“How?” Belinda asked.
“By observing them together in their natural habitat.” Liz pulled out her phone and hit autodial.
“Adrienne?” Liz said. “I need to get into the Manhattan Cotillion next week. And you are going to help me.”
After school that day, Liz and Adrienne argued over a soda at Viand Coffee Shop on Madison Avenue.
“No way!” Adrienne said. “Liz, you have lost your mind!”
“No, I haven’t,” Liz insisted. “This is a great idea. If I can just see Parker and Isabelle together, I’ll know what’s going on. I’ll come right out and ask him—with Isabelle standing right there, if I have to.”
“Liz,” Adrienne said. “I applaud your proactive thinking, but we cannot crash the biggest social event of the year at the Plaza Hotel.”
“So,” Liz said, her eyes flashing, “the dance is at the Plaza!”
“Ohmigod.” Adrienne smacked her forehead. “I so should not have said anything.”
“It will be easy to get in,” Liz pressed. “All we need to do is dress up, and we’ll look like we belong there.”
Adrienne frowned. Liz knew her friend was weakening. “Besides,” Liz continued, knowing which buttons to push, “don’t you want to get between Cameron and Brian? You know you almost managed to make him forget that blond bitch when you had half a chance. It would be perfect justice if you could steal him away from her at the ball.”
Adrienne bit her lip.
Great, Liz thought. She’s considering it.
“Come on, Adrienne,” Liz wheedled. “We’ll slip in, I’ll talk to Parker, you grab Brian, we push Mimi and Cameron down a flight of stairs, and bang, we’re out of there.”
“That sounds satisfying, but impractical,” Adrienne said with a giggle. Then she groaned. “Please, Liz, I beg you, don’t make me do this!”
Liz’s shoulders slumped. “Adrienne, I can’t keep going on like this,” she confessed, all the bravado gone from her voice. “I have to figure out if Isabelle really is a threat. If Parker is serious about me or not. All of the gossip—”
“Forget the gossip,” Adrienne said. She took in a deep breath and then let out a slow exhale. “All right!” she said. “Let’s do it.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “But to pull this off, you have to come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Liz asked as she followed Adrienne out of the coffee shop.
“I have to stop by Valentino and pick up Cameron’s dress,” Adrienne explained. “If anyone can help us, it’s Kevyn.”
The girls practically ran the few short blocks to Valentino. Kevyn stood near the window, gazing forlornly at the street. He crossed to them as they burst through the glass doors.
“Hey there, sugar,” Kevyn said, kissing Adrienne on both cheeks. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Adrienne said, shaking the snow from her coat. “This is my friend, Liz Braun.”
Kevyn nodded at Liz. “Welcome to our little shop.”
“Is something wrong?” Adrienne asked. “You look awful.”
“Well, thank you,” Kevyn said, putting a hand on his hip. He shook his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t find me here with my head in the oven. What a day! That Cameron of yours is such a pain!”
“Believe me, she’s not my Cameron,” Adrienne said.
“What happened?” Liz asked.
“The ladies in the workroom worked their fingers to the bone getting the deb dress ready,” Kevyn explained. “Valentino himself flew in to make sure every pearl and bead was perfect. Do you know that the Warners insisted on using real pearls on the dress? The work that went into it was incredible. And today, just as we’re steaming out the wrinkles to pack it for you to pick up, we get a call from Mrs. Warner.” Kevyn began a devastating impersonation of Mrs. Warner: “‘Cameron isn’t happy, the poor thing. And after all, the dress is a little ostentatious, don’t you think?’” Kevyn sighed. “So they went to Vera Wang up the street and bought something”—he shuddered—“off the rack!”
“No!” Adrienne gasped.
Liz fought back a laugh. Kevyn was extremely dramatic. It wasn’t as if a dress was a matter of life and death. Then again, she mused, in this world, fashion somehow becomes an earth-shattering issue.
“Trust me, darling,” Kevyn continued, “if it weren’t for the thirty-thousand-dollars’ worth of pearls sewn to the bodice of this dress, I would throw it into the street for the buses to run over. Preferably while Cameron was still wearing it.”
“We know just how you feel,” Adrienne said.
Liz nodded. “We definitely relate. Cameron Warner seems to be at the center of all the bad things that have been happening to us lately.”
“Do tell,” Kevyn said.
“As you know, Cameron stole Adrienne’s boyfriend,” Liz said. “And now Cameron is helping one of her friends put the moves on my guy. She just loves manipulating everyone around her. Like a game.”
“We need your help to get back at them,” Adrienne said. “How?” Kevyn asked, obviously relishing the plan. “We’re going to crash the cotillion,” Liz declared.
Kevyn smiled at them. “Get you two!”
“The biggest obstacle is getting in,” Liz said. “And to do that, we have to look like we belong there.”
“Can we borrow some clothes?” Adrienne asked. “Pretty please? We promise to be really careful.”
“I have a better idea,” Kevyn said. “You come here the night of the party and I will not only lend you fabulous gowns, but I’ll get my friends together to get you ready for the ball. Hair, makeup, jewelry—the works!”
“You’d really do that?” Liz asked.
“Honey, I’m so annoyed with Cameron,” he said, “I’d do anything to make certain that you two look better than she does! She needs someone to knock her off her little diamond pedestal.”
Liz grinned. “Sounds like payback time to me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
kicking debutante butt
“Cameron!” Mrs. Warner called, drawing on her long gray satin gloves. “Hurry! You can’t be late for this!”
Adrienne stood in the hall of the Warners’ apartment, waiting to be allowed to leave. She glanced at her watch again. She didn’t have much time to get over to Valentino’s to get ready.
I never should have let Liz talk me into this, she thought. She’d been getting more and more nervous as the day approached.
The elevator door opened, and Brian stepped in. It was the first time she’d seen him outside of French class since their abbreviated date during Christmas break. He looked handsome in his white tie and tails, but not very comfortable.
Mr. Warner walked in, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Oh,” he said, seeing Brian. “You again.”
“Adriana,” Mrs. Warner said, her tone imperious. “Might I have a word with you?”
“Sure,” Adrienne said, her heart sinking a bit. She knew Mrs. Warner was not pleased to see Brian—and that the COW would blame her.
They reached the dining room, and Mrs. Warner wheeled around. “I thought we had a deal!” she hissed. “What is that boy doing here?”
“Mrs. Warner,” Adrienne said, “I’m doing the best I can. I’m still going to try to keep him from being presented with Cameron at the Plaza.”
“I certainly hope you’ll come through for us,” Mrs. Warner said, straightening her diamond necklace. She turned and left the room.
Adrienne slowly returned to the hall. Our plan just has to work, she vowed.
Debi LaDeux appeared wearing a dress that looked straight out of the movie Gone With the Wind.
Either that or off the top of a wedding cake, Adrienne thought. Lace, ruffles, miles of tulle and ribbons made it seem as if Debi’s dress were a living creature all on its own.
“Y’all,” she drawled, her skirts rustling, “we have completed our project. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Miss Cameron Warner!”
Cameron walked in slowly, with a bashful sm
ile, eyes downcast. Her dress was incredible even if it was “off the rack.” The cream satin bodice was fitted perfectly to her upper body, and had a cream piqué off-the-shoulder reverse-shawl collar. A strand of pale pink pearls gleamed softly around her neck and her hair was gathered into a low bun at the nape of her neck and decorated with jasmine blossoms. Her makeup was subtle, pale, and natural. She looked virginal and sweet.
Nothing like her real self at all.
“I hate this stupid dress,” she complained, ruining the illusion. “It makes me look like a Disney character.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Warner said. “It’s perfect. You look lovely, Cam.”
“Absoluteluh Duh-VINE,” Debi gushed. “Show them your curtsuh, daw-lin.’”
Cameron fell down into the much-practiced “Texas dip.” Everyone applauded except for Adrienne. She resisted giving Cameron a push. She looked pretty easy to topple.
“Get up, honey,” Mr. Warner said. “Time to go.”
“I can’t,” Cameron complained from the floor. “The skirt is really heavy.”
“It’s interlined,” Mrs. Warner said. “The dress at Valentino wasn’t. He warned us about this.”
“Well, why didn’t you listen?” Cameron whined, swimming in satin.
“You were the one who insisted on changing dresses!” Mrs. Warner snapped. “Perhaps you should have listened to me for once!”
“Don’t worry, Cam-sweetie,” Debi said, pushing Brian forward. “Your escort will help you up.”
Brian gave his hand to Cameron, who leaned heavily on it and pulled herself up.
Adrienne smirked. Way to be graceful, Cam-sweetie.
“Okay.” Mr. Warner downed his scotch. “Get Emma. We’re off.”
Adrienne went to Emma’s room, where the little girl sat watching a taped Face the Nation on TV. She looked adorable in a tiny pink Valentino frock.
“Hey, Emma,” Adrienne said. “Time to go to the ball.”
Emma rolled her eyes and brushed wrinkles from her skirt as she stood. “Must I go?”
Adrienne nodded. “You must.”
“I depart,” Emma said. “Though not without acute reservations.”
Adrienne brought Emma to the hall, and the Warners gathered for a picture taken by a Vogue photographer, thanks to editor in chief Anna Wintour, one of Mrs. Warner’s best friends.
Finally, Adrienne thought, as the elevator doors shut on the Warner family. She pulled out her cell. “They’re gone. We have one hour.”
“Meet you downstairs,” Liz said.
The two girls met on Fifth Avenue and raced over to Valentino on Madison. Kevyn paced in front of the door. The moment he saw the girls, he unlocked it and yanked it open.
“Hurry,” he ordered. “Run to the back! Run, run, run!”
The girls dashed to the dressing room area. Three fashionistas stood waiting for them.
“Girls,” Kevyn announced, “this is Linda, who’ll do your hair.” A skinny woman with beautifully high-lighted chestnut hair nodded. “Leslie, who’ll do your makeup.” A very thin, androgynous-looking person with a buzz cut, nearly invisible makeup, and baggy clothes stepped forward. Now Kevyn placed his hands on the shoulders of a tall black man. “And this is Jake, who’ll do the styling.”
“Thanks everyone,” Liz said.
“Your dresses are already hung in the changing rooms,” Kevyn said. “Now go!”
Liz stepped into one of the changing rooms, and began undressing.
“You can’t wear a bra with that dress,” Jake declared as he slipped into the booth with her.
“Hey!” Liz said. “I’m changing in here!”
“Chill out, honey,” he said. “You can’t do this by yourself. Don’t worry, my eyes are closed. Take off your bra, step into the dress, and let me know when you are decent.”
Liz stripped and stepped into the dress, pulling it up around her. This is bizarre. I’m not exactly used to having some guy help dress me!
Jake tugged a lot at the back of the dress. Finally he stepped back and announced, “You’re good. Go out for hair and makeup.”
Adrienne forced herself not to flinch while Linda tortured her with various curling wands and other wicked-looking devices. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d wind up looking like a poodle.
“Just a few seconds more,” said Linda, “and you’re done.”
Adrienne turned to the mirror. Her hair was piled on top of her head and was softly curling around her ears and spilling down the back of her neck. “Will it stay?” she asked Linda, afraid that putting on the dress would mess up the gorgeous style.
“It will take two showers to wash out all this silicone, trust me,” Linda said, grinning. “Now go change.”
The two girls met in the hallway, and neither could believe their eyes.
Liz had never seen Adrienne so beautiful. Her friend actually seemed to glow. The pale peach dress, encrusted with crystals and pearls, was the perfect color for her complexion. Her titian-colored hair framed her face romantically, and her subtle makeup made her pure competition for Cameron.
Adrienne admired Liz’s stark white dress, which brought out her dark eyes and pretty collarbones. Her hair was pulled back in a glossy, sleek style, emphasizing her cheekbones. She dripped sophistication and glamour.
Kevyn applauded excitedly, gushing and complimenting everyone. “Now,” he added, grinning, “the pièce de résistance: This is my friend Kyoko from Mikimoto.”
A slender Japanese woman stepped forward and opened two beautiful boxes, each of which contained a fabulous pearl necklace.
“Only pearls are right for debutantes,” Kyoko announced. “You can return them later.”
“Are you serious?” Adrienne asked, her eyes wide.
“Go ahead!” Kevyn urged, clasping the lustrous pearls around Adrienne’s neck.
“I feel like I’m about to get married,” Liz said, adjusting her voluminous skirts.
“I feel like I’m about to yak,” Adrienne said with a gulp. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”
“You’re both going to be fine,” Kevyn insisted. “Now go to the Plaza Hotel and kick some debutante butt!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
at the Plaza
Adrienne and Liz slowly climbed the plush, red-carpeted stairs of the Plaza Hotel. They shivered in the winter air, but the heating lamps under the stained-glass and bronze canopy were warm and inviting.
People swept aside to let them pass, smiling and nodding. One man even asked to take their picture.
It’s working, Liz thought. They actually think we belong here.
The doormen held open the wide doors on either side of the revolving door, to prevent their long gowns from getting stuck in the spinning central door. Entering the lavishly gilded lobby, with its ornate mosaic floor covered by heavy plush carpets, Liz inhaled the warm air scented with the pleasant combination of furniture polish and fresh roses. In the Palm Court, dozens of couples dined at little tables, listening to the swirling music of violins and harps.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Liz asked Adrienne.
“Nope,” Adrienne replied. “Look for signs for the Grand Ballroom.” Suddenly, Adrienne gasped and turned, holding a hand up to hide her face.
“What is it?” Liz asked, panicked.
“It’s Debi LaDeux!” Adrienne whispered. “She’s totally going to recognize me!”
“Girls!” Debi said, furious, her petticoats aflutter as she approached. “What aw you doing he-uh?”
Adrienne’s grip on Liz’s arm tightened. She kept her back to Debi and stared at Liz with an expression like a deer caught in headlights.
“Uh, we uh, we were just going…” Liz sputtered.
“To the Grand Ballroom, I hope!” Debi said. “The presentation is about ten minutes away! RUN!” she shrieked, waving her clipboard down the hall.
“I guess we’d better hurry,” Liz said. “Come on!”
The girls hurried to
ward the back of the hotel. Now that Debi had pointed them in the right direction, it was easy to follow the gilded signs to the Grand Ballroom.
Adrienne and Liz scurried up the long, wide flight of marble steps to the second floor and then found their way into a marble vestibule that glittered with crystal and gilt bronze.
“Not this way, girls,” a woman behind a linen-swathed table instructed. “I’m checking in the guests. The debutantes are meeting in the Baroque Room. You have to check in there.” She frowned. “They won’t let you in without your escorts, though. I trust they’ll be here soon?”
“Of course!” Liz bluffed. She grabbed Adrienne’s hand. “We don’t want to be late.” She practically dragged Adrienne down the carpeted corridor.
“Where are we going now?” Adrienne hissed.
“To the Baroque Room, of course,” Liz said, turning the corner. “Because if that’s where the debs are, that’s where we’ll find Parker and Brian.”
“We won’t be able to get in,” Adrienne said, coming to a complete stop. “That woman just said we need escorts. We’ll have to figure out something else to do.”
Suddenly, Adrienne felt a hand on the small of her back.
“So, you followed me here?” she heard a deep voice say. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
Adrienne turned around. Graydon. “What are you doing here?” she asked, shaking off his hand.
“My pal and I decided to check out the debs. Oh, and to support my sister, of course.”
“Of course,” Adrienne said.
Graydon’s friend smirked at the girls. “Why aren’t you introducing me, Gray?” Liz thought both guys seemed pretty tipsy.
“Soooooooo sorry,” Graydon said. “Girls, please meet Albright N. Smiley the third. His mother is Lady Anabelle Browne-Fowlkes. She’s related to Prince Charles.” He slung his arm across Adrienne’s shoulder and leaned heavily on her. “Impressed?”
“Back off, you creep,” Adrienne said, trying to pull away from Graydon.
Graydon grinned at Albright, who was staring at Liz as if she were candy. “She just loves to play hard-to-get. That really turns me on.”
Rich Girls Page 13