The Overnight Socialite

by Bridie Clark

  "You like?" Lucy tried to sound confident, but it was intimidating to watch firsthand the reaction of two of the most stylish girls she'd ever met.

  "Of course! I had no idea you had talent!" Anna slid into the chair to have her makeup done, folding her slender legs underneath her. She lit up a cigarette while the makeup artist tested foundations to see which one best matched her golden skin tone. "You have to make me something! That fuchsia silk dress would be perfect for my friend's wedding in Bogota next month."

  "I'm loving these pants," Libet added, holding up a charcoal gray, high-waisted, wide-legged pair with gold stitching along the seams. She was wearing what appeared to be a shoelace tied around her forehead. "They remind me of a killer pair my mom wore in the Seventies. Would you ever make me some?"

  "Absolutely!" Lucy tingled with joy. These girls were gorgeous, famously chic, and photographed wherever they went. If they wore her clothes--and dropped her name as the designer whenever reporters asked--it would be exactly the kind of exposure she needed to start her own label. The day couldn't be going any better. She couldn't wait to tell Wyatt.

  "Lucy, what do you say we get a shot of you surrounded by penguins?" suggested the photographer, Giles, whose French accent seemed to fade in and out like the signal on a cheap radio. "A take on that famous Marilyn Monroe moment in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes."

  She was just about to follow him outside when the door slammed open and Cornelia, breathless, blocked the entrance.

  She wore a plush pelt--a questionable choice for a day at the zoo--and sunglasses that overwhelmed her petite face. With her lackey Fernanda two steps behind her, Cornelia coolly scanned the room, as though she had arrived at her family's estate to discover squatters in the foyer. When her eyes landed on Lucy, her icy expression suddenly broke into fury. "What the hell is she doing in that dress?" she demanded, her sharp voice carrying over the suddenly still trailer. "Everyone knows that green is my color!"

  Is this chick for real? Lucy stifled a nervous giggle. The place was otherwise silent.

  "We can shoot you both in green," Mallory said. "Lucy made this gorgeous dress, and I'm going to insist that she wear it."

  "Wait, you made a green dress for yourself?" Cornelia, her upper lip curled in a sneer, crossed the space in two steps until she was right under Lucy's nose. Lucy's nervous giggle grew too big to contain; it broke forth from her pursed lips and seemed to smack Cornelia in the face. "It's so not funny," Cornelia said, shaking her head without breaking her glare.

  "You don't own the color, Cornelia." Lucy refused to be bullied. "Grass is green, so is money--"

  "I see," Cornelia said. The temperature lowered another ten degrees. Libet and Anna exchanged wide-eyed looks in the makeup mirror. "I'm sorry, Mallory, but I refuse to be part of this shoot if she's in it, too."

  "You're not serious," Mallory said. She white-knuckled the back of a makeup stool. "I understand there's some tension, but you can't back out now--"

  "I can and I will," Cornelia declared, turning her killing stare on Mallory. "So you either choose me, or this random newcomer whom nobody ever heard of two months ago."

  Lucy sucked in a breath. All her hard work, all the late nights spent hunched over the sewing machine--and now Cornelia was robbing her of her big opportunity to show her stuff.

  "Sorry, Cornelia. But if you force me to choose, I choose Lucy." If Mallory had struggled to reach her conclusion, she didn't show it.

  And just like that, Manhattan's reigning socialite was dethroned. Cornelia didn't move right away. She stood in the doorway, almost panting from the shock of Mallory's decision. "Fine, I'll stay in the shoot. But I'm not standing next to her." She huffed over to the makeup station. Instead of feeling victorious, Lucy couldn't help feeling a little frightened.

  "Cue the penguins!" Giles shouted.

  Lucy took her position while a keeper from the zoo ushered in the funny birds, their tiny wings flapping, to waddle around her. She tried her best to look natural despite the oddity of the situation--the professionals staring at her from every angle, the silver reflectors washing away the shadows from her face, the hyper-daylight glare of the lights towering around her, and of course, the strange tuxedoed penguins at her feet. One of Giles's assistants scrambled to adjust her hair, while another buzzed around her head with a light meter. "Relax your face, Lucy," Giles commanded.

  "Like this?" She tipped her chin up slightly and angled her hips toward the camera, just the way Angelique had taught her.

  "Perfect. You're a natural. Just like that." Giles clicked away madly while Lucy held her pose. "Now let's try--"

  "Excuse me!" Cornelia, on deck for her shoot after Lucy, stomped her foot. "Why does Lucy get to be photographed with those adorable penguins, while I have to cozy up to a disgusting two-toed sloth? Is it even safe? I mean, that thing has three-inch claws!"

  "Maybe she'd prefer the poison frogs," the zookeeper behind her muttered.

  "You'll be fine," Mallory said wearily. "Now, will you keep it down?"

  "Lu-u-uce!"

  Lucy froze at the unmistakable sound of her mother's voice. Running through the gates of the zoo enclosure, Rita waved the red dress like a matador. "Your beautiful dress! You left it--"

  Before she even knew what she was doing, Lucy pushed through the crowd of penguins to intercept her mother. "Thank you, Rita, but you didn't have to bring it all the way here--"

  "Nonsense, doll, it's your favorite." Rita looked brightly at the group, clearly hoping to be introduced. Lucy didn't say anything. "Well, I should be going. Don't want to hold up the works! Good luck, Luce, I'll see you later."

  But Cornelia stepped forward before she could go. "Are you her PA?" She scrutinized Rita's face. Lucy felt herself squirming.

  "Am I her what?" Rita repeated. Then she chuckled. "No, I'm her MA--"

  "She's my, um, manicurist." Lucy couldn't look at her mother as she said it. She'd never felt so low in her life. When Giles barked at her that they needed to get started again, she gave her stricken mother an apologetic shrug and slunk away, disgusted with herself. She'd make it up to Rita later. Once she was a success, she'd set her mother up for life. But the thought didn't ease the knot in her stomach.

  "Wait up!" Cornelia finally caught up with the mysterious russet-haired woman walking furiously fast down a path in Central Park, her arms wrapped around herself in the cold, her chin against her chest. Something about Lucy's reaction had piqued Cornelia's curiosity. "Rita, wait!"

  The woman froze as though she'd been caught. She turned around. "What can I do for you?" she asked. Her face was worn, and her makeup was distressingly evident.

  "I'm absolutely desperate for a good manicurist. May I get your card? I'd love to make an appointment."

  "Oh, I--Lucy's very possessive. She doesn't like for me to take on other clients."

  Lucy has her own private manicurist? And Wyatt called me high maintenance. "I certainly won't tell her. Name your price."

  Open Sesame. Rita unfurled a smile. "Here's my number, doll," she said, pulling a Bic out of her oversize tote bag, taking Cornelia's hand, and scribbling the digits across her palm.

  25

  "I am ready," said Emma, "whenever I am wanted." "Whom are you going to dance with?" asked Mr. Knightley. She hesitated a moment, and then replied, "With you, if you will ask me."

  --Jane Austen, Emma

  Let's not discuss Eloise and Trip anymore," Wyatt said. "We only argue. She's a big girl, Lucy. If she wants to wait around for him, that's her call." Wyatt clinched his navy blue blazer together with one hand and raised his shoulders toward his ears against the chilly February air. "Where's Mark with our car? Dinner starts in fifteen minutes and it's all the way in SoHo."

  "I just don't get it," Lucy said, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. Ever since Wyatt had unknowingly jilted her, her annoyance with him had stayed on a low simmer. She was exhausted from the Townhouse shoot that morning--less because of the shoot than her troub
led conscience over how she had treated her mother--and yearned to chase down Rita and make things right. But Wyatt had refused to let her cancel their plans. "Trip says he's in love with Eloise. So how can he live with making her so unhappy?" she asked. The wind slapped at her bare legs, goose-bumping her skin.

  "'Men marry because they're tired,'" Wyatt quoted. "Maybe Trip's not tired yet. I put Dorian Gray on your reading list, right?"

  "I read it in high school. Come on, I know you're not that cynical. You were raised by lovebirds. I'm not even that cynical, and my mother was always fuzzy about the identity of my dad. The best she could offer was a short list of candidates, two of whose last names she'd never known."

  "I guess life in Dayville was more fun than you make it out to be," he said teasingly. "Anyway, you can't seriously think it's wise for Trip to propose if his heart isn't in it."

  Lucy exhaled in frustration, her breath creating a brief cloud. "Let's just take the subway. The President's in town--traffic will be horrible."

  "The subway?" Wyatt looked pained.

  "The subway. Or can't you stand such proximity to the great unwashed?" She began walking toward Lexington. "Maybe you'd rather wait for Mark, who's probably stuck in traffic, and then inch your way down to Prince Street. I'm sure Mimi won't mind if you're an hour late to Jack's surprise dinner."

  "You're in some mood tonight." Wyatt followed her, shaking his head. "Is your mom all set up at your old place?"

  "Yeah. She went kicking and screaming, but she went." She hadn't told Wyatt about Rita's nearly disastrous appearance at the shoot. No doubt he'd panic about the risk she posed to their experiment. Lucy didn't want to think about that.

  "Would she be more comfortable somewhere else? I could put her up at the St. Regis or something."

  Lucy, softening, slowed down so that they were walking in sync again. "That's very generous of you, Wyatt, but my old apartment is perfectly fine. Rita's already made it look like home. Besides, I don't want to add the St. Reg to my tab."

  "Don't worry about the cost. You said she was a big help with the dresses for Townhouse, right?"

  Wyatt had Rita's back? She looked at him. Lately, he'd been saying the opposite of what she expected more and more. "Come on," she said, taking his arm. "There's a Number Six train with your name on it."

  "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," said Cornelia, stretching her fingers flat on the makeshift manicure table like a cat fanning its paws. "I raced here straight from the shoot." Rita's "salon," a grubby Murray Hill studio draped in cheetah-print fabric, heightened her suspicions that Rita was more than a mere manicurist to Lucy Ellis. Then again, Cornelia had given that creepy hair guy on the Lower East Side steady business until she found mouse skeletons under his bathroom sink. "My nails are a mess. I haven't had a decent paint job in days."

  Rita inspected Cornelia's fingers, holding them so close to her face that Cornelia could feel her breath. Ew. This had better be worth it.

  "Have you considered acrylics?" Rita asked.

  "Acrylic nails? Um, no. Can't say that I have."

  "You should." Rita whipped out a black plastic box from underneath her table. In glittery letters across the top were the words RITA'S ARTISTIC ACRYLICS. "I've got a whole line of 'em. You might like the set with the Hollywood sign?" She held up the long green nails. "No? How about the many loves of Jack Nicholson? I just silk-screened that skinny Lara Flynn Boyle girl on the pinky."

  "How about a regular manicure? Do you have Sheer Bliss?"

  "Sheer Boredom, you mean?" Rita pantomimed a yawn. "C'mon. At least let me give you the Anjelica Huston thumbnail."

  "Gimme all ten. I wouldn't dream of breaking up a collection." If she wanted to get the dish on Lucy, Cornelia knew she'd have to commit. Besides, Lucy's nails always looked fine. If she trusted this lady--

  "Good choice!" Rita clapped her hands like a cheerleader. "Excellent choice."

  Cornelia settled back in her chair. Time to get down to business. "So how'd you and Lucy meet in the first place?"

  Rita looked perplexed. "Lucy and me? Why, I guess I've just known her forever."

  Cornelia frowned. Answering the question seemed to make Rita a bit emotional. Interesting. Worth probing. "So you must know Wyatt really well, too."

  "Oh, of course. Sweetheart of a fella, that Wyatt."

  Now I know she's lying. "Yeah? Think there's something between them? I adore Lucy, but you know how tight-lipped she can be."

  Rita peered at Cornelia's thumb. "I don't know. She wouldn't tell me that sort of thing, either." Was it Cornelia's imagination, or did Rita seem a little sniffly over her lack of insider info? "Lucy Jo is very private."

  "Lucy Jo?" That was a new one.

  "I mean Lucy." Rita looked flustered. "I have another client named Lucy Jo. I swap their names up all the time. Sweet girl, Lucy Jo."

  Cornelia didn't know exactly what she was after from this woman, but she knew she wasn't getting it. "How long have you been in New York, Rita?"

  "Not long, but I love it. Finally a city that can keep up with me!" She grabbed Cornelia's hand and pulled it closer again, filing the top of her nail to prep it for the acrylic. "How about you?"

  "Oh, born and bred. But back to--"

  "I guess your parents gave you everything your heart desired, didn't they?" Rita paused, almost wistful, before applying the first coat of toxic-waste glue to Cornelia's nail. Then she pressed it with the nail, which featured a garish portrait of Michelle Phillips. "You all real close?"

  "Me and my parents? I see them twice a year. The whole family congregates for an annual meeting each spring. And every November, my mother throws herself a lavish birthday party and expects me to show up, even though she practically ignores me."

  Rita nodded, lost in her own thoughts. "Maybe she doesn't know how to make things right. Maybe she wishes she could start over."

  Cornelia hated when barely literate beauticians went Dr. Phil on her. "Yeah, well, too late. She was a miserable mother. Three years in a row, she made the orthodontist rip out my braces in time for her birthday party, and then screw them back on the following week. God forbid I wasn't perfect."

  Rita looked appalled. "I never did anything that bad! And so expensive."

  "So you have kids?"

  "Oh--just the one. A daughter."

  Cornelia stared at the hideous acrylics Rita was gluing onto her fingernails, praying they'd be less painful to remove than her braces. She had to move the conversation back to Lucy. "Lucy's gotten very chummy with Jack, you know. Nicholson." Who cared if it was true or not? "They chat all the time. She was his date for his last premiere."

  Rita looked up, stared at her, and shoved her chair back from the table. "Are you serious? Jack Nicholson? Her date? But she knows he's my all-time favorite leading man! She knows that! How could she keep something like that from me, her own moth--" she stopped herself mid-screech--"her own manicurist!?" And just as quickly as she'd lost her composure, Rita's face seemed to melt. She slumped back in her chair. Rita was crying. Sobbing, really.

  "Rita," said Cornelia, patting the older woman's curly head. Delight flooded every cell of her size-two body. She'd hoped to get a little dirt on her nemesis, but now she sensed there was a landfill overflowing with it. "I can see you're in pain. You need someone to talk to. Why don't we go out for a drink?"

  At first, Wyatt thought that the twenty-something girls across the fluorescent-lit subway car were staring at him. Then he realized that Lucy was the object of their infatuation. Of course she was. She was enviably chic, in a well-cut Libertine blazer and skinny jeans. They probably recognized her from the pages of last month's Vogue.

  "Forgot to tell you," she said offhandedly. She hadn't noticed the girls. "Margaux Irving's office called. They'd like me to auction off the gown I'm going to wear to the Forum Ball. You know, the gown I've been working on with Doreen and Eloise. All proceeds go to the museum. Of course, I told them I'd be honored."

  Wyatt felt h
is spirits lift. The one salve for his conscience was witnessing her growing success as a designer. "That's terrific. Just think, you'll be up there, onstage, in front of the fashion world, in the gown you made--"

  "Alongside gowns by Ralph Rucci, Vera Wang, Ralph Lauren--" Lucy gulped, looking into his eyes with sudden panic. "Wyatt, it'll be like a battle of the peacocks up there! What the hell was I thinking?"

  26

  To: mallorykeeler@townhouse.net

  From: cornelia@rockman.net

  Status: URGENT

  Subject: will be 20 minutes late xoooxxxoo

  Cornelia had spent an hour pulling together the sexy secret agent look. Stepping out of her Town Car into the dank morning rush-hour air of Midtown Manhattan, she turned up the collar on her trench coat and tucked the incriminating manila envelope into her Louis Vuitton tote. Inside it was more ammo on Lucy Ellis than she'd ever dreamed of having in her arsenal.