Hunger (16 page)
Authors: Karen E. Taylor
“You know you can't wear another designer's creation to our show. It just doesn't look right.”
“But it's not another designer's. Not really.” She looked embarrassed, but continued. “It's mine, I made it.” She sat down with a flop on the sofa. “I was hoping that you'd let me wear it, see what people think. And then maybe you would let me do a few things for the next show; you know, something light and frivolous.”
“You designed it?” She heard the delight in my voice and brightened up a bit.
“Yeah. I wanted to show you that I could do more than answer the phone. Do you really like it? Can I wear it?”
“Gwen, please wear it, it's wonderful. And yes, you may do some things for the next show. I'm thrilled that you want to do that; I was going to suggest that you get more involved.”
“Great!” She beamed her delight. “I was hoping that you would go for it. Thanks so much.”
“Now, why don't you go home and get some rest before the show. You'll probably need it.”
She rose from her chair and began to aimlessly shuffle the papers on my desk. “I guess so, but . . .”
“But what, Gwen? Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong, exactly. It's just that I don't want to stay at home. It's Nick, he's getting so forceful; I'm half afraid of what he might do. I feel safer here.” She paused for a moment and then haltingly continued. “Do you, ah, I mean, could I please use your rooms for the weekend? I don't want to impose, but I really need to do some thinking and this would be the perfect place to do it. No one would bother me and Nick couldn't find me. Besides, I figured you might have other plans for the weekend; I mean, since you got a call from your policeman, I thought you'd have better things to do than hole up here all weekend.”
My plans for the weekend had been exactly that. But Gwen was so earnest, I felt I couldn't refuse her.
“I would be happy to do it, Gwen. And it's no imposition. Go home and pack a few things for yourself. You can move in after the show tonight; I will leave the key in the top drawer.” I gave her a wry smile. “But no wild parties.”
“Deirdre, thank you. How can I ever pay you back?”
“Just get yourself back to normal. I need you alert and with your wits together first thing Monday. We will have a lot to do.”
“You bet,” she agreed. “See you at the show.” In her usual headlong fashion, she rushed out of the office.
After she left, I checked the clock. It was still early; over four hours before sundown. Four long hours in which I was virtually confined in this place. With a sigh, I moved as aimlessly through the office as Gwen had: rearranging the chairs, picking loose threads from the carpet, restacking the papers on the desk. I fought the strong, but deadly, urge to open the heavy draperies and observe the street below. I felt trapped, hungry and restless.
“Damn,” I swore softly to myself. I entered the apartment and opened a bottle of wine to fill the remaining hours.
Chapter 11
A
s I drank the wine, I thought about meeting Mitch this evening following the show. Although I had accepted the fact earlier in the week that I might never see him again, and even acknowledged to myself that it would be better if I did not, I still could not control the rush of excitement that filled me when I thought of him, the fluttering of my stomach when the phone rang and I would answer, hoping it was him. That the relationship was doomed to fail had no real impact on my thoughts. I wanted him, I loved him and could no more control my emotions than I could change the circumstances of my life. “Oh, what the hell,” I said as I drained the last of the bottle. “I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” So I would see him and continue to see him as long as I could. With that decision reached, I felt relieved and turned my attentions to preparation for this evening.
s I drank the wine, I thought about meeting Mitch this evening following the show. Although I had accepted the fact earlier in the week that I might never see him again, and even acknowledged to myself that it would be better if I did not, I still could not control the rush of excitement that filled me when I thought of him, the fluttering of my stomach when the phone rang and I would answer, hoping it was him. That the relationship was doomed to fail had no real impact on my thoughts. I wanted him, I loved him and could no more control my emotions than I could change the circumstances of my life. “Oh, what the hell,” I said as I drained the last of the bottle. “I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” So I would see him and continue to see him as long as I could. With that decision reached, I felt relieved and turned my attentions to preparation for this evening.
After careful deliberation and discarding the usual graceful sweep of full skirts, I chose a gown designed for last year's line but never shown since it did not fit the Griffin image. It was a black, strapless sheath slit to midâthigh for ease in walking. I had carefully embellished the hem and side slit with red sequins and rhinestones in a flame-like pattern. When I moved the light reflected and danced giving the impression that the dress was indeed on fire. As a final concession to Max, I pinned my hair up in an approximation of a Gibson Girl. I frowned at it in the mirror, wondering how long the countless pins would hold, but decided to leave it up. My shoulders looked almost white against the black of the dress; I did not want to distract from their marble appearance. The final adornment was a pair of small ruby earrings and a matching necklace that had belonged to my mother. After one final glance in the mirror, I covered it all with my cape and went through the office and downstairs to meet the limousine hired for the evening.
We arrived early enough to avoid the press and the public. The show was being held in one of the most exclusive hotels in town. Two of the ballrooms were reserved for the show itself, one large room was to be partitioned off into small dressing areas; a smaller area outside the ballrooms was set aside as the reception area. I walked through this area, noticing with pleasure that all was elegant, understated and dignified. I held my breath while opening the main doors; the preparations this week had progressed well, but the area had still been unfinished yesterday.
I let my breath out in a relieved sigh. It was perfect, exactly as I had envisioned it. The walls had been covered with heavy grey paper, printed to appear as rough hewn stones. The gilt hands grasping candles that lined the walls were shamelessly borrowed from Jean Cocteau; the theme of the show was one that he himself had borrowed: “Beauty and the Beast.” I thought that I would probably lose points for originality on this initially, but the theme was maintained throughout the show. The macabre backdrop was only one element. The models themselves would carry the message that beauty and the grotesque were often separated by a very thin line.
Removing my cape and draping it over my arm, I slowly walked down one of the center aisles to approach the runway. As I stepped on the platform, I jumped when one of the hands moved, then laughed inwardly at my apprehension. They had been designed to move almost imperceptibly, in sequence; the technicians were merely making their final test. I laughed again when I noticed that we had lost the fight with the fire marshall; the hands held electric candles, not the real ones I had wanted to use. I shrugged off this last problem; it was not noticeable except here on the stage. All that mattered was that the desired mood be set.
Stepping through one of the side doors, I entered into the dressing areas, squinting against the bright lights. When my vision cleared, I made a mental count to find that all the models had arrived. Some were giggling in nervousness; others sat quietly while the last touches of makeup were applied.
“Good evening, ladies.”
When they all turned to face me at my greeting, the effect was chilling. I experienced a moment of apprehension that perhaps I had gone too far. I studied the models individually; each wore a gown, characteristic of Griffin Designs with the romantic touches of lace, ruffles, satin and velvet. But each model had received an added touch, a flaw in their perfect appearance. On some it was subtle: excessively long nails coated in black lacquer or sharpened white canines peeking out from beneath blood red lips. For others who were willing to take more of a risk, we had ordered full theatrical makeup transforming them into various wild animals: one posed as a serpent; another, a cat; a third, a large black raven. Those who did not wish to take part wore full or half-masks, to hint only of the grotesque beneath. The overall effect was nightmarish, almost hallucinogenic.
“Well,” I addressed them slowly, “they will either love us or hate us, but this will be a show that won't be forgotten soon. I'm very pleased, thank you all.” I glanced at the clock. “Forty-five minutes until the show, ladies. Good luck.”
As they all turned away to complete their preparation, I motioned one model, the serpent girl, to me. “Janie, you look wonderful,” I complimented her, knowing that she had planned on doing her own makeup. She smiled at me as I continued. “Have you seen Gwen anywhere in this chaos?”
She knew the rules about staying in the area prior to a show and looked away, hesitating slightly before she answered. “She's here somewhere, Miss Griffin. Should I look for her?”
“Janie, I know you two are friends, and I know she'd tell you where she was going. Save the mystery for the show and tell me where she is.”
“Sorry, Miss Griffin. She sort of asked me to cover for her. You see, her date came early and she wanted to spend a little time with him alone. She's not been gone long, no more than five or ten minutes. Everything here is pretty much in control and . . .”
“Don't worry, Janie, she won't get in trouble. Where is she?”
“In the bar,” Janie confessed in a lowered voice. “She should be back real soon now.”
“Thank you, Janie. I'll get her.” I smiled at her reassuringly. “Good luck.”
I left the dressing room and returned to the platform. The hands followed me as I walked the runway. I glanced in the direction of the control booth. “Perfect, gentlemen,” I called to them as I strode out of the room.
Two of the hotel staff members were stationed in the reception area and I questioned them about whether there was a back route into the bar. I did not want to meet with any of the crowd that had begun to gather in the lobby. Following the directions given, I rushed down the back hallways and cursed Gwen all the way there. The only good thing in all this, I thought, was that it seemed to represent a reconciliation with Nick. I didn't think she would have asked anyone else to attend. And while I did not like him much, I far preferred her keeping company with Nick than with Larry or anyone else she would find at the Ballroom of Romance. There were too many unanswered questions concerning Larry. I didn't trust him, not with Gwen.
When I entered the bar, I saw her immediately. Her bright swirls of color stood out from the primarily dark evening attire of the other clientele. She was sitting facing the door engrossed in conversation with someone I immediately assumed to be Nick, from the possessive way his arm encircled her shoulders. I approached them and she glanced at me in surprise. “Oh, hi,” she said, not meeting my eyes.
“Gwen, I hate to interrupt your reunion but we really do have to get the show started. You and Nick can get cozy afterwards . . .” I stopped abruptly as he turned around. Of course it wasn't Nick. His build and hair color were similar but I should not have been fooled. I suppose I saw what I had wanted to see.
“Hello, Larry.” I smiled to cover my broken composure, the skin crawled at the base of my neck and I repressed a shiver, remembering his disclosures at our last meeting. “How nice of you to come this evening.”
He rose slowly and looked me up and down, leeringly. “Deirdre, what a pleasant surprise. We were just talking about you, weren't we, Gwen?” He nodded at her briefly then turned his attention back to me. “You look beautiful as usual. Who's the lucky man tonight?” His voice was calm and pleasant, but the sneer on his face distorted and twisted the words. I looked quickly at Gwen, but she did not seem to notice as she stood up awkwardly and began to collect her coat and purse.
“We really need to leave, Gwen. Nice to see you again, Larry.” I turned and walked out of the bar.
Gwen caught up with me a few seconds later, breathless and apologetic. “I'm sorry, Deirdre. I know I should have stayed with the others. But when he sent the message that he was here, I wanted to see him for a bit. Everything was going fine, with the show, I mean, and I didn't think a few minutes away would hurt. He's just so nice.” When I made no reply, she continued, “It won't happen again, I promise.”
I stopped abruptly and turned to her. “Gwen,” I said softly, looking into her eager face. “I don't begrudge you a few minutes to yourself, I really don't. God knows, I give you precious little time to pursue your personal affairs. And I do not want to interfere with your life or your choices. But before you get more deeply involved with Larry, you and I need to talk. Do you two have plans after the show?” She nodded and tried to look away, but I grasped her chin and turned her face toward me. “Cancel them,” I ordered peremptorily. “I do not want you to see him again until we talk about this. Please listen to me on this, it is very important. You must not see him again.” She nodded again, this time her eyes were locked on mine. I hoped the command would take.
I released my hold on her and she swayed as she stood, still dazed. Then she relaxed and shook her head briefly as she stared bewildered around her. “What are we doing hanging around here? Let's get going,” she said, beginning to move down the hall, “or they'll start without us.”
Â
The show went well. The macabre treatment was tolerated by most, enjoyed by some and the designs, the most important part after all, were well received. Following the show, those with invitations remained behind for a small reception. Although I normally hated these affairs, I forced myself to attend and exchange pleasantries with my guests. After talking to a succession of nameless faces, accepting compliments and answering questions, I went to claim a glass of wine. Unfortunately, at the bar, I was cornered by a writer for a prominent women's publication. She wanted to discuss the social and psychological ramifications of the fashion industry. I smiled and nodded and managed to make the proper replies, all the while searching for the easiest way to excuse myself from her company. She provided the perfect opportunity by asking about Gwen, who had been given credit in the program for being both my assistant and coâdesigner. “Have you never met Gwen?” I questioned. “You really must meet, she is a wonderful help and I couldn't function without her. I'll find her and send her over.”
I looked around and saw Gwen deep in conversation with someone in the far corner. I weaved through the crowd, nodding and smiling and arrived in time to hear a familiar voice quietly advising her. “Don't forget what I have told you, my dear. It's very important.”
“Hello, Max.” I gave him an apologetic smile for the interruption. “May I borrow Gwen for a moment?” He nodded his agreement and I pulled her to one side. “Gwen, here's your chance to earn your large bonus.”
“Huh?” I wondered how many glasses of wine she had drunk. “What large bonus?”
“The one you will get for helping me out.” I explained the situation and she agreed readily. “Tell her anything you like, but keep her talking and away from me. Thank you.” I gave her hand a small squeeze and sent her on her way. This was a situation she would have to learn how to handle in the future.
Max drew up closely beside me. “You look elegant, Deirdre. So, you finally decided to wear your hair up. It's very becoming.”
“Just for you, Max. And I see that you have finally found someone else on whom to bestow your fatherly advice.” I gestured in Gwen's direction.
“She's a sweet thing, Deirdre. I was merely offering my opinion on her present choice of company. You know she had been seeing Larry, don't you?”
“He isn't still here, is he?” I glanced around the room.
“No, he's not.”
“Good. I tried to warn her away earlier, but I'm not sure that she listened.”
“Perhaps she'll take my advice more seriously than yours.”
“I also have a problem with Larry; what exactly did you tell him about me?”
He looked at me and smiled. “I told you, my dear, a brief, varnished story. I told him where you were from initially and what your name was before you changed it to Deirdre Griffin.”
I was instantly relieved and laughed. “Thank God, Max. I thought he knew everything since he called me Dorothy. I don't mind telling you I had a few rough moments worrying over it.”
“Not surprising.” He moved closer to me. “But you know I, of all people, would never betray you.”
“Do I?”
“Of course you do. Now, enough of that topic. Don't you want to know what I thought of your show?” He smiled mockingly.
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