Rich Girls

by Victoria Ashton

  “Okay,” Adrienne decided. “I’ll help.”

  “WONDERFUL!” Mrs. Warner said with relief. “Here’s the list, take the car. Oh, and make sure you get Emma dropped off at piano at Juilliard by four. And after that, stop by here and pick up the invitations. They’ll all be addressed by then. Thanks, darling. You’re an absolute treasure. Ciao!” Mrs. Warner left the room and headed for her bedroom, where her masseur waited to ease the stress of the day from her shoulders.

  Adrienne stared down at the list. She had it all ready for me, Adrienne realized. She knew I wouldn’t say no.

  Shaking her head, she went to collect Emma. “Ready for piano?” she asked.

  The little girl looked at her and sighed. “Adrienne, you are incessant in your demands that my punctuality rise to an insupportable level of accuracy. My Technical Pianoforte Seminar has yet to commence at the predesignated hour.”

  Adrienne raised her eyebrows, then glanced at the book Emma was reading: Barron’s SAT Vocabulary. That explained Emma’s bizarre language. She’s going to do better on that test than I am, Adrienne realized. I’ve been so busy with this tea, I haven’t had a chance to study!

  “Sorry, kiddo,” Adrienne said as Emma packed her music into her Coach backpack. “Just doing my job.”

  “It is well in advance of our regular departure,” Emma said. “We have things to do first,” Adrienne said, guiding the girl by the shoulder to the elevator.

  “And what dreaded engagements must I endure?” Emma asked, stepping into the elevator.

  Adrienne looked at the list. “Petrossian, Les Couleurs, and Valentino.”

  “In an hour?” Emma said. “You can’t do it.”

  “Watch me,” Adrienne said defiantly. What is it about Emma that makes me constantly feel challenged? Remember who’s in charge here!

  Emma popped a DVD of yesterday’s Oprah into the player in the car. Adrienne leaned back in the seat, watching Central Park zoom by as they headed across town. The car soon pulled up to Petrossian, the city’s most expensive caviar merchant.

  Adrienne looked at her list. Mrs. Warner’s huge, distinctive handwriting sprawled across the notepad that Adrienne now recognized as having been made by Mrs. Fine.

  Order a kilo of caviar for the party. Don’t let them talk you into buying the gray beluga. It’s too expensive, and no one knows the difference.

  Adrienne and Emma walked into the beautiful mosaic-tiled interior of Petrossian.

  “May I help you?” asked a woman with a French accent.

  “Yes, please,” Adrienne said. “I’m here to place an order for Mrs. Warner.”

  For a moment the woman looked worried, then quickly recovered. “Mrs. Warner isn’t coming in herself?” she asked.

  “She is employing Adrienne as her surrogate shopper,” Emma explained.

  The French woman looked confused, then smiled at Adrienne a little warily. “Do you have explicit instructions? I know how choosy Mrs. Warner can be.”

  Mrs. Warner’s diva reputation clearly precedes her, Adrienne thought. Then she realized that all Mrs. Warner had told her was to not buy the most expensive stuff, but that still left a lot of choices. She hoped the salesgirl would guide her.

  “Well, I’m not allowed to buy the gray beluga…,” Adrienne said.

  A slow smile spread across the French woman’s face. “Ah. But, of course. We are in the market for something a bit less…a bit more…”

  “Cheap,” Adrienne finished.

  The saleswoman fought back a laugh. “Let us say ‘good value.’”

  The saleswoman looked in her computer to see what Mrs. Warner had ordered in the past, and duplicated it. Adrienne would pick it up the day before the tea. In a few minutes, Adrienne was ushering Emma back to the car.

  “You have thirty-five minutes to get to Les Couleurs, Valentino, and my piano lesson,” Emma declared. “If you want me to be there on time, that is.”

  “Oh, so now we’re talking like normal people?”

  Emma stuck out her tongue and turned back to the TV screen, where Will Smith was joking with Oprah.

  She’s right. There’s no way that I’ll make it, Adrienne thought. “Excuse me,” she said to the driver. “Can you please take us to Juilliard music school?”

  The driver nodded and turned toward the west side.

  “I’ll drop you off,” Adrienne told Emma, “and then come back for you. You’ll be okay, right?”

  “I’m always okay,” Emma said, rolling her eyes.

  After dropping Emma off at her music lesson, the driver returned to Madison Avenue and rolled to a stop in front of Les Couleurs.

  Les Couleurs was a makeup shop that did everything custom: powders, lipsticks, nail polish—anything you wanted could be customized to your own specifications. It cost a fortune but, according to Mrs. Warner, it was the only place to go. Adrienne looked at her instructions.

  For the tea, we need a lovely pink nail polish for Cameron. Not a bubble-gum pink, or a shell pink, but not a baby-girl pink, either. A pink more like the sand on Eleuthera or in Tahiti—but in May, not July.

  Adrienne rolled her eyes. She has GOT to be kidding.

  “May I help you?” asked the college-aged salesgirl behind the counter. Her dark hair was cut in a severe 1920s style bob, and her makeup was quite dramatic.

  “I hope so. I need,” Adrienne said, reading from the list, “a pink like sand but not like bubble gum. More like a shell. Or something.”

  “Oh, man.” The salesgirl shook her head, smiling. “You’re here for Mrs. Warner, right?”

  Adrienne nodded.

  “She’s a trip. She once came in and wanted to match a piece of thread she had pulled out of some maharani’s sari in India. We matched it perfectly. It was, like, this outrageous hot pink with a touch of a gold shimmer. When she saw it, she said it wasn’t good enough. ‘I meant the idea of a maharani’s sari,’” she said, in a perfect Mrs. Warner imitation, “‘not the actual color of it!’” She laughed, and Adrienne laughed with her.

  “You have her down cold,” Adrienne said.

  “What impossible quest did she send you on today? I’m Gina, by the way.”

  “Adrienne,” she replied, grateful that the girl understood the situation. “We’re still looking for the perfect pink, it seems.”

  “We’ll never match what she wants. We’ll have to make it up,” Gina said. “What’s it for?”

  “This party,” Adrienne said, pulling one of the invitations from her purse. She figured if Mrs. Warner was going to throw out half of the expensive invitations, she might as well keep one as a souvenir. She handed it to Gina, who pulled the heavy card from its envelope.

  “Wow,” she said. “Pretty!” She lifted the tissue overlay off of the invitation. “What’s the tissue for?” she asked.

  “To stop the ink on the card from smearing. It’s sort of”—Adrienne’s eyes widened—“THE PERFECT PINK!”

  Gina looked at the tissue. “You’re right!” she cried. “I can easily copy this color—it’s excellent!”

  Gina crossed to her machines and began to fiddle with knobs and dials introducing hits of red, yellow, and blue into a neutral nail varnish base until she had matched the pink exactly. “Now that is beautiful,” she said, holding the varnish out to Adrienne.

  Adrienne took it. Gina was right: It was a perfect match. “That is so cool!” Adrienne said.

  Gina handed Adrienne a second bottle. “Here’s one for you, too.”

  “Thanks, Gina,” Adrienne said. “I love it.” She put the polish in her bag and checked her watch. She had just enough time to zip into Valentino, and then pick up Emma.

  She groaned. And then I have to hand deliver every one of these stupid invitations. Emma is not going to be happy. And neither will my mom or my teachers. Well, Adrienne vowed, as soon as this tea is over and done with, I’ll get back on track with everything.

  Even Brian.

  The moment Adrienne walked into Valentino, a fra
ntic, but extremely handsome man dashed over to her. “It’s not ready,” he said before Adrienne could say a word. “It has been the day from hell, and I’m sorry, but it’s just not ready.”

  “That’s okay,” Adrienne said. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

  The salesman looked stunned, then relief spread over his smooth, chiseled face. “No, it will just be a few minutes,” he said. “But Mrs. W is always in such a hurry, I expected you to throw a fit.”

  “I can wait a little,” Adrienne said, looking at her watch. “I just need to be out of here in twenty minutes.”

  He smiled. “That’s great,” he said. “That, we can do. What’s your name again?”

  “I’m Adrienne,” she said. “I love the store.”

  “I know,” he said. “Fabulous, right? I’m Kevyn, by the way.”

  “It must be great to work here,” she said, touching a sable-trimmed evening dress. The fur was so soft.

  “Well, usually,” he said. “But today, Kevyn is tired!” He leaned in close to Adrienne. “There was a Russian in,” he whispered.

  “Is that bad?” Adrienne asked.

  “Oh, nooo, honey,” Kevyn said, smiling sweetly and tossing back his long, highlighted hair. “Russians are great. They have TONS of money. But this one! Girl, she was working my last couture-selling nerve. She kept saying that she was going to ‘Bomb Ditch’ and that she needed better clothes. Now, I don’t know where the hell she’s going, but I guess she doesn’t need fur there.”

  “Palm Beach,” Adrienne said, smiling. “She was going to Palm Beach, Florida.”

  “That makes sense—she was looking at bathing suits! How did you know that?” Kevyn asked.

  “The Warners’ maid is Russian, and we went to Palm Beach just a few weeks ago,” Adrienne said.

  “That must have been fun,” Kevyn said. “A nice little perk of the job.”

  Adrienne shook her head. “Not worth it,” she said. “Trust me, that family is crazy.”

  “Trust me, darling, I know,” Kevyn said. “Do you know that Cameron had me absolutely ruin a dress last week? It was an incredible beaded sheath, but she wanted to wear these tall boots with it.”

  “So what did you do?” Adrienne asked.

  “She made me cut off the bottom half of the dress,” Kevyn said. “She said she was going on a date and the boy needed to be able to see her legs.” Kevyn sighed. “Ten thousand dollars’ worth of hand-beading cut off and thrown away. So depressing.” He shook his head sadly.

  Adrienne sighed and stared down at the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Kevyn asked.

  “I guess,” she said. “It’s just that Cameron’s date? It was with my ex-boyfriend.”

  “No!” Kevyn gasped. “Oh, honey, men stink.”

  “It’s not the man, Kevyn. It’s Cameron. She’s trouble,” Adrienne said. “I just wish I could win him back.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Kevyn warned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  totally Cinderella

  Saturday night, Liz stood in the small maid’s room of the Markham-Collinses’ apartment, fighting back butterflies while thinking about her date with Parker.

  She slipped on the Vera Wang dress that Adrienne loaned her for the evening. Liz decided not to ask any questions about where Adrienne had gotten the dress. She had “borrowed” some of Mrs. Warner’s clothes in the past.

  The deep ivory velvet dress fit her like a glove, clinging in all the right places and skimming her slim hips. The dress fell into a pool of fabric down by her feet. Her dark hair was a perfect contrast to the pale velvet, which was nearly the same color as her complexion, giving her an almost naked look. The effect was extremely sexy but very subtle.

  I am so totally Cinderella, Liz thought, grinning at her reflection. She picked up the beaded Christian Louboutin shoes that Cameron had cast aside and that Adrienne had the sense to retrieve before they got tossed. Right down to the glass slippers.

  Finally Liz positioned the diamond necklace that Parker had given her so that the stone nestled in the hollow of her neck, where it glittered softly.

  Parker won’t be able to resist me, Liz decided. I look just as hot, and just as sophisticated, as any of the babes he hangs out with in Palm Beach.

  Her confidence high, she left the maid’s room. She nearly banged into David, who was tearing down the hallway top speed.

  “Wow!” David exclaimed, skidding to a stop to stare at her. “Grumpus and I think you look beautiful.”

  “Gee,” Liz said, smiling, “thanks…guys.” She ruffled David’s hair and went into the living room, where Dr. M-C was poring over Psychology Today. Liz cleared her throat.

  Dr. M-C looked up, and when she saw Liz, her expression changed completely, from irritation at being interrupted to pure shock.

  “Liz!” she exclaimed. “You look, well, just wonderful!”

  “Th-thanks, Dr. Markham-Collins.” Dr. M-C had never complimented Liz before. It took getting used to. “And thanks for letting me get dressed here.”

  “Not at all,” Dr. M-C said. “Oh, and Elizabeth,” she added as Liz headed for the elevator, “since you’re going down, can you take out that last bag of garbage? That will free up Rosita for some other tasks.”

  Cinderella, indeed, Liz thought. I’m wearing twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of evening gown and shoes and I’m hauling the trash.

  Liz grabbed the garbage bag and called for the service elevator. Danny, the operator, gave her a long, low whistle. “You look like a princess, Lizzie!” he said.

  “Thanks!” Liz flushed with pleasure. I hope Parker will think so, too!

  He shook his head. “Can’t believe she sent you down with the trash. That’s just terrible.” He stopped the elevator. “I’ll take it down. Now, you scoot into the regular elevator. Hurry.”

  “Thanks, Danny,” Liz said. “You’re the best.”

  “If I were fifty years younger…,” Danny joked. He winked at her as the door closed.

  Liz arrived in the beautiful lobby and walked across the carefully polished marble floors, past the tinkling fountain and orchids, and toward the door, where a familiar figure waited. “Parker!” Liz called.

  He turned and smiled at her.

  Liz’s breath caught. His smile was so dazzling, his blue eyes so vivid against his dark hair and long eyelashes, she had a hard time believing he was real. Not just real—her real date! In his black tie, with his broad shoulders and clean good looks, he seemed more like a hero from a movie or a fairy tale. Stay cool, she told herself.

  “Hey there, Mr. Mysterious,” she said, walking up to him. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Nothing unusual,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Just a movie and dinner.”

  Liz shut her eyes and let herself take in the scent of his cologne, his nearness. Then she realized what he had just said. She stepped away from him. “A movie?” she said. “You wear a tux to a movie?”

  Parker laughed. “To this movie, you do,” he said. “My parents couldn’t go, so they gave me the tickets. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  He took Liz’s hand, and they walked outside. The whole city seemed to shimmer in the crisp December air.

  “Your ride,” he said as a chauffeur opened the door of a vintage Bentley waiting at the curb.

  The car had the lines of an ocean liner—huge and luxurious, painted midnight blue and silver. It was a reminder of a time when cars weren’t just cars, they were ballrooms on wheels.

  “This is amazing,” Liz said, allowing Parker to help her into the backseat. The interior glowed softly with recessed lights, wine-colored velvet upholstery, and gleaming mahogany trim with shining chrome accents.

  “My dad collects old cars,” Parker said, sliding in next to her. “This one is from nineteen fifty-two. It used to belong to Prince Rainier of Monaco.”

  “Grace Kelly sat in this car?” Liz said. She ran her hand along the seat. “Wow.”r />
  “Champagne?” Parker asked.

  Liz shook her head. “No, thanks.” She knew the champagne would totally go to her head and she wanted to savor every detail of this night.

  “What are those lights?” Liz asked, pointing to the broad beams flashing back and forth a few blocks away.

  “Looks like a movie premiere,” Parker said.

  “Oh, right!” Liz said, remembering. “That new Lindsay Lohan movie is opening.”

  Parker hit the intercom. “Cut across to Seventh Avenue and turn onto Fifty-Third, Davis,” Parker instructed the chauffeur.

  Liz stared at him. That address was the location of the klieg lights! “You are NOT serious.”

  “Center seats on the aisle, right behind Lindsay and her entourage,” he said. “My dad has a stake in the studio.”

  Liz blinked and worked hard to keep her mouth from dropping open in shock. Stay cool, she ordered herself. “That sounds like fun,” she said.

  As the car pulled closer to the flashing lights, Liz began to feel queasy. How am I supposed to act at an event like this? she wondered, panic starting to rush through her.

  “You okay?” Parker asked.

  “I, uh, well, I’m feeling a little out of my element,” Liz confessed.

  “Looking like that?” Parker said, raising an eyebrow. “Little Miss Lohan better watch out.”

  Liz smiled at him weakly. “Right,” she said, her voice shaky.

  Parker laughed. “It’s really easy. When the car pulls up, the chauffeur will let me out. I’ll scoot around the back, and when he opens the door, I’ll reach in and give you my hand. You come out, legs first, and I’ll help you stand. Keep your hand on my arm, look really bored, and follow me. People will shout out questions and stick cameras in your face, but just ignore them.”

  The car rolled up to the curb.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She stared at the huge crowds, the flashing lights. “I guess.”

  The car stopped, the door opened, and suddenly, Liz was alone in the Bentley.