Nancy’s Theory of Style (8 page)

Then her thoughts turned to Derek. She
wondered what kind of underwear he wore. She was sure they were heavenly.

The next morning, Derek rang the downstairs
buzzer exactly at 9:00 a.m. Nancy had told him he could dress more casually
unless they had meetings, and he arrived in a gray pinstripe jacket in a fabric
that she needed to touch to identify, a gray-and-white geometric print shirt, stiff
Japanese denim jeans, and chisel-toed black lace-ups.

“Good day, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers,” he
said in plummy tones as he came in the door.

“Good morning, Derek.”
Nancy
fought the urge to excuse herself and
change into jeans so they would match. “Why don’t we start the day with
cappuccinos?”

“As you please, Madame.”

When the gorgeous assistant returned to
the room with their cappuccinos, she took a sip of the rich, foamy drink, with
just the right dusting of cocoa powder. “This is perfect! You’re an espresso
artiste.”

“Tosh,” he said with a modest tilt of
his head.

For the next hour,
Nancy
answered emails while Derek became
familiar with her project files. At ten she sent him downstairs to get the mail
from the apartment lobby.

He brought back a stack of letters,
magazines, and advertisements.

Nancy
’s eyes instantly went to the ivory
envelope tucked between a trunk show brochure and an announcement about the
symphony. She pulled it out and examined the spidery black handwriting on thick
Crane’s paper, then flipped it over to see the return address. After carefully
slicing open the letter, she read the card inside. “Oh, my!”

“Good news, I hope.”

“It’s from Mrs. Bentley Jamieson
Friendly,” she said. “She wants to talk to me about her fundraising gala for
the
Barbary Coast
Historical
Museum
.”

 
“A
charity for an institution in
North Africa
?”

“Not quite. Our Barbary Coast was named
after it because the neighborhood was inhabited by the very wickedest and most
depraved,”
Nancy
said. “Mrs. Friendly’s a direct descendant of Dancing Dog Jamieson, a bartender
who drugged his customers and sold them to sea captains. Her husband’s
great-great-something was Dr. Painful Friendly, who made his patients sign over
mining claims if they wanted a tooth removed. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Indeed,” he said.

“It’s such a thrilling part of our
culture, making us all feel like dangerous renegades, living as we do on the
edge of the continent,” Nancy said. “The gala is exactly what I’ve been looking
for, a social event that is established and yet unloved, like an annual visit
to your OB/Gyn – you have to go, and even through they say, oh you might feel a
little pinch, it’s always hurts like hell.”

“It is a social obligation?”

“It’s as obligationey as they get, but we
can make it into a social triumph just like pelvic exams could be a success if the
doctor’s staff would also do bikini waxes, so the pain would have a payoff. Let’s
dig up the dirt on the museum society’s past soirees.”

Derek and Nancy fell into a comfortable
rhythm and after a few hours, they had compiled a timeline, from the museum’s
first tea to the present.

“You’re very good at research,”
Nancy
said.

“As is Madame.”

“Thank you. But none of this information
is useful, except to prove that the fundraiser’s always been shockingly dull.” Nancy
smiled at her assistant and thought that going out with him would be best way
to show that she was unconcerned by spurious gossip. “Let’s do lunch.”

Chapter 5: Accentuating Your Strengths

They went to the garage and Derek asked,
“Would you like me to drive, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers?”

“No, thank you. After all, you’re used
to driving on the wrong side of the road.” She slipped off her shoes and slid on
soft, rubber soled, dusty rose driving shoes.

She spotted a convenient parking spot
near a
Hayes
Valley
restaurant that Todd frequented
when he had meetings in town. As
Nancy
pulled into the space, Derek said, “Madame, I would be remiss if I didn’t
mention that the sign specifies that this curb is for lorry deliveries exclusively.”

“I’m delivering us,”
Nancy
said. “Besides, if you take the
narrowest interpretation of every traffic sign, you’ll never find a space
because there is no parking in this city. Isn’t it fun having me as your
chauffeur?”

Since they didn’t have reservations,
they took seats at the bar.
Nancy
didn’t mind because she liked the opportunity to display her pert backside on a
stool and she could people watch in the mirror above the bar.

The bartender brought a small bowl of
crunchy Marcona almonds with their menus.
Nancy
pulled out the Ferragamo wallet that she’d taken from Todd, who had a drawer
filled with executive gifts, and took out the laminated sustainable fish guide.
“I suppose I’ll have the Pacific halibut again.”

“Madame is interested in sustainable
fishing?”

“Don’t talk crazy, but you have to pretend.
It’s like feigning interest when someone drones on about their children. Children
are so unformed, like amoebas and just as indistinguishable. They’re, you know…”

“Cheeky, with their annoying questions,”
he said with sudden enthusiasm. “As self-centered as cats.”

“Yes!” She smiled at Derek in the mirror.
She thought they looked like a really fascinating couple, Nancy all blondey
liveliness and him all dark and broody.

He said, “Most ladies are infatuated
with children.”

“Most ladies think that you can buy a
product that acts as both a shampoo and a conditioner.” She ran her hand over
the sleeve of his jacket. “What is this?”

“I believe it’s called chintz-glazed
linen.”

“It is to die for. What are you having?”

“A cheeseburger and chips,” he said.

“This is
America
, Derek. We call them pommes
frites,” she said deadpan, but before she could see his reaction she spotted Junie
approaching in the bar mirror.

Nancy
swirled on her barstool and jumped up. “Juniekins!”
She held her arms out and hugged the tall redhead.

“
Nancy
!
What a nice surprise!” Junie said in her soft voice and gave
Nancy
an extra squeeze before stepping back.

Junie’s previously uncontrollable hair
was now a shiny mahogany color, cut in a chic bob. She was wearing a structured
dark gray suit that disguised her pear-shape. Her makeup was different, too,
making her small eyes look bigger and drawing attention from her long nose.

“The hair, the suit, you!”
Nancy
said happily. “You
look wonderful.”

“I took your advice and hired that personal
stylist you recommended,” Junie said.

“She did wonders. Seriously, you look
terrific.” She took a sniff and recognized the floral and green chypres scent
of Eau du Soir. “You’re wearing my scent,”
Nancy
said, smiling even though she wasn’t
pleased.

“I liked it so much on you that I bought
some for myself.”

Nancy
smiled, but now she would have to
change perfumes.

Derek swiveled on his stool, and Junie
was staring at him while saying to
Nancy
,
“I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but work has been nonstop.” She
smiled at Derek. “Hi.”

Nancy
said, “Junie, this is Derek Cathcart,
my new assistant. Derek, Junie Burns.”

Derek held out his hand and said, “Good
afternoon, Miss Burns.”

Nancy
thought Junie’s knees would give way. “Derek
and I have been conducting historical research for upcoming Froth events,” she
said.

“How fun! I wish I could talk, but I’ve
got to get back to my meeting,” she said and tilted her head toward a table of
business people. “I’ll see you at Lizette’s weekend party and we’ll catch up on
everything.”

“Oh, I wish I could make it, but I’m utterly
booked up. I’m sure they’ve taken care of the hanta-virus infected mice problem.
Call me!”

After Junie had left,
Nancy
said quietly, “Didn’t she look striking?
Thank god she finally has a decent haircut and clothes that don’t have an unpleasant
eau de clearance rack about them.”

“A professional acquaintance?”

“Heavens, no. Junie does boring zoning
work. She’s a friend, but you don’t know how I had to nag her to dress more
attractively. One should dress for the job one wants, not like the pitiable,
lonely grad student one was.”

“It is kind of you to care about your
friend.”

“Well, that’s who I am, a caring
person,”
Nancy
said, and then smiled. “She was eying you like a crazy lady eyes a box of
kittens. That’s Junie -- she habitually crushes on unattainables.”

Derek knit his nicely groomed eyebrows
together and said, “I don’t catch your meaning, Madame.”

“Unattainables -- worthwhile men who
have a game plan for life. They expect a girl to bring more to the relationship
than affection. They could get that from a dog, and even then they’d go to a
reputable breeder to ensure quality. I’ve tried to steer Junie toward guys who
would be grateful for her attention, but she’s delusional.”

After they had ordered,
Nancy
glanced around the restaurant and said,
“I used to know everyone in the city before Todd, Mr. Chambers, put me in exile
in the provinces. Now I’m a hapless rutabaga, uprooted and ignored.”

“Should you ever need to talk, Mrs.
Carrington-Chambers, I should be pleased to listen. A former employer said that
it eased his heart to share his personal concerns.”

Nancy
looked deep and searchingly into his eyes.
“Derek?”

“Yes, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers?” he
asked softly, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

“What color are your eyes?”

“They are blue, Madame.”

“No, my eyes are blue. Yours are
something else.”

A smiled flickered on his face and he
said, “A friend calls them midnight blue.”

“I memorized all the colors in my crayon
box, and Midnight Blue is not quite right. I’ll think of it though. Was this a
special friend?”

“I believe so.”

“I’m so glad you have someone, Derek.” She
sighed. “I thought Todd was special, too. Maybe he is special and I’m just...”

Their food came then. Derek was good
enough to share his French fries with
Nancy
and even welcomed her suggestion that they eat them with catsup, the American
way.

She almost wanted to talk to him about
Todd, because that was what gay friends were for, right? She wasn’t sure about
the rules since Todd wasn’t comfortable having gay men around. He wasn’t
comfortable with anyone who wasn’t like just him.

There was a parking ticket on the car’s
windshield.
Nancy
plucked it off and handed it to Derek, saying, “There are some others in the
glove compartment. Send them to Mr. Chambers, please. He’ll have his friends
take care of them.”

When Derek and Nancy returned to the
apartment, she called Mrs. Jamieson Friendly. After the phone rang and rang,
the woman herself answered and explained that she was in her sunroom with her orchids.

Nancy
resisted the urge to tell Mrs. Friendly
that orchids were so ‘80s, since she might think
Nancy
meant the 1880s. “Let’s talk about your
fundraising event. It’s such an important date on all of our calendars!”

Mrs. Friendly barked out a laugh. “Come
on, sugar, we both know it’s as dried up as my lady parts! That’s what I want
to talk to you about. How soon can you drop by the Saloon?”

Nancy
said that she could be there within an
hour and asked if she could bring her assistant.

“The more the merrier.”

Mrs. Friendly’s mansion was only a
ten-minute walk from Chateau Winkles.

“Is this saloon a pub?” Derek asked.

“No, it’s called that in honor of Mrs.
Friendly’s bar-owner ancestor. Although once you see it, you’ll need a stiff drink.”

The Saloon was a swollen red-brick furuncle
among its more gracious neighbors. A border of flowering plants in confetti
colors lined the semi-circular driveway that curved around an appalling
fountain: portly cherubs squirted water from their chubby privates and
frolicked in eternal stony abandon.