Letter from Paris (21 page)

20

India anxiously checked her watch. She was unprepared for how long it was taking the town car to get them to Brooklyn the next morning. She’d somehow imagined the Harvey Theater to be closer to the hotel. Traveling by subway would have been quicker, but of course that was out of the question, not only because of her own dread of underground transport but because Annabelle would be mobbed. You’d be more likely to see Angelina Jolie on a commuter train than Annie, she’d thought.

Annie always seemed so normal, so down to earth, that even India would sometimes forget her sister was an A-list celebrity and that there were adjustments to be made. She glanced over at her. She looked exquisite in her black Stella McCartney jewel-embellished jacket and black pants, her long blonde hair pulled back in a chic chignon, and her faux leather gold-chained purse resting on her lap.

India had chosen carefully too. She was wearing her Isabel Marant jacket with a long tee, blue jeans, and Converse sneakers. It had been a no-brainer. She was the consultant, Annabelle the superstar. No contest. India was proud of her sister and delighted at the prospect of showing her off and basking in reflected glory.

The car pulled up outside the theater and they made their way to a side entrance, where they were greeted by Joanne, the stage manager, who took them backstage past lighting and sound technicians to the green room where Henry was waiting. He stood up, tucking his shirt into his denim jeans and running his hand through his hair.

“Henry. Meet my sister, Annabelle,” India said.

“Hello, Annabelle,” he said, extending his hand and giving her his widest smile. “This is such a pleasure. I’m your biggest fan.”

Mr. Smooth or what? India thought.

“How was your flight?”

Annabelle smiled graciously. “It was fine.”

“I can’t tell you how delighted we are you’re able to do this,” Henry said, pulling around a battered chair. “Please. Sit down for a few moments. Alex, the entertainment’s manager, and the producer, Ron, should be with us in a minute.”

India looked around for another chair and pulled one over for herself.

“Can I get you anything in the meantime?” Henry asked, nodding in the direction of a table piled high with drinks, wrapped sandwiches, protein bars, and chips.

“I’m fine right now,” she said, looking up as a bald guy India recognized from the Skype meeting as Ron, marched into the room, picked up a bottle of water, and took a slug.

“Student models. How come they’ve got attitude? They’re fucking students for Chrissake,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You could get two-year-olds to walk straighter.”

“Ron, meet Annabelle Butler,” Henry said.

Ron nodded at Annabelle. “Great to meet you. It’ll be a relief to work with at least one professional.”

“And I’m India.”

Ron nodded in India’s direction. “Hi. Great to see you,” he said. “Can’t stay, Henry. Annabelle, I’ll see you out there in about ten minutes. Joanne will come for you. We won’t need you for too long this afternoon – just a walk-through.”

“As long as I get a sense of the stage and you spot me, I’ll be fine,” Annabelle said.

“We’ve another run-through in the morning with Jean-Luc, but you won’t be needed until tomorrow evening. Alex will confirm, but I think five will be time enough for makeup and hair. See you out there in a minute. Sorry Alex,” he said, careening into the entertainment manager, who was coming through the door at the same moment.

“Alex. This is India; she’s here to help,” Henry said. “She’ll be looking after Luella Marchmont tomorrow.”

What happened to ‘This is India, our education consultant?’ India thought, standing up to greet him. “Hello,” she said.

“Shall we?” Alex answered, with a charmless nod, gesturing to the doorway.

India followed him down a labyrinth of backstage corridors into a spacious room with high ceilings and exposed brickwork. The place was buzzing with energy. Cocktail tables were being dragged into place, screens and scaffolding hauled onto a makeshift platform, and students were setting out pamphlets and exhibits for the silent auction.

“Let’s start with the red carpet area,” Alex said, steering her to the foyer where the sponsors’ company logos were displayed on step and repeat boards and lighting engineers were assembling cables.

“I thought you said ‘red’ carpet.” India laughed with a tilt of her head. “It may just be me, but that looks green.”

“The students voted to keep with the environmental awareness theme,” he answered humorlessly.

“Right.” India nodded.

“Entrance over there.” Alex pointed.

“Okay.” India nodded again.

“Ron and I will be looking after Annabelle Butler and Jean-Luc when you get here. We’ll get them on and off the carpet, a few autographs, plenty of shots, a couple of interviews and then backstage the way we’ve just come to the green room. They’ll put in a brief appearance at the end of the VIP reception, and then I’ll get them behind the curtain for the opening. After the show – that’ll be around nine thirty – I’ll give them five minutes backstage with students, ten minutes for comfort breaks, then through there for the after-party, more photographs, drinks and schmoozing. I’ll make sure the sponsors get plenty of one on one. We aim to have them both out of there by ten thirty at the latest.”

Alex checked his watch. “Any questions?” he asked, looking over her shoulder as a technician came toward him.

“What time do you need Luella?” she asked.

“You can get her here around seven twenty. Ron doesn’t want her first on the carpet. It’ll be good to have a bit of a buzz going.”

“Okay,” India said, “and then where?”

“You’ll take her through to the reception to meet and greet and then sit in the two reserved front-row seats at the right-hand side of the stage. I’ll show you. Let’s walk it through now.”

He turned and led India backstage and into the auditorium. “After Annabelle gives her closing speech, she’ll invite Luella up from here and introduce her,” he said pointing out the seats. “Luella will make her speech, then Annabelle will hand her the LIFT award to present to the winning student. Annabelle will thank her. She’ll stay onstage until Jean-Luc has given his award. Applause and then all exit stage left.”

“Okay. So, let me get this straight. Red…sorry, green carpet, backstage, seated, speech, then she hands out the LIFT award, stays onstage until they all get signal to leave stage left.”

“Yes. Are we done?” he asked, pulling out his phone. “I have a gazillion things to be doing.”

We’re SO done, India thought. She nodded.

Alex walked away as if India had suddenly become invisible.

India spotted Annabelle sitting in the back row of the theater talking with a group of students and went across. “Ready?” she said. “Are you needed for anything more?”

“Not sure, darling.”

India ran over to Ron and signaled to him. He jumped down from a plinth where he had been adjusting an installation and wiped a line of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Do you have Luella’s call sheet?” he asked.

“Yes. I just walked it through with Alex. It’s all pretty straightforward.”

“Great,” he said.

“Do you need Annabelle for anything else?”

“No. Let me check in with her to see if she needs anything more.”

Taking the steps two at a time, he reached Annabelle. “Thanks for your patience just now,” he said.

“Always.” Annabelle smiled graciously. “Be gentle with them. Remember, they’re kids. Am I free to go?”

“Yes. You are. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”

Settling back in the car on the way from the theater, Annie turned to India. “That was fun. Where shall we go for dinner? I hear there are some great restaurants in Brooklyn; shall I ask Tess to find us one?”

“How about we go to The Greenwich?” India said. “Luella’s arriving there tonight, and I could leave her schedule at the desk.”

“Okay. Let me call Tess and have her reserve us a couch. We’ll eat in the sitting room; it’ll be more private.”

India checked her makeup in a hand mirror as they drew up to the hotel. “I feel like a toe rag,” she said. “The time difference is catching up with me.”

“You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat,” Annabelle answered, taking the mirror from her and touching up her lipstick. “We’ll make it an early night. We’ve a long day tomorrow. I’m so proud of you, darling. This is going to be such a great event.”

Waking up early the morning of the show, India crept out of their suite and left Annabelle to sleep on. After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee in the gloriously elegant hotel dining room, she moved into a quiet sitting area to a sofa and pulled out her computer and cell phone.

She called Samantha and Patricia, had a long conversation with Rebecca, and double-checked with Henry that everything was on track at his end. She was relieved to hear that Jean-Luc was already in town. He was staying at the Soho House.

How much simpler is all this? India thought, remembering the many school productions she had directed virtually single-handed. Now, with hours to spare, she even had time to get a manicure and have her hair blown out. She was planning on wearing her little black dress and the black patent Louboutins she hadn’t worn since she was in LA.

Making sure that Annabelle had all she needed and that her driver was booked, India headed downtown to wait to meet and brief Luella at The Greenwich. Two hours later, she was still waiting.

Damn it. I knew she was cutting it close, but where is she? she thought, drumming her hand against a chair, then turning and walking back through the sitting room and pacing up and down the adjoining courtyard for a few more minutes before calling Henry again.

“The plane’s landed; it was on time but Luella’s still not picking up,” she told him.

“Have you tried calling the driver?” he said.

“He’s not answering either. Henry, I’ve been waiting here for hours. If we don’t leave soon we’re going to miss the red carpet.”

“This isn’t at all like her,” Henry said, his voice tight with strain.

“All I have is the text last night saying she was getting the later flight,” India said, sitting down on a wicker chair.

“This is not Luella’s style. What time is it now?”

“Ten past six.”

“Shit. Okay. You keep trying the car. I’ll have Samantha check to see if she got on the plane. If she’s still not there by six thirty, text her to come straight to the theater and you jump in a cab and get here.”

Half an hour later India sat in the back of a yellow cab checking her cell repeatedly and then gazing out of the window at a loss for a plan. There was still no word from Luella. She leapt out of the cab when they reached the theater, dashed through the backstage door and flew up the stairs in search of Henry, who was nowhere to be seen. She ran back downstairs onto the street past the crowd waiting in line.

“Let me through, please,” she said, pushing her way through the doorway and waving to Joanne who escorted her through to the red carpet area. At that moment, a flurry of whirring lights signaled the arrival of Jean-Luc. India watched him stride forward and pose theatrically. He was bare-chested under a faux fur vest, his arm muscles glistening with his signature tattoos. His hands were thrust into black harem pants cut several inches above his black canvas sandals. Photographers leaned into the crash barriers yelling for him to face them as they fired off their cameras. “Over Here Jean-Luc.”

“Jean-Luc.”

“Jean-Luc.”

There was a riot of excitement as Annabelle strolled down to join him wearing a Stella McCartney lace evening gown, the iridescent red bouncing in the Chimera lighting. India caught her breath. Her sister was transcendentally beautiful, her skin translucent, her back a sinuous curve as she turned and posed. Then after checking her phone yet again, India watched as the other VIPs were shepherded onto the carpet.

At last, she spotted Henry sidestepping through the crowd, coming toward her.

“Where the fuck IS she?” he whispered.

India shook her head. “No idea.”

“Well, keep trying. We have another couple of hours before this gets serious. I’ve told Joanne not to move from the backstage entrance. You stay here. I’ll go sweet talk the sponsors at the reception.”

“Okay,” she said. “If she isn’t here by the time the show starts, what shall I do?”

“I’ll text you. Let’s hope she makes it by then. What the fuck?” he muttered. “I’m starting to get really worried. It’s so out of character.”

This is such a drag, India thought. I could slaughter a glass of wine. Fat chance now. She stood waiting as the last of the students were photographed and the carpet area stood eerily empty. She leaned against the wall as the foyer filled up with people jostling at will-call and watched as the last of the guests filed into the auditorium and the doors finally closed.

She texted Henry.
No sign of her.

His reply came back seconds later.
She didn’t get on the plane. Come to the green room. We need to talk.