“Of course I do. It’s in the back of my closet. I thought it might have some sort of retro appeal. If nothing else I can guarantee that I’ll be the only one there wearing a vintage Jessica McClintock.”
Ruth was far from amused. “With good reason. Forget it. It’s not happening.”
Although she had been teasing, Eva thought that the idea had some merit. Her prom dress was black and stylish. Or at least it had been more a dozen years ago. Nevertheless, she forgot it. “Fine. But you have to come shopping with me. We’ll start at Saks and work our way south.”
“Department stores are too matronly and conservative.”
“Conservative’s not bad. I am representing Wyndham’s.”
“No, you need something with sizzle,” Ruth said, thinking out loud, “an attention-getter.”
“No, I’m pretty sure attention is the last thing I want to get. I’m not really going to the ball so much as being there while it’s happening.”
Ignoring her, Ruth said, “I’ve got just the thing. Meet me on the corner of Spring and Thompson at six and we’ll sort you out.”
Before Eva could ask questions, Ruth hung up.
Now on to the next problem, she thought: Who should be her plus one? Her first thought was Ruth because she felt comfortable in every situation and could make sparkling conversation with a lampshade. After a moment, however she decided bringing a female friend wouldn’t provide her with coverage should Reed show up with a wife or girlfriend.
Reed would be there, right? Of course he would. He was the reason she’d gotten the invitation.
Or was that Cole Hammond’s doing? Or his mother’s?
No, she shook her head, it had to be Reed’s.
Disgusted with her schoolgirl swooning, she called Mark to beg him to come. This sort of thing—fitting in where you didn’t belong—was right up his alley. He, too, was adept at drawing conversation out of inanimate objects. Yet another reason, thought Eva, why he and Ruth belonged together.
Mark answered on the second ring.
“I’ve got a huge favor to ask,” she said by way of hello. “It’s a really, really huge one, so if you can’t swing it, I’ll understand. I’ll curse your name and your children’s names and bear you a grudge for the rest of your life, but I’ll understand.”
He laughed at her melodrama “Does it involve a camel?”
Eva was reasonably sure that camels wouldn’t be involved, but she didn’t like to make promises she couldn’t absolutely guarantee. “There’s a very slight chance, say, less than one hundredth of a percent.”
“Well, as long as it’s less than one hundredth of a percent, I’m in. What’s required of me?”
“Be outside your apartment tomorrow night at seven-thirty in a tuxedo.”
“Tuxedo,” he repeated, as if this were an alien notion.
Eva had no idea what the wardrobe of the average thirty-year-old male contained. Was a tux too much to hope for? It seemed pretty basic to her. After all, she had four formal dresses in her closet. “You do have a tux, don’t you? If not, I insist on paying for the rental.” This was something that hadn’t even occurred to her, she was so wrapped up in the drama of her own ensemble. “You can rent one on such short notice, right? It’s not completely impossible?”
“Calm down, Eva. I’ve got a tuxedo. I was just trying to remember when I last wore it. I think it was my cousin’s wedding two years ago. I hope it still fits.”
“Me too.”
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
Eva searched her brain for vital information but came up empty. “Nope, just be ready to leave at seven-thirty.”
“Sounds great. One last thing.”
Eva looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. She had wasted almost the whole morning on this stupid party. “Yeah?”
“Where are we going?”
“The Hammond’s Fashion Ball.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“How’d you wrangle an invite?”
“Wrangle hell. It just came to me. Practically fell out of the sky on to my desk.”
“That guy Reed you mentioned the other night?” he asked.
“I honestly have no idea if he has anything to do with this. But I’ll let you know the second I find out. And as I’ll probably be hanging on your sleeve at that time, I do mean the second.”
“All right. I’m here for you.”
“I know.”
“And since I have you on the phone, any interesting developments on the Ruth front?”
“Not since yesterday, no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“Nothing seemingly insignificant?”
“Mark, I think I’d know an interesting development when I saw one, even if it was cloaked in seeming insignificance.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“I do. See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, should I bring you a corsage?”
“Absolutely not.”
She hung up and laid her head down on the desk. Although it was still pretty early in the day, she felt as though she had been at work for hours.
***
Eva couldn’t imagine anything more draining or time consuming than getting ready for the Hammond Foundation’s Fashion Ball, not even dressing for her own wedding. At the moment, Eva would happily give her left arm for the simplicity of a white dress and a veil.
“You’re not plucking my eyebrows,” Eva said, glaring angrily at the pair of tweezers in Ruth’s hand. “My eyebrows are perfect arches.”
“Relax, I’m not touching them.”
She eyed her friend warily. “Yeah, then what are the tweezers for?”
“What tweezers?”
“The ones in your hand.”
Ruth laughed as she looked at the metal object she was holding. “This isn’t a pair of tweezers. It’s a bobby pin.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s a bobby pin?”
“Sure.”
“It’s the largest one I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, I needed something sturdy.”
Eva’s hair, after a protracted regimen of brushing and blowing and pulling and twirling, was swept high on the top of her head in a graceful pile of ringlets. Loose curls brushed her neck. The style was beautiful and glamorous, but the process of achieving it had been painful and torturous, requiring much poking and pulling. Her scalp was still tender from the abuse. “You said we were done with my hair. You promised no more.”
“We are done with your hair. It’s perfect.”
“Why the monster bobby pin?”
Ruth took out a white box, opened it and withdrew the pièce de résistance she had been saving for last. “Ta-da!” she said, hold up a sparkling tiara that glittered beautifully even in the dull overhead lighting of Eva’s living room.
Eva stared at it, momentarily mesmerized by its radiance. Then she shook her head vehemently, dislodging a few curls. “No.”
Ruth leaned down on her knees so that she was eye level with her friend. “Please.”
“No.”
“You won’t be complete without it. It’s like the star on top of a Christmas tree,” she explained reasonably. She had expected resistance. Eva was so predictable.
Eva didn’t at all enjoy being compared to a Christmas tree, but all she said was no. She wasn’t going to get into a debate about the tiara. It was simply too silly.
“You must.”
“I won’t. I’ll look like the duchess of Cambridge.”
Ruth waved off her protest. “Don’t be silly. Everyone’s wearing them these days, not just duchesses and beauty queens.”
Eva couldn’t believe that with a half hour to go before she had to leave for the ball, she was arguing over a tiara. “Nobody I know wears one.”
“You don’t hang out with socialites, do you?” her friend countered.
“And with good reason. I’m not a socialite.”
&nbs
p; “Fine,” she said, giving in with a disappointed sigh, “if you won’t wear the tiara, at least promise to wear the necklace and earrings I got.”
Having overcome Ruth’s obstinacy on the tiara issue—no small accomplishment given how stubborn she was—Eva complied willingly. “I promise.”
“Excellent.” She took a velvet box out of her bag and opened it to reveal gorgeous diamond-and-ruby earrings encircled by an equally stunning necklace.
Eva’s heart lodged in her throat. She had never seen jewelry with so much fire before. “Those are real, aren’t they?”
Ruth laughed, delighted by her friend’s reaction. “Yep. Here, try them on.”
She stood up and took a step back. “I can’t wear those. What if I lose them?”
“You promised,” Ruth reminded her. “And you’re not going to lose them. They’ve got super-duper strong clasps. Trust me, yours is not the only neck they’ve ever been around.”
She stepped back another few feet. “Where are they from?”
“Harry Winston. A friend there owed me a favor,” she said, bringing the jewels into the kitchen, where Eva stood almost hiding behind the refrigerator. “Come on, now. You promised.”
Practically gnashing her teeth, Eva turned around and let Ruth put the necklace on her. “You tricked me.”
Ruth closed the clasp with a satisfying click. “It was only a small trick.”
Running her hand over the necklace, she said, “Where’s the tiara from?”
“K-Mart. In the kids’ Halloween section.” She lifted one earring from the velvet box and pushed it gently through the hole in Eva’s earlobe. “It came with a magic wand, which I considered using as well but decided that was overkill.”
Eva held her head still as the second earring went in. “It was a good maneuver. You pulled it off beautifully.”
“Thanks. But give credit where credit is due, I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without you. You followed the script verbatim.”
She smiled deprecatingly and followed Ruth into the bedroom, where the apartment’s only full-length mirror hung from the closet door. Ruth had purposefully kept Eva away from mirrors because she didn’t want her evaluating a work in progress. It was only now that the picture was truly complete that she would entertain criticism. She stood back as Eva silently examined her reflection.
After all those cousins’ weddings and holiday parties at Tavern on the Green, Eva knew that she cleaned up well. Although she chose to keep things simple and classic during the day—conservative navy blue suit, a single strand of pearls, a brush of color on her eyelids—her off-hours look was more interesting. She wore stylish, figure-flattering clothes and makeup that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. Still, she was unprepared for the woman who stared back at her. Eva Butler was suddenly curvaceous and mysterious and not a little bit dangerous.
It was the dress, she thought, staring at the bias-cut duchesse-satin confection that clung to her body. She recalled how opposed she had been to it when they first arrived at the store.
“I have just the thing for you,” Marcel Maribou had said. He was a designer friend of Ruth’s who had agreed to lend her a dress in exchange for exposure. To Eva’s mortification, Ruth had all but promised him she would get her photo on Page Six.
A few moments later Marcel had swept through the curtain with the red dress in his arms, pushing everything else from her mind.
“Absolutely not,” she’d said with an emphatic shake of her head.
“What?” the designer had said, only mildly offended. “It’s an exquisite dress.”
“Yes, for a willowy blonde. I’ve got flaming red hair.”
“It’s not flaming,” he’d protested. “It’s a nuanced shade of auburn.”
Ruth had immediately insisted she try it. “If it looks ridiculous, we’ll try something else. No harm done.” She winked at Marcel.
Eva had thought this was reasonable and quickly put on the dress so they could move on to more practical suggestions. But they never did move on. The dress looked fabulous. So fabulous she forgot to be petulant.
Looking at it now, Eva was again amazed at how well the deep red color looked with her coloring. But it wasn’t only the dress. The strappy sandals that Ruth had finagled were just as beautiful, showing off her pedicure to perfection, and her makeup was divine, somehow managing to be both sexy and subtle.
“I’ve run out of adjectives,” Eva said, turning to Ruth.
“Hmm?”
“I’m standing here thinking about how wonderful, stunning, gorgeous, stupendous, marvelous, amazing, incredible, fabulous you’ve made me look, and I’ve run out of adjectives.”
“Can we say you pass muster and leave it at that?” she asked, relieved by her friend’s pleased response. It wasn’t enough that Eva look beautiful; she also had to feel comfortable in her finery.
“We could, but it would be wholly inadequate.” She took Ruth’s hands and squeezed them. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”
“Get yourself on Page Six and we’ll call it even.”
Eva made a face. “You’re relentless.”
“If I were relentless, I would’ve told you to get your hot bod in Us Weekly. Then Marcel said you can keep the dress.”
At once, Eva covered her head and sang la la la. “The evening is already stressful enough. I will not let you make it worse.”
Ruth shrugged. “If you want to give that stunning dress back, that’s your business. Now, here’s your purse. We should get going. It’s after seven.” Ten minutes later, when they were in a cab speeding uptown, she said, “I’m glad Mark is going.”
Eva hadn’t expect this. “Really?”
“Yeah, he’s great in pressure situations. My previous opinion stands,” she hastened to assure her, “you definitely should not see Mark in any sort of romantic light. But for a strong shoulder to lean on, I can’t think of anyone better.”
“He is reliable, isn’t he?” Eva said. “I’m going to miss that.”
“Why will you miss it?”
“He’s got to have a relationship sometime, doesn’t he?” she stated logically. “If not me, then someone else. And I don’t think a girlfriend would like him riding to our rescue quite so much. Nor would he have quite so much time to do it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I could be wrong.”
Eva could see that this wasn’t something that Ruth had ever thought of and she let the idea simmer during the rest of the ride to Hell’s Kitchen. When they pulled up in front of Mark’s apartment building, he was already by the curb.
“Hey there, handsome,” Eva said, climbing gingerly out of the cab. She still wasn’t accustomed to three-inch heels.
Mark took her arm and helped her regain her balance. “Hi yourself, gorgeous.”
“I can take no credit. It was all Ruth.”
Ruth slammed the car door and walked around the cab. “As much as I want to, I can’t take credit for your five-foot-nine frame or your C-cup breasts. That’s either God or your parents.”
Eva laughed. “Bah, they were just raw materials in the hands of a master. Trust me, Mark, she knows what’s she’s doing.”
Ruth snorted impolitely and looked Mark over. He wore his conservative tux with flair, choosing a red tie over the standard-issue black bow-tie. It should have made him look like a Victorian butler, but instead it drew attention to his personal style. His shaggy hair had been cut short for the occasion in a style that served to emphasize his excellent bone structure and pillowy red lips. Ruth, staring at him unblinkingly, found herself wondering why she had never before noticed how deep brown his eyes were.
“My God,” he said, linking his arm through Eva’s, “we make a fantastic-looking couple.” He looked to Ruth. “Am I wrong?”
She shook herself loose from the odd fascination she suddenly felt. “No, you make a beautiful couple. Smile!” she said, snapping a series of posed shots for her Instagram feed. “Now give me some action. Mark, help her into
the cab.”
As soon as Mark helped Eva into the cab, Ruth insisted that he help her out again. Then she told Eva to help Mark into the car.
“Seriously, no,” Eva said, taking out her own phone and wrapping her arm around Ruth for a selfie. Mark sidled up to Ruth and took a picture of all three of them.
The cab driver grumbled and Eva said, “All right, guys, enough prom shots. Let’s get this thing over with.”
“Love the attitude, Cinderella,” Ruth said with a laugh.
Grateful for her help, Eva enveloped her friend in a hug. “You’re the best fairy godmother ever. I’ll text you photos as soon as we get there.”
“Photos and running commentary,” Ruth insisted as the fantastic-looking couple climbed into the waiting cab. She shut the door and leaned against the window. “And call me the second you leave. I don’t care how late it is. Mark, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Have a blast, guys.”
“I don’t suppose you happened to notice Ruth staring at you with her tongue hanging out,” Eva asked, as the cab pulled away from the curb.
He swallowed hard and willed himself not to believe it. Sometimes women misread signals from other women. “No, I guess I missed that.”
Eva nodded and fell silent. They passed the ride like that, each of them lost in his or her own thoughts, and it was only when they were approaching the Guggenheim, where the event was to be held, that he took her hand and asked what she was thinking.
She shrugged. “I was just wondering if Cinderella had felt sick to her stomach.”
CHAPTER SIX
“This isn’t so bad,” she said to Mark, as she finished her second glass of red wine. She’d wanted something stronger, like a vodka tonic or neat whiskey, but she decided to err on the side of caution. She didn’t want to get drunk at her first New York society function. It might be her only one, and she wanted to remember it. And so far there had been much worth remembering. Walking up the red carpet had been a thrill, especially since nobody paid attention to them. She and Mark were able to gawk at the celebrities who went by as easily as the bystanders on the other side of the velvet rope, only they had a better view. Even now that they were in the museum, they were still gawking. Eva was even trying to come up with believable lines to strike up conversation with her favorite actresses. “Feeling has returned to my fingers.”
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