Designer Knockoff (40 page)
“But you can’t take a camera in while you’re working,” Lacey protested.
“Watch me. Oh, sure, we have to wear white shirts and black pants or skirts with a little cummerbund.” Stella fondled the small camera. “But I figure I can just wear it on a string like a necklace. I’m going to the ball, and I’m going to see you in the dress that poor dead woman designed. And I’m getting pictures.”
“Where does it say in the story that Cinderella’s fairy god-parents go to the ball?” Lacey asked.
“In the footnotes, my dear,” Miguel said. “Now take off that gorgeous creation and let’s go over the details.”
After the SWAT team had gone home, Lacey called Marie. “Hi, Marie, it’s Lacey.”
“Hello,
cher.
What’s up?”
cher.
What’s up?”
You are the psychic,
Lacey thought,
why don’t you tell me?
“I was just wondering if you’ve had any feelings about tomorrow? Or about me?”
Lacey thought,
why don’t you tell me?
“I was just wondering if you’ve had any feelings about tomorrow? Or about me?”
“Let me think. You and tomorrow? No, it’s clear as a bell. Why, something going on?”
“Oh, nothing special,” Lacey said.
Clear as a bell. That can’t be good.
Clear as a bell. That can’t be good.
On Monday morning Lacey dutifully arrived at the very expensive Northwest D.C. salon known as Portfolio to chat with a couple of nervous-yet-excited makeover candidates. Willie Tremain was fretting over a cup of coffee while Annette excitedly looked at nail colors. Each had a personal stylist who eyed them hungrily, flipping their hair this way and that, making pronouncements.
Thank God Stella doesn’t work here. Any more attitude and she’d be lethal.
Lacey wore a pair of black tailored slacks and a black blouse to fit into the very upscale scene and to avoid any sniping about her appearance from the stylists. Her blown-dry hair was smooth and curved slightly under. She looked like a completely normal Washington career woman.
Thank God Stella doesn’t work here. Any more attitude and she’d be lethal.
Lacey wore a pair of black tailored slacks and a black blouse to fit into the very upscale scene and to avoid any sniping about her appearance from the stylists. Her blown-dry hair was smooth and curved slightly under. She looked like a completely normal Washington career woman.
“You, my dear, are
so
not about your gray hair,” said one tall thin man to a nervous Willie.
so
not about your gray hair,” said one tall thin man to a nervous Willie.
“I’m not?” Her eyes widened as he proclaimed that she would have a warm brown hair color, perhaps with highlights. “But I’m used to the gray.”
The other, more petite male stylist brushed Annette’s hair back and declared, “You have cheeks and eyes. Who knew? Why are you hiding them? And why not go darker? An audacious auburn. Honey, this hair color is totally nowhere. But I will take you somewhere.”
Annette merely giggled. With a blank check from the Bentleys to do whatever they wanted, the Portfolio stylists were giddy with the possibilities. Lacey took notes as Annette bubbled. But Willie was apprehensive. She reluctantly okayed the new Autumn Chestnut hair color. “I feel like a lamb to the slaughter.”
Lacey ducked out of this rarefied atmosphere to make it to Stylettos by noon, but not before she saw concealer wipe away the storm clouds of years that had gathered under Willie Tremain’s eyes.
A harrowing cab ride delivered Lacey to Stylettos for the works. Stella was on full boil as she pin-curled Lacey’s hair and scolded her for the dark circles under her eyes. “I thought I told you to get a good night’s sleep. What happened? Was it Vic? Or that gorgeous Bentley guy? In either case, I can forgive you.”
“No, I just didn’t sleep well. And Vic was at his place. Don’t ask. We’re not ... We haven’t sorted out our relationship yet.”
“What relationship? No sex, no relationship. Duh! I’m beginning to think the two of you are retarded.”
“I just don’t want to get hurt.” Lacey reached for a magazine to get Stella off the subject.
“So join the human race. Getting hurt is a fact of life. Besides, you need it. It’s good for you.”
“And what about the circles under your eyes?”
Stella dipped her comb in some gel before sectioning off a layer of Lacey’s hair. “I got a good excuse. Bobby’s keeping me happy. Now, that’s a relationship.” Stella snorted when Lacey laughed. That snort left nothing to the imagination.
Lacey swept through the newsroom at three, typed up part of her makeover story on the Tremains, and batted her false eyelashes at a stunned Trujillo before breezing home to add her own final touches.
The look must be working,
she thought as she got ready. Trujillo was speechless, Mac’s eyebrows froze in midflight, and Peter Johnson actually stepped in a wastebasket and fell down.
Could they be thinking, who’s that mysterious woman and what has she done with Lacey Smithsonian?
she thought as she got ready. Trujillo was speechless, Mac’s eyebrows froze in midflight, and Peter Johnson actually stepped in a wastebasket and fell down.
Could they be thinking, who’s that mysterious woman and what has she done with Lacey Smithsonian?
Lacey Smithsonian’s
FASHION BITES
Many fashionable women are climbing onto the vintage clothing bandwagon. Even glamorous movie stars, who could afford the most exclusive designer duds, are scarfing up the really primo finds, then wearing them only once—at the Academy Awards. Suddenly your best friend outshines your brand-new, two-hundred-dollars-an-ounce little black dress with her fabulous fifty-dollar Ginger-Rogers-look-alike dancing dress from Value Village. Is this fair? In a word, no. But you too, style-savvy shopper that you are, can open up a whole new-old world of one-of-a-kind clothing, if you have an eye and appreciation for vintage.
The benefits of that rare find—aside from the thrill of the hunt—consist not only in wearing that unique, wonderfully tailored garment that you alone possess. A vintage suit or evening gown also carries with it something of the spirit of the original owner and the style icons of her era. Was she a beautiful WAC officer yearning to look like Katherine Hepburn? A sassy Fifties career girl with just a hint of Audrey Hepburn’s gamine charm? And who was that handsome Cary Grant-type on her arm? (Okay, they were somebody’s Aunt Betty and Uncle Bob from the Bronx, but a girl can dream, can’t she?)
Why do vintage clothes seem so good, so much better made than todox’s? Well, they were better. A great 1940s suit used a lot of skilled American labor. But it’s also because most of the bad, cheesy, everyday garb from the Forties, Fifties, and Sixties has already been turned into rags or rugs, made into patches, or sewn into quilts. Previous generations were thriftier and made the most of their clothes. What we find in the better vintage stores now are the survivors: clothes that were treasured, tended, and loved. They were their owners’ good clothes, the worn-once-a-year evening gown, the Sunday-go-to-church dresses, the funky little vacation togs complete with South American embroidery that the owner simply couldn’t part with. After all, Aunt Betty had her dreams, too.
Here are a few things to keep in mind when you shop for vintage clothing:
• We’ve grown. Vintage clothing was generally sized for smaller people, so rejoice, you petite sophisticates. Older styles come in sizes that will fit you, but don’t freak out if they carry a size that sounds huge. A “sixteen” from 1945 may well translate into today’s eight. It doesn’t mean you are fat. Of course some vintage clothing comes in larger sizes and there are stores that specialize in it, but they are harder to find. You must try these clothes on to be sure they fit, but be gentle. Which brings us to the next point.
•
The fabric is willing, but the thread is weak.
You will find fabulous fabrics, wools, crepes, silks, linens, and marvelous covered buttons, but beware, the fifty-year-old thread will break immediately after you buy that new-to-you garment. Check for weak seams, fallen hems, and broken metal zippers. Have them all fixed at once, not piecemeal, or it will drive you crazy. Bring along a small sewing kit and some safety pins, just in case. Letting it all hang out is not the look you’re aiming for.
•
Remember
,
vintage clothing is a vanishing resource.
At the rate it is being bought up by people who don’t deserve it (like you do), it is becoming harder and harder to find. Treat these delicate finds with respect and love. Someone else cared enough to save them for you. Surely you can return the favor. Someday you can explain why this dress—or one just like it—was so breathtaking on Rita Hayworth way back in 1946.
chapter 28
Red lips, Rita Hayworth hair, heartless high heels—and the Gloria Adams dress. Lacey’s eyebrows arched knowingly in the mirror, giving her a certain power. She had a moment of hesitation, but the memory of Mimi soothed her.
Don’t be silly,
Lacey imagined her saying.
Wear it for Gloria and for me. And for that old bastard.
Don’t be silly,
Lacey imagined her saying.
Wear it for Gloria and for me. And for that old bastard.
Lacey felt like a five-star general in the Women’s Army of Fearless Heartbreakers. “Take no prisoners,” she told herself. “Your mission is to hunt down and corner the enemy: Hugh Bentley.”
The entire world had changed since the morning in 1944 that Gloria Adams vanished. As Braddock said, cold cases break because circumstances—and people—change. Perhaps Hugh Bentley had grown too old or too tired to lie. She hoped so.
The earrings that Vic had given her added the final touch. She’d never looked so
femme fatale
in her life, thanks to the talents of Stella and Miguel. No doubt they would take all the credit. A tiny beaded purse with a strap long enough to wear on her shoulder carried keys, money, lipstick, as well as a small notebook and pen. After all, she was still a reporter covering an event. She tried to stuff the stupid cell phone in but the purse was bulging unattractively and there was no room it. She had a moment of regret, but decided firmly against it. The purse still had to hold one more thing: a scrap of silk.
femme fatale
in her life, thanks to the talents of Stella and Miguel. No doubt they would take all the credit. A tiny beaded purse with a strap long enough to wear on her shoulder carried keys, money, lipstick, as well as a small notebook and pen. After all, she was still a reporter covering an event. She tried to stuff the stupid cell phone in but the purse was bulging unattractively and there was no room it. She had a moment of regret, but decided firmly against it. The purse still had to hold one more thing: a scrap of silk.
A knock at the door signaled Vic’s arrival. She opened the door languidly and was mesmerized. He was wearing a tuxedo. The white shirt contrasted with his darkly tanned skin. Almost any man looked good in a tuxedo, but Vic, who looked fabulous in skintight jeans and T-shirts, made her heart take a swan dive. He looked extra dangerous.
The pirate king goes to the ball.
She wanted to run her fingers through his dark wavy hair. She found it hard to breathe. He had insisted on driving her, but she had no idea that he would be dressed up.
The pirate king goes to the ball.
She wanted to run her fingers through his dark wavy hair. She found it hard to breathe. He had insisted on driving her, but she had no idea that he would be dressed up.
He whistled in awe at the sight of her. “You plan on kissing your sources in that getup?”
“I hadn’t thought about kissing until just now.”
“So this is the telltale-heart dress? You look beautiful, Lacey.” He touched the earrings that she wore, then caressed her neck. The warmth of his hands sent liquid fire down her spine. “I thought they would look good on you.” He leaned in and kissed her until she forgot all about the gala. Then he released her too soon.
“You look pretty good yourself, but why are you wearing a tux?”
“I was just about to tell you. I’ll be there tonight. Extra security.”
“What? Wait—don’t tell me—Stella suggested it!”
He just smiled. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”
Lacey playfully swatted him on the butt in response. “As much fun as I’m having with all this foreplay, I guess we had better go. Are you ready?”
She nodded and grabbed a matching silk wrap provided by Miguel.
Ready or not, we’re dressed to kill.
Ready or not, we’re dressed to kill.
The National Building Museum had been the site of numerous presidential inaugural balls, and it wore its stately elegance with ease. The enormous redbrick building had been built to house the Pension Bureau in the 1880s. A terra-cotta frieze of weary Civil War soldiers banded the entire building. For tonight, the Great Hall had been transformed to accommodate one hundred and fifty tables of ten at the “Sixty Years of American Fashion” gala. Each paying table would net $10,000 or more, bringing in more than a million dollars for the museum— and much more than that in publicity. Vanity Fair magazine was in attendance, as well as
Vogue, Elle, W, Entertainment Tonight,
and
Access Hollywood,
along with a few of the more sobersided media venues. Even
The Eye Street Observer
had bought one of the pricier tables. Lacey was very curious to see what her publisher, Claudia Darnell, would be wearing. She hoped her fellow reporters would blend in and not look so much like ... well, reporters.
Vogue, Elle, W, Entertainment Tonight,
and
Access Hollywood,
along with a few of the more sobersided media venues. Even
The Eye Street Observer
had bought one of the pricier tables. Lacey was very curious to see what her publisher, Claudia Darnell, would be wearing. She hoped her fellow reporters would blend in and not look so much like ... well, reporters.
Inside the main door, a string quartet played as dignitaries arrived. Lacey was on her own after Vic dropped her off and vanished to do his job. The massive Corinthian pillars soared and golden light suffused the room. As if the Great Hall were not grand enough, a team of Hollywood set designers had donated their skills for the event. Lighting designers had taken the theme “Night of a Thousand Stars,” and the room glittered. Each of the round tables was covered with a gold cloth, featuring a low centerpiece of roses the color of rich cream.
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