Heart of Glass (24 page)
“Hi.” Champagne stepped over to her. Anna saw she wasn’t wearing the black satin dress at all. Instead, she had on aquamarine velvet knickers and a skinny ribbed poor-boy T-shirt under a short purple leather motorcycle-style jacket, with a newsboy cap perched at a rakish angle on her head. She looked absolutely stunning.
“Hey. How are you holding up?”
The younger girl managed a sad smile. “It doesn’t pay to get excited about things. You just get your heart broken.” “I know you’re disappointed,” Anna commiserated. “But it’s not the end. It’s just one job.” “I really thought she liked me.” Cammie eased over to them. “She did like you, Champagne. She just made an incredibly stupid decision.” Champagne smiled sadly again. “Cammie’s a lot madder than I am. It was a great opportunity. I should thank you too, Anna.” “You are very welcome.” Once again, Anna thought how much she liked this plucky girl.
“Showtime! Showtime! Twenty seconds to show-time!” Mrs. Vanderleer crossed the line from overdrive to hyperdrive. Then her prerecorded voice came over the public address system. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our mistress of ceremonies for tonight’s very special fashion show, the star of the hit TV drama
Hermosa Beach,
Ms. Pegasus Patton!” The audience applauded. The hostess for the evening would be the lead young actress from the hit TV series packaged by Cammie’s father. Anna had met her, when she’d briefly worked as an intern for Clark. Pegasus, who played a lovely girl named Alexandra, was in reality a very unpleasant human being. But she was also one of the hottest young actresses in town. Sam had told Anna that Pegasus would be wearing a gown made by a Peruvian acquaintance of Eduardo’s, a designer named Gisella Santa Maria. It was black, strapless, and richly embroidered—Anna thought it was gorgeous.
Evidently, Gisella had been unhappy at first that the only representation of her work would be on the MC. When she realized that Pegasus would be photographed in the gown, and that the photos would end up in
In Style,
and girls and women all across the country would be clamoring for Gisella Santa Maria couture, she’d happily agreed.
Pegasus started her preshow spiel. “Thank you so much! I’m so happy to be here this evening, to help raise money for the New Visions foundation, which helps at-risk kids. The children are our future! Do it for the children!” Cammie sidled over to Anna and mock-stuck a finger down her throat as if to say,
Pegasus makes me gag.
Anna bit back a laugh—Pegasus was far from her favorite person. “Probably she’s just nervous,” she whispered to Cammie.
Cammie rolled her eyes.
Pegasus prattled on. When she was finally done, the show began.
Early Beatles music blared through the sound system, to go with the sixties theme, and the show began, with Pegasus reading the name of the designer and a description of each outfit off small cards. The guys went first, so Anna took a moment to check out the crowd on the monitors. She saw the young district attorney who’d brought Cammie and her to New Visions in the front row—he was with a drop-dead gorgeous redhead wearing black Armani. There were a few semi-stars of stage, TV, and screen near the catwalk. Behind them was Sam, with Eduardo on one side of her and Parker on the other. And a row behind them, sat Dee, Jack . . . and Ben.
Anna felt a little bolt of electricity in her stomach. She hadn’t invited Ben, hadn’t known he’d be here. Yet—
“Ladies, get ready! Ladies, ready!” Mrs. Vanderleer was backstage again and ushered them into place. Anna saw that Caine was now on the catwalk. When he reached the T, he took off his black jacket and slung it over one shoulder so the tattoos on his muscular arms showed. The camera panned the crowd; Anna could see Dee whisper something to Jack, while Ben’s jaw was set in a hard line.
With the first pass of guys concluded, Pegasus announced the female models. Cammie burst through the red curtains like a sexy surprise package and did the model strut—one foot lifted high to come down directly in front of the other foot—as if she’d been doing it her entire life. At the end of the runway, she did a three-sixty turn, whipping her hair over one shoulder. Raymond’s people had added some clip-in green hair extensions here and there, which oddly enough looked great against the strawberry blond curls. Parker put two fingers in his mouth and whistled; Sam and Dee were grinning. But the mine-doesn’t-stink model look never left Cammie’s face.
Daisy went out next, in a psychedelic blue, green, and red flower skirt, with a bright red baggy-sleeve top. Then Mai, wearing a sleeveless drop-waist pink-and-white polka-dotted dress, and a matching hat. Anna got ready and her heart thudded as Pegasus introduced her outfit. She had never had any desire at all to model. The idea of being stared at or examined felt oddly invasive; as if all the people looking at her could see not only her flesh, but her thoughts, too.
So it wasn’t with a sense of fun that she heard the music switch to something by the Yardbirds, and she took her first steps onto the runway. She knew she wasn’t supposed to actually look at the audience, but she couldn’t help but glance down at Ben, Dee, and Jack. Dee applauded. Jack gave a big thumbs-up. Ben? He was absolutely inscrutable.
She kept her eyes dead ahead as she made her turn at the T and headed back upstage. And then, thank God, she was behind the curtain again. One down, one to go. She hustled over to the costume rack and looked for the black Martin Rittenhouse dress, but it wasn’t there.
She looked again and then checked the other racks. Nothing. She checked out the other models to see if maybe someone had put it on by mistake. The last thing she did was look for Champagne, since she’d thought maybe she’d seen her wearing the Rittenhouse in the bathroom before the show started. Champagne had already been dressed in a hot pink vintage peasant blouse and elephant bell jeans, and said she had no idea where the dress was.
“Anna? Why haven’t you changed?” Mrs. Vanderleer hurried over, her tone of voice akin to that of someone asking why Anna had just made a cat call at the president. “Where’s your second outfit? Put it on. Put it on!” “I can’t find it!” “Well, you have to find it. It’s everyone’s favorite in the entire show.” “I looked for it on my rack, and on the other clothing racks—” Mrs. Vanderleer didn’t wait for the rest of her answer. She grabbed two of the backstage assistants and told them they had exactly two minutes to produce the Rittenhouse dress. “Anna, get undressed so you’ll be ready when we find it.” Anna scurried back to the changing area and handed the black leather pants and the jacket to yet another assistant, then pulled on the white silk blouse she’d worn to the fashion show so that she wasn’t just standing around in her Jolie white silk lace bra and bikini panties. She looked up at the monitors. They had started the second shift of guy models and she was still standing there half-naked.
Two minutes turned into three, and three into five.
Mrs. Vanderleer hurried back to her. She thrust something at Anna. “This is the backup emergency outfit. Put it on.” Anna took a look at what she’d just been handed. It was two pieces. One was a dress of white chiffon, very short and totally see-through. The other was what looked like a matching wedding veil. “Um, excuse me, but . . . what goes under this?” “You.” “I can’t wear this with nothing underneath!” “It’s the alternate Rittenhouse outfit, that’s all I can tell you. And you’re supposed to be the grand finale of the show.” “Wait, wait! This goes under it.” One of the assistants, a petite redhead, rushed over to them with a matching white lace corset.
Anna stared at the ensemble. “You’re kidding.” “You can do it. I’m counting on you.” Mrs. Vanderleer turned to the assistant, her hands practically in a begging gesture. “Help her. That’s why you volunteered.”
Don’t think about it,
Anna told herself.
For once, just do it.
She pulled her silk shirt over her head, turned toward a clothing rack for at least a semblance of privacy, and poured herself into the corset, leaving on her own panties. Over the top went the gossamer dress, and then one of the assistants fastened the veil to Anna’s hair, anchoring it with bobby pins. All the while, Mrs. Vanderleer was urging them on.
“Hurry, hurry! You’re next!”
And then Anna was through the red curtain and on the catwalk. The audience gasped over the music—the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” Was it a good gasp or a bad gasp? She had no idea. But two things she did know. First, that her mother would rather eat glass than step onto a catwalk in what Anna was wearing at that moment. Second, that Caine regularly worked wearing a whole lot less than this, and he was probably watching her right now on the monitor.
Those two thoughts propelled Anna forward. She actually found herself strutting to Mick Jagger. A smile curled on her lips. “You go, Anna! Do it for Norman Shnorman!” Sam yelled through cupped hands.
The audience started clapping to the beat. Anna had no idea what possessed her to do what she did next, when he reached the T. She yanked off the veil and whipped it into the audience. It definitely wasn’t a moment sanctioned by the
This Is How We Do Things
Big Book (East Coast WASP edition); the clapping and whistling that greeted her spontaneous act was that much sweeter because of it.
“O
kay. We’ve got a little problem here. If I don’t get some answers very quickly, it could turn into a big problem in about five minutes.” Assistant District Attorney Levitan stood together with Mrs. Vanderleer, Mrs. Chesterfield, and the designer Martin Rittenhouse in front of the five New Visions girls, Anna, and Cammie. They were all assembled on the edge of the catwalk backstage. The fashion show had ended with its gala curtain call about five minutes before; even now, the post-show din was nearly overwhelming—the shouts and cries of friends greeting each other punctuating a sixties dance mix.
Instead, once Mr. Levitan had been informed by Mrs. Vanderleer that the Rittenhouse dress destined for Anna had turned up missing, he’d conducted the world’s quickest backstage investigation—one that now centered on the New Visions girls.
The Rittenhouse dress that had disappeared during the New Visions girls’ visit to the Rittenhouse workshop had never been found. Now, the same designer had been victimized again. No way was the DA going to take this lightly. No way he should, Cammie thought. But the way he was focusing his investigation on the New Visions girls was pissing her off. She’d watched him and a few of the museum’s security people do a perfunctory questioning of the male models, stylists, dressers, and other personnel who’d been backstage before or during the show. Then these people had been dismissed, and Levitan had zeroed in on who he obviously thought were his prime suspects.
Now the district attorney paced back in front of them like he might in front of a jury. Cammie and Anna sat in the middle, with Champagne to Cammie’s left and everyone else to Cammie’s right. She was directly atop the crack where two pieces of the prefab catwalk had been pushed together.
“You might wonder why everyone has been released and you’re still here,” Levitan declared. “It’s because when you hear hoofbeats coming your way, you think horses, not zebras.” “What does that mean?” Daisy asked. Cammie could tell she really didn’t understand.
“It means that you girls—not you, Anna or Cammie, but you other girls—have the most to gain by liberating a dress that doesn’t belong to you. That’s why you’re here. And that’s why I’d like whoever did this to speak up.” The group was silent. Cammie could feel the girls’ embarrassment. She had a gut feeling that none of them was responsible, no matter what had happened at Rittenhouse’s workshop.
“Excuse me, Andrew,” Mrs. Vanderleer broke in. “I know these girls. I’d be very surprised if any of them took this dress. The only girl I don’t really know all that well is Champagne.” “Fine. Let’s focus on her. Did any of you see Champagne doing anything suspicious?” Levitan looked from person to person, until Mai raised her hand.
“Yes?”
Mai pointed right at Champagne. “Her. Before the show, I saw her try on the black dress.” Cammie saw Mrs. Vanderleer and Mrs. Chesterfield trade knowing looks. She felt like slapping them across their supercilious faces.
“Yes. I did try it on,” Champagne admitted immediately. “Right before the show. It’s a beautiful dress. But I did not take it! I just wanted to see what it looked like. I put it on and went to the bathroom. And then I put it right back on Anna’s rack.” “Anyone else see Champagne here wearing Mr. Rittenhouse’s dress?” Levitan queried.
Cammie saw Anna slowly raise her hand.
What?
“I did,” Anna said. “About ten minutes before the show. But trying on a dress does
not
mean she stole it. And I think it’s unfair to accuse someone with absolutely no proof. Sir,” she added, scrupulously polite.
“I did not take that dress,” Champagne repeated. It sounded to Cammie like she was ready to cry.
Mr. Rittenhouse stepped forward. “I hope you understand the seriousness of this. That dress is as much a work of art as the
Mona Lisa
. I toiled for days designing it. Just like that other dress that disappeared. How do I know you didn’t take that one, too?” Mrs. Chesterfield nodded and entwined her narrow fingers, staring pointedly at Champagne. “Oh, dear. This is very upsetting.”
Go choke on your pearls
, Cammie thought. “Martin?” Mrs. Vanderleer gave him a cool look. “Yes?” “If you would kindly allow Mr. Levitan to investigate. Mr. Levitan?” “Yes?” “If you would kindly move this along. Either one of these girls has the dress or she doesn’t. If one does, make the arrest and let the others join what is a wonderful party on the other side of the curtain. If none of them has it, look elsewhere and let the rest of us go have a cocktail.” Levitan’s response was to keep up his questions, despite the fact that he was getting no useful information from anyone. Then he put Champagne under an intense cross-examination. Champagne got more and more flustered, and finally Cammie could take no more. She jumped to her feet so quickly she pushed apart the two halves of the catwalk, so there were a few inches of bare space between them.