Fashionably Late (52 page)

“She wasn’t a ghost,” Defina said.

“She looked gorgeous. Is Herb Ross here with her?” he asked.

“Lee didn’t say,” Karen told him dryly. Now Carl would be off on the Kennedys for hours, unless she got a hammer and stopped him.

“Did you ever notice how the Bouvier women always go for Jewish men in the end? I figure that’s how you know they have good taste. They tried the rest and found the best. Jackie’s with Maurice, Lee is with Herb, and Caroline is with Ed.” He turned to Karen. “Do you think she’ll walk back this way?”

Karen just rolled her eyes and shook her head. Where was a hammer when you needed one? Carl knew when he had exhausted a subject, not to mention her patience. Then she did see a cool blonde walking toward them. But it wasn’t Mrs. Ross. Still, she looked familiar. “Isn’t that June Silverman?” Karen asked Carl.

“Where?” But when he had turned to look she was gone. Karen shrugged.

At least it got Carl’s mind off the Kennedys.

“So, how do you like my new outfit?” Carl asked. “Lanvin. Nice, huh?”

It was nice. A blazer in a subtle black houndstooth on a buttery off-white ground. With it, Carl was wearing black pleated slacks, a butter yellow shirt, and a black silk foulard tie. “It all cost more than my Honda, but what the hell. You only live once.”

“If you’re lucky,” Defina said, and sat back into her chair with a sigh.

A middle-aged woman walked by in a skirt that was not only far too short but also far too sheer. “Ah shall avert mali eyes,” Defina said in a Blanche DuBois accent.

“She needs a slip,” said Carl, master of the obvious.

“I think she’s having one. But what kind is it?”

“How about a Freudian slip?” Defina asked, and paused. “Did the two of you ever hear the one about the two women psychiatrists?”

“No, but I think we’re about to,” Karen said.

Defina raised her brows and continued. “These two women psychiatrists would meet for lunch every week to discuss their cases and check in on each other’s mental health. Anyway, one says to the other: I’m worried about myself. At breakfast this morning I had a little slip of the tongue in front of my husband and it’s bothering me.” The other says: Tell me about it. Don’t be ashamed. We ought to discuss these Freudian slips. They could give you an insight to your subconscious.”

So the first woman explains: Well, I was eating breakfast and I looked over at my husband. I meant to say Please pass the buttered toast.”

And instead, I said: You ruined my life, you fucking bastard.”

” Their laughter filled the tea room.

Karen slept for eleven hours. The next morning, she was awakened by the rolling cart that room service brought in. Along with dozens of flowers, what looked like fifty newspapers had arrived. They were arrayed across the bed. Jeffrey was already up, and when he saw her stretch he poured her coffee, then brought her juice. Fresh-squeezed orange juice was fourteen dollars a crystal goblet-full, but she didn’t even feel guilty.

While drinking it she looked through the photos in every paper.

Jeffrey read her the coverage. Stephanie’s picture, in Karen’s black dress, seemed everywhere, and when Jeffrey snapped on the television they saw that it had even made the morning news show. “God! It’s all great. But I hope Tangela isn’t pissed,” Karen said. It seemed that it wasn’t only her collection but also her niece that was a big hit.

Stephanie, in a terrible pun, was already being called “the waif of the future.”

Jeffrey read her the faxed Women’s Wear raves aloud. Then the Tribune and the New York Times arrived, and Karen had time to luxuriate in all the attention. Holly Brubach, a really smart fashion journalist, gave her a great write-up. They loved her. They all loved her! This was more than a successţ it was a triumph! In fact, it was moving from what the French called a succes fort to a succes fouţtotal madness!

Then she saw the little box at the bottom of the big newspaper page.

It was just a tiny squib: N.Y. DESIGNER DIES. She pulled the bottom of the page closer. “Willie Artech, well-known on Seventh Avenue, succumbed after a long battle with pneumonia. Staff announced his death in a release yesterday, but the future of his troubled fashion company remains unclear.” That was all. Karen’s hands went cold. She remembered him, standing alone at the Oakley Awards, and put the paper down. Poor Willie. She sat there and wondered if he had died alone.

Then the phone rang.

“Don’t answer that,” Jeffrey told her with a leer. “I have other plans for you.” Karen giggled but reached across the bed to the phone.

“Les Etats Urus pour vous,” the operator said.

Oh God, it must be Belle. Something wrong with Arnold. Karen knew she shouldn’t have left him but what could she do? Karen clenched the phone, expecting the worst. But for once she was wrong.

“Hi, this is Sally.” For a moment Karen listened to the voice and didn’t have a clue as to who Sally was. Then she remembered: Harvey Kramer. Her life was moving too fast if she could forget her own adoption lawyer.

“Hi, Sally. What’s up?” Karen felt her heart jump in her rib cage.

Sally wouldn’t call Pans if something important hadn’t happened.

“I know how disappointed you were by Louise. I’m calling with some really good news. I have the perfect mother of the perfect baby-to-be,” Sally said. “Another of our other clients had two mothers on the string.

One just gave birth, so they’ve released the other girl to us. She’s nineteen, in her sophomore year of college, and due in five weeks.

She’s all yours.”

Karen lay there absolutely still. She could hardly believe it. She looked across the room at Jeffrey. “They have a baby for us,” she told him.

“Well, we don’t have a baby yet,” Sally corrected. “We have a mother for you. With any luck at all, there’ll be a baby.”

“Can you tell me anything about the mother?”

“Yeah,” Sally had said. “She’s Catholic. First name is Cyndi. Keep it at first names, Karen. She can’t raise a child right now, but she doesn’t believe in abortions. She’s studying accounting. A bright kid.”

“What do we do now?”

The good news was that all of the paperwork, the medical history, the sonogram, and the other tests had already been completed. All Karen had to do was write a check to reimburse the couple who had previously paid for all this and to get on the phone with Cyndi and help her through her last month. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy establishing contact long distance from Paris, but Karen knew she could manage. And then she’d be back in New York in just a few days. There was the madness of the New York shows, but after Paris, that would be child’s play! Karen smiled.

Child’s play! Soon there’d be achildtoplay with!

Cyndi was in Bloomington, Indiana, and Karen immediately offered to pay for her next year of school. Sally said her office would check into the legality of it, and Karen only had to wait until this evening to talk to the girl. Sally said she had explained to Cyndi that Karen and Jeffrey were there on vacation, but that Cyndi shouldn’t know anything further.

Karen agreed, and Sally gave her the phone number.

Karen hung up and felt as if she was almost too happy. “Are you glad?” she asked Jeffrey. He smiled indulgently.

“I am for you,” he said. “I guess it will take me a little longer to be happy for me.”

“I want you to be happy for us,” Karen said, and reached up to kiss him. He took her hand and kissed it. “Oh, monsieur!” Karen breathed.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Karen said with surprise. “I didn’t remember to ask.”

Then she grinned and uttered the sentence uttered by all real mothers-to-be. “As long as it’s healthy.”

They both laughed, and Jeffrey insisted on ordering some celebratory champagne. “Let’s just not mention this baby deal to anyone yet,” he cautioned. “Not till we know,” and she agreed. They breakfasted on toast and scrambled eggs and then they showered, made love again, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was only a short nap, but when Karen awoke it was sometime past ten. She had just enough time to get ready for her eleven o’clock meeting. More than the press, more than the congratulations of her staff, more important even than the orders that were pouring in, was the fact that, for the first time, she had been approached by European mills to design fabrics for them. She had agreed to meet them. Afterward, she and Jeffrey had a lunch date with Bill Wolper. She lay still for a minute, savoring everything. For the first time in a long while she felt perfectly happy. She’d get her baby, she had her husband, and her career was better than ever. She would have it all! She left Jeffrey sleeping in the tousled sheets, a note on her pillow telling him she’d meet him back at the hotel at one.

It was every great designer’s dream. Designing fabrics meant that she would not have to choose from other people’s designs, but could create her own. Now there would be no limitations but her own on what she could create. Brocheir, the wonderful Lyons manufacturer, wanted her, and Darquer of Callais had also left a message to call. Their recognition meant more to her than even the Oakley Award. It was like giving an artist unlimited colors to work with, when before they could only use another’s paint box. Karen was thrilled, and if Brocheir and Darquer had approached her, maybe Gandini and Taroni of Milan would follow.

But she didn’t have time to gloat, because she had to come back to the room to call Bloomington, Indiana, for the first conversation with the mother of her childto-be. She was still trembling with the excitement of the meeting with Brocheir representatives, and her nervousness now just increased the shaking in her hands. She decided to make the call alone, without Jeffrey. He would only increase her nervousness and this was a pitch more important to her than NormCo had been.

She called the hotel operator and gave her the U.S. number. Then she hung up and waited.

It was a long five minutes, and by the time the phone shrilled, Karen was trembling all over. She took a deep breath. If she was Catholic by birth, she would have liked to cross herself right now. Instead, she crossed her fingers and reached for the receiver.

“Hello,” a voice was saying at the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Karen answered back. “Is this Cyndi?”

“Yes. Are you Karen?”

The connection was good, and it sounded as if Cyndi was in another room of the hotel instead of a whole ocean and half a continent away.

“I’m glad to hear from you,” Cyndi said. “You’re on vacation? It was nice of you to call.”

The girl was thanking her? She sounded like a nice kid, but she sounded scared. Karen couldn’t help but compare Cyndi’s upbeat voice to Louise’s dead one. Maybe everything had worked out for the best, Karen hoped, but the thought didn’t stop her trembling. “How are you feeling?” Karen asked.

“Oh, I’m healthy as a horse. Big as one, too. I actually lost weight the first trimester because I had morning sickness so bad. I don’t know why they call it morning sickness, anyway. I had it all day long.

So, I lost twelve pounds, but now I gained all of that back, and another twenty-six to boot.”

“What does your doctor say?”

“He says I’m fine. But it’s sure getting hard to fold the laundry. My stomach gets in the way of everything. I had to stop wearing sneakers because I couldn’t tie them.”

“Don’t you have anyone to help you?” Karen could have bitten her tongue. Of course she didn’t. “Well, why don’t I tell you a little bit about myself, and my husband?”

“Sure. That would be neat.”

“We both work in the garment industry. I make women’s clothes.”

“Oh, yeah? I used to sew in high school, but not good enough to be professional.”

She probably sews better than I do, Karen thought, but let it drop.

“We live in New York City. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. So did the other couple. They were from Queens. That’s New York City, right?”

Karen wouldn’t even attempt to explain how it was only a bndge and at the same time a world away from Manhattan. “Yes.”

“Are there good schools there?”

Karen smiled. “There are some very good schools,” she told the girl.

“And we would be sure to send the baby to the best one we could find.

We could afford private schools.”

They talked for a long time. Cyndi was sweet and very open. She talked about her boyfriend, how they had been very serious and had hoped to marry some day. When she got pregnant, he’d gotten hysterical. She had three years of college to finish and he wanted to go on to law school.

He’d insisted on an abortion, but she wouldn’t do it. They’d broken up over it.

“I was really sad at first, you know, but in the end, I think it was a good thing. I mean I found out the kind of person he really was, you know? I wouldn’t want to marry a man who couldn’t love our child.”

Karen, for a moment, thought of Jeffrey, and wondered if he would come around to loving this baby whose own father had rejected it. Men, she decided, were not just another gender, they were another species.

Cyndi went on talking. She was the first person in her family to get into college, and she was determined to graduate. Karen thought she sounded brave. She felt lucky that the girl was pregnant and was going to bear the child instead of aborting it, although Karen wasn’t sure how she could stand to do it and then give the child up.

For a moment, she wondered what the baby would come to feel: whether this unborn child would grow up with the same longing for its real mother that she, Karen, felt. But even if it did, Karen was willing to raise it.

“This must be costing you a fortune,” Cyndi said at last.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Karen assured her. But perhaps the girl had had as much as she could take in their first conversation. “I tell you what: I’ll call you from New York next week. Is that okay?” Cyndi agreed cheerfully. “In the meantime, if you have any problems, you just call Sally at Mr. Kramer’s office. We’ll take good care of you,” Karen promised.

For the first time, Cyndi’s voice choked up. “Thank you,” she said.

“It’s nice to hear that.” She paused. “I just want to be sure my baby will have a good home.”