Time-traveling Fashionista at the Palace of Marie Antoinette (9780316202961)

by Turetsky, Bianca

  “No waaay! You’re a part of the club.” Louise looked at the older woman. On the outside, it was still exactly as if she were having a conversation with Adelaide. But she wasn’t.

  “What did you just say?” Louise asked, taken aback.

  “You’re a Traveling Fashionista. I knew something was different about you. But I can’t believe Marla and Glenda allowed for us to cross paths in the past. That’s against the rules.”

  Marla and Glenda? This woman knew Marla and Glenda? “How do you know about them?” Louise replied, aghast.

  “Because I’m a Traveling Fashionista, too!” the woman exclaimed as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “But I can’t believe this would be allowed to happen,” she continued, throwing her hands up at the craziness of it all.

  “Well… well, they didn’t exactly let me take this trip,” Louise stammered, realizing that she could be in big trouble the next time she saw the two unsuspecting and easily angered shopkeepers. “Technically, I tried on the dress when they weren’t looking.”

  Adelaide, or whoever the girl was, gave Louise a stern look. “Like I said, that’s against the rules.”

  “What rules?” This whole conversation was totally blowing Louise’s mind. She didn’t care if she was making a scene, because she had a gazillion questions to ask.

  “Shhh,” the girl whispered crossly. “They can’t be allowed to hear us. No one but us can know about this. But come on now, clearing the dirty dishes from the table, flirting with the gardener, confusing me for the Princesse de Lamballe. I’d say you were being rather obvious about the whole thing.”

  “How am I supposed to act? I’m not even sure where or who I am,” Louise replied defensively. “Is that girl actually the Marie Antoinette? And who are you, anyway?”

  “Of course that’s Marie Antoinette! My name is Stella. But here you should obviously call me Adelaide.”

  “How old are you really?” Louise asked.

  “Thirteen. I’m from Manhattan. You?”

  “Twelve. I’m from Fairview, Connecticut. But my dad used to work in the city….” Louise responded quickly, eager to get the small talk out of the way so she could focus on the important things, like getting back to the twenty-first century.

  “So in suburban years I’m, like, sixteen,” Stella continued, cutting Louise off midthought.

  “I didn’t realize there was a difference.” Were suburban years like dog years?

  “Clearly.” Stella nodded, cocking an eyebrow.

  This girl might like vintage, but she wasn’t being very cool.

  “How did you become a Traveling Fashionista?” Louise asked. Had Stella received a mysterious invitation to the Fashionista Sale, too?

  “Fashion is in my blood!” Stella exclaimed proudly. “My great-great-aunt twice removed was Coco Chanel.”

  “That’s awesome,” Louise squealed. She wanted to feign indifference, but she was actually totally impressed. This girl was twice removed from fashion royalty! Coco Chanel was arguably the most influential designer of the twentieth century.

  “The incredible power of vintage—the fact that energy can’t be destroyed, that by wearing vintage we are wearing the past and other women’s histories on our bodies and bringing them into the present, even the future. I just get it,” Stella declared in a tone that implied that despite all evidence to the contrary, Louise did not. “Isn’t it in your family, too?”

  “I don’t think so.” Louise shook her head, thinking of how against anything “used” her mother was. Her father probably didn’t know what the word vintage even meant, but then again there was her glamorous actress great-aunt Alice Baxter whom she discovered on board the Titanic and who had loved beautiful dresses. Perhaps it was in her blood after all? “Well, maybe; I’m not quite sure. How many of us are there?”

  “Maybe five? Ten?” Stella answered hesitantly. Louise was having a hard time reconciling this older woman’s face with the girl she had seen in the Hall of Mirrors. “Actually, I don’t really know. You’re the first one I’ve met. I kind of thought it was just me.”

  “Me too,” Louise agreed. “Is this really happening?” She pinched herself hard on her arm.

  “I don’t know, but it feels real, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So maybe it doesn’t matter.”

  “Aren’t these clothes to die for?” Stella whispered to her, pointing to a woman passing by who was wearing an elaborate salmon-colored gown whose silk was embroidered with a blue-and-green vine pattern. On top of her pouf, she wore a flat hat that had a bouquet of actual blue-and-green flowers somehow stuck into it. “It kills me that they don’t make anything like them anymore. The detail that goes into each button, each piece of trim. You can see its influence everywhere hundreds of years later. The House of Dior designed an entire collection based on this moment in history.” In that instant Louise got a glimpse of the modern thirteen-year-old fashion geek inside the uppity old-fashioned packaging.

  “But these corsets are torture,” Louise whispered loudly, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve almost fainted, like, three times so far.”

  “Right?” Stella snorted and laughed a lot like Brooke did, inadvertently chipping away her ice-queen image and giving Louise another peek at the teenage girl she truly was. Maybe they could be friends after all?

  “Walk with me.” Stella linked her arm through Louise’s, and they continued strolling through the adjacent salon. “So tell me, how do I look?” she asked excitedly. “I can’t see myself. Every time I see a mirror, it’s me. I’ve discovered that Adelaide is the daughter of Louis’s father, King Louis XV of France!”

  “Ummm…” Louise gulped. How was she going to tell her new comrade she looked like an old stout woman with a permanent scowl?

  “I think Adelaide is such a fabulous name. Maybe I’ll switch permanently.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course!”

  “Well,” Louise started, trying to phrase things in the most delicate way possible. “You’re, how do I say, advanced in your years….”

  “Old? I’m old??” Stella stopped walking and turned toward Louise, now giving her her full attention.

  “That’s another word for it.”

  “Do I have wrinkles?”

  “I’m not sure.” Louise shrugged diplomatically.

  “You’re not sure? Are you looking at me or what?”

  “I guess you’re kind of, um, unattractive? But it’s okay, Stella. I’m sure in real life you’re very pretty!”

  “I’m old and ugly? Argh! Why did Marla and Glenda do this to me? Is this a kooky joke?”

  “And, um,” Louise started, taking in a whiff of stale body odor, “you kind of smell.”

  “What?!” Stella grabbed Louise’s arms tightly, her fingernails digging into her skin. “This is soo embarrassing.”

  “It’s not really you,” Louise tried to assure her. “Besides, from what I’ve experienced, everyone smells in this era.”

  “But you’re young and beautiful. It’s not fair!”

  “It’s not me,” Louise protested, running her hand along the seam of her full silk skirt. “It’s Gabrielle and the dress.”

  “But still. Look, my dress is more beautiful,” Stella gestured to her elaborate spearmint-colored court gown. “And everyone is so respectful of me.”

  “Right. Look on the bright side. You have a higher rank than me. Apparently you’re the daughter of the king. I guess you can’t judge a lady by her gown.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Maybe Marla and Glenda are trying to teach us a lesson. Like I apparently need more self-confidence, and maybe you’re learning about how looks don’t mean everything?”

  “Well, I want my old life back. I’m out of here. I hate the name Adelaide,” Stella decided, furiously pacing back and forth.

  “You can’t leave me!” Louise cried urgently, grabbing Adelaide’s gloved hand. “I think my blue dress was stolen. I
need your help.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you need to know tonight, but then I must get back,” she said under her breath just as the Princesse de Lamballe caught up with them in the salon and struck a confused look.

  “Is anything the matter?” the perplexed blonde girl asked them.

  “Of course not. Everything is fine. Until tonight, Gabrielle,” Stella responded quickly. With that, she snapped back into character and Adelaide gave Louise a slight curtsey, then glided out of the room with the princess as though this were just an ordinary afternoon at Versailles.

  CHAPTER 31

  Louise made her way back into Gabrielle’s suite and leaned against the heavy gilded door with a sigh. She needed a minute to herself to absorb everything. It took only a moment before she realized that she wasn’t alone. “How did you get here?” she asked, startled.

  Glenda was draped over the king-size platform bed wearing a deep purple velvet cloak lined with bloodred silk. She was teasing a fluffy gray kitten with a long green-and-blue peacock feather. Marla had squeezed into a midnight black floor-length corseted gown, accented with glimmering ruby buttons running down the bodice that seemed as if they were about to pop if she made any sudden movements. She was eagerly helping herself to some glossy grapes left on a silver platter on the gold leaf side table.

  “What kind of a welcome is that?” Glenda’s eyes sparkled at Louise.

  “Aren’t you happy to see us?” Marla asked sadly. “It was a bit of a journey, you know,” she added, fingering the antique-looking poodle necklace she seemed to always wear around her neck.

  “Believe me, am I ever happy to see you!” Louise gushed. “Please, how do I make the dauphine understand the seriousness of the situation going on outside the palace gates? Maybe we can help stop the revolution if we can only get her to see the poverty and suffering happening right in front of her eyes.”

  “Sometimes it’s hardest to see what is right in front of you,” Marla replied cryptically.

  “So how can I show her?” Louise asked in a trembling voice. “If we don’t do something, the French people will starve and the whole royal family will be killed!”

  “Meddling with history!” Glenda exclaimed as the kitten she was tickling let out a loud meow. “A rather dangerous preoccupation.”

  “Try not to be so morbid, my dear. Ooh, your dress is fabulous. Glenda, we do need some new inventory….” Marla changed the subject, fingering the satin of Louise’s dress. “And as you should know from previous experiences, there’s only so much one can affect what has already passed.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Stella and the other Fashionistas?” Louise suddenly blurted out, hands on her hips.

  “She wants everything to be spelled out, now, doesn’t she? What fun is there in that?” Glenda asked in her deep husky voice that sent the startled kitten scurrying off the gold-embroidered coverlet.

  “We thought we had given you quite a bit of information to work with in your letter. Of course you should discover some things on your own. That’s how you grow.” Marla popped a purple orb into her mouth. “They don’t make ’em like they used to,” she added, mopping the juice off her several stray chin hairs with her dress sleeve.

  “Exactly how many Fashionistas are there? When can I meet them?” Louise asked eagerly, and then plopped down on a nearby chaise. This was all getting to be too much for her. Why did she feel like she was always working with about two percent of the pertinent information?

  “All in due course. Although this is not exactly the way we would have planned it,” Glenda said, standing up from the bed in one quick intimidating movement. At her full height, she towered over Marla and Louise like they were toddlers playing dress-up.

  “I’m sorry,” Louise apologized. “I should have asked to try the dress on. I just had a feeling it was meant for me. Like I was destined to go on this journey.”

  “Well, sweet pea, it’s nice to feel special for a bit and to feel as though you are the chosen one. As we can see by the way you left poor Brooke. She’s supposed to be your best friend,” Marla reminded her gently. The thought of the way she had treated Brooke almost made Louise cry.

  “That girl has made some remarkable changes. Once we got her out of that horrendous tracksuit and into more suitable attire, we were almost ready to make her an honorary member,” Glenda declared, holding up one of Gabrielle’s fabulous sapphire-and-diamond bracelets from the ebony jewelry box on the vanity table.

  “I miss Brooke. I want to go back to my real life.”

  “You are part of a very select group now. Not just anyone can be chosen,” Marla continued, blatantly avoiding Louise’s request.

  “Maybe we’ll throw a fabulous party for all our Fashionistas once you make it back. Then you gals can chat. Haven’t you always wanted to be part of a group of girls who know the difference between a Versace and a Givenchy? Who can lend you a Pucci minidress for your next exciting event? They’re the only ones in the world who can possibly know what you’re going through.” That was exactly what Louise wanted, but she wasn’t sure how Brooke fit into this equation. If she ever got back to Fairview, things would be different. She didn’t want to grow apart from her best friend, but maybe there was no way to stop it. It hurt to think about it.

  “Of course that does mean you’ll have to make it back first,” Marla reminded her in a hushed tone. Not like she needed any reminding. “And France does seem to be on the eve of a revolution.”

  “Our hands are tied, my dear. This time you truly did get yourself into a pickle,” Glenda declared as she let the jeweled bangle fall to the glass tabletop with a harsh and startling clatter.

  “Quite sneaky. We turned our backs for one moment and—poof!” Marla snapped her fingers.

  “Well, she is almost a teenager, Marla. They’re known to sneak out of the house sometimes.”

  “And Marie Antoinette is probably not the best influence,” Marla decided with a disapproving tsk.

  “But you’re a resourceful girl. If you were able to find your way here without our assistance, we’re sure you’ll be able to find your way back. Hopefully with a new understanding about your current situation,” Glenda remarked ominously.

  “The past can teach you a lot, my dear. Now I’m starting to sound like a broken Victrola.” Just as Marla swallowed another grape, the top ruby button on her bodice shot across the room like a jeweled missile. “Oops!” she exclaimed, her cheeks turning as crimson as her missing button.

  “Perhaps your modern problems, like your father losing his job, aren’t so modern after all. Financial crisis? Do you think there wasn’t a financial crisis in pre-revolutionary France? These days you can’t even walk the streets of Paris without someone trying to pluck the rubies right off your bodice,” Glenda said, throwing Marla a pointed look.

  “I suppose I’ve gained a kilo or two since the last time I wore this one.” Marla shook her head.

  “Now, I would say your problems have gotten a bit more serious than missing a trip to Europe,” Glenda added, drawing an ominous line across her throat with a long red fingernail. The universal sign for major problems and, in this case, literally losing her head—which had just taken on a whole new terrifying and real meaning.

  Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the bedroom door.

  “Can you guys, like, hide or something?” Louise asked, panicked, lifting up the heavy red satin bedskirt.

  “Already embarrassed of us?” Glenda muttered under her breath. “Kids these days…”

  As Louise turned to open the door while smoothing her dress and trying futilely to compose herself, she smelled a strong waft of musky French perfume and spun around to see that her intergalactic tour guides had vanished into a royal purple cloud of violet-scented mist. She shook her head, bewildered by their dramatic exit.

  Gabrielle’s two personal maids, Miss String Bean and Miss Stout, as Louise now referred to them in her head, marched in carrying a gorgeous carnation pink bal
l gown with light pink ruffled trim before she even had a chance to reach for the doorknob. Why they bothered knocking at all was a mystery to her.

  “Time to prepare for supper,” Miss String Bean announced with her hands clasped together. For once Louise had lost her appetite. All she could think about was finding Stella and getting back to the twenty-first century before it was too late.

  With an awkward curtsey, Miss Stout handed Louise a folded slip of ivory stationery that was tucked into the folds of her ginormous bosom.

  Dearest Gabrielle,

  Please meet me by the reflecting pools after dusk.

  We have much to discuss.

  It wasn’t signed, but that note could only have come from one person. It seemed as though Stella had found her instead. Louise smiled and placed the note on a nearby end table. That was exactly the message she was hoping she’d receive.

  CHAPTER 32

  Dinner that night was held in a grand formal dining room in an entirely new wing of the palace with one long table set up in the center of the large, ornately decorated space. Dusk couldn’t come fast enough—when Louise really wanted to talk to Stella. Her conversation with Marla and Glenda had been unbelievably frustrating. Why couldn’t they just speak plainly to her instead of making puzzle pieces out of her fate?

  She anxiously picked at the gelatinous food that had been set before her by an army of uniformed waiters. There must have been at least a thousand people working at Versailles at any given time. The evening meal was chopped-up pieces of meat and vegetables suspended in a bell-shaped, amber-colored Jell-O mold. Even her mother wouldn’t make something this unappealing, she thought as she tapped the quivering form with her spoon. With all the delicious pastries she had consumed so far, she was a little surprised to see dinner was so gross.

  She was seated next to the Princesse de Lamballe, the only person in the room whom Louise recognized. The princess was sweetly making small talk with the guests around them as she delicately ate her mystery meat. Marie Antoinette had a headache, the princess explained, and was taking supper in her private chamber. Adelaide was also noticeably absent from the long dining table, and every time a new guest entered the dining hall, Louise would whip her head around in nervous anticipation. But the woman who she now knew was Stella never arrived. Where was she?