Just Like Me, Only Better (20 page)

He shook his head. “The press would have had a field day. Her career would be over.”

“But what if something had actually happened? What if she was hurt?”

“We all looked for her—Rodrigo, her agent, her publicist, me. Finally, she drove home, took a shower, and slept for three days. We told the producers she had the flu. They were not pleased.”

As if to close the conversation, he took a big gulp of his coffee. “Ow!” He touched his mouth.

“Careful,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to get burned.”

 

 

At least I wouldn’t have to face Simone looking like a slob. Deborah wanted everyone to dress up for her Pampered Chef thing (“attire: dressy,” the invitation had read), so after a quick shower I slipped on the outfit I usually wore to weddings: a periwinkle blue linen sheath, white jacket, and white sandals. It was simple, classic, pretty. What could Simone possibly say?

This: “Holy fucking shit.”

She was in the guest room, sorting through a rack of glittery gowns.

Standing in the guest bathroom doorway, I tried not to flinch. “I’m not trying to look like Haley. I have a party.”

Simone’s assistant, an emaciated girl in skin-tight jeans and spike-heel boots, stopped lining up shoes to examine me. After looking me up and down and up again, she wrinkled her nose ever-so-slightly and went back to the shoes.

“What kind of party?” Simone demanded in her trademark monotone.

“A garden party.” Well, it was going to be outside, anyway. Deborah knew I couldn’t afford to buy any kitchenware, but she needed a minimum number of guests to get her free gifts.

“You cannot wear that,” Simone said simply.

I forced myself to stand up straight. Minutes ago, I had felt pretty. Simone had ruined everything.

“What, exactly, is wrong with my outfit?”

“One.” Her index finger had an enormous amber ring on it. “The dress is polyester.”

“It looks like linen,” I said.

“It looks like polyester that’s meant to look like linen but doesn’t. Two.” Her middle finger held a stack of thin gold wires.

“The jacket is too casual for that dress, the cut is too boxy for your body type, and it hits you at the widest part of your hips.”

“And it’s not lined,” the emaciated assistant added, glancing up from her shoes.

“Three.” There was a gem of indeterminate origin on Simone’s ring finger. “We’re in March, not July.”

“It’s Southern California.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I swallowed hard. What was I supposed to wear? My black sundress that I used as a bathing suit cover-up? My brown turtleneck dress that everyone had seen me in a million times before?

“Thank you for your opinion,” I said primly, fighting back tears. Maybe if I left soon, I could stop off at Ross or T.J. Maxx.

Simone snapped her fingers. “Get the Princess Grace.”

The assistant scurried out of the room.

Shocked, I stared at Simone. She looked at the ceiling. “Don’t get excited. It’s not a
real
Princess Grace,” she droned. “It’s a vintage reproduction of a dress Princess Grace wore on her honeymoon. If it were real, I couldn’t possibly let you wear it. And, of course, it wouldn’t fit you. Grace was tiny. We haven’t taken it in for Haley yet, so it might work.”

She went back to poking through the dresses. I stalked across the room, my white sandals digging into my feet, and stuffed my pajamas into the duffle bag.

The assistant, who had trouble walking in spike heels, tottered back in with a dress encased in plastic. When she hung the dress at the end of the wheeled rack, Simone plucked at the plastic with her talonlike nails until she revealed the treasure underneath.

The dress was a shimmery silk, champagne with just the slightest hint of pink. The neck fell in graceful folds; otherwise, the line was simple and fitted. It looked like it would end just above my knee.

“It’s gorgeous,” I murmured.

“Try it on.”

I checked her face to make sure she meant it.

In the guest bathroom, I couldn’t get out of my boxy unlined jacket or my fake-linen sheath fast enough. I left them folded on the counter and stepped into the Princess Grace(ish) dress, the silk caressing my bare legs. Once I’d managed the slightly sticky side zipper, I took a deep breath and looked in the full-length mirror. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating my narrow waist while falling gently over my hips and ending just above the knees. I didn’t look like myself or like Haley. I looked like someone better, richer, more elegant.

Shoulders back, chin held high, I strode into the guest room.

Simone gestured at my sandals. “Those shoes are disgusting.” She made a lousy fairy godmother.

“They’re all I have. And Haley’s won’t fit.”

She snapped her fingers at the assistant. “Accessories trunk.” She peered at my feet. “Size eight shoes.”

I looked at my feet. “They used to be a seven and a half, but they got bigger when I was pregnant and never went back.”

Simone rifled through the dresses on the rack and ignored me.

In the end, Simone paired the dress with silver pumps, a pearl choker, a purple rhinestone cocktail ring and dangly pearl-and-rhinestone earrings. She pulled and yanked at my real and borrowed hair, and then she twisted and pinned it into a retro-glamour hairdo.

“Thanks,” I said—the word woefully inadequate.

She kind of shrugged with her eyebrows. “I had nothing better to do. Just make sure you give everything back to Jay when you’re done. And tell him to get the dress dry-cleaned.”

Jay poked his head in the room. “Haley will be down in three, five—maybe ten minutes.”

Simone pursed her mouth. “I’m leaving at one whether she’s here or not.”

Jay tried to smile. “Maybe you could just leave the clothes and she could look through them at her leisure—you know, see what she likes best, and then tomorrow or maybe Monday you could—”

“No.”

“Right.” Jay’s eyes flicked over to me and widened. “Wow.”

I blushed. “It’s a fake Grace Kelly.”

“Vintage reproduction,” Simone clarified before making an odd guttural sound.

“You look nice,” he said in what I hoped was a major understatement.

“Just like Grace Kelly, right?” I joked.

He considered. “Maybe Grace Kelly with freckles.”

Simone snapped her fingers at the assistant. “Do her makeup. Heavy on the foundation.”

“I like the freckles,” Jay said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He was pretty cute, I had to admit (especially when he was saying nice things about me).

Simone looked at the ceiling and made her guttural sound again. “You are unqualified to have any opinion about beauty or style,” she told Jay.

Jay went back upstairs to check on Haley, and I sat on the edge of the bed while the assistant brushed and patted and drew on my face.

“What are these dresses for, anyway?” I asked. “Does Haley have an awards show or a premiere or something?”

“Private party,” the assistant said.

My eyes popped open. Haley would actually brave a party? I just managed to avoid being blinded by an eye pencil. “Sorry,” the assistant murmured.

At that, the Golden Girl herself stumbled into the room. She looked like hell: dirty hair, pimples, under-eye circles. She was still wearing her jammie pants and the I ONLY LOOK INNOCENT T-shirt, which now had a fruit-punch-red stain on the front. I vaguely remembered her spilling some Gatorade (and vodka, I now realized), the night before.

Simone didn’t comment on her appearance, remarking instead, “Haley, love, I’m sorry to drag you out of bed like this. I’ve got a rather difficult client scheduled at one-thirty, and I wanted to make sure we had something here that would work for you.”

Haley rubbed her face with her hand. “Whatever.”

Simone pulled a midnight blue minidress off the rack. It had long sleeves with round cutouts on the shoulders and back. “This is from Stella’s latest collection. It’s hard to see in this light, but this dress has dark blue metallic threads throughout. It would really pop under the lights.”

“ ’Kay.” Haley turned as if to go back to bed. Jay put his hand on her shoulder and guided her back into the room.

“Here’s another one.” Simone presented a strapless silver dress. “Simple but hot. We could add some wow with dramatic accessories.”

“Whatever. Just pick one.”

“Now, love.” Simone tried to catch her eye, but Haley wasn’t playing. “These pieces aren’t loaners. Before you make an investment, you need to make sure you’ve made the right choice.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The money talk caught Jay’s attention. “This is a two-hour gig. Can’t she just borrow something like all the other times?”

Simone gathered her words. “You’ve got to remember that a private party doesn’t have the same kind of exposure as, say, the Grammys.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Simone added, “Or even some of the lesser award shows or a Hollywood premiere. It’s not very likely we’ll see a good shot of Haley in this dress in print anywhere, which means the designers don’t get their free publicity.”

“But she’s gotten loaners for private parties before,” Jay said.

“Yes, but the last one . . . actually, the last two . . .” Simone nibbled on her pointy nail. She started again. “When designers lend pieces out, they assume that the clothing will be returned in the same condition.”

In other words: you can’t get Gatorade stains out of silk.

“Oh,” Jay said.

“Right,” Simone responded.

The assistant said, “Close your eyes,” after which she did something really unpleasant to my eyelids.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the tan-and-brown kitchen with Rodrigo. We sat at the island and downed bottled water. The soda had mysteriously disappeared from Haley’s pantry, along with all of the junk food.

Rodrigo had come bursting into the guest room, apologizing for his lateness. When he saw me, he had gushed appropriately and even managed to whisper, “I’ve seen that dress on Haley, and don’t tell, but it looks better on you.”

Rodrigo was definitely growing on me.

“So what did Haley end up wearing to the Grammys?” I asked now.

He checked the doorway before leaning close to my ear. “Nothing!”

“She went naked?”

He covered his mouth to suppress his laughter. “No! She had a gown all set to go—something on loan, of course, I think it was a Zac Posen—but when the limo came she refused to get in. Jay was furious. It’s not like she was up for an award, but it’s the most important face-time of the year. Simone was ticked, too, since she’d arranged for the gown and jewels and all kinds of freebies.”

“Too bad I wasn’t around. I would have loved to go.” I was only half joking. If I felt this good in one of Haley’s backup dresses, what would it be like to wear a designer gown?

“Did you have a good meeting last night?” I asked him.

His face lit up. “It was stupendous. Thanks for asking. You’re the only person around here who seems to understand how much this means to me. Jay thinks my entire life should revolve around Haley—and I love that girl, don’t get me wrong, she’s like a sister to me. It’s just . . .”

“You have to put yourself first sometimes.”

“Exactly!” He squeezed my forearm. “How was she last night, anyway?”

“Drunk!” I whispered. “And I didn’t even know she was drinking because she hid the stuff in her Gatorade and Mountain Dew. She drove me up to an overlook and started climbing down the ravine. It was really scary.”

“Oh, my God. Did she seem suicidal?”

“Oh, no—nothing like that. Just unbalanced.”

“Did she say if anything was upsetting her?” His concern was genuine. How sad that Haley’s maid and assistant were the only two people who seemed to have her best interest at heart.

“She talked about her music—about how the record producers make her sing songs she doesn’t like.”

“It’s got to be more than that,” he said, shaking his head. “She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know her whole family situation bothers her.”

“She talked about her dad a little.”

“Oh, yeah? What did she say?”

“That he used to take the kids camping when they were young. He’d pile them into his pickup truck and play country music.”

The footsteps outside the kitchen stopped us. We picked up our water bottles in unison and drank.

It was Jay. “Hey, Rodrigo. Simone’s about to leave, and Haley wants your opinion on a dress.”

“Anything for Haley.” I couldn’t tell whether or not he was being sarcastic. He gave me a conspiratorial smile before hurrying away.

I slid off my stool and smoothed the silk dress around my hips. “I should probably get going. Is Rodrigo going to drive me, or did you call the car service?”

“Neither,” he said. “I’m headed that way anyhow, so I’ll drop you off.”

“You’re headed toward Fullerton? What—Are you going back to the Red Robin for another salad?”

He grinned. “Actually, one of my clients is performing at the Improv in Brea. He’s just the opener, but it’s a nice break.” He plucked at his T-shirt. “I guess I should put on something nicer.”

“You think?” I raised one eyebrow.

He raised one eyebrow right back at me, and I suddenly felt all smiley and flushed and fluttery and—holy crap! Had I developed a crush on Jay in the last five minutes?

“I’ll need to stop by my apartment to get clothes,” he said. “Do you want to wait here, or . . .”

“I’ll come with you.”