Annihilate Me 2: Omnibus (Complete Vols. 1-3, Annihilate Me 2)

by Christina Ross

  I knew she was talking about the baby, and while I didn’t necessarily want to discuss that with her now, this was Blackwell, who had helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life. So, I acquiesced for that reason.

  “After that kind of loss, I’m not sure what better is, Barbara. But for the sake of my marriage, I needed to make an effort to accept the loss and move forward. I’m not talking about moving away from the loss—that will never happen. It’s always going to be part of me, just as you said it would. I will never forget what happened to my child. But I can’t let that destroy what I have with Alex. I need to be present for him. Be there for him. He’s hurting as much as I am. But in life, sometimes we need to wear a mask until enough time passes that you can take it off completely. As for now, I think we’re both wearing a mask. We’re both trying to rise above the unthinkable. But eventually, we will accept it and move beyond it. What other choice do we have?”

  “None—and I can tell you that because I’ve been there. I’m proud of you, my dear. It takes a lot of courage to fight on, but what are you if not a fighter?” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Because that’s who you are, you know? A fighter. And in my consideration, you’re among the best there is when it comes to that. Look at your track record, for God’s sake. It’s practically impenetrable.”

  “So, where are we going?” I asked.

  “Where else?” she said. “Bergdorf’s. And by the way, that’s the end of me being nice to you—at least for today.” She reached forward and tapped the driver on his shoulder. “Tout de suite, Drake. Let’s move it! I’ve got to squeeze Holly Hocks here into a dress. And what a rat trap that’s going to be. Pray for me. Somebody—please, just pray that it all goes well, because I have a feeling that with her bum arm in a sling and with that ass of hers, everything is about to go to hell.”

  * * *

  Blackwell was already on her phone when the SUV swung right through traffic and slowed next to the sidewalk in front of Bergdorf’s. The building was just beyond the teems of people walking up and down Fifth.

  “Chloe? Chloe? Is that you? Well, thank God it is because for a moment, you sounded like a garbage disposal—your cell phone connection is awful, so you might want to get that checked out. Anyway, we’re here again. I know this won’t be anything like last time, when you stampeded us with the likes of Immaculata Almendarez, Epifania Zapopa, and her mother, Guadalupe. We expect you to be at your best today. You have the dresses I singled out for us last night? Good. And a tailor is at the ready to assist us should we need one? Good. We’re just arriving now. Expect us through those doors in one minute.”

  And with a press of a button, she severed their connection.

  “You’re such a hard ass,” I said as she dropped her phone in her handbag.

  “And you should learn from it. Being demanding gets shit done. Especially when you’re about to spend the kind of money we’re about to spend here. Because of that alone, I expect nothing but the best from Chloe this time around. If she screws up a second time, I’ll have her job.”

  “Oh, just leave her alone. You can’t be her only difficult client.”

  “Difficult?”

  “Yes, difficult.”

  “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve dropped at this place, Maine? No—I didn’t think so. Let’s just say that I am the client. And I expect to be treated as such, as should you. When are you ever going to get it through that thick skull of yours that you are a Wenn? Don’t you get the importance of that alone? Even at this point?”

  “My name entitles me to nothing.”

  She actually snorted at that. “Ha! Come on! Let’s do this. Drake, the door?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When he stepped out, she watched him come around the car and said, “He’s perfectly nice, but I want Cutter back.”

  “Give him a chance.”

  “You know what I mean. I miss that boy.”

  “We all do. But I understand that he’s on the mend. He’ll be back soon enough.”

  When the door swung open, Drake proffered his hand, which Blackwell took as she alighted from the car.

  “A gentleman,” she said, almost with a sense of surprise. “Assisting a lady out of the car. How very nice of you. How divoon. Since Jennifer isn’t a lady—I believe she grew up on some backwoods pig farm in Maine, or something like that, Drake—it’s awful, just awful the pedigree we’re dealing with today—you can just go ahead and ignore her. From an earlier conversation I had to suffer through, I learned that the sling doesn’t hinder her one little bit…”

  “Oh, you’re on a roll today.”

  “And the day has just started.”

  I took Drake’s hand with my free hand, thanked him when he helped me out of the car, and started to move toward Bergdorf’s as the doors opened for us. And there she was—poor Chloe looking as pretty as ever, even if she did look a bit on edge, not that I could blame her given the mood Blackwell was in.

  This time, her blonde hair wasn’t in a ponytail but was loose around her shoulders. She was wearing a gorgeous red suit that accentuated her trim figure, and in her hand was what looked like an iPad cloaked in a black Dior iPad case. On her feet were a pair of red Louboutins I hadn’t seen before, but which I wanted on sight.

  Without a word, Blackwell walked straight past Chloe and moved into the store. There were no kisses, no hugs, no fawning over each other this time. Instead, Blackwell apparently was prepared to lift her leg on whatever she could and mark each spot as her own.

  “Hello, Chloe,” I said.

  “It’s good to see you again, Jennifer. We’re all glad that you’re back safe. We were so worried.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “And we’re so sorry for your loss.”

  My loss?

  I just looked at her as my lips parted. “I’m sorry?”

  “The five people you lost on the plane…” she said.

  I shook my head, collected myself, and nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you for that.” I thought she’d been referring to my child, which was a secret I never wanted to get out, so now I was perfectly rattled, particularly since I’d just been reminded of our lost friends. “I just hope we can find something that will work with this sling.”

  “Got it covered,” Blackwell said. “Chloe, please take us to the first dress. With all of these tourist milling around me in their cheap wash-and-wearables, I’m starting to feel slightly apoplectic. I’m surprised that you even let them in here. You know what? Here’s a tip for Bergdorf’s. They should have a sign on the door. No shoes, No Shirt, No one with an income under a million dollars, No Service. Would you have somebody look into that for me? Yes? Good. Now, where to? Third floor? I thought so. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  When we arrived at the third floor, which was labeled Women: Designer Evening Wear, the war of the dresses commenced.

  Chloe brought me to one of the private dressing rooms, and in short order had me try on four dresses. When Blackwell told me about the first gown, she described it as if it deserved to be in all caps: “It’s a Valentino Cosmos-Embroidered Tulle Gown.” And I could see why—it was not to be believed.

  It was sleeveless, and it had a square bateau neckline. The back was open, and it had a top-pleated full skirt that fell to the floor in a cascade of shimmering stars and stardust, all painstakingly embroidered by hand in threads of gold and amber.

  The top half of the dress gave the illusion that you were wearing nothing beneath it, but there was actually nude-colored Spandex fabric shielding my breasts. Chloe and Blackwell helped me into it, and when it was on, I stood before an array of mirrors and fell in love with it, despite the ache in my shoulder.

  But there was an issue with the dress—because the top half showed off so much of my shoulders, covering my wound would be next to impossible. I turned to look at Barbara. She caught my glance and absorbed my concern in an instant, and said, “Not to worry. This dress wil
l be for another time—when you’ve healed. It’s not for now, though we’ll still buy it today.”

  We skipped through two more dresses—an Elie Saab Beaded Sheer-Inset Lace Gown in capri blue that offered a subtle mermaid silhouette, the illusion of a jeweled neckline, and allover beading. I hated it at once and when Blackwell caught my gaze in the mirror, she immediately understood, so she waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. We then moved onto a Carolina Herrera Short-Sleeve Tiered Lace Evening Gown, which was fitted at the waist and had a pleated trumpet sweep. It was black and it was gorgeous, but it wasn’t Blackwell approved.

  “We can do better,” she said. “It’s nice. It’s pretty. But it’s not show-stopping, which is what we need for tonight. Chloe, bring out the dress that I know will work,” she said. “These were good—especially the first one—but the other two were not on point. That said, I think the next one will be.”

  And she was right.

  This one was a Michael Kors Lace Illusion Mermaid Gown, in matte black, with lace illusion and a stretch-knit skirt. The sleeves were long and sheer, and the skirt was fitted, but it flared at the knee before offering a small yet dramatic train that I loved at once. The detailing in the bodice and the sleeves alone was something to admire and to remember—it was intricate and beautiful, a spiderweb of interlocking designs that worked to create a kind of mystery. The bonus? It also completely concealed where I had been shot, and it was an extremely comfortable fit.

  “I love this one,” I said.

  “I thought you would. I saved it for last for a reason.”

  “It’s perfect on you, Jennifer,” Chloe said. She turned to Blackwell. “And it fits. Do you think we need any tailoring?”

  “How dare you be so quick to judge. Let me get up close and personal with it first.”

  And she did, inspecting every part of me as she asked me to turn this way and that, lift my arms as high as I could, bend over, and twirl. And then she simply backed away from me with a smile. As it turned out, there was no tailoring necessary.

  “Who knew?” Blackwell said. “That gigantic ass of yours actually fits the dress perfectly, which even I didn’t see coming. And it fits through the arms and doesn’t pucker at the small of your back. Did Kors have you in mind when he created this? Doubtful. But good for us—because it’s a winner. I say this one.”

  “Me too. Chloe?”

  “Definitely. It’s stunning, Jennifer. You’ll knock them dead with this.”

  “If I could knock just one person dead tonight, I’d rather like that, Chloe,” I said, but when she narrowed her brow at me, I waved it off. “Just joking.” I turned to Barbara. “So? This one?”

  “Done. And I have a surprise in store for you later. Just wait until you see what I have up my sleeve for you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “In due time, darling—in due time.” She looked at Chloe. “We’ll take this one, Chloe, and also the first one, which we’ll have tailored at a later date. And thank you for redeeming yourself. You were very helpful, especially when it came to dressing and undressing this one, who is nothing short of a mere cripple at this point. I know that was difficult, and I admire your tact and gentleness with her.”

  “Thank you, Barbara.”

  “My pleasure. What’s the price?”

  “Twenty-seven thousand dollars.”

  “And for the first dress?”

  “The Valentino? Forty-four thousand dollars.”

  “Ring them up.”

  “Are you also looking for shoes? Undergarments? Hose?”

  “Just the shoes and the hose. Somehow, Jennifer has yet to take the spank out of her Spanx, which is a conundrum even to me.”

  “What did you have in mind for each?”

  “Why don’t we go and find out?” Blackwell said.

  * * *

  When our shopping spree was over at Bergdorf’s, we had dropped over seventy-three thousand dollars, which included dark hose and a pair of Saint Laurent Tribute Patent Sandals with a dramatic four-inch heal. They were magnificent—and they set Alex back three grand.

  “I hate spending so much money for one event,” I said to Blackwell as we left the store and crossed the busy sidewalk toward the SUV Drake had waiting for us at the curb. Blackwell had called him when we were checking out. “It’s just unnecessary. That money should be spent on the homeless, or on some other charity. This is ridiculous.”

  When I said that, Blackwell stopped dead on the sidewalk and turned to me. “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Listen to me, Maine. Nothing has changed since you’ve been shopping with me. You are about to be judged by all of society tonight—and also by the press, who will be there to photograph your every move. You are back from the brink of death—have you somehow forgotten that? Do I need to remind you that everybody in the world thought we were dead not that long ago. You need to walk into Henri’s party looking as if nothing has happened to you—and with the exception of your arm, you will, especially once Bernie and I are finished with you. Do you have any idea the stir you and Alex are about to cause? Given your blank stare, I don’t think you do. You and Alex are going to be tonight’s main event—the full course, will all the trimmings. And in my world? The main event shows up looking like the star attraction.”

  She nodded toward the SUV. “Now get in the car. We’re going to Cartier to choose new earrings, a new necklace, a new bracelet, and a new ring or two. When you leave me tonight, my aim is to have you looking better than you ever have—even with that damned sling of yours.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Later that afternoon, after dropping an obscene amount of money at Cartier, we had a late lunch of roughage at Salade on Park, where Blackwell first taught me the importance of piling on the greens “so one can cleanse before an evening out.”

  And even later, as the sun started to set behind Manhattan’s jagged skyline as we drove to Wenn, I tried to reach Alex, but for some reason he didn’t answer his phone.

  Where is he? I wondered.

  When Blackwell and I stepped into Wenn, we cross the lobby, took the elevator to the fifty-first floo,r and moved down the hallway toward the office we’d always used as a makeshift dressing room.

  “It’s seems like a lifetime ago when we were last here,” I said to Blackwell when we first entered the room.

  “And yet it hasn’t even been a month. The time on that island felt like a good six months—if not a year. But here we are—and here is dear Bernie. You’re looking as fantastic as ever, my love,” she said to him. “And together, we’re about to remove the island from Jennifer’s whiskbroom of a hairdon’t and fix what has become, for me, her reptilian-like skin.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said.

  “Oh, you will be thanking me. And also Bernie,” she said as she approached him with open arms. “Mostly Bernie.” She fell into his open arms and held him for a moment. “Thank God I’m able to see you again.”

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said.

  “And here I thought the same.”

  “And yet you triumphed.”

  “I did,” she said. “Like a phoenix from the ashes.”

  “And yet look at you,” he said, standing away from her while still holding her hands in his own. “Nothing ashy here.”

  “You’re being too kind,” she said. “I know I’m a wreck. I know I need your spells. Your voodoo. Your…your je ne sais pas!”

  He took a lock of her hair, and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. “You’re not out of the game yet,” he said. “But a dark cloud hovers.”

  “I know it does.”

  “We can fix it.”

  “It needs to be fixed. I need to be fixed.”

  “Then, it’s done. We tend to Jennifer tonight. Tomorrow, it’s all about you.”

  “J’espere,” Blackwell said.

  “I promise.”

  “How I’ve missed you, my friend.”
/>   “I have a confession,” he said.

  “What confession?”

  “I turned to pharmaceuticals when I thought you were lost to me.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I did. Happy pills, they call them. And yet somehow, throughout it all, I remained sallow.”

  “Take yourself off them,” she said. “They’re no good for you. I’m here now.”

  And with that, the stylish, good-looking fifty-something man, took a deep breath and said with his eyes closed, “I’m not sure that I can.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of my lost youth. Because I’ve returned to old habits.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I need to know everything.”

  “It will be a burden.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Fine, then—but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “If I crush up the pills and snort them, I’m in absolute heaven, even though it lasts for only a moment before I fall into a funk again.”

  “That’s just you zipping back to your days at Studio 54, before you found Madonna, gave her the crucifix, and turned her into the fashion icon she became because of you! But you’re beyond that now, Bernie. You must know that you are.”

  “What I know is that I’m an addict.”

  “Who isn’t? I, for one, am addicted to power. And fashion. But you have strength, and part of your strength is back with you now. I’m here again. I might have crashed out of the sky and slammed onto an island overrun with gun-toting hippies, but look—I’ve returned. I’m alive and well. So, ditch the pills. Forget about putting that blow up your nose.”

  “In my own defense, I was using rolled up hundred-dollar bills lightly scented with perfume…”

  “Well, I will give you points there. May I ask what you cut it with?”

  “A gold razor blade. I got it in 1980 from Grace Jones at a party at 54. It has too much sentimental value for me to throw it away. Oh, the times I had with that blade!”