All That Glitters (10 page)

“Right. If I could just find the off-field equivalent of the hip check, then I'd totally rock the competition,” I joked.

“Exactly.” Alex nodded. “You'll be Virgil Host in no time.”

Alex's eyes locked on mine, and he started to skate up next to me. His face was only inches away from mine, and I realized I was holding my breath.

Just then, a careening ice-skater in a giant blue puffy coat came flying into us, knocking himself—and the two of us—to the ground.

“Ouch!” I cried out when my butt hit the ice.

“You two should watch where you're going,” the man called out angrily. It was hard to see his face under his Yankees ski cap, but he seemed more embarrassed than legitimately huffy. Before we could respond, he got to his feet, brushed himself off, and wobbily skated away.

“Hey, are you okay?” Alex called out.

“I think so,” I said, checking myself for bruises. “I don't think I've fallen this many times in one week since I'd figured out how to walk.”

When I looked over at Alex, I couldn't help but crack up. His hair was covered in snowy ice residue. “But you look like you just aged forty years.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex grinned, pointing at my head. “Bold words from someone who's only got half her earmuffs on, don't you think?”

“Where'd that guy go?” I said as Alex helped me
straighten my earmuffs. “Somebody should hip check him.”

“Dude, seriously,” he said, looking around the rink.

“Yeah, but he was pretty big. I nominate you.”

Alex laughed and held up his hands. “Not it.”

“Hey, you're supposed to be chivalrous and protect me,” I joked.

“Wait a minute. I thought you were the pro-hip checker. Why don't you show everyone here how it's done?”

By then the puffy-jacketed problem skater was nowhere to be found. But the sun was setting over Central Park West, and I realized I was having way too much fun with Alex to care.

Dressing the Part

Downtown a few hours later, I fell into a whole other kind of intense experience: a shopping date with SBB. When I met her at Nanette Lepore on Broome Street, my head may still have been twirling around Wollman Rink with Alex. But soon enough, my body was being twirled around the hot pink-painted floors of the evening wear section of the boutique by one very riled-up starlet.

“Flan! Thank
God
you're here,” she gasped when the door chime jingled to announce my arrival. “Can you
believe
it's less than eight days until the premiere, and I still have nothing to wear?” She clutched her phone and began texting furiously. “Where's Shay? She was supposed to bring the Polaroid. You know I can't trust mirrors. I am
this
close to panic mode.” She held up her thumb and forefinger to show the millimeter between
here
and
panic mode
.

“I think you might be even closer than you think,” I said, laughing. I put my arm around her and started sifting through the racks of evening gowns.

Just then, a terrified-looking shopgirl with a blond blunt cut peeked her head around the corner of the rack. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Ms. Benny?”

SBB's head darted up from her phone. “Didn't I tell you to stay behind your curtain? If I have any chance at all of getting in the zone, I
cannot
have strangers devouring me with their hungry eyes while I browse.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the girl answered meekly, and she disappeared behind a thick leopard print curtain.

SBB looked at me and sighed. “Tell me, Flan. If I have to do all the work of keeping sales associates at a reasonable distance, what am I even paying Shay for? Ugh, where
is
she?”

If SBB's personal stylist Shay had been called in for backup, I knew SBB was taking this event pretty seriously. Even though she had famously complained about Shay's attitude problem in her
New York
magazine profile, everyone knew that their legendary power struggle had often led to some of SBB's most dramatic and often imitated red carpet looks. I also knew that even though SBB would never admit it, it
wasn't Shay's blunt, no-BS style that got under SBB's skin—it was that Shay also outfitted Ashleigh Ann Martin on the sly.

“To tell you the truth, I don't know why I even agreed to work with Shay again,” SBB ranted. “You should have seen what she sent over to the house this afternoon. I can hardly even call them gowns. Tell me, Flan”—she shook her head incredulously—“do I look like a girl who wants to walk down the red carpet as Gothic Bridal Barbie?”

I stifled a laugh. “I would say no. So did you send the dresses back?”

“Immediately, if not sooner,” SBB said, falling into a pink suede chair in the corner. She wagged a finger at me. “I can almost smell Ashleigh Ann Martin behind this. It absolutely reeks of her ill will.”

“SBB,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from AAM. “You know any dress in this store will look great on you. And you know JR will think you're gorgeous no matter what you're wearing.”

SBB heaved a huge sigh from her little body and said, “If only this were about what JR thought.”

Then she was out of the chair and pacing the store again with just one green patent leather platform heel on. I could hear her muttering Ashleigh Ann's name
under her breath as she rifled through dresses and shook her head.

As I watched her, I started to think about how strange it was that here she was, shopping for her boyfriend's premiere, and the person whom she was really dressing to impress was a girl—a girl she didn't even like. It made me think about Thoney, and about how the pressure to stack up in girls' eyes felt a whole lot more intense than the pressure to impress a guy.

And it hit me that, even today, when I thought I was getting dressed for Alex, I was mostly stressing over what I thought a Thoney girl was supposed to wear. As soon as I got to Wollman Rink, I knew that Alex didn't care what I wore. He was just happy to be hanging out. So even though I could recognize that what SBB said was totally backward, I did get where she was coming from. And I had to admit that I didn't feel absolutely terrific about it.

SBB's cell phone interrupted both of our thoughts. The ringtone was set to JR's new single, “I'm Taking Hot With Me,” and she seized it on the first ring from the top of a stack of bejeweled sweaters.

“Shay?” she practically panted. “Tell me you're en route.” In a second, her mouth dropped open. “Oh, hi … Gloria,” she said, drawing out the name. She
turned to meet my eyes. “Didn't I tell you not to call me? Didn't I divorce you just six months ago?”

Gloria was SBB's movie-star mother, who I'd always thought meant well, but who drove SBB to even crazier dimensions than she was capable of on her own. After Gloria had fired SBB from the set of
Turn Signal
, a mother-daughter road trip movie they were starring in together in an attempt to “bond,” SBB had filed for divorce and had been struggling with her lawyers over the whole mess for months. I took SBB's hand to show my preemptive support.

“A break in your schedule?” SBB said, kicking the green heel off and clutching a clothing rack for support. “You want to come to Jake's premiere?” Her eyes locked on mine and her voice was stiff. “I don't know if that's a good idea, Gloria. You can't just read an article about me in a magazine and waltz back into my life. I'm trying to pick up the pieces and move on…. Yes…. Well, things have been very hard for me, too.” More pacing. “What do you mean, it's not my decision?” Big sigh. “Then why did you call me in the first place? What? I can't believe—fine! I
will
see you there!” The second SBB clicked off her phone, she let out a howl that sounded like a cross between an enraged elephant and a crying cat. She
threw herself down on the zebra print area rug at our feet, closed her eyes, gripped her hands into fists, and let out another giant screech of frustration as she curled into the fetal position. I put my arms around her in a hug.

“We're fine.” I motioned to the terrified salesgirl, who'd popped out her head again in fear.

“No, we're not!” SBB wailed.

“You can do this, SBB,” I said. “It's just now you have to look doubly extra-specially amazing next week.”

Luckily, at that moment, the door chimes jingled again and in walked Shay McCruthers, dressed head to toe in black leather with two Polaroids slung over her shoulder, a wheeled garment bag, and a portable aromatherapy set.

Instantly I felt relieved on SBB's behalf. Shay may have caused SBB some grief in the past, but she definitely knew how to calm her down.

“You're late,” SBB fumed, uncurling herself from the carpet.

“Save your breath,” Shay said before SBB could go on. “I came prepared, and it's better late than never, and I really don't have the time or the energy right now to hear about it from you. Let's just get down to business.”

For a second SBB looked like she didn't know whether to kick Shay or hug her, but finally she just nodded and said, “You're right. We don't have any time to waste.”

Soon the two of them were in full dressing mode. Shay snapped pictures of SBB in a floor-length gold lamé get-up, a fitted red crepe cocktail dress, and a shimmery brown tulle gown. I could tell that SBB was already in a much better place, so I sank into the hot pink chair and let out a deep breath.

When SBB emerged from the dressing room in a green retro shift dress, I gasped. “That might be the one,” I said.

She bobbed her head. “
One
of the ones,” she corrected. “But you're right. I'm feeling the good vibes, too.”

She climbed up on a platform while Shay marked places for alteration with a mouthful of straight pins.

“Stand still,” she commanded, “or we'll be here all night.”

SBB gritted her teeth and stared down at Shay. “I have an idea. How about don't jab your pins of death into my multimillion dollar–insured skin? Then I won't
have
to squirm, will I? Anyway, Flan,” she said, sucking in her breath and turning to me, “how much longer do I have to wait to hear about
your date with the Prince? If I have to think about Gloria for one more second, I swear I'm going to explode.”

I smiled. And blushed. “Oh … it was good,” I said. “It was really good.”

“Boring!” she cried. “I still have images of my mother in my head! Give me details! Give me hot moments! Give me something to work with here! I'm practically pinned down on a platform and all you can offer me is ‘good?'”

Shay shook her head. “Do you want to be permanently pinned to this platform?” she asked. “Because you can take your attitude and—”

“And what?” SBB said, hands on her waist. “And go out and hire your nemesis to be my next personal shopper? Don't think I don't know you've been working with Ashleigh Ann on the side.”

Shay looked up and pointed a finger at SBB, like she was going to come back and tell her off. But instead of saying anything, she just held out her finger and her death stare until, miraculously, SBB sniffed and looked away.

“That's what I thought,” Shay muttered. I'd never seen anything like it.

“Well, it was just a first date,” I butted in, trying to break some of the tension. “I think he likes me, but
he's a little edgier than the other guys I've been out with, so …”

I trailed off when I realized they were still too busy with their power struggle to listen. Maybe SBB and Shay would be better off if I scooted out of the way. And didn't I have something else I needed to do tonight? Oh yeah … that little thing called homework. And that's when I realized that it was already nine o'clock and the store would've been closed except that the poor shopgirl was still stuck behind her curtain. I went to check on her and there she was, leaned against the wall with her arms folded, half asleep.

“You can come out now,” I said. “It's okay.”

The girl smiled at me and immediately darted past SBB, who didn't even notice her.

“Hey, SBB,” I said, standing up to gather my things. “I should probably get going. I've got a quiz tomorrow morning. You're going to look incredible in that dress next week.”

A look of panic washed over SBB's face.

“But this is only Option One. What about Option Two?” she said. Then, looking down at Shay and dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “Just in case of … you know … WS.”

I felt the weight of my school books in my bag and
the weight of SBB's puppy dog eyes full of Wardrobe Sabotage worry pulling me in opposite directions. I didn't know what to do.

“Well, what if I come over on Friday and check out what you come up with for Option Two? That will still give you enough time to make adjustments if you need to, right?”

SBB exhaled gratefully. “That sounds great. Good luck on your quiz.” Her hand went to her neck where she fiddled with the clasp of a necklace.

“You're still fidgeting!” Shay shouted from below.

“Silence or I'll step on you with these heels!” SBB said. She turned to me: “Flan, I can't believe I almost forgot!”

“Forgot what?” I asked.

She handed me the gold necklace she'd been wearing. “It's for you. Penn DiMontagne gave it to me when we were shooting
Loan Shark of Venice Beach
. I thought it might give you good luck in class.”

I opened the locket and read the phrase:
All that glisters is not gold
.

As I leaned forward so SBB could fasten it around my neck, I recalled the scene in
The Merchant of Venice
where the Prince of Morocco reads this line inside the gold casket. Maybe I was finally picking up this stuff.

“This is great, SBB,” I said. “Thank you so much.”