The Daughters (28 page)

She reached the top step and assessed the thick crowd. It only took a second until Natasha spotted her and came marching over.
“Lizzie,” she said, flicking her bangs out of her sooty eyes. “I told your father that Katia’s busy.”

“I need to see my mom. Is she here?”

Natasha eyed her plain black turtleneck, dirty jeans, and beaten-up boots. “I’m not sure this is an appropriate venue for
someone underage,” she said in a clipped voice.

“Just tell me where she is,” Lizzie persisted.

Natasha drew her tiny body up and relented. “Just stay away from the bar,” she sniped. Apparently word had gotten out that
she was some kind of rebel now. She almost laughed out loud as she followed Natasha into the crowd.

They passed stick-thin women with perfect shiny hair and bare, knobby shoulders drinking flutes of champagne. Lizzie caught
some people staring at her, and heard some fervent whispering, but nobody stopped her or said anything. She wondered if everyone
at the party had heard what she had done to Martin Meloy. If they hadn’t yet, she was sure they would.

“There she is.” Natasha pointed.

Katia stood at the far end of the room, flanked by the
Vogue
creative director and a designer known more for her celebrity bridal clientele than for her designs. She was smiling, and
held a nearly full glass of champagne in her hand, but even from here Lizzie could see that her eyes were their sad color—a
washed-out gray. She might have looked happy, but Katia was drowning inside.

“I think you should let her have a few minutes. She’s got some important business to discuss—” Natasha began.

“No, I need to talk to her now,” Lizzie said, and barged on ahead.

“Lizzie!” she heard Natasha exclaim, but she didn’t stop. Natasha’s advice wasn’t that useful anymore.

As she neared her mother in the crowd, she still didn’t have an opening line.
Mom, I heard the news? I’m sorry you got sacked?
And what if her mom wasn’t happy to see her, considering everything that had happened today?

But she was Katia’s daughter. Her mother loved her. No matter what Lizzie did wrong or how many times she got suspended, or
how often they fought, her mother would love her, always. And today, this morning, she had learned in the stickiest way possible
that she loved her mother right back. It was why she was here, after all, wading through a sea of anorexic fashionistas, trying
to rescue her.

Katia didn’t see her until Lizzie stood behind her. “Mom?” she asked, sidling up to her as close as she could.

Katia looked over her shoulder. In that split second, her face said everything: surprise, affection, relief. “Lizzie!” she
sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad told me what happened,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

The other two women gave her hostile stares but she ignored them. She had had enough of caring what fashion people thought.

“Lizzie,” Katia said, still astonished. “I’m fine.”

Before she knew what she was doing, Lizzie threw her arms around her mom’s neck. “I can’t believe they did that,” she whispered.
“I hate them. I really hate them. I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Hesitantly, Katia hugged her back. “Excuse me,” she said to the editor and the designer. “I think we need a moment.” Lizzie
heard them retreat into the crowd.

“Lizzie, come with me,” she said, taking her by the hand. She led her toward the back of the room, and when they reached a
quiet corner, Katia turned her back to the party and faced Lizzie. “You’re supposed to be grounded,” she said sternly. “Didn’t
your father speak to you?”

“He told me what happened in Paris. With L’Ete. So I wanted to come down and make sure you were all right.”

Katia put her hands on her hips, unwilling to be placated just yet. “We heard what happened today, Lizzie. At school. And
at the shoot. What got into you? I thought we could trust you.”

“Mom, I’m done. I’m done with the modeling stuff. You were right. It wasn’t for me. And I know I didn’t listen to you. But
I learned. I learned in a way that I never would have if I hadn’t lied and snuck around.” She wondered if she had just undermined
her own argument. “Does that make sense?”

“I just don’t know how to get through to you anymore, Lizzie,” her mom said. “For a little while there, I felt like we understood
each other. And then, everything just fell apart.” Katia’s eyes were shiny. “Don’t you know that I would never keep you from
success? That I would never keep you from figuring out who you are?” She took Lizzie’s hand and looked at her warmly. “I just
know that you have so much that I didn’t. Creative talent. Parents and teachers who love you. A good home. A good school.
I didn’t have any of those things. I had my looks. And they’ve given me a lot. But you have so much more than I did. And what
you have, Lizzie, will take you as far as you want, for as long as you want.”

Her mother still clung to her hand, squeezing it with every other word. Lizzie felt one hot tear start to make its way down
her cheek.

“But weren’t you proud of me?” she asked, swallowing a sob. “I mean, just a little?”

“Of course I was. But I was proud of you
before
. That’s why I always wanted you to pose with me. That’s why I always wanted you to come with me to things. Because I have
always thought that you were a star. Always.”

Lizzie felt another tear take the plunge down her cheek, and she wiped them away. She squeezed her mom’s hand right back.
“I’m proud of you, too, Mom,” she said softly, starting to cry. “I know I don’t show it a lot, but I am.”

Katia wiped at the edge of her eye. “I love you, honey.” She leaned down and hugged her tightly.

They stood like that for a moment. “Do you want to tell me what happened with Martin this morning?” she asked.

Lizzie paused. “I’ll just say that you were right. Everyone there were jerks. He’s way too fake for me.”

She felt her mother nod as they hugged. Maybe Katia suspected the truth. Maybe she didn’t. But Lizzie knew that she would
never, ever repeat what she had heard, for as long as she lived.

“Well, I know there’s someone else who isn’t fake, and who’s dying to work with you.” Katia let her go and Lizzie could see
that she was smiling. “Andrea called me last week about the Gagosian Gallery show. I think you should do it.”

“You do?”

Katia ran her hand over Lizzie’s hair. “She sees you for who you are. She’s not going to take advantage of you. And I think
she’s been a good friend to you. And being a good friend back is just as important as staying true to yourself.”

“Excuse me, but can we get a picture?”

In front of them, barely five feet away, stood a photographer holding his camera.

“Of course,” Lizzie said.

“Oh honey, I don’t know, my makeup is smearing,” Katia said, dabbing at the edges of her eyes with the side of her hand.

Lizzie brushed away a tear from her mom’s face. “You look beautiful, Mom.”

Katia seemed surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, you do.”

Katia touched her cheek and then gave one of her dazzling supermodel smiles. She turned to the photographer. “All right then,”
she said, putting her arm around Lizzie’s waist. “Here we go.”

Lizzie leaned her head in ever so slightly. The photographer readied his camera.

“The Summers women,” he said, clicking the shutter over and over. The flash was blinding, but Lizzie kept her eyes open.

“Thank you,” Katia said gently, after four or five more clicks. “Thank you.”

The photographer scurried off, and Lizzie reached for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“I think we should probably say our goodbyes and head home now,” Katia said.

“Wait one sec, Mom,” Lizzie said as she opened her phone. “I’m going to text Andrea.” She wrote out one word in her message.
YES
. And then sent it.

Just as a text from Carina came in. Lizzie opened it.

OMG! Come to my house ASAP!!!!

Lizzie read the text several more times. She thought of calling her back but Katia said, “Okay, honey. Let’s go.”

Lizzie slid her finger across the screen and tucked it back into her pocket. “Actually, is there any way I can stop at Carina’s
house on the way home?” she asked. “Just for a few minutes?”

Katia arched a brow and folded her arms. “Half an hour. That’s all. And then you’re home until further notice. And I’ll be
keeping time.”

“No problem.”

“So let’s go, Lizzie.” Katia stuck out her hand, and Lizzie took it. And as the crowd watched them walk by, Lizzie was absolutely
sure that she had never felt so beautiful in her life.

When Lizzie got out of the cab, she could already see Hudson pacing around inside the lobby of Carina’s building. She walked
toward her as Lizzie pushed her way through the revolving door.

“What’s going on, H? Is there a problem?”

Hudson grabbed Lizzie’s arm. Her sea foam–colored eyes were streaked with red from crying.

“She’s gone, Lizzie. The doorman said the Jurg and her left twenty minutes ago.”

“What?” Lizzie’s voice echoed in the cold, marble-floored lobby. “That’s insane. I just heard from her.
You
just heard from her. She told us to come over.”

“She just left. He said they had a lot of bags. And that she was going on a ‘trip.’ ”

“But it’s a school night.”

Hudson shook her head and squeezed Lizzie’s arm tighter. “You don’t get it. She leaked that stuff about her dad stealing money
from the charities. It’s online. And her dad threw a fit.”

Lizzie finally grasped the full meaning of what Hudson was saying. She looked out into the night, at the cars and cabs racing
down Fifth Avenue. They had just missed her.

“Where do you think he took her?”

Hudson shrugged. “Who knows? It could be anywhere. The man has a plane.”

Lizzie whipped out her phone and dialed Carina’s cell.

“I’ve already tried it,” Hudson said.

Carina’s voicemail started to play in Lizzie’s ear. “
Hi, you’ve reached Carina. I’m probably surfing right now so leave a message
—”

Lizzie clicked it shut. She looked at Hudson, who seemed to be on the verge of another cry. If Carina were here, she would
know what to do. But now Carina was gone, and someone had to be in charge.

“Well, we can’t just stand here all night, can we? Let’s get out of here.”

Lizzie tugged Hudson toward the door. “Where are we going?” Hudson asked, as Lizzie raised her arm to hail a taxi.

“To find our best friend,” Lizzie said as a cab pulled up in front of them.

This book would never have been written without Ido Ostrowsky, who convinced me over dinner one night—loudly—that there was
a series in Lizzie, Carina and Hudson. If it hadn’t been for his overwhelming enthusiasm and support, the Daughters may have
never made it on to the page. I also thank my agent, the fearless and talented Becka Oliver. She believed in this series from
the very beginning and has taken it further than I ever expected it might go. I’m infinitely grateful for her feedback, her
tenacity, and most of all, her sense of humor.

Enormous thanks go to the great Cindy Eagan and her team at Poppy. I’m still in shock that I get to write for her. I’m completely
indebted to my editors, Kate Sullivan and Elizabeth Bewley, who gave me brilliant notes and suggestions, and made Lizzie’s
story the best it could possibly be.

My sister, JJ Philbin, read my drafts and gave me valuable and timely feedback. My friend Jill Cargerman read early pages
and encouraged me to keep going. Nick Steele and Robert Castillo gave me priceless inside info about Fashion Week and music
production, respectively. Rob Pearlstein and the rest of the gang in the Writers Guild lounge kept me sane through the long
hours of writing.

Most of all I’d like to thank Jonny Kurzman, for sitting next to me on that plane and turning it all around. Thank you, thank
you, thank you.