“Let me help you with that,” I said, relieving her of the plate of cookies and setting them gently on the coffee table. She handed me a napkin and a glass of milk.
“So what’s going to happen to Ryan?” I asked.
“Pretty much like last time. Your mom said Ryan’s been suspended. There’s a mandatory fine for the false alarm, up to a thousand dollars. He’ll probably have to do significant community service and more therapy, which might do Ryan good, honestly. I love my grandson, but he needs a wake-up call. When you think about it, maybe this isn’t a bad thing after all.”
“Mom’s going to lose it over the thousand bucks.”
Nan just nodded.
“And the family drama continues,” I said.
“You know, Lisbeth, sometimes good things aren’t always so great, and bad things often turn out to be good for you,” she said.
I nodded, trying to figure out what she meant, but honestly I’d never really understood what people were talking about when they said that kind of thing. Seemed to me it was all pretty black and white.
We snuggled on the couch together and gathered the afghan around us. I hit PLAY on the remote and mere seconds later found myself lulled by the opening notes of “Moon River.”
Audrey appeared on screen in the Givenchy. The night before, the original of that dress had transformed me into a creature far more glamorous and elegant than I could have ever dreamed of being on my own.
My breath caught in my chest.
Audrey stood there with her little white coffee shop bag … that somber, subdued opening always seemed to me like the ending to a movie, not the beginning. For the first time ever, I couldn’t watch. I turned away, feeling horrible.
“What is it, dear?” Nan’s face filled with concern. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
I nodded, terrified and desperate to tell her. Jess would kill me.
“You know whatever trouble you may be in, no matter what kind, you can always come to me.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said harshly. I don’t know why I spoke that way, but I felt as if I was drowning.
“And that’s a good thing,” Nan said, perplexed.
She patiently waited for me to say something. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears.
“Nan,” I said, “what if it was me that the cops were after, instead of Ryan? What if they came after me tomorrow or next week or next month? What would I do?”
“You’ve got me worried now, Lisbeth.”
My hand felt as though it was moving in slow motion as I reached for the remote and paused the movie. Audrey was frozen on the screen, larger than life, resplendent in her pearls and timeless elegance, staring into the Tiffany’s window.
“Nan,” I said, my voice shaky and weak. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
14
Nan was laughing so hard, I worried she’d pass out from lack of oxygen. Seriously, she was practically purple.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not going to jail for trying on a dress!” she laughed. “Even a very dazzling, extraordinarily wonderful, famous dress.” And she did a little spin as if she were wearing it herself.
“Really? What do you mean?” I was desperate to believe her.
“Well, first of all, I do believe the Met has a vested interest in keeping this quiet. Many of their exhibits are loaned or donated, and the last thing the museum needs is for people to get the idea that their security is lax.”
I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“You and Jess didn’t damage the dress or spill anything on it, and it’s safe and sound locked up in the vault at the Met, right?” I nodded yes.
“Then, no harm, no foul,” she said, her eyes gleaming.
I shrugged. “Right. But what if the security cameras or one of the guests…?”
“The museum staff knows that all sorts of things happen when they open the museum up to party guests. Occasionally some mischief is going to take place.” Her eyes sparkled slyly. I couldn’t help smiling. I had a feeling I was about to hear a story.
“In fact,” she continued, “I seem to remember a little soiree in my debutante days where a certain Kennedy sibling spent a large portion of the evening drinking single malt scotch while wearing a priceless New Borneo Fertility mask.”
“Scandalous!” I said.
“As I recall, he did a sort of tribal dance to go with it. What a night!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and memories. “He was a good dancer, that one. Swept a girl right off her feet.”
“You?… Really?” I couldn’t help but picture Nan doing a wicked tango or snuggled in a corner of the Met with a Kennedy. I wondered which one.
“How hard do you really think the authorities are going to be on you for trying on a little dress? They don’t want to know! You’re so clever; you’ve completely fooled them. In fact, they should hire you to curate a show about Audrey if they’re smart.”
“But Nan, what if they do come after me. What should I do?”
“Apologize like mad. Promise to never, ever do it again.”
I laughed.
“Enough about that,” she said and set off for the kitchen, returning with a bottle of champagne.
“Now let’s talk about something far more serious, my dear,” she said, pouring us each a glass with a studied look in her eyes. “Tell me everything that happened at the party.”
We placed the plate of cookies between us, and I spilled every detaiclass="underline" what it felt like to wear that iconic Givenchy, the champagne, Tabitha splayed on the floor with her underwear showing, the glitz and glamour of the main gallery, flirting with ZK Northcott, my picture on Page Six.
“Page Six!” said Nan. “Oh, I’d love to see that!” I took her over to the small desk in the corner of her living room, cranked up the old desktop that she never used, and quickly searched online for the image. I was already starting to feel lighter.
“Oh, my! There you are!” she exclaimed. “You look exquisite! And happy!” She raised her left eyebrow at me. “Glamour adores you.”
“Really? Glamour and me? I would be happy if we could just get along. Are you sure?”
I gazed longingly at the image of me in the Givenchy on the screen one last time, trying to let Nan’s words sink in. Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could look like that for real? If I could be the girl in that photo? I don’t know why—maybe just relief, maybe it had something to do with Nan seeing the Page Six picture and being so proud of me—I felt like crying again. I tried to keep myself together as the two of us returned to the sofa.
Nan clasped my hands in hers and giggled. “Of course, my advice … if you have the opportunity to try on … say, the gown from Gone with the Wind or Marilyn Monroe’s dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, you should probably decline.”
“Thanks for the tip.” We laughed, even though I was a little choked up. She squeezed my hands tightly; my panic over the police car nearly dissipated. “Nan, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, love.”
“When I hear you talk about your life in New York before you met Grandpa, it all sounds so glamorous and exciting. I mean, the parties and the dancing and hanging out with the Kennedys and Jackie Bouvier and Frank Sinatra and everything. Don’t you miss it? That’s all I dream about, living a life like the one you had. I mean, did your family go bankrupt? Was there a scandal? Like, maybe one involving fertility masks?”
“No, no, not at all.” Nan laughed.
“It seems so impossible. How could you just give it all up?”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders.
“I fell in love.”
“Really? Was he a scoundrel? A cad? Did he take all your money? Did your parents cast you out?”
“No, I went on my own. Happily. Never looked back.”
“But how? You had all of New York in the palm of your hand. You could have been or done anything. You knew the Vanderbilts. You knew the Rockefellers and that Mafia guy.”