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Here was the Dior that Nicole Kidman wore to the Oscars, there was the gown Charlize Theron wore to the Golden Globes.
"Stunning," the Dior publicist pronounced with a quick nod of her head. "Absolutely, this is the one."
Mimi took a flute of champagne from the silver tray proffered by a white-gloved servant. "Perhaps," she acknowledged, knowing that with the dress's fifty foot?long train, she would cause a commotion when she entered the party.
Then Bliss appeared in the doorway.
Mimi had invited her friend to join her, thinking it would be fun to have an audience watch her try on dresses. Mimi liked nothing more than to have a fawning friend envy her good looks and social privileges. She hadn't expected the publicist at Christian Dior to fall over herself and encourage Bliss to borrow a dress as well. But ever since Bliss had been signed by the Farnsworth Modeling Agency, and her face and figure had been emblazoned all over town in the "Stitched for Civilization" jeans advertising campaign that she had starred in with Schuyler Van Alen, the little Texas rose had become a bona fide New York celebrity--a fact Mimi had yet to forgive. Bliss had even been chosen as Vogue's "Girl of the Moment," and there were Web sites devoted to her every move. Mimi had to face the awful truth: her friend was famous.
"You guys--what do you think of this?" Bliss asked. Mimi and the publicist turned. Mimi's smile faded. The publicist ran over to Bliss Lwelleyn's side.
"Gorgeous!" she declared. "I only wish John were here to see you in it."
Bliss was wearing a plush velvet dress of the darkest green almost black that dramatically offset her cascading reddish-gold curls. Her pale, ivory complexion looked almost translucent against the deep rich, dark jeweled color of the gown. It had a plunging, outrageously low neckline, cut from collarbone to belly button, revealing a generous amount of cleavage but stopping short of anything obscene. The bodice was embroidered with a thousand Swarovski crystals that twinkled against the fabric like stars in the night sky. It was a fantastic, entrance-making dress, the kind of dress that propelled unknown actresses into A-list movie stars, a contender against Elizabeth Hurley's famed Versace safety pins.
"I like it." Bliss nodded. She towered over Mimi in her jeweled stilettos, and the two of them looked at themselves in the mirror.
Against Bliss's severe yet sexy gown, Mimi in her pale- pink rosettes suddenly looked inconsequential, and Mimi's smile withered underneath the lights as Bliss twirled and danced around the room.
"It only looks heavy," Bliss said, lifting the hem. "But it's so light."
"It's made from Venetian silk--some of the best in the world," the Dior rep explained. "Ten Belgian nuns went blind making it," she joked. "So girls, I suppose we're all set?"
Mimi shook her head. There was no way in hell she would allow Bliss to steal the spotlight--her night--away from her. She had her heart set on being the single most beautiful girl in the room, and there was no way she would be able to do that if Bliss upstaged her in that insanely opulent gown.
Visiting the celebrity dressing department had been her idea, but now Mimi had to opt for Plan B. She wouldn't be content with a gown from the runway--she had to have a gown custom- made and designed for herself only, by the master. Balenciaga.
They left the showroom and crossed the street to grab a quick lunch at Fred's, the restaurant on the top floor of Barneys. The hostess seated them immediately in a comfy, four-person booth near the window, where they could be seen by the tony crowd. Mimi noted Brannon Frost, the Blue Blood editor in chief of Chic, seated across from them with her fourteen-year-old daughter, Willow, a freshman at Duchesne.
Bliss's color was high and her face glowed happily. She was still talking about the dress.
"Yeah, totally, it looked great on you," Mimi said in a flat voice.
Her friend's smile wavered, and Bliss swallowed a gulp of water to camouflage her disappointment. Mimi's disinterest was a cue that all discussion about Bliss's ball gown was now over. Bliss quickly regrouped. "But yours was ah-ma-zing. Pink is so your color."
Mimi shrugged. "I don't know. I think I'm going to look somewhere else. Dior is so outr?, don't you think? De trop, as they say. A little over the top. But of course, if that's what you're looking for, it's fabulous." She said condescendingly as she paged through the leather-bound menu.
"So where do you think you'll go?" Bliss asked, trying not to feel the sting of Mimi's little barbs. She knew she had looked great in that dress, and that Mimi was just jealous--Mimi was always that way. The last time they went shopping, they had both found a gorgeous baby-lamb fur coat at Intermix, a trendy downtown boutique. Mimi had allowed Bliss to buy it, but only after she'd disparaged wearing fur. "But you go ahead, dear. I know some people don't care about the suffering of tiny little animals." In the end, Bliss had purchased the coat, but she had yet to wear it. Score one for Mimi Force.
The bitch was just green-eyed with envy. I rocked that dress, Bliss thought, then immediately felt ashamed to be thinking of her friend that way. Was Mimi really jealous? What did the beautiful Mimi Force have to be jealous about, ever? Her life was like, perfect. Maybe Bliss was reading too much into her reaction. Maybe Mimi was right--maybe the dress was too much. Maybe she shouldn't wear it after all. If only someone else had been with her at the showroom, someone like Schuyler, whom Bliss knew would be able to offer an honest opinion. Schuyler didn't even realize how pretty she was; she was always hiding in those bag-lady layers of hers.
"I don't know where I'm going to find a ball dress," Mimi said airily. "But I'm sure I'll find something." She wasn't about to share the ace up her sleeve this time. God help her if Bliss got the same idea to ask the Balenciaga designer to make her a ball dress as well.
The waiter arrived and took their orders, two steak au poivres. Rare.
"Bloody." Mimi smiled, showing just a hint of her fangs so that the waiter did a double take.
"Raw," Bliss joked, handing back the menu, although she wasn't really kidding.
"Anyway," Mimi said, taking a sip of water and looking around the lively restaurant to see if anyone was looking at her. Yes. Several women--tourists, by the looks of their pastel cardigans and eighties-era scrunchies--seated in Siberia, were whispering and talking about her. "That's Mimi Force. You know, Force News? Her dad's that gazillionaire? There was a story about her in last week's Styles. She's like, the new Paris Hilton."
"As I was saying, it's not really about the dress. It's about a date," Mimi said.
"A date?" Bliss gagged. "I didn't know we had to find dates for this thing."
Mimi laughed. "Of course you need a date, silly. It's a ball."
"So who are you taking?"
