Julia walked to her office and logged on to her brand-new e-mail account—she was thrilled to be considered a real employee with a full cyber identity. It seemed her brown bow–tying days were over. If all went well, that is.
“Hi there,” said Lell from the doorway. “How are you finding the new office?”
“Oh,” said Julia, surprised to see her boss. “So great, I love this! I cannot tell you how excited I am to be working with you up here. Thank you.”
Julia paused as she saw Lell studying her from head to toe with an appraising eye. She was now more grateful than ever at having let Douglas and Lewis talk her in to the new jacket. She shifted awkwardly under Lell’s gaze, unsure whether or not to acknowledge that she was being summed up as if she was a contestant on America’s Next Top Model or if she should pretend to be busy with something. But what? It was her first day. Finally Lell looked her in the eyes.
“Let’s get started.”
The morning was spent poring over the new collection, discussing press, and setting up appointments for Julia to meet with celebrity stylists. Julia was reticent and decided it was appropriate to be quiet and not a know-it-all on her first day. After all, she didn’t want to be too audacious and opinionated. Even though it did seem like Lell kept coaxing her to give her opinion. But maybe Lell was just being nice? Better to play it safe and just nod at whatever Lell said, that’s what the other lackeys were doing. Just listen intently and try to suck it all in.
Initially, she had believed that Lell’s job was just a bullshit title, but she was discovering she was wrong. Although it seemed that Lell was just saying yes or no to everything, which in essence she was, Lell was also trying to update Pelham’s image, and that was no easy task. Especially when people were bringing her some piles of jewelry that looked like they belonged in a Ross Dress-for-Less rather than Pelham’s. A few times, Julia had to do everything in her power not to say something. That was one area she felt totally confident in: jewelry. She had studied and admired it her entire life, and she read every book and knew who had owned every important collection in the world. It had always been her obsession. Her dream was to be at the helm of her own company, designing jewelry that made its owner feel a little more glamorous. She wanted to make simple, elegant pieces that created sentimental attachments: a stunning but sleek mongrammed locket, an engagement ring with delicate old-world appeal, a bracelet that would make any wrist appear more feminine and sweet. She had a clear vision and taste that guided her all the way; she knew that she knew what people wanted.
After three hours of hard work, Lell and Julia strolled a few blocks to the Colony Club, Lell’s cafeteria. Over arugula and endive salad, Lell probed Julia on her love life.
“So there’s no one out there at the moment?”
“No, not really, you know, just adjusting to living here still, but I’m having a blast.”
“And who was that guy you brought to my wedding? Gay, right?”
Julia didn’t even realize Lell had spotted them at all. “Oh, Douglas? Yes. He and his boyfriend, Lewis, are my best friends here. Doug works at Pelham’s also.”
“He does?” Lell raised a perfectly groomed brow. Yes, he did kind of look familiar. She didn’t really notice most of the worker bees on the floor. “Right. Well maybe we can involve him in our team, too . . .”
Julia felt a rush of excitement. “That would be fucking amazing!” Oops! How could she curse in front of her new boss? Yikes.
Lell made a grimace. “I hope you won’t use language like that around the office.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Julia, reddening. Fuck.
Lell moved on. “Listen, Julia, I think it’s important that we talk about some ground rules.”
Shit. Fired on my first day, thought Julia, panicking.
“Don’t get that face, it’s nothing bad,” said Lell, smiling.
“Sorry, it’s just you sounded like my seventh-grade science teacher when he was about to fail me. I sucked at science.”
“No, nothing like that.”
Julia exhaled a sigh of relief that could have blown up a balloon. “Good.”
“Well, I bet you’re wondering why I brought you in on my team. As you can imagine, I get thousands of résumés a day. Thousands. From debutantes, trust fund babies, former starlets. Even girls with royal titles have applied to be my deputy. Everyone wants to work for me.”
“I’m sure! It’s like the coolest gig in town.”
Lell meticulously squirted lime in her Perrier and paused to take a small sip. Julia was amazed that she didn’t even leave the slightest hint of lipstick on the rim of the crystal glass.
“Anyway, my number-one priority is discretion. As you can recall from my wedding day, I don’t like to have people who are loose-lipped working close to me. I don’t gossip about my coworkers, and I expect—no, no, demand the same from them. Besides the fact that we have no friends in common, you don’t seem the type to waste time on meretricious persiflage.”
Meretricious persiflage? What the hell was that? “Of course not. I am like a vault, like that episode of Seinfeld. The buck stops here, with me.” Julia felt stupid, but what could she say? And God, what had she told Douglas so far? She’d need to put a filter on that.
“I didn’t think so. Because gossip is really just tacky and harmful,” said Lell, dabbing her napkin on her lips. Again, no lipstick came off. Amazing. “In fact, there are two girls that I’m sort of friends with, and they have a book deal to write about twenty-something Park Avenue debutantes. I think it’s really shameful and tacky.”
“That’s terrible.”
Lell waved her hand in disgust and continued. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, tight lips, tight hips, and tight ships. That’s one of my mottoes.”
Julia nodded because her mouth was full with salad. As soon as she swallowed she said, “Absolutely.”
“So that’s really rule number one. Another thing,” said Lell, pushing the organic leaves around her plate. “It’s not just that you’re some random girl and that’s why I hired you. I also think that you seem to have a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t know what it is about you. I mean, your clothes are not expensive, but you definitely have style. I’ve noticed it. And I’ve noticed customers noticing it.”
“You have?”
“I have a camera where I can watch what transpires on the main floor.”
Julia gulped. Holy George Orwell. She’d definitely have to warn Douglas. Maybe Lell had microphones everywhere also. Scary. Like that terrible Billy Baldwin–slash–Sharon Stone movie. Yuck.
“Really?”
“Yes. And the way you swooped in and styled the girls and my dress at the wedding—you have it. You could be a sittings editor at Vogue. You just get the look. But it’s quirky. Cool. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t hire you to be a mute in my office. I want to know your opinion on things. I don’t need another yes-man in my life.”
This last part didn’t quite seem true. Although she probably was sincere and did want Julia to tell her the truth, she would bet her eyeballs that a girl like Lell could never have enough yes-men.
“I’m really flattered.”
“You should be. This is a really great opportunity for you. I want you to come to me with ideas, information, things you think are problems, and, most of all, solutions. Another one of my mottoes is, ‘Don’t only be a problem identifier. Be a solution finder.’ ”
“That’s a good one.” Weird that she has so many mottoes, thought Julia.
“The rest, we’ll just figure out as we go along.”
“Sounds great.”
It did sound great, but also nerve-racking. Lell was so confident, and obviously had such a distinct idea about everything, yet she was so hard to read. Julia could foresee a lot of these little chats down the road. And although she knew the payoff would be worth it, there was something that made her a little nauseous.
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“Moving along. I’m going to host a dinner for my husband’s birthday next week, and I’d love you to come, if you’re free.” It seemed more of a demand than an invitation. “The New York Times’ Style section will be covering it for the Good Company column so we should go get outfitted this week.”
“Okay, I mean, me too?”
“Of course. You’re a representative of Pelham’s now, and I need you in designer duds when the press is around. I’ll call Monsieur de la Renta this afternoon.”
“You’re joking . . .” This was too surreal.
Lell looked at her quizzically. “No. You must look the part, as they say.”
“That’s amazing, holy sh—oot!”
Lell bristled at the near-use of the s-word.
“Sorry,” said Julia.
Whoops. Julia made a mental note-to-self to can the curses. It was just that, except for the Barney’s splurge, Julia never wore anything but stuff she’d shopped for in Williamsburg or the East Village. The idea of actually donning thousand-dollar threads was almost too insane. She didn’t even bother to salivate over the pages of Vogue; she knew she’d never be able to afford any of it. She just drank in the fantastic sexy images and let the styles enter her via osmosis. She’d later channel the candied visions into purchases that maybe evoked the glossy editorials but with her own stamp of downtown edge and vintage flair.
“Ohmigod! What have we here?” boomed Polly, who had just walked into the dining room. “A little ladies’ lunch?” She glanced at Lell’s plate. Arugula, natch. “You and your rabbit food! Could you please eat something? The honeymoon’s over, no bikini for several months!”
Lell just smiled. She hated being monitored by Polly. She was always their group’s food police.
Meanwhile, Polly was also looking Julia over head to toe, before turning to examine Mrs. Banks. “So, Lell, Henny and I are in for Will’s party on Saturday. So psyched. What to wear? I have got to do Madison this afternoon. I am so busy I could die! Plus I have to buy a dress for Lila Meyer’s engagement to that cockney person. And I need to storm Bonpoint to get Quint an outfit for Keeley Kincaid’s first birthday party. I am swamped!”
Julia could not believe what these people considered to be work—she would kill for their chores!
“So, are you guys going to the FADD ball next week?” asked Polly.
“Willoughby and I took a table,” replied Lell coolly. Of course she’d be at one of the biggest charity balls of the winter season. I mean, as if she would ever miss a Fight Attention Deficit Disorder, come on! Lell turned to her lunch companion. “Julia’s joining us at our table.”
She is? “That is so nice of you, thanks.” She was so honored that Lell was extending such a generous invitation. Douglas would freak.
But the only one freaking at the moment was Polly. She decided to ratchet it up a notch.
“Hey Julia, that reminds me, I am cochair of the steering committee for the Junior Ball for FIBS, you know, Fight Against Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and we are always looking for new pretty young things to add to our gang . . . How about it?”
Julia looked at Lell, who made a small grimace despite her best efforts to maintain a poker face. Should she agree? Lell remained silent so Julia was forced to answer. “Um, okay, I mean what does it entail?”
“Nothing! That’s the fun of it. Valentino’s sponsoring this year so we all get dressed by Mister Garivani, and then we usually do a pre-party in-store event. It’s really fun! All you have to do is buy two tickets.” Polly failed to mention to her new recruit that tickets ran a thousand per head.
Lell knew just what Polly was doing. Julia had the exact knockout looks and fashion flair that would have Patrick McMullan and his posse snapping away with lights flickering as fast as fireflies at a New Canaan summer barbeque.
“Oh come on, Polly. Tickets are a fortune. Julia won’t do that one,” interjected Lell.
Julia felt herself redden, but she was thrilled that Lell saved her. She wondered how much the tickets must cost for Lell to have actually noticed. Three hundred dollars?
“Well, actually, Polly,” said Lell, “I’m just now in the process of sorting out Julia’s charitable commitments. She can’t appear out of nowhere and be omni; however, it is time to make a splash. I’m thinking of putting her on my benefit’s committee—it’s for the Prescott Museum.” She turned to Julia. “You know, on Fifth?”
“Oh sure, the Prescott Museum,” said Julia, certain she had never heard of it. And how much would this splash on the charity circuit cost her? Lell knew how much she made. “Gosh, all these lovely offers. I don’t know how much I can help, I mean financially—”
“No, no, no, Will and I will take a table. You obviously would come as our guest.”
Polly was turning red. She didn’t have daddy’s little fucking family foundation to purchases tables right and left, not to mention the Pelham’s vat o’ dough, which Lell could use as her personal purse for charitable sponsorships.
“Henny and I will take a table, too, for our benefit. Come as our guest, see if you’re into it, and then you can be on next year if you want.”
Julia smiled in polite acceptance, but as she saw Lell’s jaw clench, she started to feel that it wasn’t about her helping hand: she was suddenly feeling like a pawn in Polly and Lell’s sidewalk-sized game of chess.
chapter 11
Polly had been sitting in the back of her town car for forty-five minutes waiting for Julia to exit Pelham’s. She was becoming increasingly annoyed and very impatient. But in order to put her project into effect and to ensure that she had something to do this winter, she had no choice but to wait. Finally she saw the employee door swing open and Julia exit the building, looking around for a second to assess the cold, then tucking her chin into her wool coat.
“Yoo-hoo! Julia!” called Polly out the window of her car. “Over here!”
Julia looked up, surprised, then waved and approached the car.
“I was just passing by and saw you come out. I’m on my way downtown to an important appointment, do you need a lift?”
“Sure, I’d love one, if it’s not out of the way.”
“Hop on in.”
Julia opened the door and got in the back of the car. She smiled gratefully and unwrapped her scarf. “It’s freezing. Thanks so much for the ride.”
“No prob.” Polly looked at Julia appraisingly. She really was eye-catching. The society photographers would love her. But she definitely needed some of Polly’s sense and coaching, in order to maneuver her way through their world.
Julia felt Polly staring at her and tried to chat to break the ice. But she had no idea what to say to Polly. “So um, do you go downtown a lot?”
“Not really. Just when I have this appointment.”
“Oh.”
Silence. Julia attempted again. “So, what do you think about Julia Roberts and—”
Polly waved her hand and stopped Julia before she could finish. “I don’t follow celebrities. They’re overpaid and should become extinct. That’s why I only watch reality television.”
“Oh, I love The Apprentice.”
“Me too. But I really prefer The Bachelor. It’s so much fun watching these guys play with the minds of these idiotic girls. They’re so easily manipulated. Most of them are in mortgage brokerage or pharmaceutical sales. What the hell is that?”
“Yeah, I guess they have to be in some rando profession so they can take a leave of absence in order to move to Malibu, back stab each other, and find the man of their dreams. It’s beyond bizarre and totally hilar-y.”
“You have such a funny way of talking, Julia. All those abbreviations and shorthand. Very clever.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“You really speak your mind.”
“I guess.”
“So how’s your job going?”
“Great. I love it.”
“Good, good.” Polly studied Julia closely. She really was like Silly Putty, just p
rime for molding. This would be easy. “Listen, Julia, as you probably know, you’re now playing with the big boys. And Lelly is great, such a super friend, and so pretty. But sometimes she hurls people into the ocean and it’s like, sink or swim, and they have no lifeboat.”
Julia nodded, unsure where the conversation was going.
“So, I want to help you swim, Julia. I will be your lifeguard. I will help you make it through those choppy waters,” said Polly, touching Julia’s arm to emphasize her point.
Polly felt a warm and cozy sensation envelop her when she realized how charitable she was being. Forget giving money to firemen or African orphans, really helping people, real people, was what it was all about. And Julia needed help. She was green, and left to her own devices, might not be able to handle the social strata she was about to be launched into.
“That’s so sweet, Polly. Thanks.”
“So if you need any help, when we’re out and about, like where to get your bikini line lasered—don’t let anyone tell you to get waxed at the J. Sisters, that is like, so 2001—or if you need to know what forks to use when we’re at a fancy dinner party, just give me a holler.”
“Thanks.”
“So, where do you live?”
“I’m on Seventh Street, but you can just let me out anywhere it’s convenient—”
Before she could finish, Polly interrupted her. “Driver, pull over on this corner.” Polly turned back and looked at Julia. “I’ll let you off here.”
“Oh, okay.” Julia looked around. They were in Nowheresville, on lower Fifth, not near any subway that could remotely take her to her destination. “Thanks so much for the ride.”
“No prob. So listen, don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”
“Thank you so much.”
Julia exited the car, and was left standing on the curb as the car lurched away.
After the whirlwind of her newly catapulted placement at Pelham’s, as well as budding new “friendships” with the likes of Polly Mecox, Julia was more eager than ever to be with the girls whom she volunteered with. So on Saturday morning, she darted out of her apartment Mach ten and leapt on the subway to a place she could always be herself.
Wolves in Chic Clothing Page 6
