by Leslie Meier
The women groaned, politely, and Sidra held up her hand. “I’m really sorry about this. I know it’s disappointing for the moms and daughters who were chosen, but I’m afraid it’s unavoidable. You’re all still going to be on TV, and Norah herself will introduce you all by name.”
This pleased the women, who began patting their hair and checking their reflections in their pocket mirrors. All except for Lurleen and Faith, that is, who apparently didn’t carry pocket mirrors and were too disappointed to bother to use them in any case. Maria and Carmela seemed to be taking it better, shrugging and chatting animatedly with each other.
“I wonder what’s the matter with Nadine?” asked Cathy, who was seated next to Lucy.
“Probably the flu,” said Lucy. “My friend told me there’s an outbreak. I’ve been taking vitamin C.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Cathy. “I’ll get some. In fact, I’ll get enough for everybody.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Lucy, wishing she’d thought of it. It would have been a good way to rehabilitate her tarnished reputation.
Behind them, the audience members were beginning to file in. Cameramen and other technicians were taking their places and checking their equipment. It was all very casual and seemingly disorganized until suddenly the house lights went down and the familiar theme music came up, and Norah herself appeared, somehow looking larger than life as the audience burst into enthusiastic applause.
“We have a knockout show for you today,” began Norah, listing guests including pop singer Beyoncé, sitcom star Trina Hamilton, and “a special segment on kitchen design—I know you’re going to be interested in that because we all have to cook, right?”
Norah looked right into the camera and gave her signature moue, and the audience burst into laughter; she had them all in the palm of her hand and she hadn’t even announced the free music CDs they’d all be getting.
“But first, I want to introduce our special guests—the winners of the Jolie magazine winter makeover for moms and daughters!”
Here we go, thought Lucy, as the hot spotlights hit them. They were so bright that she wanted to squint but reminded herself to smile instead as Norah approached and hugged her.
“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed the star, standing between Lucy and Elizabeth and holding them by the hand. “These are my neighbors from Tinker’s Cove, in Maine, where I have a summer home. Lucy and Elizabeth Stone.”
To Lucy it sounded as if the audience was applauding madly.
“New York is very different from Tinker’s Cove, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” said Lucy, suddenly finding herself speechless.
“Are you having a good time?”
“We sure are,” said Lucy, nodding and smiling for all she was worth.
Norah turned to Elizabeth, who had suddenly gone pale. “Me, too,” she managed to squeak, and Norah gave them each a parting hug before moving on. Lucy heard Norah proclaim that Cathy was from Texas, but the rest was a blur as she concentrated on collecting herself. Who would have thought that a brief moment on the small screen would have such an effect? Lucy’s head was swimming, her heart was pounding, her mouth was dry as cotton, and her hands were sweaty. She reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand; it was ice cold. “Whew,” she whispered, hoping they were out of camera range.
“That was intense,” said Elizabeth, also whispering.
The show went to commercials after Norah finished introducing the others—at least that’s what Lucy assumed was going on as Norah settled herself in a chair and was immediately surrounded by hair and make-up technicians who made minute adjustments to her appearance. Sidra also appeared, escorting a nattily dressed man in his mid-fifties and seating him in the guest chair.
Then, Norah was sitting up straighter and talking into a camera.
“Have I got something amazing for you,” she began, introducing a video clip. “Just you watch, you won’t believe this.”
The audience was directed to a series of video monitors that hung from the ceiling where a model was demonstrating a state-of-the-art kitchen. Norah hadn’t overstated the case; the kitchen was equipped with an oven that could hold a dish at refrigerator temperature all day until signaled by telephone to begin cooking and a refrigerator with a digital display that warned when milk and other staples were getting low. When the video was over, Norah introduced her guest, real estate developer Arnold Nelson.
“Now, Arnold, is this stuff for real?” asked Norah. “I mean, I want it, we all want it, don’t we?” The audience, including Lucy, responded by clapping enthusiastically. Norah continued, “But where can we get it?”
“Well, Norah, these are the kitchens that we want to put in our new City Gate Towers, which we hope to build right here in New York on Governors Island.”
Lucy leaned back, half dozing, as Arnold described the luxury condominiums that were going to be located on an island in New York harbor formerly used as a Coast Guard base.
“You’re joshing me! You mean I can actually get a kitchen with all this space-age equipment right now?”
“In a year or two,” answered Arnold, “if things go according to schedule. As you know, a citizens’ committee is currently considering a variety of proposals for the island, and we’re awaiting their recommendations. We certainly hope that City Gate Towers will be part of the final plan.”
A second video began to run showing architects’ drawings of the towers rising from the green and wooded island. The camera appeared to swoop around the towers, showing them in relation to landmarks including the Verrazzano Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and the skyscrapers of Wall Street.
“That is a magnificent setting,” cooed Norah. “Imagine waking up every morning to that view.”
“And freshly prepared hot coffee, too, at the push of a remote button.”
Norah’s eyes bugged out, and the audience burst into applause.
“Our residents will have the whole city at their feet,” continued Arnold, “but they’ll also have the charm—and the security—of island living. It’s absolutely unparalleled. There’s nothing like it anywhere in the world.”
“Well, sign me up,” gushed Norah. “All that—and remote control coffee. It doesn’t get better than that, does it?”
The audience jumped to their feet, clapping, and the cameras turned to pan them in preparation for another commercial break. Seated once again, Lucy found herself wondering about Norah’s choice of Arnold as a guest. The segment had been little more than an infomercial for his development, but perhaps he was the best they could find as a last-minute substitute for Nadine.
“Do you believe it?” whispered Cathy.
“Some amazing kitchen,” said Lucy, keeping her reservations to herself.
‘No, I mean about Arnold.”
“What about him?”
“He’s Nadine’s husband.”
Lucy considered the implications of this. “At home, everybody knows everybody, but I didn’t expect it to be like that in New York City.”
“It isn’t,” said Cathy, lowering her voice as the house lights went down. “Here it’s only everybody who’s anybody.”
As the show continued, Lucy wondered how the last-minute switch had been arranged. Had Nadine made a quick call from the bus when she realized she was too sick to go on? Lucy hadn’t noticed if she had; she only remembered seeing her sleeping. Maybe she’d given a message to Phyllis, while she was helping her get settled on the bus, and she’d made the arrangements from her office. It all seemed less than entirely square to Lucy, who was used to following Ted’s strict rules at the Pennysaver about keeping advertisements separate from editorial policy. She shrugged mentally. Maybe TV had different standards from newspapers; she really didn’t know.
Then Beyoncé was singing, and then the show was suddenly over; everybody was on their feet, applauding madly. Even Lurleen and Faith had forgotten their earlier disappointment and were smiling and clapping.
The high
spirits engendered by the show continued as they all boarded the waiting bus for the ride to the hotel, where they would have an hour to rest and change for dinner and a promised Broadway show. Petty jealousies and rivalries were forgotten as Maria treated everyone to a medley of songs about New York, finally getting them all to join in for a rousing chorus of “New York, New York.”
A wave of tiredness overcame Lucy as she disembarked from the bus and crossed the hotel lobby, but she was surprised when Elizabeth’s steps dragged, too. She was beginning to wonder if she was coming down with the flu when the desk clerk called her name.
The others, who were gathered by the elevator, watched curiously as he presented her with a couple of square, white envelopes. Lurleen, whose eyes were practically popping out of her head, couldn’t restrain herself. “What’s that?” she demanded. “How come we didn’t all get them?”
Lucy examined the envelopes, which were addressed to her and Elizabeth in calligraphic script. “I don’t know,” she said, turning them over. Seeing the name and address of the sender, she smiled. “It’s nothing to do with the magazine,” she said. “It’s from my friend who lives in New York.”
“They look like invitations,” said Cathy. “A wedding, maybe?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anything about a wedding.” Lucy was wondering what was keeping the elevator. She wanted to open the envelopes in private, in her room.
“Goodness, we’re all forgetting our manners,” said Ginny. “Lucy doesn’t need to share her private mail with us.”
“I think it’s some sort of joke,” said Lucy. “Probably one of those funny greeting cards.”
The arrow next to the elevator was alight, signaling it was on its way down.
“I could use a joke,” said Cathy.
“Oh, all right,” said Lucy, slipping her finger under the envelope flap and pulling out an engraved cardboard square. The others were clustered around, craning their necks and reading over her shoulder.
“Oh my,” she said, breaking into a big smile. “It is an invitation. To a ball at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Tomorrow night.”
“The AIDS gala,” said Cathy, as the doors slid open.
The women crowded aboard, surging ahead of Lucy and Elizabeth, who found themselves outside, looking in at a full car.
“Sorry, no room,” chirped Lurleen, as the doors closed.
Lucy and Elizabeth stood in place, looking at each other, then they burst into giggles. “A ball!” exclaimed Elizabeth, jumping up and down with excitement. “There’ll be famous people, fabulous dresses…”
“Oh dear,” said Lucy, her heart sinking as they stepped into an empty elevator. “We don’t have a thing to wear!”
Chapter Six
LUXE LOOKS FOR LESS!
When the clock radio woke Lucy on Tuesday morning, she doubted there was much chance of getting Elizabeth out of bed. She refused to even open her eyes, instead putting a pillow over her head to block the music and burrowing deeper under the covers.
“You’ll miss breakfast,” warned Lucy, but there was no answer.
Lucy could barely remember the days when she preferred sleep to food and could only dimly remember the days when a day off meant sleeping until noon. Although, she admitted to herself as she stretched and got out of bed, she could use another hour or two of sleep herself. The magazine was certainly keeping them busy—they hadn’t got back to the hotel from the theater until well past eleven the night before.
Stopping at the window to check the weather—gray and cold, what did she expect?—Lucy noticed the invitations to the ball that were perched on the sill. She’d tried to call Sam last night, but all she’d gotten was a busy signal. Her cell phone was also on the sill, charging completed, so she took it with her into the bathroom.
“I’m sorry to call so early,” she began, when Sam answered in a groggy voice.
“No, no. I’m up, I’m just not awake yet.”
“Same here,” said Lucy, chuckling. “I got the invitations….”
“Are you coming? Please! I’ve been working on it for months, and I know you’ll have a great time. All sorts of famous people are coming; there’ll be music and dancing and fabulous food. It’s going to be the social event of the season, at least I hope it is.”
“Since when did you become a party planner?” asked Lucy, perching on the edge of the tub.
“Don’t ask,” groaned Sam. “I got stuck when our fund-raiser left for another job. This isn’t the sort of thing I usually do at all, and I don’t really like it. I prefer working with clients, making policy, stuff like that. This has been horrible, which is why I really, really want to see some friendly, supportive faces, like yours.”
“Oh, believe me, I’d love to come but Elizabeth and I don’t have anything to wear.”
“No problem,” said Sam. “Do what I did. Go to a consignment shop. You can pick up designer duds cheap, and you can even return them the next day.”
Lucy was shocked. She couldn’t imagine Sam doing anything so tacky as buying a dress for a special occasion only to return it afterward.
“No, it’s okay. They don’t mind. That’s how these consignment shops work. You won’t get back as much as you paid, but it’s still a good deal.”
“The other problem is the makeover. The schedule’s brutal, and I’m trying to win this ten-thousand-dollar prize for the best makeover so Elizabeth can go back to college next semester. I can’t go sneaking away to a ball.”
“Au contraire, Lucy. It just so happens that Jolie magazine has a table. Camilla Keith’s coming, along with several other editors. This is your chance to wow them.”
Lucy’s mind was spinning. “If they’re at the ball, they’re not going to be with the makeover winners on the ’round-the-island dinner cruise….”
“So you’ll come?”
“Sure,” said Lucy. “So where’s this consignment shop?”
When Lucy got downstairs there was only a scattering of people, mostly dressed in business attire, in the dining room, but she spotted two familiar faces. Lucy would have preferred to sit by herself but decided it might be viewed as impolite, so after helping herself to fruit salad and yogurt from the buffet she joined Ginny and Serena at their table.
“Where is everybody?” she asked, as the waiter filled her cup with coffee.
“The girls wanted to get an extra hour of sleep,” said Ginny.
“Elizabeth, too.” Lucy yawned and took a sip of coffee. “Frankly, I could use a bit more sleep myself.”
“I know the feeling,” agreed Serena. “My biological clock hasn’t adjusted to Eastern time. It’s seven-thirty for you but it’s more like four-thirty for me. I fell asleep during that massage yesterday.”
“How was the spa?”
“Very relaxing,” said Ginny. “It was the best part so far.”
“I’m really looking forward to it,” said Lucy. “I don’t know how people keep up this pace. Things are a lot slower in Tinker’s Cove.”
“I could never live in the city.”
“Me either,” agreed Serena. “Everybody’s in such a hurry here. They don’t know how to relax and chill.”
“And they’re so rude,” said Ginny.
“I think it’s the weather,” said Serena. “It’s so cold and there’s not enough sunshine. It makes people irritable and depressed.”
“Have you seen the subway? I’d sure be depressed if I had to face that every day. It’s so dirty and nasty. The streets are dirty, too. We wouldn’t tolerate it in Omaha.”
“I guess it’s just a by-product of city life,” said Lucy. “So many people and cars in a small space.”
“It doesn’t seem healthy to me.”
“Well, believe it or not, New Yorkers are supposed to be the healthiest people in the country because they’re so fit. They walk miles every day. And they also consume less energy. Big cities are actually good for the environment.”
From their expressions it was c
lear that Ginny and Serena didn’t believe her.
“It’s true,” insisted Lucy. “Look at Maria and Carmela—they look fabulous.”
“They sure don’t hide their figures,” said Serena, smoothing her Juicy Couture tangerine hoodie over her ample bosom.
“You’d get arrested if you dressed like that in Omaha,” said Ginny, adjusting her turtleneck. “Yesterday you could actually see Carmela’s bra. What was she thinking, wearing a black bra under a sheer white blouse?”
“What was her mother thinking, letting her out of the house like that?” Serena’s vehemence shocked Lucy, who had yet to see Ocean with her belly covered.
“Not that Maria is much better. I don’t know how she gets in and out of those skirts. They’re so tight they look like she sprays them on.”
“And those nails! They must be two inches long. How can she do anything?”
“Mine break,” said Lucy, with a sigh, opening the morning paper. The headline wasn’t encouraging: FLU DEATHS RISE.
“I hate stories like this,” said Lucy, showing the others. “What are you supposed to do? Stop breathing?”
“Wash your hands,” said Ginny.
“Take vitamin C,” offered Serena. “And echinacea.”
“That’s all well and good, but somebody can still sneeze in your face, like Nadine. She was sneezing and coughing all over the place yesterday.”
“Do you think she has the flu?” asked Ginny.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Lucy, spooning up a big chunk of vitamin-C-rich grapefruit.
When Lucy and Elizabeth arrived at the Jolie offices, Lucy was relieved to discover they’d been paired with Cathy and Tiffany for wardrobe consultations. She hadn’t much liked listening to Serena and Ginny’s complaints about the city and she suspected their comments about Maria and Carmela had more to do with racism than fashion choices. Lurleen and Faith, on the other hand, were sweet and nonjudgmental, but Lucy feared that given half a chance they would try to convert her to their evangelical faith.