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“I feel different,” I said. “In a good way,” I added.
Janine nodded. “Different is good,” she said. “Okay, let’s do some makeup.”
Once some tasteful blush and bronzer had been applied to my skin, and we’d done my eyeliner and mascara, I looked around in my dressing down. “What the hell am I gonna wear to this thing?” I said.
“I think that’s already been taken care of,” said Janine, grinning as she put her styling tools into her bag. “I’m going to catch a flight back to LA: I’m seeing Kate Moss at 4 p.m. tomorrow for a test shoot. Enjoy the party!”
I bid her farewell, but almost as soon as Janine had left, there was a knock at the door.
I answered, and there was Charlie. Alex’s driver.
“Morning, Mrs. Alson … I mean, uh, Miss Chambers,” he said awkwardly.
“Hi Charlie,” I said.
He held a black suit carrier in his hand, and awkwardly held it up, averting his eyes from me in my bathrobe. “There you, uh, go. Just picked it up from the airport.”
Charlie bid me a stiff farewell and hurried back down the corridor.
I opened the back gently and peered inside. There was an ochre dress inside. I pulled it out, delicately holding it on its hangers, and peered inside. Pinned to the collar was a label that said “Yves St. Laurent.”
It was new. It was more than new; it wasn’t even commercially available yet. It had just been flown in from LA. I’d seen this dress before—but not in the store, or even in a magazine. Krista had sent a picture of it to me, from a friend of hers who worked as a stylist at Paris Fashion Week in the Summer.
It must have cost as much as a brand-new sports car—maybe even more, to acquire and ship at short notice.
I put it on, zipping it up from the back. The dress fit me perfectly.
I looked at myself in the mirror, how the dress worked with my warm skin tone, complimented the hazel-coloring of my eyes.
I looked beautiful.
I felt beautiful.
Just then, I got a call on my cell phone.
Chapter Twenty
Alex
AfterLenaandIhad gone to bed together that afternoon, I felt drowsy and disoriented. There is lots to do.
First, I called Seth Petersen.
Every organization like mine has a Seth. His technical title was Operations Manager, but he worked at an (expensive) hourly rate, rather than as a salaried employee. I’d had him on standby over the weekend just in case anything needed the astonishing efficiency that Seth Petersen brought to my company.
“How are you, Seth?” I said, “Didn’t see you at the party the other day.”
“I preferred to watch from my hotel room,” responded Seth, drily.
I smiled. “Having fun?”
“Of course.”
“Listen, Seth. I need a favor. Private party on the roof of the Kauai Continental tonight. Notify all corporate by text, and if you can, get a message out to my list.”
My ‘list’ was the small group of celebrities and local officials who were invited to my more public events. Charity galas, private parties, that sort of thing. The kind of people you’d invite to celebrate, say, a snap engagement.
Was it right to go planning a party like this, when I’d agreed to Lena that we’d call off our fake engagement? I didn’t know. But it was what people would expect.
