by Cynthia Dane
“Mr. Cole told me that I was heading somewhere. Being him, I have no idea where or what plane I should get on. I figured you guys would be the best to ask.”
“Of course.” The receptionist kept smiling as she typed something into her computer. “Ah, yes, you are scheduled for departure outside Gate P1 in forty-five minutes. I just need your passport, and then Jeanette will escort you.”
As if they had rehearsed this, Jeanette appeared, prim and pretty in her navy blue uniform and purple scarf around her throat. Her impeccable makeup shone in the natural light of the private atrium as she and the receptionist checked Jasmine’s travel credentials and then escorted her to the tarmac, where Jasmine fully expected to see a little plane and Ethan waiting for her.
She did not see either.
The plane was a lot bigger than she was used to. Jeanette casually called it a “Gulfstream,” which was a name Jasmine really knew. Not that she had ever flown in one before. Ethan was rich enough to afford one, but he wasn’t in the airplane game. He had a few planes on standby depending on where he had to go, but they were all leased or rentals. A Gulfstream was something Jasmine still dreamed of experiencing.
Her eyes were too busy drinking in the large private jet to see who stood in front of it, wearing a fashionable black trench coat and sunglasses as big as her face. Adrienne lowered her phone and shut it off the moment she saw Jasmine approaching. Out of all the women who had smiled at her that day, Adrienne’s was the most welcoming… and disconcerting.
“You made it!” She moved to kiss Jasmine on the cheek, but the welcomed woman kept her distance. What is she doing here? “Well… wasn’t sure if he could convince you to come see little ol’ me at the airport.”
Jasmine looked around as Jeanette approached the Gulfstream and helped the assigned stewardess open the door. The wind here was more than a little tumultuous, and while Adrienne was blessed with a bun on her head, it didn’t stop stray hairs from breaking free and tickling her face. Jasmine was going blind from her locks whipping against her skin.
“Where’s Ethan?” she asked.
Adrienne’s smile crashed off her face. “I see he was sparse with the explanations.”
Jasmine could hardly believe it. Wait, yes she could. Why would Ethan mention this tiny detail to her at all? Ha. Ha! “So he’s not coming…”
“I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.” Adrienne looked over her shoulder, seeing the stewardess signal that they were good to board. “Come on. Let’s have a girls’ weekend. My treat.”
“Where are we going?” Adrienne was walking away, but Jasmine was still frozen in place. “Am I dressed okay?”
“So you are coming?” the other woman called over her shoulder. Her ridiculously high heels moved effortlessly across the tarmac and then pressed lightly against the bottom step of the Gulfstream. “You better hurry up! It’s a long flight.”
Jasmine dashed forward. Her heels weren’t anywhere near as high as Adrienne’s, but she found a way to trip in them anyway.
They were in the air within fifteen minutes, which had to be some kind of record even for the rich and famous. The first question out of Jasmine’s mouth once the takeoff nerves settled was not “Where are we going?” but “Is this your plane?”
She had to ask it, because she had never seen anything like it. She was used to the planes that held, at most, seven people. Oh, they were plenty comfortable. Hadn’t Jasmine been on such a plane a couple of months ago for Monica’s bachelorette party? This was beyond her imagination. This was the kind of jet she imagined groups of celebrities taking around the world to party and perform, probably in that order. White leather seats were big enough for her to sleep in. Clear glass tables held her purse as soon as it was safe to unload it to check for weekend supplies. The complete lack of sound, aside from a low hum and their voices, was enough to make her think they hadn’t left the ground at all. The stewardess went ahead and poured them some sparkling water without being asked. The TV ready to pop out of a side panel? Huge.
“No, this isn’t my plane.” Adrienne unbuckled and shed her trench coat, handing it to the stewardess and revealing her black sweater dress with a brown leather belt cinching the waist. “I’m borrowing it from a friend who owes me. Although I’m paying for the fuel, so it’s like I own it right now. Or at least that’s what my pocketbook says.”
“Where are we going?” Ah, there was the most pertinent question.
Adrienne glanced out the window. So did Jasmine. Water was already appearing beneath them. A lot of water. Ocean water. “It’s a surprise,” Adrienne said. “Although we will be in the air at least eight hours, so I wanted to make sure we were comfortable. Those boys don’t mind their tiny toy planes, but I’m a woman of comfort and style.” She lowered her sunglasses as sunlight streamed through her window. “Surely you agree.”
“I could get used to this, yeah.” And pester Ethan to buy one of his own. Or at least start leasing them. “So, Ethan knows you’re kidnapping me, right?”
“Excuse me… you got on this plane willingly.” Adrienne closed the blind on her window and sank back in her seat. “Ethan knows everything. As always. While he’s clobbering his way through meetings this weekend, I’m taking time off. With you, obviously.”
“So…”
“Patience. It’s all a big surprise.”
“We’re going to Europe, aren’t we?”
“Well, it’s mostly a surprise, then.”
Jasmine got up and found her suitcase secured in the back of the cabin. Ethan said he packed this for me… Did Adrienne swing by the penthouse and pick it up before going to the airport? Or did a spy-like drop-off happen at the office? Jasmine enjoyed that visual as she lowered her suitcase and opened it to see what her fiancé had decided she needed for a weekend trip to somewhere in Europe.
“What the hell?” She dug through a huge pile of underwear to find two shirts, two dresses, no stockings, and one pair of shoes. Oh, and a single pencil skirt. “How many pairs of panties does he think I need?”
Adrienne appeared behind her. “Typical man. Got stuck sniffing through your underwear drawer and started fantasizing instead of thinking practically. Don’t worry, Jasmine, if you can’t borrow it from me, we’ll get you whatever you need for the weekend when we land. Although you would look quite stylish with that T-shirt paired with that skirt. Hmph. Maybe he does think beyond Armani.” That’s what she mumbled as she stepped her way to the toilet and left Jasmine to stare in wonder at all the lacy underwear and not a single cotton pair like the ones she had on. Thanks, Ethan.
Adrienne wasn’t kidding about the length of the flight. The sun was setting by the time the stewardess served them dinner and confirmed they would be landing at about nine in the morning local time.
“I suggest getting a nap in if you can after dinner.” Adrienne somehow managed to make cutting roast beef and potatoes look like the fanciest thing in the world. Meanwhile, Jasmine carved hers as if she were serving at some middle-class dinner table. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us when we land. Not that I’ll share what it is, mind you.”
Jasmine looked around the otherwise empty cabin, now lonely without any sunlight to illuminate it. They had personal lights on, but Adrienne asked for the big cabin lights to stay off so they could rest after dinner. “You must not be doing any business.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you don’t have your personal assistant with you.” Jasmine of all people knew how important such constant help was for a billionaire.
Adrienne, nonetheless, dropped her fork and stared intently at the wall in front of her. “No. I currently don’t have one anyway. Need to work on that when we get back.”
“What happened to that other guy?”
“It didn’t work out.” What a curt tone. It didn’t suit her. Yet it totally does.
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
The woman was so tense that she looked like she was about to burst
open at her seams. Not that she had many seams to burst. Such were the niceties of sweater dresses. “No, never mind. I won’t pretend. I’m sure Ethan told you things that weren’t any of his business.”
“Er…” Jasmine just wanted to eat her dinner.
“Not that he has any room to judge. He fucked how many of his personal assistants?”
Jasmine choked to hear that mumble come out of Adrienne’s perfectly pink lips. “Isn’t that a pastime for the rich, anyway?”
“You would think. I try not to be a stereotype, though. Easiest way to make the old money type lose respect for you.”
“Is that why you weren’t open about your relationship with your assistant?”
“Oh, honey, there were many reasons for that. Like him being nothing more than a toy.” A knife squealed against Adrienne’s dinner plate – Jasmine could feel that sound in her teeth. “A lifeless, flaccid toy.”
That nap was sure sounding like an awesome idea.
***
Jasmine awoke to find sunlight back in the cabin… and buildings coming into view outside the window.
One could not see many details that high up, but it was a sprawling city, probably old, surrounded by rolling green hills and dotted with gray and blue. The lower the plane descended – sending Jasmine’s stomach up her throat – the more she recognized the unmistakable architecture of Italy. She would know by now, having been there every time Ethan got the urge.
“Ethan knows you brought me to Italy, right?” Jasmine was trying not to get excited. Adrienne was trying to wake the hell up. “You survived?”
“He will deal.” Adrienne popped some pills and swallowed half a glass of sparkling water. “You will experience one of the world’s most fantastic cities from a woman’s point of view.”
“We’ll be landing in Milan soon,” the stewardess said. Adrienne had a look of so much for that surprise spreading across her visage.
“Milan? Oh my God, the fashion capital of the world?”
“Naturally. I need new clothes, you need… things. Where else would we go?”
“I’ve been to Milan before, but…”
“With Ethan, yes. Trust me, I did the Italian tour a time or two with him. He knows how to see the sights, but he doesn’t know how to shop. I know everything. You’re about to have your mind and purse blown. My treat.”
“Really?”
Adrienne’s wan smile was barely there. “Sure. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
They landed without issue, and they made it through immigration and customs without a bat of any Italian officer’s eyelashes. It helped that they were filthy rich, and it really helped that Adrienne knew how to charm any man – and woman, apparently. The one grumpy looking female officer they got was soon smiling after Adrienne was done with her.
A car was waiting for them outside the main terminal. They got in, Adrienne speaking fluent Italian to the driver and then announcing to Jasmine that they were staying in one of the most beautiful historic hotels downtown. Her treat, of course.
They shared a suite with separate rooms on opposite sides and a common living area in between. The view overlooking the downtown district was divine, although it felt weird to not have Ethan there sharing it. Ha, screw him. I’m doing this my way. Or Adrienne’s way.
After settling in, they had a quick brunch and then crashed for two hours in their respective rooms. The voice of an Italian woman roused Jasmine, who informed her in hasty English that a car was awaiting her downstairs and that Ms. Thomas had a schedule to keep. So much for that European charm.
Jasmine freshened up in her private bathroom and put on one of the dresses Ethan had packed for her – a green halter dress that would keep her cool in the heat but still held a flirty sophistication. Ah, it was quite Italian, wasn’t it? Maybe Ethan knew what he was doing after all. Although he sorely forgot some pajamas. Is that what one of the T-shirts is for? He probably had so much sex with his fiancée that he assumed she slept naked.
She wasn’t surprised when their car went toward the fashion district. Adrienne had said she needed new clothes, and Milan was the fashion capital of the world. But they bypassed the usual stores and studios. No Gucci, no Louis Vuitton, no Valentino, no Dolce & Gabbana, and definitely no Armani that day. Instead, the car pulled into a nondescript parking garage beneath an old building with no obvious signs or markers.
“I have a very special treat for you today,” Adrienne said, waiting for the doors to open on their own. “I hope you like it.”
How could Jasmine not? She had no idea what was going on, but the idea that she wouldn’t appreciate it was a different story!
Each floor of this building was a separate fashion studio, although Jasmine didn’t recognize any of the names on the plaques. Adrienne told her that these were “up and coming” designers who could finally afford some space in the fashion district. They had small boutiques elsewhere in the city, maybe a few international – in Europe, of course – but the designers were still growing their names and looking for their biggest break. They climbed the stairs to the fifth and highest floor, where a brusque woman awaited them.
“Adrienne! About time you got here,” she said with a terribly romantic accent. By “terrible,” one meant “pant-shitting.” Narrow eyes, long, bone-straight hair and nails as long as her lashes went straight to Adrienne’s face. They exchanged kisses before the introductions.
“This is Jasmine. The one I told you all about, Bonita.”
The woman took a step back, sizing poor Jasmine up as if she were about to be feasted upon. Or at least trying to decide if she was worthy of such a feast. “She is so American.” The woman named Bonita whipped out a cigarette and lit it without a second thought. Her first smoke trail clouded the small corridor. Both Adrienne and Jasmine wrinkled their noses. “I can work with this. You challenge me, though.”
“I hear you’re all about challenges these days.”
“If I could dress that scruffy princess and make her look like actual royalty on her precious big day, then I can work with this. You say her fiancé’s loaded?”
“Come on, Bonita, you remember Ethan.”
“Yes, yes, Ethan, il tuo uomo grande.” Bonita spat out more smoke. “Si, let us do this thing. Benvenuto, Jasmine, I am Bonita Bocelli, the next big thing in wedding fashion. I hear you have no good vestito. I mean, dress.”
“Um… yeah.” Were they dress shopping? Was that the big surprise? Oh my God.
“Then come here so I can make you the best dressed sposa in your non sofisticato excuse for a country.”
Jasmine had no idea what that meant, but it probably wasn’t nice.
“Ignore her mannerisms,” Adrienne said into Jasmine’s ear as they went into the studio. “Bonita has gotten this far since I knew her in undergrad because she likes to slice balls open. Including a woman’s.” She snorted. “Ask any of her girlfriends.”
They were probably working the studio, which was filled with nothing but women, all of them thin, young, and beautiful. Some of them were stuck in front of computers. Most were hunched over yards of beautiful, glistening fabric or painstakingly adding beads to bodices.
The whole studio was a paradiso bianco. Bonita Bocelli, as Jasmine would soon learn, was about to give the other Italian wedding dress designers runs for their Euros and liras, if they still had them. She had made that northern European excuse for a princess look like a fairy-tale on her wedding day last year, which had spread her name all over the Eurosphere and allowed her to move up in the Italian fashion world. She had boutiques in Paris, London, and Stockholm. To hear her tell it, it was only a matter of time before she was in New York.
The cigarette was long extinguished before they entered the studio, but Jasmine still smelled the tobacco hanging off Bonita as she went to a huge rack of finished wedding dresses – all of them impeccably Italian and regal.
“I promise you, Jasmine,” Adrienne said as they were sat on a bench and served more sparkling
water. “If we can’t find you something perfect here, we will find you something in this city. I have faith in Bonita, though. I’ve known her since undergrad in London. She has perfect taste and knows how to dress a woman. Could’ve been the best personal stylist in the world if she wasn’t obsessed with wedding dresses.”
“This is almost too much to take in…” Jasmine watched as Bonita and one of her assistants spoke in violent Italian in front of the rack of dresses, gesturing to Jasmine and saying the colors of her skin and hair over and over. “If you say she’s the best…”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. I said I have faith in her.”
“It’s so kind of you to do this.” A dress was coming in Jasmine’s direction. “Really.”
Adrienne shrugged, and left Jasmine in Bonita’s eager hands.
This was a completely different experience from shopping at the boutique in New York. Those women had been all about Jasmine’s tastes and trying to match them. Bonita? She didn’t give a fuck about what Jasmine envisioned herself in. “Women don’t know what’s good for them,” she sighed more than once, motioning for an assistant to put another dress on Jasmine. “I do. No, no, idiota, I said get the one with the tulle! What is this? Che ho fatto…”
Jasmine wasn’t a bride. She was a model, and Bonita ran her models through ringers designed to test their stamina until they collapsed dead on the floor. It also didn’t help that these dresses were made for women one, two sizes smaller than Jasmine, so trying to fit into them was like trying on her old high school clothes. Fat chance. Literally. I’m too fat. Adrienne assured her that Bonita and her team of seamstresses would make anything fit before Jasmine’s big day. Bonita kept looking at her as if she were cosi folle.
“Stop this pain you are inflicting upon me,” the designer lamented more than once. “Does she look like some ugly duck who needs a mermaid dress? When did I design a mermaid dress? I would never! Someone put this on my rack without permission! Where is she? I will cut her gola before she has the chance to wake up from her nightmare! Get me a fucking ball gown before I burn this place down! Princesses! That’s our money! That is the name Bocelli!”