Spring Collection

by Judith Krantz

  “Nope, I won’t give you advice,” Aiden agreed, joining her without ceremony, and looking into her eyes with such flaming, uncomplex, uncompromising tenderness that she shivered, and lowered her lids. “But, on another subject, do you think you might possibly consider marrying me?”

  “I think … perhaps … maybe … I could,” Justine allowed, burying her nose in his neck so that he couldn’t read her astonished face. “Consider it, that is.”

  “How long will it take to decide?”

  “Oh, I’ve decided already.” She managed to keep her voice light and wonderfully careless, as decades of fearing to trust any man crumbled in seconds, and a conviction of absolute rightness took the place of all her well-cultivated defenses.

  “Justine!”

  “I’ll tell you later.” She smiled infuriatingly, savoring a last moment of maidenly hesitation. Aiden had built his fortress right in the middle of her unwilling heart.

  “When?”

  “There’s sure to be a right time eventually … maybe when we’ve gotten to know each other better, maybe when Rufus is ready to share you.”

  “Justine!” He grabbed her threateningly. “Yes or no?”

  “Okay, okay! Yes. Satisfied now?”

  “ ‘Satisfied’?” he cried, incredulously. “Would it be too banal to say I’m the happiest man in the world? Would that begin to explain how I feel? Do you want me to try and find new words, because if you do, I’ll start thinking and—”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you said it again. That first thing, about being happy, it sounded just right, just enough … would it be too banal to say ‘same here’? Or how about this—I love you as much as life itself?” Justine asked, suddenly intensely serious. “That’s pretty banal too.”

  “I don’t need fancy,” Aiden told her, with sudden tears in his eyes, taken off guard by perfect joy.

  22

  I thought you’d want to know,” Frankie said as soon as she’d been connected to Jacques Necker at his office. “Miss Loring is on her way to Paris.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “She called me to confirm it right before the Concorde took off. She’ll be here tonight, our time, which means she’ll be at the dress rehearsal tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s well enough to fly,” he said flatly.

  “So am I,” Frankie said, wondering why her news wasn’t being greeted with more warmth. She’d been so delighted that she was finally able to give him news of Justine’s arrival that she’d called him the minute she was certain Justine was in the air. Now, instead of sounding joyous and relieved and anxious and excited—all or any of the reactions she’d imagined him having—Necker seemed merely businesslike.

  “Thank you for talking to Tinker last night,” Frankie ventured.

  “Frankly I was amazed at the way she’s let Lombardi take advantage of her. To use her for inspiration is entirely justified, but he has no right to keep her working such long hours, with daily tango lessons on top of it. Couldn’t you have done something to put a stop to this, Miss Severino?”

  “I’ve been trying, Mr. Necker, believe me. But Tinker is more fiercely determined than you imagine and I can’t physically restrain her from working as hard as she wants to. Not a day has passed without my asking her if she’s okay, and she always says she’s fine.”

  “Nevertheless, you should have called me.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d want to be bothered—” And he doesn’t even know about Tom, Frankie thought. Or does he?

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Yes, Mr. Necker. I’ll keep that in mind from now on,” Frankie said meekly.

  After he’d hung up, Jacques Necker sat motionless, staring into space. Of course Justine was only coming to Paris now, at the last moment, because of the threat posed by Dart Benedict, he had no illusions on that subject. But she would be right here, in his city, within his grasp, and between the dress rehearsal and the collection itself, there would be dozens of natural opportunities for him to see her. She had to be as aware of that as he was.

  How should he handle this chance? His daughter had no idea of the extent of his remorse for the past. All she knew about him was whatever damning things her mother had told her. But he’d been too pigheaded to let that fact deter him, warn him, even, at the very least advise him of how set Justine must be against him.

  No, he’d gone right ahead and done the most unwise, ill-considered thing he could have done; he’d overreached. From the day he’d conceived of the Lombardi contest, he’d overreached every time he’d tried to take a step toward his daughter. Mistake, mistake, mistake! That damn desk, he must have been insane! He knew so much about Justine now, he mused, so much he would never have known without Jordan.

  From everything Jordan had told him, he could conjure up Justine’s prickly sense of self, her need to achieve on her own, her fierce attachment to her independence. She clung to her ideas and her ideals, she was unyielding, she was loyal, she had a sense of fairness that made her stubborn to a fault. He understood her because he was like her. Or was Justine like him? Could character, flaws as well as strengths, be inherited without contact between father and daughter? No matter—now, when he stopped to put himself in her place, he could see how his tyrannical pursuit, his entrapment, if you called it by its right name, had only served to make any future approach more difficult.

  He couldn’t make another mistake, Jacques Necker resolved. He would leave Justine alone. He wouldn’t lift a finger toward a rapprochement. Unless they were actually brought face-to-face by some unforeseen event, he wouldn’t make the slightest gesture toward her, not so much as sending flowers to the hotel.

  Justine had had months to take his measure, she knew how far he’d go to get to her, yet she’d never found it in her heart to give him a chance. Not even curiosity had made her read his letters. If that was the way she felt about him, realistically there was nothing he could do to change her. The next move was up to her. If there was to be a next move.

  Justine moved into action as soon as she reached the Plaza. She had her bags put into the bedroom, tracked down April and asked her to come to the suite immediately. April obeyed, too astonished by the sound of Justine’s voice to mention that she and Maude were on their way out to a late dinner.

  “My, my,” Justine said as she kissed her, “I’m not sure I would have recognized you on the street, but I like what I see.”

  “You do! I thought you were going to be horrified,” April breathed in relief, her new swagger only skin deep in Justine’s magisterial presence.

  “Not at all. Sometimes there’s a look like yours that’s so strong in one modality that we’re blinded by it. I thought of you as the next great classic blond, but in a way that everyone understands. Now there’s nothing classic left. You’ve achieved a look nobody else has, and that’s the one thing a top girl has to have. I just wish I’d thought of it myself.”

  “Maude thinks I look freakish,” April blurted.

  “Ah, but then Maude’s not in the business,” Justine said crisply. “The thing is that you’re not just a divine vanilla blond, you’re a red-hot, musky blond, and nothing can beat that. All you need to modify is your hair, otherwise, you’re magnificent. But your hair’s on the verge of punk, and we’ve been there before and we don’t want to go back, do we? Let me find out exactly what that hairdresser did.” Justine ran her fingers through the wild remains of April’s once-glorious hair, pushing it this way and that without managing to make any change in its comic-book frizz.

  “Was this permed, after the bleach job and the cut? No? Just set? That’s a piece of luck. You’ve got enough split ends as it is. Frankie, look in my cosmetic case. There’s some gel there and a comb.”

  When Frankie returned, the three women went into one of the bathrooms, and April sat on the toilet lid while Justine dampened her hair and carefully rubbed gel into her platinum disaster.

  “See, April, you can’t hav
e too many things going on or people won’t know where to focus. Now your mouth and your eyes are both dynamite so I’m going to take the hair way down. A gent’s look, I think, from the Arrow Collar days … always loved that handsome guy.”

  She parted April’s hair sharply on one side and combed it back from her face. There was enough of it to form a low, smooth pompadour that fell just behind April’s lovely ears, in small points, emphasizing the beauty of her skull. Suddenly the heavy makeup April wore, combined with the severely modern, shingled hair, fell together to make one strong, single statement of outrageous sophistication.

  “Take a look in the mirror,” Justine told her. “No, the full-length mirror, or you won’t get the full effect.”

  “Oh, my God! It’s divine … but you don’t think it’s too … too … boyish?”

  “You’ve never looked more feminine,” Justine said honestly. “A man’s hairstyle on a girl with that great big emphasized mouth of yours, and those enormous Dietrich eyes, creates an elegant sexual tension you’d never get with curls or long hair. It’s a bit Berlin in the thirties, I admit, but not boyish. Ambiguous, that’s what it is … ambiguous and tantalizing. Now, what’s this I heard about Dart Benedict?”

  “He came after me at the party. He said if I worked quickly he could get me Vogue covers.”

  “And so he could. Two days from now, after the collection, the doorman at this hotel will be able to get you Vogue covers, because Vogue will be coming after you. But I don’t think you’d be happy at his agency.”

  “That’s what Maude said. She’s heard some strange things about him.”

  “All of them true, and more. If you want details, I have them. However, after this collection’s over, I only represent you at your request. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from Dart.”

  “Oh, Justine, I don’t intend to leave you! Not ever! I wouldn’t be in Paris if I hadn’t been at Loring Model Management. I’d still be the same know-nothing, mixed-up child I used to be, with my old mistake of a life.”

  “But it’s just makeup, April, don’t go overboard.” Justine looked puzzled at April’s outburst of words.

  “Ah … yeah … well … I’ll let Frankie fill you in. Bye Justine. Thanks for my hair. Gotta go. Maude’s waiting.”

  April fled the room as Frankie hugged herself, rocking with silent laughter.

  “Will you stop that! What the hell’s so funny?”

  “Oh Lord,” Frankie panted between howls, “oh, Lord have mercy, she came out before fifty people but she’s afraid to tell you!”

  “Came out? As in ‘to come out’? April? April’s gay?”

  “For the moment anyway.”

  “With—Maude?”

  “Who else?”

  “Damn! I missed all the fun. You might have said something in your phone call.”

  “I thought I’d let you find out for yourself. No sense in spoiling all the surprises around here.”

  “Hmm … I must have got a subliminal message, that’s undoubtedly why I thought of the gent’s cut.”

  “Back in charge, already, I see,” Frankie said, as sarcastically as she could manage.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Oh, Justine, I’m just so damn glad to see you, I don’t know whether to shit or go blind.”

  “Neither, please, my darling mouse. Now, shall I tackle Jordan?”

  “About what? She’s the only one who hasn’t given me a minute’s trouble.”

  “It’s too late to get on Tinker’s case, I suppose?”

  “Even if it weren’t, she isn’t here. She’s at Tom’s.”

  “At Tom’s? Is Tom a man or a woman, Frankie?”

  “A very adorable guy. They’re, and I quote, ‘madly in love.’ ”

  “And when did that start?”

  “The second night we got here.”

  “Frankie, I’m beginning to question your performance as a chaperone.”

  “I warned you it wasn’t my gig, not that I didn’t give it my best efforts.”

  “We’ll go see Tinker in the morning. Meanwhile, let’s order dinner in the room.”

  “So you can ask me all about Mike?” Frankie said eagerly.

  “Eventually. First I’ll tell you all about Aiden.”

  “Aiden?”

  “My husband to be,” Justine said with dignity. “Aiden Henderson.”

  “You don’t even know a man named Aiden.”

  “I’ve known him for almost two weeks.”

  “Any other girl on any other planet might, just possibly, get engaged to a guy she’s known for less than two weeks, but not you, Justine. You’re simply not the type. I’m the one with the guy, not you. Stop teasing me.”

  “Do I look as if I’m teasing you?”

  Frankie took a good close look at Justine for the first time since she’d arrived. The changes she had missed, the luminous expression on Justine’s face, the way she said the name “Aiden,” a new lightness of being, almost like a halo, that seemed to emanate from her friend, all rushed at Frankie in one affirmation of an unlikely but unquestionable truth.

  “Caramba!” she shouted.

  “I know. I can’t believe it either.”

  “But … but … how?”

  “He broke my furnace, and then … it’s complicated, but one thing led to another. There was an absolute inevitability.”

  “Ah ha, the old broken furnace ploy! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? That’s a mating call on the molecular level if there ever was one. Or you could blame it on the Bossa Nova. Okay, okay! I’m listening!”

  “I wonder how long that elevator’s been broken,” Justine said as she and Frankie climbed the four flights of stairs to Señora Varga’s studio.

  “Since I’ve been coming here and probably for the last decade. No wonder the Señora is made of steel. Here we are. Don’t ring, she keeps the door open so I can just creep in and wait until she allows Tinker her break.”

  The two women entered quietly and sat down without being noticed. They watched the two dancers for five minutes before the Señora noticed them and reluctantly released Tinker with a few words of praise.

  “Justine! You made it!” Tinker cried. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you, you can’t imagine, it’s so exciting, I’ve never been so excited in my life, did you see me dance, today’s my last lesson, what did you think, I’m getting really good, I never knew I could do this, and wait till you see the clothes, Marco’s finished most of the last-minute changes, and we did a final accessory rehearsal just for me, oh, Justine, there’s so much going on I couldn’t close my eyes last night, Tom tried to make me eat a steak but I couldn’t get it down, not a bite, just soup and bread, that’s all my stomach wants, it’s probably the endorphins, they cut the appetite, all I could think about was the other girls, working with them tonight at the dress rehearsal, Karen, Carla, Helena, did you know Necker finally got them all, even Claudia and Kate and Linda, almost all the top girls, Justine, the real ones, he paid them three times as much as anyone else does because otherwise they don’t do unknowns, not even for GN, it’s going to be so exciting, being out there with them, being the first girl out, opening the show, of course it’s a lot of responsibility but Marco’s sure I can do it, and I have to, Justine, I have to, because that’s the way the show is planned, my first dress, wait till you see it, he’s starting with evening clothes instead of the usual way, with day clothes, it’s a divine coral chiffon, five ruffled skirts, different lengths, very flamenco, they whirl and whirl, it’s cut down to here in the back and here in the front, you can see everything, lucky I’m thinner than I’ve ever been, tiny straps, with a full-length cape made of nothing but hundreds of organza roses in the most beautiful shade of pale, pale, pale yellow, as if there’s a spotlight on me, I take it off at the end of the runway … no … no, what am I saying? … not then, not until just before the end of the runway, facing the photographers, and I don’t drag it in the old way, I lift it a
nd throw it as far as I can backward, to show how light it is, I’ve practiced and practiced—”

  “Sit down, Tinker,” Justine said quietly.

  “Oh, I can’t sit down, it’s easier if I stay on my feet, if I sit down I might never get up and Señora Varga wants one last half hour before she lets me go to Marco, she’s a perfectionist, I wanted to learn another dance, not just the tango, but she wouldn’t let me, said I wasn’t ready, the silly thing is I’ll never be able to dance it with a man because I only know how to lead, isn’t that ridiculous, silly, so silly, it won’t even do me any good on the dance floor, and the silliest thing of all is nobody dances the tango anyway, do they, Justine?”

  Justine stood up and pressed her hands firmly on Tinker’s shoulders. “Sit down, Tinker, you’re overtired.”

  Tinker burst into a passion of tears. “No, no, I’m not,” she kept talking, weeping all the while through her words. “I told Tom I wasn’t, he tried not to let me out of the house this morning, and now you’re telling me the same thing, you want me to be tired, you don’t understand, I can’t be tired, it’s impossible, it’s only another day away, the spring collection, it’s tomorrow, I can’t let the house down, that’s what Marco says, I can’t let them down, you understand, Justine, you know how it is, you understand, don’t you? Frankie, don’t you understand?”

  “Take her other arm, Frankie,” Justine said, locking one of Tinker’s arms in hers. “We’re going to get you some rest, Tinker, so that you’ll be perfect for tomorrow. You’re overrehearsed, that’s the only thing that’s wrong with you. One good day’s rest, and one good night, just till tomorrow and you’ll be perfect, on top of your form, but you need to rest, you can understand that, can’t you, Tinker?”

  “But the Señora …”

  “I’ll say good-bye for you, you can come and see her after the collection if you want to, now we’ll go back to the hotel and put you to bed.”