Breakfast at Stephanie's

by Sue Margolis

  Lizzie and Cass were due at half past eight. Igor arrived at ten past. The second she heard the doorbell, her stomach did a nervous flip. “Please, God, let him be gorgeous. Please, God, don’t let him look like some Wham reject.” She finished doing up the zip on the pink halter-neck dress she’d worn on her date with Frank and ran downstairs.

  When she opened the door, her jaw fell practically to her chest. Igor wasn’t merely gorgeous. Igor was a babeski. He was about six two or three with dark blond swept-back hair and deep blue eyes. Unlike his brother, he had perfect, gleaming white Chiclets teeth. He looked a lot like Dom, she decided, only broader and more muscular. He was wearing a black, slightly shiny suit, but it wasn’t shiny in a naff Banja Luka way; it was shiny in a classy Hugo Boss–sheen way. Underneath he was wearing a white open-neck shirt. Stephanie’s face broke into a huge smile. Oh, this was so going to work. She invited him in. He smiled and gave an eager nod. “Tenk you,” he said. She took him into the kitchen and offered him a cup of coffee. “No, tenk you.” Stephanie did her best to make conversation, but Igor’s English was pretty limited. In the end she excused herself and went to do her makeup.

  When she came back, Igor was looking at the newspaper. She gave him another smile, tapped her watch and tried to explain that Cass and Lizzie wouldn’t be much longer. Then she bent down and began stacking the dishwasher. “Ah, you haf lovely pussy,” Igor declared. Stephanie’s back shot into an upright position. “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Your pussy. Eet ees lovely. It ees boy or girl?” It was then that Stephanie noticed Liberace nuzzling Igor’s ankles and purring.

  “Ah, you mean my cat,” she said. “He’s a boy.” Just then the doorbell rang. “Excuse me. I think my friends are here.”

  Cass looked gorgeous in a black dress that wasn’t so much little as antimatter, but Lizzie looked stunning. “Oh … my … God” was all Stephanie could manage as she gazed at the clingy low-cut cream silk dress. Her hair had been newly streaked and cut into a layered, choppy bob. Draped around her shoulders was a sheer wrap, dotted with sparkly flowers.

  “Doesn’t she look fab?” Cass said, grinning.

  “You mean it?” Lizzie asked with genuine uncertainty. “I really look OK?”

  “Lizzie,” Stephanie said, “you look breathtaking. Utterly breathtaking. I just can’t wait to see Dom’s face.” They stood in the hall for a few moments, the girls demanding the lowdown on Igor. When Stephanie explained that he was a Bosnian model, Cass looked horror-struck. She was clearly envisaging the Wham-reject scenario. Lizzie being Lizzie said she was sure he would be perfect. Stephanie merely gave them a smug look and led them into the kitchen. The moment he saw Lizzie and Cass, Igor leaped to his feet. “Hello, preety ladies.”

  “Blimey,” Cass whispered. “I wouldn’t mind nibbling his knublewurst.” Stephanie was so surprised and delighted that Cass had recovered from Alex’s rejection so soon that she didn’t bother pointing out that knublewurst was Polish rather than Bosnian. Not that it would have mattered to Cass, since anything east of Sloane Street was all the same to her.

  Lizzie was already shaking Igor’s hand and doing her best to explain that he was her escort for the evening. Igor was clearly smitten. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Stephanie felt uneasy. She hoped Konstanty hadn’t given him the wrong idea about what was required of him tonight.

  Since parking was bound to be a nightmare, they had decided to take a minicab into town. Stephanie had booked it when she got home and it was due any minute. “Oh, by the way,” Lizzie said. “I have news.” The smile on her face couldn’t have been any bigger. She explained that two gift shops, one in Hampstead and one in Richmond, had bought her kindling kits, soaps and candles. “The managers said if they sell well, they’ll put in regular orders. I still can’t quite believe it.”

  Stephanie and Cass threw their arms around her, practically knocking her off balance. “You mentioned before Christmas that you were thinking of doing it,” Stephanie said. “Why didn’t you tell us you were going ahead?” Lizzie explained she hadn’t wanted to say anything in case nothing came of it.

  Cass said they should open a bottle of champagne, but since Stephanie didn’t have any, they had to make do with toasting Lizzie’s success with flat Appletize. Igor seemed utterly bemused by the jollity. This became even more apparent when Lizzie sat him down at the kitchen table and tried to explain, with the aid of paper and Jake’s crayons, what kindling kits were. Poor Igor was still scratching his head when the doorbell went.

  “Cab for Glassman?” the driver grunted. He was six six, with a wrestler’s build, a gold hoop earring in each ear and closely cropped hair. The only thing missing was a tattooed message across his head informing members of the male population not to mess with him unless they wanted to end up between two halves of a burger bun. Normally, Cass, who always went weak at the knees at the sight of “a bit of rough,” would have taken one look at him and started making wuurrrgh noises, or hoisted up her boobs and suggested he wasn’t the only one who gave rides. Tonight, though, she only had eyes for Igor. Not that Lizzie was letting her anywhere near him. As they left the house, Lizzie put her arm firmly through Igor’s. Judging by his expression, this seemed to delight him no end. Then she turned to Cass, who was a couple of paces behind, and threw her a look, which made it clear she should keep her hands off.

  Cass insisted on sitting in the front. Since Igor was out of bounds, she was beginning to show some interest in the driver. Igor sat in the back between Stephanie and Lizzie. They couldn’t have been going for more than a few seconds when Stephanie noticed the lucky black cat hanging from the driver’s mirror. Then she saw it catch Igor’s eye. She watched him lean forward and tap the driver on the shoulder. “You have very nice—” Before he could get the word out, Stephanie let out a loud scream. The driver slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward in their seats. “Bloody ’ell,” the driver muttered. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “Sorry,” Stephanie said meekly, “I thought I saw a fox run out.”

  The Eden, off Piccadilly, was the usual metal-and-glass minimalist deal. It was packed with thirty-something admen in sharp suits and spindle-legged women carrying handbags so tiny they could barely accommodate a tampon. Stephanie couldn’t help thinking that after a late night she had eye bags bigger than these things. The people from Dom’s office were having loud predinner drinks at one end of the long, mirrored bar.

  Lizzie’s plan was to go up to Dom, feign wide-eyed surprise at bumping into him and pretend she’d completely forgotten this was the venue for his office party. She would then introduce Igor. On the way over in the cab the women had done their best to explain to Igor that he should keep his hand on Lizzie’s bum at all times. “No problems,” he’d said, clearly thinking his boat had come in. After a couple of minutes, Lizzie would say they had a table waiting and she and Igor would saunter in to dinner, pausing once for an affectionate kiss. They decided this should be on the lips, but strictly no tongues. Dom, of course, would be left seething with jealousy. Stephanie and Cass, having watched the meeting from a safe distance, would join Lizzie and Igor at their table a few minutes later.

  They were waiting for the girl at the desk to hand them their cloakroom tickets when Lizzie spotted Dom. He was standing at the bar with a young woman with whom he seemed to be engaged in a significant amount of eye contact. “Omigod, that’s her,” Lizzie whispered. “That’s bloody B.O. He said he’d finished with her. Lying bastard. Right, I’m going to sort her out.” Before she had a chance to move, Stephanie and Cass each grabbed one of her arms.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cass hissed. “You’ll just make a scene and ruin everything. Never forget, dignity is power.” Cass and Stephanie exchanged anxious glances. They’d never really seen Lizzie angry.

  She appeared to be calming down. Then, when Dom disappeared—presumably to the loo—leaving B.O. on her own, the fury overtook her again. She marched off toward the bar. Ca
ss and Stephanie were behind her trying and failing to catch hold of her. Igor picked up the cloakroom tickets and stood watching from a few yards away, bemused as ever.

  Lizzie approached the woman from behind and tapped her sharply on the shoulder. The woman spun round. “I’m Lizzie, Dom’s wife. Or maybe he didn’t mention he had a wife and two children.”

  “Er, no, actually he didn’t.”

  “I might have guessed,” Lizzie said acidly.

  The woman gave Lizzie a puzzled frown, but clearly feeling the need to be polite, extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, I’m—”

  “What you are,” Lizzie declared, “is a tart.” Then she picked up a large glass bowl from the bar, turned it upside down and anointed the woman in guacamole. Green gloop poured down her face and onto her black suit jacket. The woman sat there gasping and blinking, unable to take in what had happened. People nearby stood in embarrassed silence.

  “That’s for sleeping with my husband, you … you floozy.” The woman wiped some guacamole off her forehead and flicked it onto the floor.

  “I see,” the woman said. “Well, for your information, I’m not a floozy, I’m the restaurant manager and I had never met your husband before this evening.”

  “Yeah, right,” Lizzie shot back. “I saw the pair of you when I came in. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other.”

  “We were going over the menu for your husband’s company dinner tonight,” the woman said. At this point one of the barmen handed the woman a towel and confirmed she was telling the truth.

  Lizzie stood there, lost for words. She picked the towel up from the woman’s lap and began making feeble, hopeless dabs at her hair and jacket. “Omigod, what can I say? I am so sorry. Look, go out and buy a new suit and send me the bill.”

  “You bet I will,” the woman snarled, snatching the towel from Lizzie. Then she got up and bolted toward the ladies’ room. Everybody watched as she almost collided with Dom, who was coming out of the men’s room. A few moments later he came running over. “Lizzie? What are you doing here? The girl who runs the restaurant said you just poured guacamole over her head.”

  “I did,” Lizzie said, almost in tears, “but I didn’t mean it. I thought she was the woman you’ve been seeing.” If they weren’t already, the crowd was now completely hooked. You could hear a pin drop.

  “Lizzie,” Dom said, ignoring the onlookers, “I told you. It’s all over. I love you. I made a terrible mistake. I’m just desperate for you to forgive me.”

  “Of course I forgive you. Oh, Dom, I’m so sorry. It was partly my fault. I got all boring and mumsie.”

  “Lizzie, you could never be boring and mumsie. Look at you in that dress. You look so beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so beautiful.” He whispered something in her ear, which was clearly of an intimate nature because she turned red and started to giggle. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly on the lips. There were aahs and gentle applause from the crowd. This was just dying down when Igor appeared, looking more confused than ever.

  “So,” he said to Lizzie, “you still want I should make fuck with you?”

  Chapter 17

  For a couple of seconds it looked like Dom was going to take a swing at Igor, but once Lizzie had managed to calm him down and explain that the whole Igor thing had been a setup to make him jealous, he took it in good stride and admitted he probably had it coming.

  Igor’s reward was dinner with Cass. “It’s the very least he deserves,” she purred, running her hand slowly down his shirtfront. She invited Stephanie to join them, but the offer was only halfhearted. Stephanie knew when she wasn’t wanted. She said she had an early start the next day and should probably call it a night. “You absolutely sure?” Cass said, looking positively gleeful.

  Dom decided to skip the firm’s dinner. Instead he and Lizzie took a cab home. The last thing Stephanie heard was Dom asking Lizzie again if she could forgive him. “Of course I can, you silly old Domkin.”

  “Oh, Lizzie-Lumpkin,” he replied, running his fingers through her hair, “I really do love you.”

  When Stephanie got home there was a message from Frank to say he was off to Paris for a few days to make a Renault commercial. He still sounded hurt, she thought sadly.

  Cass rang first thing in the morning, sounding pretty miserable. She’d gotten nowhere with Igor because he’d genuinely had the hots for Lizzie. She also said she was off to the orthodontist to have her braces removed.

  As soon as she put the phone down, Lizzie called to say she and Dom had made love practically all night and that he was home to stay. She’d also told him about the deals she’d pulled off with the gift shops. “I thought he might pooh-pooh the whole thing, but he didn’t. He was just so proud and said he’d never had sex with an entrepreneur before. Isn’t that sweet?”

  Of course, Stephanie was overjoyed that Lizzie and Dom were back on track, but part of her couldn’t help feeling envious. While Lizzie’s life was sorting out, her own was becoming more and more confused. She kept thinking about Jake and the dream and wondering if he really would become bitter and resentful when he found out she had refused to make a home with his father. And as she’d already admitted to herself, it wasn’t as if she felt no affection for Albert. Yes, he could be selfish and insensitive, but despite that she did care for him. She cared for him a great deal. But she didn’t connect with him the way she connected with Frank. And when she was away from him she didn’t feel the body-wrenching ache that she felt for Frank. The same ache that she was feeling right now.

  The recording, which had been scheduled to last all week, was finished in three days. Konstanty was ecstatic. “You have worked so hard, Stephanie. You know, a magneeficent talent such as yours deserves so much more than thees.” Then he kissed her on both cheeks and wished her good luck.

  “You too, Konstanty. I hope the show goes well.” Then she said she hoped he would understand if she didn’t come and see it. It was one thing knowing that Katherine Martinez was stealing all the glory; watching her do it was quite another.

  “I understand,” Konstanty said. It was hard saying good-bye. Although Konstanty’s incessant quest for perfection irritated her, she had developed a considerable respect for him. Just as she was about to leave, Konstanty called her back and asked if she could possibly do him a favor. The songs Stephanie had recorded had been burned onto three CDs. Now that they knew they were ready, the sound engineers at the theater were crying out for them. “I can’t take them because I am going to BBC to do TV interview. I phone bike-company, but they hef nobody available for three hours. Could you take them, maybe?” Since Stephanie was free that afternoon, she said she was only too happy to oblige.

  When she arrived at the theater, the lobby was full of TV cameras and reporters. Apparently K-Mart was about to arrive to give a press conference. Stephanie had no desire to hang around and meet her. The woman was hardly going to greet her with any affection.

  “OK, everybody,” a skinny guy in a radio headset announced, flapping long, feminine arms to get some quiet, “Miss Martinez’s car has just drawn up outside.” He pressed the earpiece against his ear. “I am informed she is now getting out of the car.” At this point he realized nobody was paying him any attention. “Please, everybody,” he said again, clapping this time. Finally there was a semblance of quiet. “OK, Miss Martinez is making her way to the main entrance. May I remind you that you are not to address Miss Martinez until she gives the signal that she is ready for the press conference to begin. You are asked to refer to her as Miss Martinez and she also requires that nobody make eye contact with her.”

  K-Mart glided in, oozing poised glamour and a fixed, blood-red smile. She was in full Peggy costume and makeup. Her hair, which had been dyed a soft honey blond, was piled into a bun on top of her head. She was wearing a full-length scarlet empire-line evening dress. Diamonds winked at her ears and wrists. Naturally, the photographers ignored the German “diktat” not t
o address her and were all calling for her attention. She stopped just once to pout for the lenses. Amid more shouts of “Over ’ere, Kathy, love, over ’ere,” the chap in the headset drew her away from the photographers and guided her to a long table, which had been placed in the center of the lobby. He pulled out a chair for her. Ignoring him, she lowered herself onto the seat. She took a few seconds to smooth out the creases on her skirt. Finally she lifted her head and proffered a regal smile to indicate she was ready to begin.

  “Kathy,” the first reporter kicked off, “when did you discover your voice sounded so much like Peggy Lee’s?” She grimaced at the familiarity, but answered haughtily.

  “Oh, ever since I was a teenager, and younger. I sang in my high school jazz band. Teachers were always pointing it out and saying what a great range and power I had. I would probably have been a great singer, but you know, the acting thing came along …”

  Stephanie couldn’t bear to hear any more. She decided to find the theater manager, hand over the CDs and leave. He was on the phone when she went into his office. He broke off from his conversation and looked up. “These are the CDs the sound people have been waiting for.” As she put them down on the desk, he gave her the thumbs-up. “Oh, by the way,” he said, covering up the mouthpiece on the phone, “you couldn’t drop these in Katherine Martinez’s dressing room, could you?” He nodded his head toward a vast bunch of lilies and white roses lying across the seat of a chair. “You have to pass it on your way out.”

  “Fine,” she said acidly, picking up the flowers, but her lack of keenness was lost on the theater manager, who went straight back to his phone conversation.

  Stephanie opened the door of the dressing room and put the flowers down on a table. She was turning to go when an emerald satin gown draped over a chair caught her eye. She couldn’t stop herself. She picked it up, held it against her and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. “Why couldn’t it have been me?” she muttered to herself, aware that she was feeling like Cinderella abandoned to a basement kitchen full of pumpkins with no hope of rescue from a fairy godmother. She couldn’t have been standing there for more than a minute when the door burst open. She swung round, half expecting to see a kind, elderly woman in a crinoline and a mobcap. Instead it was K-Mart. The smile had gone and had been replaced by an irritated scowl. “You took your time,” she snapped at Stephanie.