A minute later, I quickly ran a damp cloth down my body, trying to remove the sheen of sweat that coated my skin, but I was so nervous, I kept fumbling. A stylist grabbed it out of my hands before I could take another pass. An iridescent, blue silk gown was slipped carefully over my head and tugged into place. I felt jittery. One short walk, that’s all.
To calm myself, I focused on what should be happening on the other side of the curtain. The walls should now be awash in a gradient top to bottom of warm, burnt sienna to pale apricot.
Sinatra’s voice had long since faded. Now, bows romanced the strings of violins and violas, introducing, “What a Wonderful World,” the soulful duet version with Tony Bennett blended with KD Lang’s mellifluous voice. Together, they slid smoothly up and down the scale, painting the image of a perfect day, and, despite the song’s promise of happiness, I fought the impulse to flee.
Bethany Halvorsen grabbed my arm, squealing with delight, “Kathleen, I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t ruin your makeup. How can I ever say thank you? This is so much better than any dream I’ve ever had. The set showcases the collection brilliantly—your brilliant idea.”
“Nonsense. I had the spark of an idea.”
“You, my dear, are far too modest.”
I released a breath full of tension and attempted to settle a cool demeanor about my shoulders. The gentle tapping of piano keys told me it was time. “I’m genuinely pleased I could help.”
I swept a hand over the heavily-beaded choker collar and bodice before stepping into the fray. The light boxes on the runway were bright, causing my gown to beam like a beacon in the night. Trying not to ruin the effect by squinting against the brightness, my only option was to peer far into the distance and pray that I didn’t walk off the end, exactly where my friends and co-workers were seated.
As I approached the end of the catwalk, I saw my guests applauding, some more raucously than others. Anaïs and Yvette were only slightly more exuberant than Messieurs Detriche and Huse. I couldn’t resist winking at Marian when she hooted then flashed Sébastien a smile. Sébastien? He hadn’t mentioned attending Bethany’s show.
The skirt of my evening dress swished around my ankles as I performed the much practiced, “turn, pause, and pose,” presenting my backside to the audience. Crystals and colored-glass beads ran the groove of my spine, my back otherwise very bare. The column of color held together the choker around my neck and the dangerously low-cut skirt. The response to the back of the gown was a rising, “Oh!” The applause was generous.
At the fittings, the gown had felt a little risqué. Now, I felt positively naked and prayed the fashion tape held the dress to my skin. Once we made it back behind the curtain, Bethany jealously mocked, “Should I be offended that people like the model more than the dress?”
“Clearly not so! The gown would make anyone beautiful.” I grabbed her hand, since she and I would be walking out together. “Time for the second pass. And to show everyone the genius behind the collection.”
Tony Bennett crooned, “The Way You Look Tonight,” as the models took their final walk. From the back of the line, I was stunned by the overall beauty of Bethany’s modernized 1930s pieces: day and evening wear in white, black, red, and navy. After completing my moment in the spotlight, I felt enormously relieved.
That detour was forgotten, however, when Bethany tugged my arm. “Come on.” She shooed all the models back out front. Falling as far back as possible, I cautiously watched the proceedings. The audience had remained in their seats, apparently aware there was more to come.
A handsome and very familiar gentleman made his way to center stage holding a microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, how about another round of applause?” His voice was soft and relaxed as he spoke. Self-deprecatingly, he continued, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Victoria Beckham’s husband.” The audience laughed at his joke. Everyone knew who David Beckham was, especially after he’d signed the Armani underwear deal.
He read from a notecard, “A year ago, an idea was conceived and tonight it was brilliantly executed. Tonight was a unique experience in the world of fashion. The concept was to celebrate those individuals employed by companies attached to the fashion industry but who are neither designer nor model but who excel in other capacities. Each model was nominated and carefully selected by a panel comprised of CEOs from each company represented. In your programs, you will find the biographies of each model, including their accomplishments.”
“The designer, Ms. Halvorsen, was chosen through a similar process—a panel of established designers supporting the next generation chose her from a cast of many.”
Now that the show was over, I found myself enjoying the moment and admired the accomplishments of all the women nominated.
“In case you are unaware, these women will be featured in December’s issue of Forbes Magazine, photographed earlier this year in Bali.” He gave a little nod and waved before walking off stage to exuberant applause.
There was a rousing round of applause when Bethany took the microphone. Dressed in a navy blue gown, clearly part of her collection, her upswept auburn hair allowed her sparkling, vintage earrings to swing freely. She looked tall and elegant and a little overwhelmed.
Wearing a shy smile, she began speaking in halting French that had a twinge of southern drawl. She exuded happiness and pride as she read from the card I had written out phonetically. “On behalf of all of us, we thank you for this honor. For me, it is an unimaginable pleasure to be given this opportunity. I am so very grateful.” She fanned herself as she breathlessly recited a long list of names.
I was completely taken by surprise when she ended with, “While I am indebted to many, I am particularly thankful for Mademoiselle Ehlers from L’Oréal. She has served as interpreter, set-design collaborator, and carpenter from the beginning of this project. Merci beaucoup!” After another round of applause, we fled behind the curtain.
***
I found myself parched, as did Marian. “How do you say ‘slow down’ in French?” she asked, as a waiter carrying a tray full of Champagne flutes zipped past us.
“Sébastien!” I teased her and pointed at him as he stepped into the path of the same waiter, glanced back at Marian and me, and collected three glasses.
“Jaysus, you are fecking marvelous!” Marian told him as she carefully extracted one of the glasses. “Don’t waste a drop. Who knows when we’ll have a second chance.” With that, she and I drained ours. I was still thirsty, and she looked disappointedly at her empty glass.
As luck would have it, Tiziana made her way over to us, bringing with her a long line of wait staff. We passed our empty glasses to one person while taking full ones from another, along with mouthwatering if absolutely tiny hors d'oeuvres.
“If I had a straw, I could inhale all these with one big breath,” Marian whispered in my ear.
I smiled at her comment as Monsieur Detriche approached, offering his high praise. “Mademoiselle, you are more impressive than we knew! You did not tell us you were assisting Ms. Halvorsen.”
“She was overly generous in her compliments. She is a friend, and since she doesn’t speak French, I volunteered to help.” I was explaining Charlotte’s connection with Bethany as Monsieur Huse arrived.
He asked me about my collaborating on the set design. “I cannot accept much credit. I saw a picture of a house, in London, covered with doors. I found it intriguing. The set builders worked their magic.”
Monsieur Huse continued, “Nonetheless, we are indeed honored to have you and your many talents represent us.”
Embarrassed, I redirected the conversation. “Messieurs Huse and Detriche, I am honored by the nomination. Thank you again.”
To my surprise, Monsieur Huse chuckled and said, “Please! You are more talented than the rest of us combined. Tomorrow, we will be fending off our competitors. I imagine they are formulating offers as we speak.” He looked me straight in the eye and said, “We will make sure that cannot
happen.”
***
Tiziana pulled us a little distance away, carefully turning her back on the men. “Hillary, I just heard that Jean Victor Meyer is here.”
Hillary scanned the room. “I heard he would be.”
We searched the crowded room, looking for the classically handsome thirty-year-old who represented the Bettencourt family at such events. We finally located him, orbited by every “who’s who” attending.
“Now that we’ve found him, how do I get him alone?” Hillary asked. “I would really like to talk to him.”
“Me, too!” Marian leered suggestively at Meyer. The expression on her face would have made Serge Gainsbourg proud.
Simultaneously, we all turned and looked at Tiziana in her dress, which was perfectly plunging. I whispered in Ted’s ear as we shuffled past, “We’re borrowing your wife to restore world order.” He gave me a curious look and then followed the direction I’d nudged my chin.
I heard, “Ah!” as we walked away.
It turned out to be more simple than I’d expected. Her cleavage, her reputation, and her name may have preceded Tiziana, but it was I with whom he made eye contact. “At last, Mademoiselle Ehlers. I am so delighted to finally meet you.”
I wanted to punch the air and shout, “Score,” but I didn’t.
“Monsieur Meyers, thank you. It is a pleasure to meet you, too.”
“May I?” he asked.
Not quite sure what he meant, I nodded. What could he do in front of all these people?
He took my hand and gently turned me in a wide circle. “The back is quite exquisite. The gown suits you perfectly.” He kept ahold of my hand, and when we once again made eye contact, he continued, “My family and I are very grateful to have you represent L’Oréal today. Thank you. If only all our employees were as hardworking and talented…”
I waved off his praise, blushing. My mind was completely blown away by the fact that someone so far up the food chain even knew who I was. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Allow me to introduce Aksel Pedersen. Don’t let the name fool you. He speaks French.”
I took that as a hint and switched to French, engaging him in conversation while Hillary elegantly held her hand out and introduced herself. “Monsieur Meyers, Hillary Cavendish…” As they became better acquainted, my new friend Aksel Pedersen and I talked about my actual position at L’Oréal. He seemed very surprised to find out I was a corporate lawyer in the business acquisition division.
Clearly, he hadn’t read the program. “And what do you do, Monsieur Pedersen?”
Whatever he was about to say got lost when Tiziana arrived, followed by Ted. Marian took advantage of those three making small talk and tugged at my elbow. “Something’s up with Sébastien.”
Concerned, I searched the room. “Look there!” She pointed and, sure enough, he was making a beeline for us, looking quite serious. I sobered up quickly. I hadn’t seen that expression on him before.
I walked to him, expecting something serious, but instead, when he reached me, he didn’t say or do anything other than place a kiss on my cheek and smile. “Everything okay?” I asked suspiciously.
“Of course, ma chère. What about Hillary? Has she landed her fish?” She was still talking to Jean-Victor Meyer.
Utterly confused, I answered him, wondering what he didn’t want to talk about. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
He led me back to the group, where Ted and Aksel acknowledged him, and, once again, I was surprised by his boundless connections. Something felt different, though. I had only seen Sébastien impeccably calm and poised. As he spoke to them, he seemed guarded and tense.
He said, “Yes, I’m very proud of Kathleen,” and sounded strangely covetous as he slipped his arm around my waist.
I set aside my confusion and aligned myself with him. “Thank you,” I said and kissed his cheek.
Charlotte and Liam joined the group. “Kathleen, I want to have a closer look at the gowns. Come with me?” she asked.
I looked at Sébastien and received a reassuring smile. “Sure.” She didn’t need me; she was Bethany’s friend. Something was up. As we dodged people, I heard Marian and Tiziana talking behind us; clearly, they were interested in whatever was on Charlotte’s mind.
When we were on the other side of the room, having grabbed drinks along the way, and were safely out of view, Marian peppered me with comments. “Sébastien got his knickers twisted. I was watching, and Aksel Pedersen is totally into you. Jean-Victor seemed quite interested—all that twirling business? Interested in either? Not as handsome as Sébastien. Nice to have options though, eh?”
I was about to tell her she was delusional when Charlotte butted in. “Liam and I saw Sébastien’s expression when he saw you talking to Aksel, and he was not happy. What’s the story there? He’s not some crazy jealous lunatic, is he?” Her eyes flitted between me and Tiziana.
I defended him. “Of course not, but something set him off, and it isn’t about me.”
I looked at Tiziana for support. She immediately rallied. “He’s lovely, bella. Don’t let them worry you. He wouldn’t harm a moth.”
“Fly,” I corrected her. I needed to talk to him alone. “And Marian, to answer you, Jean-Victor? No! And Aksel Pedersen was just being polite.”
The three of them looked at me as if I were an idiot. Marian rolled her eyes and said, “If a man looked like that at me, I’d climb him like a pole.”
“I only want to climb Sébastien,” I admitted, chuckling at the image Marian painted.
Marian pounced on that. “So, a one-man woman? Not playing the field?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not playing the field.”
Nor did I want to discuss my feelings for him further, so I said to Charlotte, “Feeling all right?”
She nodded. “I’m so fed up with being pregnant. Let’s not talk about that. How was Hotel Costes?”
“Excellent!” I relayed the details of Sébastien’s fact-finding mission. “We were seated next to a huge group of good-looking American men. Marian, you and Hillary should have come along.”
Tiziana snorted. “And let you skip the opportunity of being alone with Sébastien?”
My thoughts turned to last night’s passionate explorations on my couch, and I felt my breath quicken. “We’ll have alone time when you’ve gone home.”
“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” Hillary said.
I was about to defend myself when Charlotte rubbed her belly and drew in a sharp breath. “What’s going on?” I asked. This can’t be good.
“Braxton Hicks.”
“What or who are those?” I was completely confused.
She grunted, “Contractions.”
“You mean, like, labor? When did they start?” I yelped.
She blew out a long, deep breath. “Last night. Consider them practice for the real deal.”
Marian announced, “I need another drink. Jaysus! If this is only practice, I’m not coming within ten miles of an unsheathed penis. More of you screaming will be the nail in the coffin of my having children.”
I shushed Marian, annoyed with her. “Are you all right?” I asked Charlotte, who released another deep breath.
“Yes, I’m fine.” While she spoke, Marian and Tiziana shook their heads no.
What the hell? I texted Liam.
I saw him read my text and search the crowd and waved to him. Concern was painted across his face. When he reached us, he knelt beside his wife, who was now sitting with her feet up on a chair, looking very uncomfortable. “All right, my love?”
She shook her head yes and no.
“We’re going back to the apartment. Text Ted and Sébastien. They were wondering where you lot had disappeared to. We’ll see you later.”
Charlotte protested, “It’ll pass. I want to go to dinner. I’m hungry.”
Liam examined her closely, felt her belly, and looked at us. “A light meal only.”
She nodded, while I tried to t
hink of somewhere Charlotte would be comfortable, which left out most restaurants in Paris. Liam jokingly suggested, “Maybe somewhere near a hospital?” We nodded in agreement. None of us wanted to be responsible for delivering a baby.
Sébastien arrived, not realizing what was happening. Like Jean-Victor, he took my hand and twirled me in a wide arc. “You are… I don’t think the words ‘exquisite’ or ‘incredible’ are sufficient. Perhaps you belong to another time. I can imagine you in a salon with Mies Van Der Rohe, Madeleine Vionnet, or Gertrude Stein. Tell me, is there anything you cannot do?”
“Cook or deliver a baby!”
Sébastien chuckled. “Fortunately, we live in Paris.” Then he noticed Charlotte’s demeanor. “Mon Dieu.”
Call Me
While the others made their way to Tiziana and Ted’s apartment at Parc Monceau, I changed out of my gown. In my curtained-off area, I found a fitted dress that Bethany had designed as a “thank you.” With the 1930s still in mind, it had sheer cap sleeves and a sheath dress made of chevron-patterned tulle that became a bold diamond pattern at mid-thigh. I loved everything about it, from its complete layers of pattern to the black heels she’d found in a vintage shop that had crisscrossing straps repeating the skirt’s diamond motif and crystal buttons on the straps.
When I stepped out from the changing area, Sébastien was leaning against the wall. Seeing me, he quickly stood upright, tugged the crisp white cuff of his shirt, and complimented my outfit. “Always magnifique.”
I was about to respond when Messieurs Meyers and Pedersen approached us. “You look lovely. Leaving already?”
I inclined my head, and, before I could answer, Monsieur Pedersen took my hand and said, “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope our paths cross again soon.”
Speechless, I nodded and chanced a glance at Sébastien to see what he’d made of the situation. I saw a storm roll through his eyes. Wanting to get out of there, I thanked Monsieur Meyers. “Your confidence is very much appreciated.” I nodded at Aksel Pedersen.
“Shall we go?” Sébastien asked rhetorically. He was confident, that much I could say for him, because, while he asked, he wove our arms so that my hand rested on the crook of his elbow. “Au revoir, messieurs.”
Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) Page 10
