Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (8 page)

“I don’t think he looks trustworthy. There’s something around his eyes,” Lily whispered to Ava. Putting her back deliberately in front of the camera, she began to pull things from the tote bags.

MM frowned. “Why do you have back issues of—”

“Shhhh!”
Lily said, shooting a glance over her shoulder at Sam. “I don’t want him to know. He could be one of
Them.
”

“I think he’s okay,” Ava said. “Plus, things can’t get any worse.”

“Maybe,” Lily said skeptically. She turned to the camera and pointed from her eyes to Sam. “I’m watching you, New Dork City.”

He grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

“Ugh,” Lily said.

Sophia pointed at the tote bags. “You were explaining.”

Lily nodded. “I spent the morning with my godmother. We’ll call her Lady A,” she said with a glance over her shoulder. “I learned a lot. Our objective is to find a fabulous venue with a wide open space that can seat at least two hundred people and accommodate a catwalk, is beautiful, elegant, and somehow representative of New York or sisters or both.”

“Also the tall roofs,” Sven said.

Everyone frowned at him but MM nodded. “He’s right. You need a place with high ceilings because the models are so tall a normal space makes them look out of proportion.”

“And that rules out pretty much all restaurants and most of the private clubs,” Lily said. “But the biggest challenge is finding a place that isn’t already booked. Anywhere anyone has held a show for the past twenty years was reserved months or even years ago. Which actually makes things easier because it narrows our task to thinking of places no one else has. The hidden gems of New York.” She whipped around to look at Sam. “Did you make a noise?”

Sam shook his head, clearly trying not to laugh. Lily scowled at him for a moment, then went on. “I found a subway station that’s been closed for two decades with great atmosphere and ceilings, but your guests would have had to enter via a manhole so I crossed that off. I looked into tenting the Brooklyn Bridge but there’s some law about not blocking emergency access off the island. So Lady A lent me her archive of issues of
Town & Country Magazine
from 1952 to 1980. They document every major event and party held in NYC during that period. These old issues will help us find the hidden treasure everyone else has overlooked. I’ve already begun marking some.” She pointed at a stack feathered with green Post-it notes.

Sophia took one and opened it. Her face lit up. “My god, this place looks perfect.” She held up the magazine. “The Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center.”

“I love the name,” Ava said, crowding next to her.

From behind them Sam said, “I’m afraid it closed in 2009.”

Lily flinched, like a fly had buzzed in her ear, and said to Sophia, “Why is he talking? Is he allowed to talk?”

Sophia nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”

Ava picked up another magazine. “What about here? Studio 54?”

“I have heard of this one,” Sven said happily. “From my grandpapa. He was there I think maybe in 1981? And then it is closed by police?”

He glanced at Sam, who said, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s been closed at least twenty years.”

Lily started pulling at the collar of her sweater. “Is it me, or is someone sucking all the creativity out of the room?” She began shoving magazines back into the tote bags. “This is just the beginning. We’ve got weeks and weeks before the show. Trust me. I’m telling you, this is my destiny. Has Auntie Lily ever failed to surprise you?”

Sophia and Ava exchanged looks. Sophia said, “No, you are always surprising.”

Lily grinned. “Exactly.”

Somehow that did not entirely lighten the mood. Ava slumped, with her chin resting on her hands. “So we have no venue, no credentials, no models—”

“We have one still,” MM said, appearing to find something very interesting to look at near the ceiling.

Sven frowned. “I thought you say that is because she has the stomach bugs and cannot call.”

MM brought his eyes down to shoot him a .22-caliber look and snapped, “What happened to raising your hand?”

“—Which means we have no show. It’s over,” Ava finished.

Sophia’s eyes blazed. “But if we don’t show, then everyone will think it was true and we’re frauds. I hate the thought of that.”

None of them had realized the Contessa was back but she burst in now, slapping the top of the table with her hand. “
Basta
! I will not let that Worm man—”

“Wormwood,” Ava corrected.

“Wildwood,” Sophia said.

“—Worm-faced pumpkin-head ruin my fashion line,” the Contessa proclaimed. “I will fix this.”

There was a cackle from the door, and over Daisy’s babbling that she’d tried to stop the lady but she rolled right over—look, there was the mark on her boot—Lucille Rexford said, “Well isn’t this a pretty picture? You look like one of those end-of-the-world cults the day after the end of the world doesn’t come.”

Lucille was pushed into the studio in her gold-plated wheelchair by a man wearing a dark blue coat with gold buttons, matching jodhpurs, and black boots, like an old-fashioned chauffeur. She was wearing all black, as always, this time a black fur cape with a black fur blanket over her legs, and her eyes were only slightly visible behind large, smoky-lensed glasses. The only color came from her silver helmet of hair, which was cut in a severe bob, and her pure red lipstick. A Pomeranian sat on her lap, growling at everyone despite Lucille’s patting him and saying, “There there, Cuddles.”

“Lucille?” Sophia breathed. “Charlie? Cuddles?”

But while Sophia was still trying to decide whether she could believe her eyes, Ava was on her feet, giving the chauffeur a kiss on the cheek and hugging the woman. “If you must you must, but just so we’re clear, that won’t be necessary again for the duration of my stay,” Lucille told her.

“Of course,” Ava told her solemnly, reaching out to scratch Cuddles’s stomach while his tongue lolled blissfully out of his mouth.

“I really don’t know what comes over him around you,” Lucille said. She tapped the dog’s nose with her finger. “Traitor. I should have known even you were susceptible to the attractions of youth.”

She raised her eyes from the dog to Sophia and said, “I suppose you need to hug me too. Very well if you must, let’s get it over with.”

Sophia wrapped her arms around Lucille and gave her a kiss on her surprisingly soft cheek. When she let go, she gave Charlie, the chauffeur, a kiss too, then stepped back and said, “What in the world are you doing in New York?”

In addition to being the millionaire owner of LuxeLife cosmetics, the company that produced Ava and Sophia’s makeup line, Lucille was crotchety, snarky, hard as nails, and a confirmed recluse. Ava and Sophia adored her but were shocked to see her here since she had barely left her house in the Hollywood Hills for decades, let alone crossed the country.

“Charlie heard that someone was throwing a wrench into your plans. He got upset and then Cuddles got upset and between the two of them they wouldn’t leave off pestering me and let me have a decent night’s sleep until I agreed to come out here and see what was what,” Lucille explained.

Ava and Sophia looked at Charlie, who nodded somberly. “Exactly how she tells it,” he said.

Lucille scowled at them. “Got too much invested in you two to let your reputations slide, that’s all. And besides,” she nodded forward and Charlie pushed her toward the Contessa. “I wanted to meet this one. I liked the sound of you,” she told her.

“I am honored,” the Contessa said, and Sophia thought she genuinely meant it. “I have heard many frightening things about Lucille Rexford which has given me the utmost respect.”

“Is Lucille
blushing
?” Ava asked Sophia

“Yes. She looks happier than Charming after he learned how to knock the cream container over.”

Lucille turned to Ava and Sophia. “Now tell me what’s going on.” MM got up to make a place for her at the table but she waved it away. “I want to look at things. Where’re the clothes?”

Ava and Sophia pointed to the door of the workroom and Charlie pushed Lucille there. As she reached it, T looked to the Contessa, who said, “Yes, move of course,” adding,
“Idiota,”
under her breath, and Lucille cackled again.

As Ava and Sophia took turns telling the story, Lucille went from one mannequin to the next, eyeing the clothes, fingering hems and details, and then turned to take in the rest of the space with her keen eyes.

Lucille said, “There’s your problem right there,” and pointed at the wallboard with the photos of the models all Xed out.

“Right,” Ava said resignedly. “No models.”

“No, ninny. Too
many
models.”

“What?” MM asked.

“Why are you using
models
?” Lucille demanded. When no one answered, she shook her head and told Cuddles, “Bad as talking to a bunch of chickens.” She cleared her throat and said, “Your entire line is about real girls, come AS you are, take us AS we are, be AS—blah blah blah.” The Contessa beamed as Lucille used her favorite English phrase. “Who wants to see more models? You should be casting the girls you’ve designed the line for, AS girls. Not these
as if
ones.”

“Real girls,” Sophia repeated wonderingly.

Ava said, “Sure, but how do we find them? Do we just cast off the street?”

“We could,” MM said. “It would take time but—”

Sven raised his hand. “Excuse me, but you have the Web site with the very many followers, yes? Maybe they would like do it.”

Ava grabbed Sophia. “A contest!”

“An essay,” Sophia elaborated.

Ava nodded. “Yes! Tell us about yourself—”

“What you love—”

“What it means to you to be an AS girl—”

“And no photos,” Sophia said. “Beauty is about the whole package.”

“And being confident in who you are,” Ava agreed. “Real girls—”

“As they really are,” Sophia finished.

They were jumping up and down, completely forgetting that there was anyone else there.

“Real girls, real bodies, real lives,” Harper said an hour later when they told her. “Underscoring that you’re the real deal. I love it. And you know what this means?”

“More parties?” Sophia said.

Harper agreed. “More parties.”

“And this time I come too,” the Contessa insisted.

“Oh yes,” Harper told her. “I have a special job for you.”

“But we still have no venue, and no credentials,” Ava pointed out.

Lucille said, “Leave the credentials to me. You just find a venue.”

Lily patted the canvas tote bags. “Destiny.”

LonDOs

Fire brigade

Real girls

Web contest

Lucille Rexford

Cute guy at Starbucks with the sleepy eyes smiling!!!

Genius who thought to put extra whipped cream on brownie sundae

Destiny

LonDON’Ts

Fire

Models who pretend to be sick

New security sensors that interfere with your phone service

Kitties who ate through the cord on Mommy’s work-phone charger

7

snark avenue

The night’s itinerary included five parties, each with a different, crucial agenda. This first one was on the roof of the Gramercy Park Hotel and would include a mix of people Harper called “string pullers,” whom she wanted to introduce to Ava and Sophia.

“Tonight is all about making them aware that you exist, so tomorrow when they read about you, they’ll feel attached, as though they were there at the beginning, and have a strange itch to help.”

“‘Strange itch’. I like this,” the Contessa had said, beaming. “Yes, very good.”

Harper had arranged for the Contessa to arrive ten minutes before them, explaining that her job was to “confuse and delight the press. Give them plenty to quote but nothing they will understand.”

“But how do I do this?” the Contessa had asked, genuinely confused.

“You’ll have no trouble,” Harper had assured her. “Just say whatever comes to mind.”

Ava had managed to stay calm in the limo and as they were escorted through the lobby, but in the elevator going up to the roof, where the party was being held, she felt herself starting to panic. After the debacle with the
WWD
reporter, she didn’t trust herself to answer anything.

“Listen, think, respond,” had been Harper’s instructions to her at the studio. “It’s simple. And when in doubt, watch Sophia, she’s a pro.”

Listen, think, respond,
Ava repeated to herself, hoping that the ringing in her ears would subside enough for her to think, and the lump in her throat shrink enough for her to respond. She was terrified of messing up again. She remembered Sophia telling her that it wasn’t her fault, but Ava couldn’t help blaming herself, and she’d sworn then that wouldn’t happen again.

“You’ll be fine,” Sophia told her as the elevator dinged at the eleventh floor. “You’re great at this.”

That set off a laugh that didn’t sound like her. “Oh sure.”

Sophia turned to face her. “Look at me,” she said. “You. Will. Be. Fine.”

They were at the fifteenth floor now, only two to go. “I will be fine,” Ava repeated.

“Right. We rehearsed this. You know all the answers. Now let’s go show the world that nothing will stop the London sisters.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out onto the roof. It was beautiful, lush plants everywhere and the clear tent covered with a web of fairy lights that made the whole space seem almost magical. The Contessa, wearing a leopard turban and matching full-length leopard coat, was surrounded by a clump of reporters off to one side, but as soon as they spotted the London sisters, they left her and headed for them.

Before Ava knew what was happening, she and Sophia were swarmed by reporters. She saw Sophia being carried off in one direction and felt herself being pushed in another.
You’re on your own,
she thought, then heard Sophia’s voice again, saying, “You. Will. Be. Fine.”