Chapter 14 Vogue
The following Wednesday, our dresses arrive, and we try them on. I twirl around the room, feeling like Cinderella.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Vee frowns, “I didn’t buy it, the agency did. You can thank the agency if you want, but please stop thanking me.”
“Okay,” I acquiesce, though I know she’s the one I owe my gratitude to. Changing the subject, I ask, “Does Jake know we’re going to the party on Saturday?”
Vee, looking guilty, says, “He doesn’t. He has enough to worry about. He’s roped into going to his father’s charity event with that dreadful Jessica, so he isn’t a happy camper. We’ll tell him all about it afterwards.”
My heart drops and I have a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, I’m not as excited about our party as I was a minute ago.
She pauses and states more assuredly, “And then we can hear how wretched his party was, too. He really doesn’t want to go with her.
He’s trying to keep the peace. His parents are really pushing him to get engaged, and he’s okay with losing a battle here and there, as long as he doesn’t lose the war.
His words, of course, not mine. He doesn’t want anything to do with that dead fish. ”
I smile, remembering the walk home after the dinner party. Feeling a little better, I drop my eyes to my dress, brushing my hands across the soft fabric. “Why Jessica?”
“Oh, no reason. She’s just the most convenient and willing prospect. His parents would be happy with anyone, if it resulted in Jake settling down and stop focusing on his hobbies as they call his PhD work.”
“Gosh, his PhD work doesn’t seem like a hobby.” I shake my head in disbelief. “They must be so proud he’s going to be a doctor.”
“Doctor, Shmoctor is what they think. All they want is for him to start working at his stepdad’s investment firm.
That’s the actual goal, and they know someone like Jessica or really anyone will add more pressure to make that happen.
The real money is in hedge fund management, and Jessica and most of the women want real money. It sucks for sure.”
I ask, “Stepdad? Oliver is Jake’s stepdad? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, his real dad died when he was young. Overdose—which is why Jake hates my . . . tendencies.” She grimaces.
I take a moment to process all the revelations Vee just dumped on me. But my mind keeps getting stuck on “his parents would be happy with anyone.” I plop down on the couch with a sigh. “Well, it can’t be anyone. It can’t be me. Can you imagine what they would say about that? Boy, they hated me.”
Sitting down next to me, Vee looks me dead in the eye and says, “You hush up. They don’t know what’s good for them or Jake.
It most certainly could be you. You are the nicest, most down-to-earth, sweetest person I know.
If they didn’t have their head up their bums, they would most definitely love you. ”
My face flushes crimson. I sounded like I was angling for praise, or even worse, that I revealed my secret crush. Ugh! How stupid.
With my cheeks burning, I fumble, “I meant they would never let Jake marry the little Polish girl from next door. They might let him marry another Jessica, but they won’t let him marry just anyone.”
For a long moment, we sit quietly. When I look back over at Vee, she is studying me in her puzzled, thoughtful way again, but this time her eyes are sparkling.
I respond with my usual, “What?”
“I think I have a crazy, wonderful idea.” She pauses. “You should be the one to marry Jake. I mean, why not?”
“Are you crazy? I mean, Jake would never—” I search for words, “—I couldn’t, he wouldn’t.”
Vee pats my knee absentmindedly. “You’re probably right. I was just thinking it would be nice.”
Saturday dawns bright and clear, with just the beginning chilly hint of the winter that is coming. Staring at the eighth that is circled on my calendar, I shiver slightly, even though the room is warm and cozy. I want to tell Vee I’m sick and can’t go, but I know I can’t.
The day crawls by until finally Vee announces dramatically, “Ready to transform? Remember, we are Cinderella, and we must get ready for the ball.”
I force a giggle—until I notice how pale and drawn Vee is.
My eyebrows knit together in concern. “Are you okay?”
“The show must go on,” she responds brightly.
I watch her closely as we shimmy into our dresses. Then Vee drapes the makeup cape over my shoulders and I’m relieved when color dots her high cheekbones and her eyes flash when she twirls me toward the mirror. I resolve to keep a sharp eye on her all night.
As we approach the Vogue party, I’m busy doing my yoga ujjayi breathing, feeling both excitement and a bit of nauseous churn through my stomach.
God, just like high school all over again.
I give myself a shake and square my shoulders.
It is not like high school. Glancing upward before we cross the threshold of the massive front doors of the building, I catch sight of the stars twinkling up in the sky.
Smiling, I give a quick prayer of thanks, as I am truly living.
We find ourselves in the most impressive room I could ever imagine.
The tall walls are splashed with large projections of red paint.
The lights appear as bright stars high in the ceiling, but at our level, the muted light is more like twilight.
Crystal glasses of champagne are floating around on silver platters, carried by servers who are wearing tuxedoes.
Vee spots Janet and starts weaving her way over to her, dragging me behind. On her way, she says hi and drops my hand to hug a bunch of lovely people who look as if they stepped right out of the glossy pages of the magazines Vee has lying around her place.
Glancing left and right, I notice that half the people look like ethereal beings who have dropped down from heaven and the other half look bored with an air of wealth dripping off them. My breathing is failing me completely and a wave of panic rolls through my stomach.
We finally reach Janet, who gives Vee a big hug and reaches for me, giving me a squeeze too.
Janet says offhandedly, “You look just lovely, Emma.”
I nod and my panic subsides a bit solely because she remembered my name.
She quirks an eyebrow and inclines her head to the left.
Vee looks over in that direction and takes my arm, leading us along a slow and meandering path over to the left side of the ballroom.
There are a bunch of models standing around chatting, and there are men who keep glancing at their phones as they flirt with the girls.
Vee exclaims enthusiastically, “Danny, it’s great to see you. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
A smartly dressed, fiftyish man turns and beams. “Well, now the party can begin. Vee has arrived.” He engulfs Vee into a hug.
Vee extracts herself and says brightly, “Danny, this is Emma.”
He reaches out with both hands, enfolding my hands in his, and smiles.
While his eyes don’t look me up and down, I feel I’m being assessed.
My smile wavers, but then I remember Vee’s coaching for the party and for life.
Don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve.
Fake it and put a smile on even if you feel like crying inside and especially if you feel like slapping someone for their insolence.
The last one, she said in her fake English accent and left me in a fit of giggles.
Confidence is key, she has told me over and over.
So, I raise my eyes and stare directly into his shining brown eyes.
He expertly pulls me in for a hug and exclaims loudly, “Any friend of Vee’s is a friend of mine.” His hand brushes my lower back, and I stiffen.
I think I’ve passed some sort of test. Maybe Vee is right. I wonder if I had only been braver, maybe I would have had a friend or two in school.
Danny turns to the group and announces loudly, “Drinks for everyone. My two favorite party girls are here.”
I turn to Vee and give her a questioning look. Is he talking about me and Vee? She smiles wanly and gives me a quick nod. A server appears from nowhere with a silver tray of champagne flutes.
Vee and I talked about this, and we have a plan.
We hold the bubbly-filled glasses. We clink and cheer and pretend to sip from them.
Our plan is to drop the full glasses surreptitiously on any empty tray or table we find.
I worriedly told Vee people would notice such blatant waste, but Vee assured me no one would.
Now, seeing the mayhem, I realize she was right.
People are leaving half-finished glasses everywhere.
Danny suddenly pulls a server aside, “Tequila, the best stuff, glasses for eight with the full set up.” Just as the Tequila bottle is being delivered with a bunch of tiny glasses and bowls of limes and salt, Vee melts into the background, pulling me with her, and we move back toward the center of the party.
Vee whispers in my ear, “Well done. Now, we are working the room.”
I sneak a few tiny sips of champagne each time we stop to say hi to a different group, as I can’t stand the idea of wasting it.
I love the feeling of liquid air sliding down my throat with the bubbles tickling my nose.
Keeping an eye on Vee, I make sure she is sticking to our plan of no liquid allowed to pass through her lips.
Maybe because of the sips of magic bubbles or the repetition, but gradually, my shoulders relax, and I ease into the mindless chitchat, and then our choreographed disappearing act.
Vee is in charge. As the evening wears on, I notice the strain around her eyes, like when the cameras have stolen a little too much out of her at one of her shoots.