The Cinderella Moment (5 page)

“If he won’t—” Lily looked mulish. “Well, there’s always a way if you want something badly enough.”

***

Angel knew she was running late when she arrived in the foyer and found Lily already there. She’d got caught up with her ball gown after breakfast and lost track of time.

“Hurry up, Angel, the bus is coming.” Lily had the front door open and Angel could see the bus trundling down the street. She grabbed her coat and was almost out the door when Clarissa’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh, good, it’s the kitchen girl. I’ve left my watch in my room. Run up and get it for me.”

Lily swung round, eyes blazing. “Get it yourself, Clarissa. Angel has to go.”

“Angel—such a sweet name. But Angel or not, she can get my watch.”

Angel put a restraining hand on Lily’s arm. “It’s okay, I’ll go.”

Clarissa smiled triumphantly, but Lily wasn’t done.

“Angel’s not here to take orders from you—”

She stopped as a voice, ice-cold and perfectly modulated, said, “Quarrelling again, Lily? How tiresome.”

The three girls turned.

Margot Kane wasn’t tall but she was stunning. Looking at her, Angel could see where Clarissa got her looks. Margot’s ash-blonde hair was cut into a gleaming cap that perfectly accentuated the superb line of her jaw. Her mouth was wide and full, her nose sculpted to a faint tilt and her violet eyes looked out through the longest, most luxuriant lashes Angel had ever seen. Her eyebrows were a work of art and not the tiniest line dared show itself anywhere on her face. She was the result of tireless dedication to the pursuit of beauty.

Margot surveyed the three girls for a moment before asking coolly, “Are you ready, Clarissa? Lily? The car is here.”

“I only need my watch, Mother,” replied Clarissa.

“Then we will wait in the car while it is retrieved.” Margot stared at Angel, who instantly stepped forward, only to feel Lily’s hand on her arm.

“I’ll get it, Margot,” said Lily. Behind her back Angel felt Lily link pinky fingers with her.

“That won’t be necessary. Simone can get it if Angelique has to leave.”

“No. I’ll go.” Angel ran upstairs.

She found the watch and arrived downstairs just as the chauffeur saw Clarissa into the Rolls-Royce.

Lily didn’t use the Rolls much. Most days, she and Angel caught the bus together; Angel getting off at the high school and Lily going on to her private girls’ school. Clarissa had started there just after Christmas and Lily had been furious when a classmate had told her about the strings Margot had pulled to get her in.

Clarissa was a year above Lily so at least they weren’t in the same class but it had proved meager consolation after Clarissa’s instant success with the group Lily called “the queen divas.” Within a week she was a cheerleader, a member of the yearbook committee and sitting at a center table in the cafeteria. Lily had gritted her teeth and gone out of her way to avoid her.

But she couldn’t avoid this morning's ride in the Rolls.

Angel handed the watch through the car window. Clarissa took it without a word.

“Can’t we give Angel a lift, Margot?” asked Lily. “We go right past her school.”

Margot made a moue of distaste and waved at the chauffeur, “Drive on, Roberts.”

As the Rolls pulled away, the first drops of rain began to fall. By the time Angel had put on her jacket it was pouring. She picked up her bag, opened her umbrella and headed for the bus stop.
 

Chapter Five

It rained all day, which exactly suited Angel’s mood. Usually she enjoyed school but today everything seemed to go wrong. Being late meant missing the much-anticipated life-drawing workshop and cleaning the art room instead. As she washed paintbrushes she couldn’t help thinking about Clarissa’s Teen Couture entry.

If she could pull off that cocktail dress then Clarissa might have a real chance at winning. Of course, Angel hadn’t seen the rest of her entry and if those other sketches were part of it, maybe she’d crash and burn. Angel stopped. Why was she wasting time thinking about Clarissa’s Teen Couture entry when she should be thinking about her own?

Still, it was hard to push Clarissa from her mind and halfway through biology her distraction proved disastrous. Angel had been imagining what she’d do with that Japanese silk when she knocked over a tray of partially dissected frogs. She spent the rest of the period cleaning up disgusting bits of amphibian guts.

She wouldn’t have minded so much if Ryan Davies hadn’t seized the opportunity to start calling her “French frog” again. He’d coined the hated nickname in the third grade and tormented Angel with it ever since.

She threw the last frog’s leg into the trash with an angry flick. She’d never understood why boys like Ryan got such a kick out of teasing her.

Lily had tried to tell her that boys only teased a girl if they liked her, but that made no sense at all to Angel. Surely if a boy liked you he’d be nice and not horrible? But that wasn’t Angel’s experience and it wasn’t even as if the boys at her school were the worst.

The prize for the most obnoxious guys belonged to the seniors from the boys-only private school two blocks away. Even Lily admitted some of their so-called banter was over the top—though she still insisted it was how some boys talked when they thought a girl was cute.

Angel had asked her friends at school about Lily’s theory, but they’d been divided in their opinions. Taylor had agreed with Angel that most of the guys from the boys’ school were just rich, stuck-up jerks, but Katie thought that Lily was right. Either way, boys were still a mystery. Angel sighed, wiped the last bits of frog slime from her fingers and wondered if she’d ever meet a boy she could actually talk to.

***

When she got home from school Angel went straight to her closet and pulled out the big black portfolio case she kept in the back. Laying it on her bed, she knelt down and opened it.

Slowly she went through each folder, looking over her draft sketches and rejected designs, then thumbed her way through the sketchbooks in which she’d drawn all the design details of her Teen Couture entry. Finally, she opened the green folder marked
Final Teen Couture
in which she kept the best sketches of her five designs.

Angel sighed. Her designs were at least as good as Clarissa’s and maybe better. She stared down at the picture of her ball gown. Clarissa’s Japanese silk
was
extraordinary—maybe Angel needed to rethink her design. She fingered the pieces of blue velvet and silver gauze stapled to the sketch and an idea began to slowly unfurl in her mind. If she could pull it off
…

Angel pursed her lips, thinking hard. She wouldn’t alter this sketch until she was sure she could achieve her vision, but maybe she could draw an outline now. She glanced at her watch. Where had the time gone? She was due at the Waldorf in an hour and she still had to shower and change. She quickly repacked her portfolio, thrust it back into her closet and grabbed her bathrobe.

Twenty minutes later she was ready. Angel eyed herself in the mirror. The catering company was fussy about appearance and tonight they’d be especially picky. She buttoned the double cuff on her freshly ironed white shirt and flicked a thread off her black pants. Her flat black shoes gleamed and the ribbon round her smooth ponytail hung in a neat bow. Angel looked at her watch—time to go. She felt a flutter of excitement—tonight she might actually see Antoine Vidal close up.

“Ready?” Lily appeared in the doorway.

“Wow! You look great.” Angel gazed appreciatively at her friend’s turquoise dress with its fitted bodice and swirling mid-thigh skirt. Across the bodice and around the hem, waves of tiny crystals glittered like water in the sunlight. Lily’s thick blonde hair tumbled down her back.

“I ought to. It’s your design after all.” Lily touched a crystal. “I wish you were coming with us.”

“I’ll be fine on the bus.”

Lily frowned. “Sure, but it’s silly when we’re going to the same place.”

Angel pushed her gently out the door. “Margot would not agree. You're all guests and I’m just the hired help—definitely not someone to be seen with.”

Lily groaned. “Don’t remind me. Margot will spend the night charming every celebrity in sight and ignoring everyone who isn’t anyone.”

Angel grinned. “You almost make me glad I’m just a lowly waitress.” She patted Lily's arm sympathetically. “At least you’ll see the fashion show. I’d gladly put up with Margot at her worst if it meant seeing Antoine Vidal’s fall collection.”

***

It was a bigger night than expected, Angel decided, as she and the other staff waited behind closed doors for the signal to clear away the main course. The Waldorf Ballroom was buzzing with the cream of New York society. While serving the entrée Angel had seen a Karl Lagerfeld gown, two classic Jean Paul Gaultiers, a divine Givenchy creation and a gold, strapless Vera Wang dress that had made her long for a closer look.

Equally thrilling was the discovery that a woman she was serving was wearing Collette Dinnigan. From the first moment she’d seen them, Angel had fallen in love with the Australian designer’s intricately beaded tops, vibrant resort dresses and delicate lace gowns. Seeing one up close was a delight. She’d never thought waitressing could be so exciting.

It was disappointing not to be assigned to Vidal’s table but not surprising. He was much too important to be attended by a junior waitress. She’d seen him at a distance though, and had been thrilled to see how handsome he was in his perfectly cut tuxedo with two mega-famous film stars beside him, each wearing a Vidal gown. Even from thirty feet away Angel could see how beautifully the dresses were made.

The one blight on the evening was being assigned to wait on Margot’s table. Not that she paid any attention to Angel; she was far too busy charming her fellow guests. And she
was
good at it, just as Lily had said.

Angel had watched her while clearing the entrées. Margot had been the center of attention, smiling and laughing, superb in a figure-hugging, coal-black Balenciaga gown with a single blood-red rose at its breast. As Angel collected plates she felt a stab of sympathy for Lily sitting across the table trying not to notice how easily Margot had captivated her dinner companions—even a stern-looking New York congressman had fallen under her spell.

As she served each new course, Angel could see Lily becoming increasingly unhappy. No surprise, given that she was sandwiched between a pompous-sounding author ranting on about the stupidity of this year’s Pulitzer Prize judges and the congressman’s wife who seemed to think Lily was about ten and in need of advice.

As she cleared the mains, Angel could see Lily muttering to herself and guessed she was reciting lines in an attempt to distract herself from Margot’s tinkling laugh and nauseating remarks. “Oh, Senator,
do
tell us what you said to the President.”

Even Angel felt like barfing at that.

Things were no better by the time dessert was ending and Angel and Marc, one of the six baristas hired for the evening, wheeled their mobile Barista Bar into position near Lily’s table.

Lily looked totally miserable and, rather than eating her profiteroles, had chopped them into tiny pieces, leaving a chocolatey mess in the middle of her plate. Angel suspected she was working out how to escape the Waldorf without incurring Margot’s wrath.

A moment later Lily made her way to the Barista Bar and asked Angel loudly, “Can I get an espresso macchiato, please?”

“Certainly,” replied Angel. “I’ll bring it to your table.”

“That’s okay, I’ll wait,” said Lily firmly. Under her breath she whispered, “I can’t take much more of this. Clarissa’s going on and on about her new portfolio and Margot keeps trying to catch Jacqueline Montague’s attention.”

“Gross.” Angel knew how much Lily hated the thought of Margot getting friendly with the Montagues.

Like the de Tourneys, the Montagues were old money and for as long as Angel could remember Lily and Philip had regularly spent summers with them at Martha’s Vineyard and winters skiing in Aspen. Angel had met Elizabeth Montague a couple of times when Lily had brought her home after school. They were in the same class and had known each other forever. Angel had thought Elizabeth seemed sweet, but her mother was a tiger.

She could see her now, talking to the mayor. Tall and elegant, with short dark hair and a wide, vivacious smile, Jacqueline Montague was one of New York’s society queens: famous for her charity luncheons, her acid wit, and her ability to elicit information. According to Lily, Jacqueline knew everything about everyone who counted and could make or break a career with a single word.

Clearly Margot knew that, too.

Angel handed Lily her coffee. “Hang in there,” she said softly. “The show’s due to start in a few minutes and then you can—”