Chapter Sixteen
“At least one of you is on time,” Ransom said when he saw her.
Well, hello to you too, Ana thought.
Ransom had insisted on taking Saoirse to Los Angeles himself to find her a dress for her party.
Ana had initially thought this was a kind, brotherly gesture, until Saoirse had assured her that there wasn’t anything benevolent about it—Ransom just wanted to make sure that she didn’t pick out something that could be interpreted as inappropriate or salacious by Page Six.
“Is this all you’re bringing?” he asked, reaching for her bag.
“I thought we were only going for one night?” Ana said.
“We are,” Ransom said. “I’ve just rarely seen a woman pack so economically.”
As if to prove his point, his assistant, Jacqueline Yates, appeared on the steps behind them with a bulging suitcase.
“Is this really necessary, to start so early?” Jacqueline asked, yawning. “Or did we all do something truly revolting in our past lives that requires such punishment?”
“We need to make the most of the day,” Ransom said, stepping forward to take her bag next. “Besides, I’ve been up since six a.m.”
“Dear God, why?” Jacqueline said.
“I always get up at six a.m.,” Ransom said.
“I know, but that doesn’t make it okay,” Jacqueline said.
She spotted Ana then and waved limply. “Ana, hello,” Jacqueline said.
“It may not sound like it, but I’m very happy to see you.
I’m just incapable of showing enthusiasm for anything before nine a.m. Do you prefer the front or back?
” Jacqueline asked, motioning to the car.
“Back,” Ana said quickly. Something about spending the whole drive sequestered in the front seat next to Ransom sent a wave of panic through her.
“Great, I’ll ride up front, then,” Jacqueline said. “I’d ask Saoirse what her preference is, but you know what they say: early bird gets shotgun, late riser rides bitch.”
“Speaking of Saoirse, did you see her on your way down?” Ransom asked, checking his watch. “Is she close to being ready, or should I send someone up after her?”
“Ransom, for the love of God, please, just sit down and be still,” Jacqueline said, pinching the bridge of her nose, as if she had a headache. “Your avid punctuality is giving me a migraine.”
They all got in. Ransom put his elbow on the driver’s side door and leaned his head against his hand, restless. Ana could see his leg bouncing anxiously up and down through the gap in the seats.
“I’ve been rooting for you, you know,” Jacqueline said to Ana, half turning to face her. “I love Saoirse to death, but she’s a handful. And that Mrs. Talbot!”
“Yes, she’s . . . ,” Ana said, trailing off, searching for the right word. Awful, the worst, so mean. She wasn’t sure whether it was okay to criticize Mrs. Talbot in front of Ransom. From what she could tell, Ransom and Mrs. Talbot had a particular regard for one another.
“She’s terrifying—I know!” Jacqueline said, finishing her sentence for her.
“I want to be her when I grow up. I mentioned to her one time—just once—that I’m allergic to peanuts, and to this day, she remembers.
At a charity auction Ransom hosted here, this awful man, Mr. Brookes, had a Snickers bar in his pocket, and Mrs. Talbot told him if he wanted to eat it, he’d have to do it outside.
You should have seen his face! That woman doesn’t take shit from anyone. ”
“I wish she hadn’t done that,” Ransom said, sounding displeased. “Mr. Brookes donates a lot of money to our campaign.”
“That’s the only redeeming thing about him,” Jacqueline said. “He cheats on his wife and abuses his staff.”
“How do you know that?”
“I talk to people, and they tell me things,” Jacqueline said.
“For the love of God,” Ransom said, looking in his rearview mirror.
Ana turned to see the butler setting two large suitcases down near the rear of the car.
“She must be joking,” Ransom said under his breath. He opened his door and got out. “Robert, hang on a moment, please.”
“Oh, good, we caught the early show,” Jacqueline said, giving Ana a wink. Jacqueline flipped her visor down so she could see it all play out in the mirror without having to turn around in her seat.
“What’s the matter?” Saoirse asked, emerging from the house with yet another bag.
“We’re only going for one night!” Ransom said.
By the time they actually got on the road, they were an hour behind schedule, and they had to skip lunch to make their appointment at the Giorgio Beverly Hills on Rodeo Drive.
A woman greeted them personally at the front of the store, dressed sharply in a chic black dress, a kerchief tied around her neck, and offered them champagne.
It was nothing like the beige-carpeted stores Ana normally shopped at, with their dim fluorescent lighting and racks packed tightly with dozens of copies of the same uninspired garment.
Here, the mahogany floors gleamed in the brightly lit room, and the racks were sparsely populated with singular garments—floor-length evening gowns; tailored, high-waisted pants; and sleek jumpsuits.
Designer handbags were arranged just so on the shelves, like pieces of art in a gallery.
“I have your room ready,” the woman said. “Come, right this way.”
“Elizabeth Taylor shops here, you know,” Jacqueline whispered to Ana as they were escorted to the back of the store. “And Princess Grace of Monaco.”
In the dressing rooms, there were pedestals with three-paneled mirrors and a buttery leather sofa to lounge on.
“Miss Towers, I pulled a few things already that I thought might be to your taste,” the woman said.
Saoirse handed her glass of champagne to Ana so she could survey the selections that hung on the rack next to her dressing room.
“My taste, or my brother’s?” Saoirse asked skeptically.
“You pre-vetted these, didn’t you?” she asked Ransom, but Ransom didn’t respond.
Saoirse flipped dismissively through the first three dresses and paused on the fourth, pursing her lips.
“This one isn’t awful, I guess,” she said, running her hands down the silk fabric.
Ana took a seat on the sofa next to Ransom, setting both glasses of champagne on the sleek oak coffee table in front of them. Ransom was thumbing through a discarded magazine, already bored and impatient to leave.
“So are you looking forward to the party?” Ana asked, trying to make conversation.
“I’m looking forward to it being over,” Ransom said, not glancing up from his magazine.
Bah, humbug, Ana thought.
“Surely there must be something about birthday parties that you enjoy?” she said.
Ransom gave a noncommittal grunt. “Personally, I find birthday parties a little self-indulgent and unnecessary,” he said.
Jesus, Ana thought.
“I don’t think that’s fair at all,” Ana said.
“Birthdays are some of my favorite memories as a kid. I mean, I never had my very own birthday party. Growing up, we always had these parties in the summer to celebrate all of us in the family who had a summer birthday. My uncle threw them at his ranch. There’d be a mariachi band, and my aunt would hang a pinata from the old oak in the backyard, and all of my uncles would take a swing at it, blindfolded, after they’d been drinking Tecates all day.
Me and my cousins would stand back under the old string lights and watch them and just laugh so hard we cried. ”
For dessert, her grandmother would make her famous rice pudding and sopaipillas, dusted with sugar. Ana’s mouth watered now at just the thought of them.
“You didn’t mind sharing it?” Ransom asked. “Your birthday party, I mean?”
Ana shrugged. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”
There was so little in her life that she hadn’t shared, she supposed it was just second nature.
Ransom looked at her for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, Saoirse came out of her dressing room in her first selection: a strapless Calvin Klein dress, dark as night, with boning in the bodice and a taffeta skirt.
“I feel like Princess Barbie,” Saoirse said, her mouth in a dour line. She stood on the pedestal, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, surveying her appearance at every angle.
“No, you’re a vision,” Jacqueline said, emerging from her own room clutching the large skirt of a red floral-lace Valentino with a flowy tulle overlay. It had a high neck and was belted at the waist. She looked stunning.
“It’s too dark and constrictive,” Saoirse said, still looking at her own reflection. She tugged at the top of the dress, pulling it up.
“Beauty is pain,” Jacqueline said as she stepped onto the mirrored pedestal next to Saoirse. “I can’t breathe at all in this one, but I never want to take it off. Ransom, what do you think of my dress?”
“It’s loud and over the top,” Ransom said.
“Perfect,” Jacqueline said. “I’m getting it.”
While Jacqueline changed back into her clothes, Saoirse tried on another dress: a sleeveless silver silk concoction by Halston. The dress had a plunging neckline, a fitted waist, and a flowing skirt. Saoirse looked like a Greek goddess in it with her tall, slim figure and dark hair.
“Now, this is more like it,” Saoirse said, glowing.
“You’re like a glimmer of moonshine,” Jacqueline told her. “Like a streak of starlight.”
“I don’t recall seeing that one before,” Ransom said, the disapproval heavy in his voice as he glanced over the top of his magazine.
“I may have added one or two things to the selection at the last minute,” Jacqueline said nonchalantly. “She’s turning eighteen, not eighty. Let her live a little.”
“It’s very low cut,” Ransom said.
“Hardly,” Saoirse said. “I saw Bianca Jagger wearing something twice as low at her birthday party, and everybody couldn’t stop talking about how stunning she looked.”
“Bianca Jagger?” Ransom said. “That’s hardly the argument to win me over.”
Saoirse sighed. “Fine. We could put in a few stitches here and there and some strategically placed fashion tape. At that point, I could practically wear it to church.”