Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (7 page)

Toma came over. He looked at Ava and said, “For you, I add some very special photos on the phone.”

“I don’t want photos.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You will sing a different number when you see them. In my tuxedo, I am just like 07,” he said. “And out of it.”

Ava held her phone with her fingertips, as though it might be contaminated. “What about her?” she asked as he handed Sophia her phone. “Doesn’t she get photos?”

Toma shook his head. “No, only for you,
bebe.
Do not be jealous.” He turned his attention to Sophia. “I could not finish with your phone, the boyfriend he calls every second. You give it to me later, yes?”

Sophia nodded, and, like he’d been listening, Hunter called at that moment. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “You said you’d call me back in five minutes and it’s been two hours. Do you know how worried I was?”

“I’m really sorry, I just—”

“Couldn’t pick up the phone for one second and call? Or text me?”

Sophia felt like the very last nerve she had was about to fray. “Someone is stealing our designs, we’ve been kicked out of Fashion Week, our models are dropping like flies, and we’re trying to figure out how to put our show back together, okay? That’s what I was dealing with.”

Sophia felt the entire workroom go quiet at her back but she didn’t care.

“Oh, babe,” Hunter said, his voice full of compassion, his tone, everything exactly what she needed. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Sophia wanted to cry with gratitude. “Your being understanding is amazing.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice like a caress. “But what happened? Do you have any suspicion how—I mean, I don’t quite know how to say this but—”

“Everyone who sees the clothes is a friend,” Sophia supplied.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t know.” She went and stood near one of the windows and pushed the shade aside to see out. There were banks of snow around the bottoms of the light polls but the sidewalks were clear, and the sun dropping into the clouds was turning the sky purple. “We think maybe a computer breech? We’re setting up a perimeter to try to catch the guy. But even if we do, our credibility is tarnished and our models are disappearing and I’m starting to think we should just give up.” She wouldn’t have said that to anyone else, she realized.

Hunter said, “Are you crazy? This is when you fight hardest. You and Ava have been through worse than this.”

Sophia wasn’t sure they had, but she appreciated his confidence.

“You two are going to bounce back, I know it. I’ve watched you. A little bad PR is just fuel for an even bigger triumph. This is just the beginning for the London sisters,” he said. “Remember, everything can turn on a dime.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she told him, her heart filling with gratitude for him. How had she been annoyed earlier? “You just said exactly what I needed to hear without knowing it.”

“That’s because I’m your soul mate,” he said. “And it’s why you should call me regularly. To keep up the dosage.”

Sophia smiled as she hung up but it wavered when Daisy came in to say that another one of their models had contracted viral laryngitis.

“I thought they were having meningitis,” Sven said.

“It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t have it,” Ava told him. “How many models do we have left?” Ava asked MM.

“We’re at eight. Of twelve.”

Harper waved that away. “Don’t worry. From now on, we control the press. After our charm offensive tonight they’ll be calling to tell you about a miracle cure and begging for their places back.”

That’s the attitude,
Sophia thought. And then Lily came over, talking in a very strange, loud voice.

She hung up and her eyes were sparkling. “I got us a venue. Graveswood House.”

“What is it?” Ava asked.

MM was gaping at Lily. “One of the most stately mansions in New York City. It’s been under restoration for—”

“Twenty-three years,” Lily said. “But they’re finishing the work this week.”

“It’s like Versailles,” MM said. “Only better. How did you do it?”

“I saw my aunt Ruthie’s name on my party list so I called her. It’s her place and she said of course my friends could have a little party for up to five hundred people.”

“It’s perfect for the line,” MM said.

“And it’s a PR dream,” Harper told them. “People would come just to see the house. Now your going to have models coming back from the dead to walk for you.”

“I do not think those would be good,” Sven put in. “A smooth gait is preferred.”

“Of course, sweetie,” MM said as they all cracked up. Suddenly things didn’t seem so dire.

*   *   *

It took exactly four minutes from when Harper gave Ava the signal at their first party of the night to say—

“I mean, the space is amazing. Like Versailles but better for a fashion show. Especially after the restoration” for a reporter to come rushing up to Sophia and ask, “Is it true that you’ve landed Graveswood House for your show?”

Sophia put on the surprised look they’d practiced—eyes wide, lips slightly parted, tiny frown between the brows. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s all over the Internet,” the reporter said. “Can you confirm it?”

She pretended to look around confusedly for Ava. Finally, as though resigned, she said, “I can. That is our new venue. But—”

The parties became much more interesting after that. MM called to say that first one, then three of their models had miraculously recovered and were available for the show. Sophia and Ava went from objects of curiosity to everyone’s new biff.

“I’m exhausted,” Ava said as they rode back to the apartment. “I’ve had enough excitement today to last me for at least four days.”

“Six,” Sophia said, checking her phone. “I have about a million text messages.”
And three voice mails from Hunter,
she didn’t add.

“Me too,” Ava said.

Sophia’s phone rang. “I’ve got to take this,” she said, and answered, curling toward the window for privacy. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe it. She stoops to answer my calls.”

Sophia laughed. “It’s been a crazy night.”

“Apparently. Since you’ve been too busy party hopping to answer a single call for six hours.”

Sophia felt the first twinge of a headache. Sometimes Hunter got this way when she was busy and she’d learned that it passed if she just ignored it or managed to make him laugh. “It’s not fun, it’s work. Harper is so organized but she’s a slave driver. We all had assignments for the parties and she made sure we kept on them.”

“Did she. And what was yours like? Tall, dark, and handsome?”

Sophia laughed again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

His voice was cold. “I’m not.”

Sophia leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the car window. “I talked about you.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?” he said, like a challenge.

“No, you’re just supposed to know that I tell everyone what a great boyfriend I have.” Leaving out, Sophia thought to herself, the part about how he was a little nuts about communication.

“I’m glad I can be cocktail party conversation.”

Her head was throbbing. Clearly, ignoring his mood wasn’t working. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said.

“I want you to call me when you say you’re going to call me,” he snapped.

“I was working. I was going to call when I got home.” She looked down at her lap and saw that her hand was balled into a fist. “I hate this feeling, like I’m letting you down when I haven’t done anything wrong.”

His voice was full of contrition. “You’re right. I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know what came over me. I just miss you. I really really miss you. Like an ache. In the deepest part of me. And it’s worse when I can’t hear your voice.”

His voice, his pain, made her wish he were right there so she could put her head on his chest and wrap her arms around him. “I really miss you too.”

“I wish we were playing footsie on the couch.”

Sophia smiled and felt warm despite the cold night and realized her headache had completely disappeared. “That would be amazing. I can’t tell you how much I—”

She frowned, feeling Ava’s hand gripping her arm. “What?” Sophia started to ask, turning to look at her sister, and then the words died, changed to, “I’m sorry, Hunter, I have to go.”

“Wait, why—”

“Now.”

LonDOs:

Models who don’t quit

Lily

Lily’s aunt Ruthie

Boyfriends who want to play footsie

Graveswood House

Butterscotch-pudding lollipops at cocktail parties

LonDON’Ts:

Models who quit

Models who are zombies

People who make false accusations

People who eat other people’s cookies when they are in the bathroom

Cocktail napkins that take your lipstick but leave your lip liner

6

model citizens

This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening. This isn’t happening,
Ava kept thinking as she watched the firemen putting away their hoses. It wasn’t possible.

Her mind kept replaying it, as though maybe she could find a way to make the story line different. She’d found five voice-mail messages from Lily on her phone, which she concluded were all pocket dials since Lily never left messages. But then Sophia had gotten on the phone with Hunter, and even after Ava had run through several fantasy scenarios about the cute guy with the sleepy eyes at Starbucks actually talking to her, Sophia was
still
on the phone, so she’d decided to see what Lily’s night sounded like from the inside of her pocket and pushed to play the most recent message.

It started off sounding like a pocket dial with incoherent noise and shouting but then Lily’s voice was there, saying, “I can’t believe it. It’s—you can see the flames coming out the windows. All that work, the restoration and now. I’m so sorry. I wanted this for you so badly. I— There’s a fireman—I’m going to ask him how bad it is. I’ll be here if you want to find me.”

By the time she and Sophia got to Graveswood, the fire was out. Now they were standing with Lily, MM, and Sven, talking to one of the firemen while the others stashed their gear.

“Definitely electrical,” the fireman said. “Someone left one of those room heaters on full blast and it just overloaded. Happens a fair amount this time of year, not usually in a place like this, though,” he said, looking at the mansion. “Must have been one of the workmen. Still, managed to contain it. The damage is minimal, some smoke, some structural. Your aunt was lucky.”

“Can we go in?” Lily said.

He shook his head. “Got to get the fire inspector in first, make sure it’s structurally sound. Then insurance. It’s a whole circus. Probably can’t be back in there for a month, three weeks at the soonest.”

After that, none of them wanted to go home so they’d gone to an all-night deli around the corner from Graveswood. Ava had a cold cup of coffee in front of her and a plate of fries sat in the middle of the table, untouched. She stared into the coffee cup. “We’re cursed. That’s the only explanation.”

“We’re not cursed,” Sophia said. “We’re just—”

“Cursed,” Ava finished.

“It’s all relative,” Sophia said. “We still have—”

Lily looked up from the brownie sundae she’d been dragging her spoon through. “That’s it!”

“What?” Ava asked.

“This is it. My moment.” She looked at them breathlessly. “I was born for this challenge.”

“Why is the tall one so happy?” Sven asked MM.

“I’m not sure but usually when she’s in this mood the best thing is to nod and move far away.”

“Lily, what are you talking about?” Sophia asked cautiously.

Lily wolfed down a bite of brownie. “Don’t you see? It’s all about relatives. I have dozens of them, who know dozens of people, who own three-quarters of this city.” She brandished her spoon. “I have the will. I have the connections. I will find you a venue or die trying.”

“That seems a bit extreme,” Ava said.

Lily tapped her on the nose with her spoon. “There is no cause for concern, little London. Obviously the fire was a sign. Graveswood wasn’t the right place. We must be bolder. Smarter.” She scarfed down another bite of brownie. “But don’t worry. Everything I’ve ever done has been preparing me for this one moment. Trust Auntie Lily.” She gazed across the table, her eyes shining with zeal. “And pass the fries if you’re not going to finish them. I have to keep my strength up.”

*   *   *

When they got to the showroom the next day, they found that the Contessa had been busy. She’d decided that they needed better protection, which meant there was a team of people putting up sensors everywhere, an intense-looking man who introduced himself as T, standing in front of the door to the workroom, and a cameraman named Sam, who was supposed to follow them around to document everything they did or made.

“So when they do blah blah blah we have proof to smash their noses in.” The Contessa ground her palm into the tabletop to illustrate. Then she looked up and smiled at the camera. “And who knows, maybe we make a movie later. Is a possibility. We call it
Biffs.
Is good, no?”

Ava and Sophia nodded, neither of them having enough energy left to object.

The Contessa left then to, as Toma translated it, “Sharpen her claws,” which they concluded meant get a manicure, and then Lily appeared, carrying two large canvas tote bags.

“What’s in there?” Ava asked her, trying to peer in.

“I was in consultation this morning with my godmother, Lady—” She stopped, noticing the camera. “Who are you? What is this?” She indicated him, his camera, his boots.

“I’m Sam,” he said, holding out his hand.

Lily didn’t take it, just stared at him. “Are you wearing Doc Martens?”

Sam looked tongue-tied, like he wondered what the right answer was. “Yes?”

Lily rolled her eyes.
“Please.”

Ava looked anxiously from Sam to Lily. To Sam she said apologetically, “She’s not usually like this,” then turned to Lily. “The Contessa thinks we should have a record of everything we do in case anyone questions our process,” she explained.