guy keeps asking me out. And it's not like, 'I'll sit here until you get off work, and we'll go back to my place.' He wants to pick me up and take me out for dinner and a show."
" A real date," Kiki said. "This guy really does love the eighties. I mean, he's so retro."
"I know!" Danni sighed. "But I have this personal policy about never dating guys I meet at the club."
"Okay, I'm great at rationalizing loopholes for constricting policies. You should see me do my taxes." Kiki gazed out the window. "Oohhot guy jogging." She pointed to a half-naked Adonis sweating bullets in the midday heat.
Danni raised her brow in appreciation.
Kiki moved on. "Let's see what do you think is the core reason behind your policy?"
"Maintaining a professional distance," Danni said right away. "And avoiding losers and heartbreak. Every dancer who's ever dated a regular she met at the club has ended up crying on my shoulder."
"It's simple then," Kiki remarked in a singsong voice. "Ban him from the club. Then go out with him."
Danni brightened. "In a weird kind of way, that actually makes sense!"
"I mean, if he's not willing to give up going to Camisole to date you, then, he's not worth fooling with anyway."
Danni smiled. " You are brilliant."
"Did I tell you I'm writing a book?" Kiki asked.
"No! Are you serious? What kind of book?"
"Sort of a self-help, autobiography, relationship recovery thing. Well, I don't know exactly yet. It's all over the place. I just think I can help a lot of women out there. For instance, take a girl
in, say, Ohio. She wakes up with a pimple on the morning of the night she has a very big date with a guy she's mad for. Does she know that the only way to make it disappear is to put a speck of toothpaste on the eruption and keep it covered with a Band-Aid all day?"
"Probably not," Danni said.
"My point exactly!" Kiki thundered. "Why should I limit all of my knowledge to just you and Suzi-Suzi and the occasional girl I strike up a conversation with in a nightclub bathroom? I could be helping women all over the world."
"It's not just a book," Danni said. "It's a humanitarian project."
"Hello!"
The taxi rolled to a stop outside Danni's building, and the girls swung out, blew past the leering door-man, and rode the creaky elevator up to Danni's sixth floor studio.
Danni was a compulsive organizer, so it took no time to find the Gucci box piggy bank. She sat on the bed and gestured for Kiki to join her. "Let's count it. I want to make sure there's enough here to tide you over."
Kiki just stared at the box. Cash had been stuffed inside to the point of spilling out once the cover was peeled off. They both began to count, but Kiki gave up after the five grand mark. Whatever the final figure was, it would be plenty to see her through this minor funding emergency.
"You can take another box, too, if you want," Danni offered.
"This is more than generous," Kiki gushed. "And I'll pay you back every cent." One beat. "Once I'm rich again, of course. I mean, really. If I pay you back too soon, then I might just have to borrow it again. And that would just be tiresome." She scanned the floor of Danni's closet in search of the Gucci boots that had once been nestled inside the cardboard ATM machine positioned on her lap. Suddenly, she saw thema gorgeous brown pair with gold "G" buckles hooked around the ankles. A little yelp escaped her lips.
"Help yourself," Danni said.
"You're the best friend in the world." Kiki practically negotiated a dive-and-roll for the coveted shoes.
"That's what you told Suzi-Suzi when she got you front row seats to see a taping of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart ."
Kiki grinned. "I meant it then, and I mean it now." A soaring sense of exuberance rushed though her body. What a day! A great book idea, a meaningful encounter with Kirsten Brock, a new Stella top, enough money to momentarily keep the vultures at bay, and these fabulous boots. "You know," she announced sunnily, "everything in my life is starting to move on the right track."
