She wouldn’t have minded so much if Ryan Davies hadn’t seized the opportunity to start calling her “French frog” again. He’d coined the hated nickname in the third grade and tormented Angel with it ever since.
She threw the last frog’s leg into the trash with an angry flick. She’d never understood why boys like Ryan got such a kick out of teasing her.
Lily had tried to tell her that boys only teased a girl if they liked her, but that made no sense at all to Angel. Surely if a boy liked you he’d be nice and not horrible? But that wasn’t Angel’s experience and it wasn’t even as if the boys at her school were the worst.
The prize for the most obnoxious guys belonged to the seniors from the boys-only private school two blocks away. Even Lily admitted some of their so-called banter was over the top—though she still insisted it was how some boys talked when they thought a girl was cute.
Angel had asked her friends at school about Lily’s theory, but they’d been divided in their opinions. Taylor had agreed with Angel that most of the guys from the boys’ school were just rich, stuck-up jerks, but Katie thought that Lily was right. Either way, boys were still a mystery. Angel sighed, wiped the last bits of frog slime from her fingers and wondered if she’d ever meet a boy she could actually talk to.
***
When she got home from school Angel went straight to her closet and pulled out the big black portfolio case she kept in the back. Laying it on her bed, she knelt down and opened it.
Slowly she went through each folder, looking over her draft sketches and rejected designs, then thumbed her way through the sketchbooks in which she’d drawn all the design details of her Teen Couture entry. Finally, she opened the green folder marked Final Teen Couture in which she kept the best sketches of her five designs.
Angel sighed. Her designs were at least as good as Clarissa’s and maybe better. She stared down at the picture of her ball gown. Clarissa’s Japanese silk was extraordinary—maybe Angel needed to rethink her design. She fingered the pieces of blue velvet and silver gauze stapled to the sketch and an idea began to slowly unfurl in her mind. If she could pull it off …
Angel pursed her lips, thinking hard. She wouldn’t alter this sketch until she was sure she could achieve her vision, but maybe she could draw an outline now. She glanced at her watch. Where had the time gone? She was due at the Waldorf in an hour and she still had to shower and change. She quickly repacked her portfolio, thrust it back into her closet and grabbed her bathrobe.
Twenty minutes later she was ready. Angel eyed herself in the mirror. The catering company was fussy about appearance and tonight they’d be especially picky. She buttoned the double cuff on her freshly ironed white shirt and flicked a thread off her black pants. Her flat black shoes gleamed and the ribbon round her smooth ponytail hung in a neat bow. Angel looked at her watch—time to go. She felt a flutter of excitement—tonight she might actually see Antoine Vidal close up.
“Ready?” Lily appeared in the doorway.
“Wow! You look great.” Angel gazed appreciatively at her friend’s turquoise dress with its fitted bodice and swirling mid-thigh skirt. Across the bodice and around the hem, waves of tiny crystals glittered like water in the sunlight. Lily’s thick blonde hair tumbled down her back.
“I ought to. It’s your design after all.” Lily touched a crystal. “I wish you were coming with us.”
“I’ll be fine on the bus.”
Lily frowned. “Sure, but it’s silly when we’re going to the same place.”
Angel pushed her gently out the door. “Margot would not agree. You're all guests and I’m just the hired help—definitely not someone to be seen with.”
Lily groaned. “Don’t remind me. Margot will spend the night charming every celebrity in sight and ignoring everyone who isn’t anyone.”
Angel grinned. “You almost make me glad I’m just a lowly waitress.” She patted Lily's arm sympathetically. “At least you’ll see the fashion show. I’d gladly put up with Margot at her worst if it meant seeing Antoine Vidal’s fall collection.”
***
It was a bigger night than expected, Angel decided, as she and the other staff waited behind closed doors for the signal to clear away the main course. The Waldorf Ballroom was buzzing with the cream of New York society. While serving the entrée Angel had seen a Karl Lagerfeld gown, two classic Jean Paul Gaultiers, a divine Givenchy creation and a gold, strapless Vera Wang dress that had made her long for a closer look.
Equally thrilling was the discovery that a woman she was serving was wearing Collette Dinnigan. From the first moment she’d seen them, Angel had fallen in love with the Australian designer’s intricately beaded tops, vibrant resort dresses and delicate lace gowns. Seeing one up close was a delight. She’d never thought waitressing could be so exciting.
It was disappointing not to be assigned to Vidal’s table but not surprising. He was much too important to be attended by a junior waitress. She’d seen him at a distance though, and had been thrilled to see how handsome he was in his perfectly cut tuxedo with two mega-famous film stars beside him, each wearing a Vidal gown. Even from thirty feet away Angel could see how beautifully the dresses were made.
The one blight on the evening was being assigned to wait on Margot’s table. Not that she paid any attention to Angel; she was far too busy charming her fellow guests. And she was good at it, just as Lily had said.
Angel had watched her while clearing the entrées. Margot had been the center of attention, smiling and laughing, superb in a figure-hugging, coal-black Balenciaga gown with a single blood-red rose at its breast. As Angel collected plates she felt a stab of sympathy for Lily sitting across the table trying not to notice how easily Margot had captivated her dinner companions—even a stern-looking New York congressman had fallen under her spell.
As she served each new course, Angel could see Lily becoming increasingly unhappy. No surprise, given that she was sandwiched between a pompous-sounding author ranting on about the stupidity of this year’s Pulitzer Prize judges and the congressman’s wife who seemed to think Lily was about ten and in need of advice.
As she cleared the mains, Angel could see Lily muttering to herself and guessed she was reciting lines in an attempt to distract herself from Margot’s tinkling laugh and nauseating remarks. “Oh, Senator, do tell us what you said to the President.”
Even Angel felt like barfing at that.
Things were no better by the time dessert was ending and Angel and Marc, one of the six baristas hired for the evening, wheeled their mobile Barista Bar into position near Lily’s table.
Lily looked totally miserable and, rather than eating her profiteroles, had chopped them into tiny pieces, leaving a chocolatey mess in the middle of her plate. Angel suspected she was working out how to escape the Waldorf without incurring Margot’s wrath.
A moment later Lily made her way to the Barista Bar and asked Angel loudly, “Can I get an espresso macchiato, please?”
“Certainly,” replied Angel. “I’ll bring it to your table.”
“That’s okay, I’ll wait,” said Lily firmly. Under her breath she whispered, “I can’t take much more of this. Clarissa’s going on and on about her new portfolio and Margot keeps trying to catch Jacqueline Montague’s attention.”
“Gross.” Angel knew how much Lily hated the thought of Margot getting friendly with the Montagues.
Like the de Tourneys, the Montagues were old money and for as long as Angel could remember Lily and Philip had regularly spent summers with them at Martha’s Vineyard and winters skiing in Aspen. Angel had met Elizabeth Montague a couple of times when Lily had brought her home after school. They were in the same class and had known each other forever. Angel had thought Elizabeth seemed sweet, but her mother was a tiger.
She could see her now, talking to the mayor. Tall and elegant, with short dark hair and a wide, vivacious smile, Jacqueline Montague was one of New York’s society queens: famous for her charity luncheons, her
acid wit, and her ability to elicit information. According to Lily, Jacqueline knew everything about everyone who counted and could make or break a career with a single word.
Clearly Margot knew that, too.
Angel handed Lily her coffee. “Hang in there,” she said softly. “The show’s due to start in a few minutes and then you can—”
Lily groaned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Margot’s waving at Jacqueline. Please don’t let her see,” whispered Lily urgently to whatever deity might be listening.
But it was too late and Angel felt Lily stiffen as they watched Jacqueline move towards Margot’s table. Angel busied herself polishing the milk jug and pretended not to see Margot light up as Jacqueline paused by her chair.
“Jacqui!” The word was an embrace, but Angel saw the flash of annoyance in Jacqueline’s eyes at Margot’s use of the more intimate form of her name. Lily had told her that only Jacqueline Montague’s closest friends and family ever called her “Jacqui.”
Margot rose. “How are you? But I needn’t ask—you look marvellous. What a divine dress. Valentino, isn’t it?”
Jacqueline nodded.
Undeterred by her silence, Margot said, “I’ve been meaning to call you ever since the Plaza fundraiser, but what with Philip away, and asking me to look after Lily and run the house and all.” Margot gave her tinkling laugh. “Well, you know how it is with teenagers.” She waved her hand towards Lily.
Jacqueline’s eyes followed the perfectly manicured fingers, saw Lily and smiled. Lily nodded and Angel sensed that it was taking all of her self-control to keep from saying something she’d regret.
“Lily is such an adolescent and so headstrong,” said Margot.
“Oh?” replied Jacqueline. “I have always found her charming.”
“Oh, yes.” A faint tinge of color rose in Margot’s ivory cheeks. “Yes. She’s delightful—though a teensy bit wilful sometimes. Fortunately, living at the house means I can offer constant guidance. And my Clarissa is a wonderful influence.” She gestured to her daughter, who smiled modestly.
Angel suppressed an urge to make vomiting noises and instead began polishing the teaspoons. She saw Jacqueline flick Clarissa a glance before turning to Margot with a smile. Angel caught her breath. Maybe she’d imagined it, but for a split second Jacqueline Montague had looked positively dangerous.
“So you’re staying at Philip’s?” she heard Jacqueline ask Margot.
“Yes. He practically begged me to move in while he’s overseas. Naturally, in the circumstances, I could hardly say no.”
Jacqueline’s brows rose. “The circumstances?”
Margot leaned closer. “Of course, nothing’s been announced yet.” She glanced at Lily, who pretended not to see. Margot lowered her voice, “When Philip returns from Paris, he and I … we … ” She laid a conspiratorial hand on Jacqueline’s arm. “I really mustn’t say too much.”
Appalled, Angel tried to see Lily’s reaction, but she’d turned her head away and Angel could only see a rigid profile. Jacqueline, however, seemed delighted and she patted Margot’s hand.
“I quite understand.” She smiled. “Darling Philip. So he’s in Paris?”
“He will be,” replied Margot. “Next month—after South America.”
Jacqueline’s smile widened. “How wonderful that Philip is going back to Paris at last. He’ll be able to visit his mother. How is the dear Comtesse?”
Margot hesitated for a moment then said brightly, “Fine. She’s fine. Such a marvellous woman.”
“So she and Philip have finally reconciled?”
“Yes. No. That is … we hope … I—”
Jacqueline cut in smoothly, “Such a pity Lily has grown up without her grandmother’s influence. The Comtesse de Tourney is an icon in Paris. Everyone adores her. If only she and Philip were on speaking terms, she could have Lily to stay.” She tapped Margot’s hand with an elegant finger. “And you know an invitation from the Comtesse opens so many doors.”
“Yes. Yes, I had heard that.” Margot fiddled with the rose at her breast. “Do you know the Comtesse well?”
“Quite well, we took Elizabeth to Paris for the Versailles Ball last year and saw Elena several times.”
“The Versailles Ball.” Angel was surprised at the wistful note in Margot’s voice.
“That’s right,” Jacqueline answered. “Of course, you’ll have heard of it. It’s the climax of the Comtesse de Tourney’s famous summer season and where Antoine Vidal announces the winner of the Teen Couture.” She touched the diamonds at her throat, “Anyone who’s anyone sends their daughter to Paris for at least one Versailles Ball. Elena de Tourney has been running them for years.”
“Oh, yes, I—” Margot began, but Jacqueline interrupted.
“Such a pity Philip is estranged from his mother. She created the Versailles Ball, you know. I sometimes think she did it with Lily in mind.” The mayor came into view and Jacqueline waved. “I must go. Antoine will be appearing at any moment. Enjoy the collection, won’t you?” She nodded to Margot, smiled at Lily and turned away.
Angel knew she needed to hurry. The fashion parade was about to begin and she still had half a dozen dessert plates to clear before she could get off the floor. She could see the catering manager watching as the staff rapidly gathered dirty plates and silverware and headed for the kitchen.
She collected Margot’s plate and the congressman’s, his wife’s, the pompous author’s and Lily’s. As she picked up Clarissa’s plate a passing guest bumped her elbow and Angel watched helplessly as the mess of uneaten profiterole flew through the air and dropped with a chocolatey splat onto Clarissa’s pale-blue Marchesa-clad lap.
There was a suppressed yelp as Clarissa stared down at the chocolate staining her dress. Angel saw her furious face and heard the incensed whisper, “You did that on purpose.”
“No!” gasped Angel. “I am so sorry, I—” The lights had come up on the catwalk and beyond it she could see the catering manager frantically motioning for her to get off the floor. Grabbing a napkin from the table, she dropped it on Clarissa’s lap just as a burst of thunderous applause filled the room and Antoine Vidal strode down the catwalk towards her. Angel quickly turned away, but as she moved, something caught her ankle. She felt herself pitching forward and tried desperately to regain her balance.
It was impossible.
At the precise moment that Antoine Vidal, fashion icon and world-famous couturier, reached the microphone, Angel Moncoeur, waitress and aspiring fashion designer, crashed to the floor in front of him.
Chapter Six
Plates and silverware hit the floor with a resounding crash. As she lay among the debris, it seemed to Angel as though the noise would never end, but the deafening silence that followed was worse.
She lifted her head and found herself staring straight up into a pair of sympathetic grey eyes. Antoine Vidal smiled gently and nodded to her right. Someone touched Angel’s elbow and helped her to her feet.
The microphone squeaked, the lights dimmed and, as she limped from the ballroom, Angel was relieved to see all eyes turn towards Vidal.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight your generosity has raised over half a million dollars for America’s homeless youth.” Vidal held up his hand to still the applause. “I believe in today’s youth. I believe in their energy, creativity and ability to succeed—that is why, six years ago, I created the Teen Couture.”
He looked around the room. “I wished to create a competition that would test not only design excellence, but also each entrant’s dedication, determination and enthusiasm. This is why every Teen Couture garment must be made with the designer’s own hands.”
Angel stopped outside the Staff Only door. She longed to stay and hear the rest of Vidal’s speech. It was against the rules but she was certain she’d already lost her job so it hardly mattered. She looked back at the stage and was startled to find Vidal’s eyes on her. It was only for an instant, b
ut long enough for his next words to burn themselves into her brain.
“Young people need to be both challenged and supported. It takes time to develop skill and years to master a craft. There will always be obstacles, but those who overcome them can achieve extraordinary things.”
Angel stepped through the door and heard no more.
***
In the days that followed, Angel decided she was totally sick of obstacles.
As expected, she’d been fired on the spot. She’d tried to explain about being tripped, but her manager wouldn’t listen. He was so sure it was her own clumsiness that had caused the catastrophe that by the time she got home Angel had begun to think she’d imagined that brief tug on her ankle.
It wasn’t until the next morning she learned the truth.
“It was Clarissa.” Lily had come downstairs early, still seething. “You should’ve seen her, looking all innocent and pretending to be sympathetic.”
“I felt something grab my ankle.”
“Yes. Her foot—only no one else saw her.”
“I don’t suppose it would’ve made any difference if they had.”
“Margot made sure of that,” agreed Lily. “She was all charm and sympathy, pretending to be so sorry for the poor little waitress.”
“That sucks.”
“Sure does. I wish my dad had never met her.”
“We need to stay out of her way.”
“That’s the plan.” Lily clenched her jaw. “And with any luck, in a few weeks I’ll be in London and by the time I get home, Margot and Clarissa will be gone—hopefully for good!”
***
The next week was a struggle. School was manic with end-of-year activities and Angel was unusually distracted. Taylor even went so far as to ask if she was smoking something, which made Angel laugh so much that she felt better than she had in days.
The Cinderella Moment Page 4