“I want to make a vow to you, Becky,” he says, his deep voice filling the chapel, and I jolt in surprise. This wasn’t in the plan. We even talked about it and said, “Shall we?” and then laughed and decided we didn’t need to renew any vows. But here he is on his feet, looking almost startled at his own behavior.
And as I look into his face, I think I know why he’s doing it. It’s because of…stuff. Our own private stuff. What happened in L.A. Seeing Suze and Tarkie stumble and looking at our own marriage in that light. And, maybe most of all, hearing Suze’s news and realizing it’s not us, not this time. Last night, in bed, we talked about it. Way into the night. And…
Well. I can be honest with Luke the way I can’t with anyone else, even Suze. So. He knows.
“I vow…” Luke pauses, as though searching for the right words. I can practically see his mind riffling through possibilities and rejecting them. The truth is, I don’t think he’s going to find them. The truth is, he doesn’t need to find them.
“I know,” I say to him, and my throat is suddenly tight. “I know. I vow too.”
Luke’s eyes are locked on mine, and my head feels a bit swimmy and I wish we had this chapel to ourselves for a good few hours. But we don’t. So, somehow, I get my poise back and nod a couple of times and whisper, “Amen.” Which doesn’t really make sense, but, then, neither does anything else in Las Vegas.
“All righty!” says Elvis, who’s looking a bit confused by Luke’s interjection. “So. Ladies and gentlemen. Let’s love each other tender. Let’s have no more suspicious minds. Uh-huh-huh. By the power invested in me by—”
“Wait. I haven’t finished,” Luke interrupts. “Mother.” He turns to where Elinor is sitting in a back pew, in a black-and-white silk suit so elegant and perfect it makes me want to weep. We reconnected with her in Las Vegas this morning, and she was predictably unfazed by hearing all our plans. Now here she is, sitting upright and composed, with a pillbox hat perched over one eye.
(She always travels with a hat, it turns out. In fact, she was surprised that none of the rest of us had one.)
“I want to make a vow to you too,” Luke continues. “Things will be better between us. I promise.” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll spend time together. Holidays. Fun times. We’ll be a family. If…” He hesitates. “If you like that idea.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Luke and his mother look so similar. They’re gazing silently at each other with those unmistakable dark eyes. His expression is taut and kind of yearning. And so is hers.
“I do.” She nods.
“And I do too!” exclaims Mum, who has definitely had too much champagne. “Of course Elinor’s part of the family.” She leaps to her feet and brandishes her confetti. “I, Jane Bloomwood, vow to honor and respect my son-in-law’s mother, Elinor. And my wonderful neighbor Janice.” She turns to Janice with tears in her eyes. “Janice, where would I be without you? You’re always there for me. In sickness and in health…when my ankle broke…that time the lights fused and you came to our rescue—”
“OK, we need to move on, folks.” Elvis is glancing at his watch. “Uh-huh-huh.” He turns to Suze. “Say after me, ‘I will not step on your blue suede shoes.’ ”
But Suze doesn’t even hear him. She’s too riveted by Mum and Janice.
“Oh, love,” says Janice, looking flustered. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“You gave us your shepherd’s pie, Janice! Your shepherd’s pie!”
“You said we weren’t doing vows.” Dad tugs at Mum’s dress.
“We’re not!” retorts Mum.
“Yes, you are! You’re making vows all over the bloody place!” he says hotly. “So I’m going to make one too.” Dad stands up and turns to face Mum. “I, Graham, swear never to leave you again, my darling Jane. Never.” He grabs Mum and holds her tight. “Never.”
“Enough!” Elvis definitely sounds tetchy. “Folks, you can’t all be making vows. You didn’t pay for this.”
“And I vow always to trust you,” says Mum to Dad, her voice quivering. “And I don’t care where your Big Bonus comes from—I’m proud of you.”
“No more vows!” Elvis practically yells, and at once Danny stands up, a wicked look in his eye.
“I have a vow,” he says brightly. “Elinor, I vow to make you a mind-blowing new wardrobe, if you’ll vow to wear me at the Met Ball.”
“By the power vested in me—” Elvis tries again.
“Sunglasses?” says Minnie, approaching Elvis. She offers him Janice’s white sunglasses, while pointing lovingly at his own spangly shades. “Like sunglasses? Pleeeease?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Elvis erupts. “By the power vested in me by this chapel, I pronounce you committed to one another.” He sweeps a hand round. “All of you. You deserve each other. Fruit loops. Uh-huh-huh.”
EIGHTEEN
Well, if nothing else, our costumes are awesome. Absolutely awesome.
Danny has dressed Luke, Dad, and Tarquin in amazing suits with broad silk ties and sheeny shirts that they would never normally have picked out, in shades of mauve and beige. When he was all dressed up, Luke looked at his reflection in horror and said, “I look like an off-duty gangster,” like that was a bad thing. Honestly, has he actually seen Ocean’s Eleven?
Suze and Elinor are looking super-glam. Elinor, in particular, is wearing thousands of dollars’ worth of high-end clothes, just to reinforce the point that she’s a Major Player, whereas Suze is in a bouclé dress with pearls, because she’s playing Titled Nobility. (She didn’t want to be Titled Nobility. She wanted to be the Amazing Yen, squish herself up in a food trolley, and do a backflip. But, like I keep telling her, there is no Amazing Yen in Becky’s Eleven.)
Danny himself is in jeans and a ripped T-shirt, but that’s OK, because he’s playing himself. Meanwhile, Mum, Janice, and I are all in different versions of the domestic-staff uniform of the Las Vegas Convention Center, which is where everything’s going to take place.
Danny got us the uniforms; I have no idea how, except it was through a “contact.” I’m in a tailored housekeeper’s dress with a badge reading MARIGOLD SPITZ. Janice is in a black dress and little apron—not sure what she’s supposed to be. Part of the catering team, maybe? And Mum has an important-looking jacket and skirt combo. She must be some kind of manager or concierge or something.
The crucial thing is that we’ve got the meeting rooms exactly as I ordered—interconnecting with double doors. I’ve nicknamed one room “Ben” and the other “Jerry’s,” and the doors are firmly shut between them. For now.
“Right.” For the millionth time I survey the team. “Does everyone know what they’re doing?”
I’ve got the Ocean’s Eleven theme music pulsing through my head, because we watched it last night on DVD, to get us in the mood. We also played cards and drank beers and kept saying, “Are you in or are you out?” to one another.
“You’ve got the cupcakes ready?” says Suze, and I produce the box from a side cupboard. I place ten cupcakes on a plate, and for a silent moment the two of us survey it.
“You think we need one more cupcake?” I ask.
Suze doesn’t move. But I can read that little crinkle in her brow.
“You think we need one more cupcake,” I say.
Still she doesn’t move. I know what’s going on here. She’s being Brad Pitt and I’ve got to be George Clooney.
“OK,” I say, deadpan. “We’ll have one more cupcake.” I place the final cupcake on top of the pile and dust down my hands. “We’re set.”
“Corey’s here,” says Luke, looking at his phone, and my stomach gives a heave of nerves. Oh God. He’s here. It’s starting. And just for a moment I feel engulfed by terror. Are we actually, really doing this?
At least Minnie is safely in our hotel room, being looked after by the lovely Judy. (We brought Judy with us from Sedona as a temporary nanny, which was Luke’s idea, and it was a brilliant move.)
“C
yndi’s ten minutes away,” reports Danny, consulting his phone. “It’s on. Good luck, everyone.”
My hands are damp and my heart is suddenly pounding. I half-want to run away and forget we ever planned this. But everyone’s looking at me for instructions. This is my gig, I tell myself firmly. I need to make it happen. And although I’m terrified, I’m exhilarated too.
“OK,” I say briskly. “Party time. Dad, you need to get out of the way. Luke, you head down to the lobby to collect Corey.” Luke nods and strides out of the room, giving me a brief kiss on the way.
“Attagirl,” he whispers in my ear, and I give his hand an answering squeeze.
“Tarkie and Elinor, into Ben,” I instruct. “Danny, stay in phone contact with Cyndi. Ulla and Suze, into Jerry’s. You all know what to do. Mum and Janice…” I look at them both. “We need to disappear.”
I pick up the plate of cupcakes, give a quick glance round the room, and head out to the corridor. The worst thing about this whole plan is, I have to wait now. And I’ve never been good at waiting. How am I not going to explode with frustration?
“I brought a book of sudoku to pass the time,” says Janice helpfully, as we all squeeze into the small back room I located earlier. “And my iPad, with some nice films on it.” She beams at Mum and me. “Shall we have a little watch of The Sound of Music?”
Sometimes I really love Janice.
—
Twenty minutes later, even with The Sound of Music distracting me, I’m almost popping with tension. What is going on in there? What? But at last the agreed time is up, and I sally forth with my bucket of cleaning materials. (We bought them specially at a hardware store.)
I knock on the door of Jerry’s, wait till I hear Danny call, “Come in,” then make my way in, my head bowed right down.
I’m counting on the fact that Cyndi won’t recognize me from the children’s party, because being in a housekeeper’s uniform is such good camouflage. But even so, I keep my gaze down. I just about take in the fact that Cyndi is seated in a low chair by the window, with Suze, Danny, and Ulla grouped around her like acolytes. There are glasses of champagne on the coffee table and a stack of Danny Kovitz boxes on the floor.
Cyndi clearly hasn’t recognized Suze either from their brief previous encounter. Which isn’t surprising, as Suze has been transformed from a desperate-looking girl with lank hair and shadowy face into a society lady with a chignon, full makeup, and a cream bouclé dress with humongous pearl choker. Ulla, meanwhile, is looking exactly as she did when I first met her in Las Vegas and is sketching Cyndi in charcoal.
Cyndi is all rosy in the face, and her eyes are bright, so I guess I’ve missed the bit where Danny told her he’d seen her photo in the society pages of magazines and greatly admired her style.
“Housekeeping?” I mutter, practically in a whisper.
“Oh, hi,” says Danny, sounding irritated. “This really isn’t a good time for us.”
“Sorry, sir,” I mumble. “Shall I come back?”
“Maybe just, like, polish that screen?” He points to the wide-screen TV on the wall. “It’s filthy.”
It’s filthy because we smeared it with oil, earlier on. I hastily head over to it and start spraying on glass cleaner. As I rub away, my ears are almost tingling with desperation to hear the conversation behind me.
“So, as I said, Cyndi,” Danny continues, “I would love to give you this jacket, which I feel encapsulates your style.”
“Oh my!” Cyndi seems overcome. “For me? Really?” She pauses, the jacket half on. “You know, when I got your assistant’s email, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, Danny Kovitz wants to meet me?” She peers over at Ulla’s drawing. “Oh, that’s too flattering.”
“Not at all,” says Danny. “Ulla draws all my muses.”
“Muses?” Cyndi looks even more overcome. “Me, a muse?”
“For sure!” Danny nods. “Now, go ahead, put the jacket on.”
As Cyndi puts on the jacket, Suze makes admiring noises.
“Very nice,” says Danny. “Very nice indeed.”
“So, you’re organizing a fashion show for charity?” says Cyndi, as she admires her reflection in the freestanding mirror we ordered from “Conference Accessories.”
“That’s right,” says Danny. “Fashion by me, Danny Kovitz, and hosted by Lady Cleath-Stuart of the British aristocracy. That’s why we got in touch with you.” He beams at Cyndi. “We felt sure that you, as a top socialite and philanthropist, would want to be involved.”
I can see Cyndi goggling at the name “Lady Cleath-Stuart,” not to mention Danny himself. As well she might! I mean, it’s a pretty starry lineup. But it had to be, to lure her here.
As I’m polishing the TV, I keep sneaking glances at Cyndi. And I can see why Corey’s smitten. She’s so pretty. Her skin is like a peach. She has these plump lips, which she keeps biting, and these wide innocent eyes. If I were a man, I’d probably fall in love with her too. I don’t blame Corey for being besotted.
And this is how we’re going to get him. Not by forcing him or threatening him, but by shaming him, in front of the one person in the world he cares about most.
“My husband knows Lord Cleath-Stuart, you know,” says Cyndi, as she adjusts the sleeves of the jacket.
“Absolutely,” says Danny smoothly. “That’s another reason we thought of you. Does your husband know you’re here today?” he adds casually.
“I didn’t say exactly what I was doing.” Cyndi colors slightly. “I said I was meeting friends. But he’ll be so excited to hear about it!”
“Good!” Suze beams at her. “Danny, why not show Cyndi the next outfit?”
I’ve heard enough. I give a final wipe at the screen, then dump my cloth back in my bucket and retreat into the corridor. I head next door to Ben, knock, and shuffle in.
“Housekeeping,” I murmur, but no one even responds, so I start randomly wiping the TV screen. Luke, Tarquin, Corey, and Elinor are all sitting around a conference table, and Corey is in the middle of some story involving a rifle and a bear. As he finishes, Luke and Tarquin burst into polite laughter, and Elinor inclines her head.
“But, Lord Cleath-Stuart, you must be quite a shot yourself!” says Corey, looking flushed in the face. “What with your grouse moors and so forth.”
“Absolutely,” says Tarquin. “Perhaps you’ll see for yourself one day.”
“Well!” Corey reddens still further. “Now, that would be an honor, your lordship.”
“And your wife?” inquires Tarquin mildly. “Would she like to visit England?”
“She would go nuts,” says Corey. “And, Mrs. Sherman, I must say…” He turns to Elinor. “Your invitation to the Hamptons is very kind.”
“Perhaps your wife would like an invitation to the Met Ball?” Elinor gives him a chilly smile. “I’m always happy to introduce my investment partners into society.”
“Now that…” Corey seems momentarily speechless. “That would make Cyndi’s year.”
I catch Luke’s eye and he gives me a tiny wink. OK. So far, so good.
I retreat from the room and pause for a moment, breathing hard. Right. Next stage. I must say, it would be a lot easier if we had video cameras, like in the real Ocean’s Eleven. But we don’t.
I hurry back to the little room, knock five times, which is our signal, and let myself in.
“It’s all going fine,” I say breathlessly. “Janice, you’re up.”
I pick up the vase of flowers that we ordered earlier and place it on a room-service trolley. (Luke found it on another corridor, and we just turned the tablecloth over.) My job was to establish that the conversation was going in the correct direction in each room. Which it is. Now Janice’s job is to give the signal: Move to the next level.
As she takes hold of the trolley, I see that her hands are shaking, and I turn to her in surprise.
“Janice, are you OK?”
“Oh, Becky,” she says desperately. “I wasn’t cut out
for this.”
“For what?”
“For this!” Her voice rises in agitation. “High-level criminal hijinks!”
My heart sinks. We should never have shown Ocean’s Eleven to Janice. I think in her head she honestly believes she’s robbing the casino vault.
“Janice, this isn’t high-level criminal hijinks!” I say.
“It’s only a little heist, love,” says Mum soothingly.
“It’s not a heist.” I knock a fist to my head. Honestly. Does Mum even know what a heist is? “Janice, you’ll be fine.” I try to sound reassuring. “Just take the flowers into the room, put them down, and leave. OK?” I clasp her hand, but she flinches. “Look, I’ll come with you. It’s fine. It’s all good.”
I open the door for her, and she pushes the room-service trolley out. We start slowly progressing along the corridor, Janice trembling all the while. I had no idea she’d be so nervous. I should never have put her in the eleven. But I can’t change the plan now.
“Look, you see?” I say as we turn the corner. “Easy-peasy, we’re nearly there….”
“Where’s that going?” A nasal voice hits the back of my head.
What?
I wheel round to see a woman in the same braid-trimmed jacket as Mum. She has badly dyed black hair and is coming out of a room on the other side of the corridor. As she nears, she eyes the vase narrowly. “Which flower arrangement is that?” she demands. “I don’t recognize it.”
Oh for God’s sake.
“Er…not sure,” I say, as Janice seems incapable of speech.
“Who are you?” The woman squints at my badge.
“I’m Marigold,” I say confidently.
“Marigold?” Her eyes narrow further. “I thought she left.”
Honestly, what’s wrong with this woman? Why does she have to be so suspicious the whole time? I’m sure it’s not good for her health.
“Well.” I give a shrug, and the woman whips round to Janice.
“What’s your name?”
Oh no. Poor Janice. I turn to give her some moral support—and blink in shock. Janice is transfixed. I’ve never seen such terror on a face. Before I can even open my mouth, she’s collapsed on the floor.
Shopaholic to the Rescue Page 26
