If Tripp really did love me, then maybe he had a different definition of love. My definition, for one, did not involve cheating.
“Mother, I really should be getting to bed,” I said. “I have the Carolina Herrera show tomorrow morning and I’m meeting a friend for breakfast and, honestly, I’m exhausted.”
She frowned at me.
“I’m sure Tripp and I will talk. I just can’t begin to wrap my head around this yet.”
“All right, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll touch base tomorrow.”
She kissed me on the head.
The next morning, I was actually grateful to have the Carolina Herrera show—and breakfast with May—as a distraction.
As I hopped into a cab outside of my building, I wasn’t sure if I was even going to mention the previous evening’s events. But for all I knew, she’d already heard something via Harry.
Walking into the iconic, light-filled Palm Court, I knew it was just what the doctor ordered. Even though I wasn’t in my best frame of mind, it was hard not to feel hopeful and optimistic amidst the grandeur of Eloise’s room.
May arrived just a few moments after my cappuccino. She was wearing a black, high-waisted skirt; a white silk blouse; a black motorcycle jacket; and taupe Alexander Wang fringed booties. I looked like her polar opposite in a cobalt-blue Carolina Herrera dress and sparkly MiuMius, but who said I had to look like May, or anyone else for that matter? Maybe there was something freeing about the prospect of being completely independent, a single girl in New York.
“Oh, Minty,” May said, “you’ll have to forgive me, I just got the news on my way over here and I’m not sure it’s hit me yet.”
What was she talking about? If she was referring to my fight with Tripp, she was being a little dramatic.
“May, I’m sorry,” I said, confused. “Is everything all right?”
“You didn’t hear?” She gulped. “You seriously didn’t hear? Oh God.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Tabitha,” she said. “Tabitha Lipton.”
“What about Tabitha?”
May took a deep breath. “She almost died last night.”
I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand.
“She was vacationing in Anguilla with a few friends,” May continued. “And she disappeared from the yacht. She was missing for over an hour!” May’s eyes welled up. It was surprising to see someone like her, who was always so composed, on the verge of tears. “Luckily—” She paused. “Sorry, but she’s kind of a friend.” I shook my head, telling her to go on. “Luckily she’s okay, apparently. She’s just a bit banged up with a sprained ankle. But she gave everyone a big scare. I thought you’d heard.”
Had Tripp been talking to Tabitha the night before? Or had someone called to let him know she’d gone missing?
“Oh my God, May!”
I placed my hand on my chest. I was breathing so heavily, I felt like I was going to pass out.
May nodded, her eyes red and watery. “To be honest with you, Minty,” she said, “Tabitha can be pretty dramatic sometimes. I have a feeling it may have just been a cry for help gone wrong. But it’s still jarring.”
I nodded.
“I guess if we’re being honest,” I said, “you should know that Tripp and I had a major clash last night, after the engagement party.”
May raised an eyebrow.
“I overheard him on the phone with someone,” I continued. “He was reassuring someone or telling someone everything would be okay and he called whoever this person was ‘sweetie.’ I ran out before he could say anything. I couldn’t handle it.”
“Oh wow,” May said. “I would be freaking out if I were you.”
“Oh, believe me,” I said, “I am. You didn’t hear anything, did you?”
I couldn’t help but ask. I had no reason to believe that May was completely on my side. She was dating Tripp’s best friend. I barely knew her. The little I did know did not paint the most flattering picture.
“About last night?” she asked. “No. The last I saw you two, you looked completely in love!”
Hmmm; it seemed like she was being sincere.
“Listen, Minty,” she said, pursing her lips. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I have some experience with this kind of thing.”
I nodded.
“And there’s nothing I can say to make this better.” She paused. “But there’s one thing you should know if you’re going to survive in a relationship with a guy like Tripp.”
I cocked my head to the side, intrigued.
“Monogamy is not part of the deal,” she said.
Wow, I thought. I’d never seen her more serious.
“I’m not saying it’s right,” she continued. “I’m not saying you should accept it. But it’s reality.”
I didn’t really know how to react to that statement. Part of me felt like she was stating the obvious. Another part of me couldn’t help but wonder, Is that really how it works? Is it really just “part of the deal”? Am I being unrealistic?
When I remained silent, May sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Anyway,” she said, her expression morphing from serious to exuberant, “let’s talk about something happy. What’s your seat assignment for Carolina? I hope we’re together!”
If Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade
I never made it to the Carolina Herrera show. I finished up breakfast with May, expressed my deepest regrets, and hopped in a cab home.
As excited as I was to even be invited, I just couldn’t bring myself to sit and smile at a fashion show when I felt like everything that mattered to me was a lie. I was brought up to believe in things like true love, fidelity, and marriage. Basically, May was telling me those things weren’t possible with Tripp.
I had just taken off my coat when the buzzer rang. My doorman said that Tripp was coming up.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door.
He was wearing sweatpants, sneakers (never a good sign), and an old overcoat. As he walked past me, I noticed he was holding something under the overcoat and that “something” was moving.
“What do you have under there?” I asked, reaching under his coat.
He swatted me away. “Give me a second,” he said.
He sat down. “I’m thinking you’ve heard about Tabitha,” he said.
I nodded. “May told me.”
“She’s in the hospital but she’s going to be fine.”
“Thank God,” I said sarcastically. I surprised myself, it came out so quickly. Even Tripp looked taken aback. Then again, what did he expect? Was I really supposed to feel sorry for the woman who may or may not have been my husband’s mistress?
His coat moved again and he adjusted his hand.
“Tripp, what do you have in your coat?”
He ignored my question. “In a minute,” he said, petting whatever was underneath there. What was it? A bunny rabbit? A gerbil? It couldn’t have been any larger than a kitten. I narrowed my eyes.
“We’ve been over this a million times, Minty,” he said. “I told you there’s nothing going on.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure I can believe that.”
I’d read somewhere that when a person is lying and their lie is being met with resistance, they usually react with rage and anger. A person telling the truth will react with sadness, something close to defeat.
Tripp stared at the floor. Then he started tapping his foot, like a nervous tic. The tapping traveled up his body until it reached his fingers and suddenly every part of him was shaking in one way or another. At the same time, his neck flushed red, his face turned the color of a turnip, and he clenched his fists. I instinctively jumped back, thinking there was a possibility he might react physically. I’d never seen him so enraged. I could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest.
“Jesus Christ!” he screamed, standing up. He deposited the tiniest little Chihuahua I’d ever seen in my life o
n the floor. I gasped. “What the hell do you want me to say? What are you going to do, hire a fucking private investigator to follow me around? Tap my phone? Listen to my voice mails?!”
“What is that?!” I stared at the tiny, quivering animal.
“Should I get up in front of a jury and swear under oath that I am not having an affair with Tabitha Lipton?”
His voice was so loud, so bellowing, I was sure the neighbors could hear. Great, I thought, another item for “Page Six” to run with.
“Tripp, I—I can’t,” I stuttered, bending toward the ground and staring at the little creature. “Did you get me a—a dog?” Clearly, he’d gotten me a dog.
He ignored me, continuing on.
“The last thing I need is you, of all people, bringing up old bullshit that I thought we’d moved past already.” He ran his fingers through his hair. The veins in his temples were popping out. “I haven’t seen Tabitha in months. From what I hear, she went on vacation to clear her head and get away from everything. But I only know that because her sister explained everything when she called last night. I was on the phone with Tabitha’s sister last night when you walked in.”
Tabitha’s sister, huh? Wow. Okay, so he’d worked this out in his head. I had questions about that story, too, but I was afraid to speak. He seemed so out of control, so infuriated. I felt like if I said the wrong thing he would really lose it.
“So you were talking to Tabitha’s sister in the room last night?” I asked calmly. I picked up the dog and held it to my chest. I guessed we would address the “Chihuahua in the room” at a later date.
“Yes,” he said. His chest was heaving up and down. He was finally able to take a decent breath.
“You call her ‘sweetie’?”
He looked shocked for a moment. Then he focused.
“She was hysterical,” he said. “I was trying to calm her down.”
I nodded. “I see.”
He finally sat down.
“Tabitha is a very high-profile person. The vultures are going to descend on her, on her family and friends, and it’s not going to be pretty.” He shook his head. “There are going to be stories coming out, just like the ones people tell about you tripping that girl on the runway—fake stories—and some people are going to believe them.” He paused. “Look at me, Minty.”
I stared back at him.
“I need you to stand by me on this one. I need to know that my wife is on my side.” He gulped. “Because you’re all I have right now. You’re the only person I can really trust.”
I just looked at him. I wasn’t sure what to say. Did I believe him in my heart of hearts? No. Did I want to believe him? Yes. And, at the center of it all, I loved him. I hated myself for it, but I did.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m stunned. Not to mention this.” I held the dog up in the air. I couldn’t help but smile.
His body relaxed a bit.
“I was on my way over here and I saw her in the window of that shelter down the street,” he said. “I couldn’t resist. The people at the shelter have been calling her Tiny, but they said she can probably learn a new name if you really want to change it.”
My heart melted. Tripp did know how to distract a lady.
“Mrs. Jelly Belly,” I said out loud.
“Mrs. what?”
“After the jelly beans,” I said. “She has a round, little white tummy like a marshmallow-flavored jelly bean.”
He shook his head. “Okay, then. ‘Belly’ for short?”
“Exactly,” I said. Couldn’t we just talk about the dog for the rest of our lives?
“Listen.” He leaned in closer, changing the subject. “I can imagine what it looked like, what it sounded like. But Tabitha’s sister was panicking. She kept calling and calling from a restricted number so I finally picked up. She was obviously in a state and I didn’t want to get you involved so I took the call in the guest room. I certainly never expected that type of news, especially in the middle of our engagement party. And then when you left, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, to be honest.”
“Got it,” I said.
Inside, I was numb. I felt like a bad actress reciting her lines. But he didn’t pick up on any of the irony in my tone. Honestly, he just seemed relieved I wasn’t calling my lawyer.
“I love you,” he said, running his hand down the side of my face. I gazed up at him.
I loved him too. But I also hated him. I hated the fact that I had ever met him in the first place, that I’d fallen in love with him when I was fifteen. I hated that he’d suddenly reappeared in my life. I hated that part of me believed his stories. Part of me rationalized that it was a normal thing for Tabitha’s sister to call Tripp in a panic, that it was a normal thing for Tripp to call anyone other than me “sweetie.” I had no control over these feelings. They just came to me and I gave in.
He frowned and looked at me, waiting for some sort of reaction, probably hoping that I would reassure him that I believed him and everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t bring myself to go that far.
“I just hate that all of this is happening and I have to leave in a few hours for London,” he said.
I sat up, startled.
“Oh my God,” I said, “that’s right.”
“I know,” he said, “it’s a mess but I have no choice. They’re expecting me first thing in the morning. You understand, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“I promise this will work itself out,” he said, stroking my face. “Do you believe me?”
“Of course,” I said. It was an outright lie.
After Tripp left, I did what any self-respecting southern girl does when she’s feeling like her world is crashing in around her. I packed up my new Chihuahua in a Chanel handbag and went shopping.
On the corner of Sixty-sixth and Madison, the Oscar de la Renta boutique loomed. Just days before, my mother and I had mapped out a plan to spend all of Monday tackling the best ateliers in the city: Vera Wang, Carolina Herrera, Reem Acra, and, yes, Oscar. So many people I knew had gone to large stores to find their wedding dress, but my mother insisted on the personal experience of the New York flagship boutique. You had to make an appointment, of course.
I stopped in front of the window. The clothes were impeccably styled and tailored, right down to the most delicate buttons and nearly undetectable seams. I peered past the dress forms and into the shop. And there, in the center of the room, was one of the most gorgeous wedding gowns I had ever seen.
At first it reminded me of a tulip upside down, the way the skirt bloomed from the pink satin sash at the waist and cascaded toward the floor. The top portion of the dress was sheer, sleeveless, and covered in delicate embroidery. It was love at first sight.
I stood there and stared.
I was standing in front of the window, daydreaming about the dress, when I heard an all-too-familiar voice coming up behind me.
“Why, don’t you look like a sad, lost puppy.”
“Mother!” I swiveled around and Belly popped her head out of the bag.
“My lord, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, glaring at Belly.
“Tripp’s guilt present,” I explained.
“Christ.” She rolled her eyes, looking up at the Oscar de la Renta sign. “What are you going to do with a dog?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I should be furious he got it for me, but there’s something comforting about having her around.”
My mother’s eyes softened.
“Your doorman said you were headed up Madison, so I figured I’d find you here.”
“Mommy.” My lower lip quivered. She knew me too well.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.” She put her arm around me.
“No it’s not,” I said. “I really don’t think it’s going to be all right.”
“We’ll make it better.”
“
How?”
She peered through the window. Her eyes focused directly on the gown.
“By trying on that dress to start,” she said, pointing through the window.
“I’d marry pretty much anyone if it meant I could wear this dress,” I said.
“Don’t say that.”
I closed my eyes. “I love him,” I said. “I really do. I want this to work, but things are not good.”
“Well, every couple hits bumps along the road, especially in the beginning,” she said. “Anyway, you do have a wedding in the works that, God willing, will happen. So you need a dress. Better to be overprepared than underprepared.” She opened the door to the boutique. “Shall we?”
Stepping into the Oscar de la Renta boutique on Madison Avenue feels like stepping into an enchanted kingdom. There is glamour, of course, but also a personal touch, as if Mr. de la Renta himself has invited you into his home.
We were immediately greeted by Geny, a petite saleswoman with an Eastern European accent. She had spied us gazing at the dress from the street and knew exactly where to begin.
“A bride-to-be, I see,” she said, arranging for the gown to be placed in the private dressing suite.
I deposited the Chanel bag with Belly in it on the floor of the dressing suite (she was sound asleep, already so well behaved!) and we spent a few moments perusing the wedding dresses displayed in the salon. How could we not? It was like standing in the middle of the Costume Institute at the Met. Some of the dresses were so structured and voluminous that they stood up on their own. They made the debutante gown I wore to the Frick look like a fancy nightgown. But I’d always been decisive, and the second I saw the dress with the pink sash in the window, I knew it was exactly what I was looking for. Now I just had to try it on.
The dressing room had its own little settee. The lighting was flawless. I made a mental note to ask Geny what kind of bulbs they used so I could get them for my apartment.
She helped me fasten the dress, which had a teeny tiny corset and a hidden zipper up the side. I poked my head out of the room. As much as I loved the dress and felt amazing wearing it, I knew Mother was the final test.
Southern Charm Page 19
