by Leslie Meier
The caffeine did the trick and they were on their way by eight-thirty. They’d missed the rest of the group and the limo, but the doorman hailed a taxi for them.
“Better late than never,” said Lucy, looking on the bright side as they settled in for the short ride. “You’ll love Tavern on the Green. It’s beautiful.”
And indeed it was, when the taxi turned into Central Park and pulled up at the landmark restaurant. A light snow had started to fall, transforming the park into a magical fairyland, and the trees around the restaurant were outlined in tiny white lights. The inside was warm and welcoming, and they could hear the hum of voices as they checked their bags and coats and hurried off to the ladies’ room. Lucy wasn’t about to appear before this crowd without checking her hair and lipstick.
“Look,” said Elizabeth, pointing to a tray filled with bottles next to the sink. “It’s fancy perfume.”
Lucy recognized the distinctive bottle of her favorite, Pleasures, and gave herself a generous spritz, then they hurried out to claim their empty places. Lucy squared her shoulders, prepared to do battle for the ten thousand dollars, and followed the hostess to their table. Polite smiles were exchanged as Lucy and Elizabeth sat down and unfolded their cloth napkins, but all attention was on the speaker standing at the podium.
“That’s Camilla Keith, the editor,” whispered the woman next to Lucy, speaking with a Southern accent. “She’s just started speaking.”
Even Lucy had heard of Camilla; she was a legend in the magazine business, and her name was always popping up on tabloid-style TV shows, usually in connection with a lawsuit filed by a disgruntled household employee claiming verbal abuse or unpaid wages. Lucy studied her with interest; as editor-in-chief of the magazine her opinion would probably be decisive in choosing who would win the ten thousand dollars. Camilla was a very petite woman with dark hair pulled tightly back from her face, emphasizing her sharply defined cheekbones and chin. She was wearing a white tweed suit that Lucy suspected was a genuine Chanel, and her lips and fingernails were painted bright scarlet. Lucy knew that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, but she couldn’t for the life of her see how she could ever manage to look anything like the sleek and sophisticated Camilla.
“As editor of Jolie magazine, it is my pleasure to welcome our twelve winners to our fabulous Mother–Daughter Winter Makeover,” she said, giving the group at Lucy’s table a nod. “This is a very accomplished group—they had to be to attract the attention of our judges who chose them from more than forty thousand entries.”
A collective gasp arose from the crowd assembled in the restaurant, and Lucy wondered who all the people at the other tables were. Her question was answered as Camilla continued speaking.
“I would also like to welcome all of you who got up bright and early to join our winners today at our annual breakfast and fashion show supporting the Jolie Foundation, which you all know is a major contributor to the fight against AIDS and breast cancer.”
Lucy checked out the well-dressed ladies and wondered how much they had spent for tickets to the breakfast. These must be the “ladies who lunch” that she’d read about, she realized with surprise. Many of them were much younger than she expected, and she wondered what they did when they weren’t eating out at one benefit or another. She suspected their lives must be very different from hers. There was no going out in jeans and sweaters and duck boots for them—they had to keep up with fashion, and that would require lots of shopping. While Lucy could get away with splashing some water on her face and running a comb through her hair, these ladies’ polished appearances required hours in the salon, not to mention facials and exercise and waxing sessions. Probably even plastic surgery, she guessed, noticing several extremely tight faces.
Recalled from her reverie by a burst of polite laughter, she turned her attention back to Camilla. “Without further ado,” she was saying, “I would like to introduce our winners who have come from all over the country to be with us today.”
Lucy smiled at the others at the table, eager to learn more about them. She wondered if they were all as desperate to win the ten thousand dollars as she was.
“I’ll begin with our California girls, Ocean Blaustein and her mother, Serena Blaustein, from La Jolla,” said Camilla.
There was applause as the two stood. Ocean fulfilled the stereotype Lucy had come to expect from TV, with long blond hair and a tan, dressed in a tummy-baring top and hip-hugging jeans. Serena was a shorter, plumper version of her daughter, with curly red hair and wearing a colorful Mexican-inspired blouse and gathered skirt.
“Moving East, we come to the Great Plains and our winners from Omaha, Nebraska: Amanda McKee and her mother, Ginny McKee.”
Lucy smiled and joined in the applause as Amanda and Ginny got to their feet. Amanda was tall and willowy, dressed in a simple turtleneck sweater and skirt. Her mother was also tall and slim, and her red wool suit complemented her dark hair.
“We couldn’t ignore a state the size of Texas, so we have Tiffany Montgomery and her stepmom, Cathy Montgomery, from Dallas.”
Even if she hadn’t been told, Lucy would have guessed Tiffany and Cathy, who was sitting next to her, were from Texas. They were both wearing expensive-looking tweed jackets, they both had big hair, and they were wearing matching coral lipstick on their collagen-boosted lips. They also both appeared to be about the same age.
“The South is famous for its belles, and we have two lovely ladies from Wilmington, North Carolina: Faith Edwards and her mother, Lurleen Edwards.”
Lucy guessed that Faith took her religion seriously; she was wearing a gold cross on a chain over her flower-patterned dress. So was her mother, also in a loose-fitting number trimmed with lace. Their faces were devoid of make-up, and their hair was combed back and held by plastic headbands.
“New England is known for its independent, strong-minded women and we have two of those hardy souls with us today: Elizabeth Stone and her mother, Lucy Stone.”
Suddenly self-conscious in her best sweater and wool slacks, Lucy discovered there’s nothing like a pair of diamond earrings to give a woman confidence. She got to her feet and smiled at everyone, including Elizabeth, who was the very picture of urban sophistication with her shaggy haircut and black turtleneck dress.
“And last but not least we have two uptown girls from New York City: Carmela Rodriguez and her mother, Maria Rodriguez.”
The applause was loudest for Carmela and Maria, and Lucy felt a little surge of competitive spirit as she studied the two with their matching heads of thick, curly black hair. Carmela was dressed in a simple black pantsuit, with subtle make-up, but her mother was dressed in a form-fitting orange suit with a very short skirt and matching lipstick and nail polish.
Surveying the assembled group of makeover winners, Lucy wondered if they had really been chosen on the basis of the girls’ essays. She doubted that the staff had time to read forty thousand entries, and it seemed suspicious that each of the six mother–daughter pairs came from a different part of the country. As a reporter for the weekly newspaper in Tinker’s Cove, the Pennysaver, she knew that so-called contests were sometimes shams. Every year Ted, the editor and publisher, asked readers to vote for their favorite businesses in the “Best of Tinker’s Cove” contest, but the truth was that few people bothered to fill out the form and mail it in. The last “best pizza” winner received five votes, and the provider of the “best massage” only got one vote, from her mother. Nevertheless, all the winners got official certificates, which they proudly displayed in their places of business.
A sudden burst of laughter drew her attention back to the speaker, who was concluding her talk. “And now, I promise you, no more speeches,” said Camilla. “Breakfast will be served, and then we’ll show you fabulous fashions from the new spring collections.”
Camilla had no sooner left the podium than Lucy found a fruit cup set on her plate. “I hadn’t realized I was so hungry,” she said, picking up her spoon
and surveying the competition.
Ginny McKee was the first to respond, speaking with a midwestern twang. “I noticed you were late—did you have a rough trip?”
“The snow was heavier in Maine,” said Lucy. “They had to clear the runway before we could take off.”
“You never know what will happen when you fly these days, do you?” offered Lurleen, taking her daughter’s hand. “We were praying the whole time we were in the air.”
Lurleen and Faith could be trouble, thought Lucy. She was itching to give them some fashion tips herself and she was sure the editors would relish the opportunity to transform these country bumpkins.
“I find a couple of those cute little bottles of scotch quite helpful myself,” said Cathy, with a throaty chuckle.
She had a breezy Texan confidence that Lucy found appealing, but she wondered how it would play with the editors. First impressions could be deceiving, but she had a feeling Cathy did exactly what she wanted. The giant diamond on her finger gave Lucy reason to hope she wasn’t particularly interested in competing for ten thousand dollars.
“None of that poison for me,” said Serena. “I always bring along a vitamin-packed wheat grass smoothie. I can give you the recipe if you want.”
“I’ll stick to scotch, thanks.” Cathy laughed, turning to Maria and Carmela. “You guys didn’t have to fly. How did you get here?”
Lucy studied the Rodriguezes with interest, trying to determine how much of a hometown advantage they had. Plenty, she decided, taking in Maria’s curves and Carmela’s dimples.
“The magazine sent a limo,” said Maria. “And I can tell you, it sure beats the subway!”
“The subway!” Lurleen was horrified. “You won’t get me down there, that’s for sure.”
“You’re so lucky to live in the city,” continued Cathy, ignoring Lurleen. “I come twice a year, but it’s not enough.”
“Do you come for the shopping or the shows?” asked Ginny, as the waiter refilled her coffee cup.
“Mostly the shopping,” offered Tiffany.
Cathy turned to her stepdaughter. “We love it all, don’t we, honey?”
“East or west, home is best, that’s what I always say,” said Lurleen, who was suspiciously poking at her salad with a fork. “What is this red stuff?”
“Pomegranate. It’s delicious,” said Cathy, rolling her eyes and turning to Maria. “Is it true the really hot new boutiques are all uptown? I’ve heard Soho’s over and Harlem’s where the action is these days.”
Lurleen began to choke, and Faith offered her a glass of water and patted her back.
“I know a few places,” said Maria, smiling broadly. “I could show you.”
“Deal,” said Cathy.
“Amanda didn’t tell me she’d entered this contest,” said Ginny. “I didn’t know a thing about it until the letter arrived. I almost threw it out; I thought it was a subscription offer.”
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t?” asked Amanda. “This is going to be fun.”
“And there’s the possibility of winning ten thousand dollars,” said Ocean. “If we win, Mom says I can buy a car.”
“If we win we’re going to donate the ten thousand dollars to our church,” said Lurleen. “That’s the main reason I came. I mean, if the good Lord presents you with an opportunity you can’t turn it down, can you? I just hope they don’t change my hair color; that’s something I don’t approve of. The good Lord knew what he was doing when he gave us our hair, and everything else, too. Like my mama used to tell me, ‘Just keep your face clean and your soul pure and your beauty will shine through.’”
Cathy shook her head in disbelief. “You’re in the wrong place then, honey. You should’ve stayed in South Carolina.”
“North Carolina.”
“Well, wherever you’re from, you’re in Camilla’s hands now. Around here she’s the boss, and you better do what she says. Her temper is a legend in the industry, believe me, I know. Back in the days before I met Tiffany’s wonderful father, Mr. Montgomery, I was a marketing executive at Neiman Marcus. I dealt with her quite a bit, and I soon learned that there was Camilla’s way or the highway. It didn’t matter that I was the customer, that I was putting up the money and buying the ads. Being the customer didn’t make me right, not with her anyway.”
Lurleen looked worried, and Lucy wondered if she’d only consented to the makeover to win the prize money for her church. Lucy understood her anxiety; she hoped the magazine’s experts wouldn’t make them look ridiculous. Not that she had any complaints so far. The fruit cup had been tasty, and the eggs Benedict was a delicious treat. She realized with a shock that she was enjoying herself, in the heart of New York City. Tinker’s Cove seemed very far away.
The waiters were clearing away the last of the dishes when the lights suddenly dimmed and strobe lights began flashing in time to loud techno music. It was the promised fashion show, but Lucy thought the parade of excruciatingly thin models dressed in skimpy outfits was more suited to a Save the Children campaign than daily life. Thigh-high buccaneer boots with pointy toes and stiletto heels, belt-sized miniskirts, and bondage-inspired bustiers were hardly the sort of thing she would wear. Neither were the flowing and fluttering evening dresses constructed of torn bits of fabric and ribbon. None of the moms at her table seemed to know what to make of the molded foam dress with an additional pair of buttocks stitched onto the backside, a detail the announcer described as “humorous whimsy.”
“Like I need a second one of those,” said Cathy.
“That poor model doesn’t even have a first bottom,” said Ginny, giggling.
But when the fashion show was over and they were ensconced in a limo with Ginny and Amanda en route to the hotel, Lucy discovered that Elizabeth had a very different reaction.
“I’m too fat, Mom,” she said, sighing. “I should never have eaten all those Christmas cookies and stuff.”
“Me, too,” said Amanda.
“You look great,” said Lucy, firmly. “You both look great. You’re normal. Those models are freaks, and whether you believe it or not they’re putting their health at risk.”
“That’s not true, Mom. Now they’re saying people who stress their systems by skipping meals actually add years to their lives.”
“You can’t believe everything you read,” said Ginny.
“That’s for sure,” said Lucy. “Besides, they do more than skip lunch to stay that thin. I wouldn’t be surprised if they smoke cigarettes and take amphetamines and diet pills.”
“Mom, you don’t know that. You read it somewhere. So now who’s the one who needs to remember you can’t believe everything you read.”
Lucy was tempted to retort but didn’t want to fight in front of Ginny and Amanda. Instead, she held her tongue as they pulled up to the gleaming steel and glass office tower. Looking up, she was suddenly thrilled and excited about the adventure ahead. She could hardly contain herself as she sat waiting for the chauffeur to open the door.
Chapter Three
THE YEAR’S BEST AND WORST LOOKS
Lucy was standing with the other winners in the black-marble lobby, waiting for Camilla and the other editors who would escort them to the Jolie offices which occupied the eighteenth through twenty-first floors, when her cell phone rang.
“How was the trip?” asked Bill.
Just the sound of his voice made her feel homesick and she stepped apart from the others so she could have a private conversation. “Okay,” she said, staring out the window at the busy street. It was still snowing, producing a slippery gray slush on the sidewalk and roadway. “New York is a lot different from Tinker’s Cove. How’s everything at home?”
“Everything’s fine. We’re all great. The girls went ice skating on the pond. They say the new skates are terrific.” He paused. “Did you talk to Elizabeth about taking some time off from school?”
“She might not have to. It turns out the magazine is giving ten thousand dollars to the best makeo
ver team. It’s a contest.”
“No way!”
“Way,” said Lucy, watching a fashionably dressed woman striding along in impossibly high heels despite the slippery sidewalk. “and after seeing the others I think Elizabeth and I have a pretty good chance of winning.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think the others are as desperate for the money as we are. Take the pair from California, for example. The daughter wants a new car, but the mom is pretty laid back and relaxed. The only others who expressed any serious interest in the money are from North Carolina, and they say they’ll give it to their church if they win.”
“The others aren’t interested?” Bill sounded doubtful.
“I honestly don’t think the girls from Texas are. They already seem to have more money than they know what to do with. That leaves the New Yorkers, Maria and Carmela. I don’t know much about them yet so I’m keeping an eye on them, and the midwesterners.” Lucy paused, thinking about Ginny and Amanda. “They’re very polite, and polite doesn’t win contests.”
Bill chuckled. “I didn’t know you were such a cutthroat competitor yourself.”
“I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to win.”
“If you’re really serious about this, I’ve got some advice for you. You know that TV show, Survivor? The winners often form alliances with other players to gain an advantage. They help each other wipe out the competition.”
“But there’s only one prize. Why would you help somebody else win?”
“Because they’ll help you in return. Two are better than one.”
“And three’s a crowd,” said Lucy. “That’s what my mother used to say.” She lowered her voice. “I’m worried about Elizabeth,” she whispered. “She hardly ate a bite of breakfast.”
“Maybe she wasn’t hungry.”
“She thinks she’s fat.”
“That’s crazy. She’s skin and bones.”
“I know, but they had this fashion show today and the models were even skinnier than she is so she’s decided she needs to lose weight.”