Mercury in Retrograde (19 page)

“Okay, I guess. I haven't seen it yet.”

Penelope swatted Dana on the shoulder and pulled out a compact from her purse. She angled the mirror toward her head. “It's fine. See? You can hardly tell. And when it's fully dry and she lets her hair down, no one will know!”

Dana asked, “If I might be so bold, I love the dresses, but why so many feathers, Lips?”

“Well,” Lipstick said, sitting on the sofa next to the dresses. “Every year there is a theme to the Gala. Anna Wintour is in charge, and for some reason this year she picked ‘Feathers, Flight, and Fancy.' It was a nightmare. I had to go to three fabric stores on Seventh Avenue last week to find the right kind and amount of feathers. I looked like a freaky feather-obsessed bag lady on the subway home. And yesterday, when I ran out to replace a zipper, that stalker got another picture of me and posted it. I didn't even see her. She's getting good.”

“That's so creepy,” Penelope said. “I've been checking that horrible social website and they've been going nuts on you. But on the bright side, everyone likes the dresses you're wearing in the posts, and no one seems to know about what happened with you and your parents.”

“Yeah.” Lipstick sighed. “Not yet, at least. And I'm ranked ahead of Bitsy. For the first time in my life I made number-one socialite.”

“Congratulations,” Dana said.

“Thanks,” Lipstick said with a wry smile. “But it's not as great as I thought it would be. My life is the same. It's just that a bunch of mean girls voted for me. And it's exhausting leading a double life. I'm just waiting for Jack to corner me tonight.”

“If Anna Wintour is in charge of the Gala, then why does Jack get a table?” Penelope asked. “Don't they hate each other?”

“Well,” Lipstick said, “I don't think Anna hates Jack. And I'd say he's probably more jealous of her than anything. It's her
revenge—invite Jack along to show him she's still the reigning queen of the fashion universe. I get a table anyway because mummy's a very big couture client and on the board of the Met.”

“Is your mom going to be there?” Dana asked. “Have you spoken to her?”

“No and no,” Lipstick said, absently plucking at a random feather on the green dress and not looking at either of the other girls. “She's allergic to feathers so she can't—and my dad always refuses to attend those things anyway, so I'm in the clear.”

“But you still haven't called them?” Penelope asked incredulously. “My mother would have hunted me down by now, if only to tell me my father was threatening to crucify himself.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I just haven't had time. I meant to last week. But then I just didn't know what to say. The longer I wait, the harder it gets. I'll do it, though. Eventually.”

“When do you guys have to be there?” Penelope asked.

“It starts at seven thirty so we'll get there at eight thirty. By then all the eager beavers will have arrived, and we can run down the red carpet, get our photo taken—”

“What?” Dana cried, “Photos? I didn't sign up for that!”

“Everyone gets their photo taken at the Met.” Lipstick sighed. “It's—”

“Lipstick, I'm going to murder you. This is basically my first night out since my fucking divorce, and you're throwing me to the wolves.” Dana, who was beginning to realize just how big of a deal this event was, started to get upset.

“It'll be okay, I promise. I won't leave your side all night. You can hide behind me in the photos. Please.”

“Hey, you two,” Penelope cut in. “You'd better get a move on and get in those dresses. It's already seven thirty and you still have to put on your makeup.”

By 8:10, Lipstick and Dana were ready to go. Lipstick, wearing three coats of antiperspirant to protect her from glistening too much in what she was sure was going to be the most stressful evening of her life, had applied her own makeup first, giving herself a dark, smoky look complemented by small touches of jade eye shadow, and then done Dana's makeup and hair—artfully giving Dana, who usually wore little to no face paint, a “clean, fresh look” and pulling her bobbed 'do back with diamondesque pins that also added volume in the back to help hide the patch of faux hair. When they emerged from the bathroom, Penelope's eyes widened.

“Jesus,” she said. “I mean, wow. You two look like a fairy tale come to life.”

And they did. Lipstick, with her hair cascading over her shoulders and in her feathered green dress, looked positively Botticelli-esque, and Dana, well, Dana was a different person altogether.

She was obviously nervous—her upper lip had disappeared into her teeth—but transformed. Penelope had never seen her in a dress—always in yoga gear or a suit—and while Dana always complained about being overweight, she didn't look fat at all. Instead, she looked voluptuous in the strapless black gown. Her milky white skin was perfectly smooth and, with her hair and
makeup tastefully done, she almost resembled a fuller version of Dita von Teese—if Dita von Teese weren't a stripper and had a Can-O-Hair–covered bald patch.

“Really?” Dana asked, “It's okay?”

“Of course it's okay,” Lipstick said, trying to hide her nerves. “I made it! Jack got me a car for the evening and it should be here by now, so we should leave. But remember, Dana, no talking in the car. All of Jack's drivers are his spies. Everything we say will be reported back to him. He'll already want to know why we were picked up here instead of at my old place, so not a word, okay?”

“You got it, boss,” Dana said.

Lipstick found her little black leather gloves and put them on to hide her red sewing-scarred hands. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Let's go, then!”

“I'll walk you down to make sure you don't get stuck on anything or molt all over the place,” Penelope said.

The girls piled out of Dana's apartment after securing Karl, still snarling, in the bathroom (“He gets angry when I go out,” Dana explained. “He pees all over the place”). On the second-floor landing they ran into Zach, who looked like he'd just gotten up.

“Wow,” Zach said, looking only at Lipstick. “Princess, you are a vision.”

Lipstick turned three shades of red while Penelope nudged Dana and whispered, “That's him. The guy that Lips, you know…”

“Where are you ladies off to?” Zach asked.

“The Met,” Lipstick said, “and we're late—talk later!”

“Well, have a great time,” Zach said, continuing up the stairs to his floor. “And stop by after if you want; it's going to be a late work night for me, so I'll be up.”

As the girls rushed down the stairs, Penelope joked, “Oh, I'll
bet he'll be up, heh.”

“Oh, stop, nothing is going on!” Lipstick said. “We're friends. That's it.”

“Well, he looks like he wants to be more than just friends,” Dana said.

They got out the front door and Penelope giggled. “Me too! Let's all share! I'll throw in my crush, Thomas.”

“You guys are crazy.” Lipstick laughed, climbing into the waiting Town Car.

“All right,” Penelope said, stuffing Dana in after Lipstick. “I gotta go get ready for the hookers—have fun!”

 

It took twenty-five minutes (spent in total silence) to drive uptown to the Met and for Jack's driver to jockey into position in front of the red carpet entrance at the bottom of the steps leading into the museum. The photographers were lined up four feet deep behind metal barriers, all the way up the white, marble stairs to the entrance.

They were over an hour late and there were only a few stragglers making their way in, but the flashbulbs were still popping.

Dana's face was blank in fear. Lipstick grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You ready?”

Dana nodded.

“Then let's go!” Lipstick pulled Dana out of the car and into the spotlight.

As they walked up the red-carpeted steps, flashbulbs exploded and photographers yelled, “Lena, over here!” “Lena, this way!” “Lena, to your left!” “Lena, to your right!”

“I had no idea you were famous,” Dana said, temporarily blinded by the flashes but smiling and trying not to let her lips move.

“I'm not. People in the fashion and society world know me
because of
Y
and my family—and this is the socials' biggest event of the year,” Lipstick said, guiding Dana slowly up the stairs as they walked and posed, Dana mimicking Lipstick with one hand on her hip, head tilted slightly to one side, and knees together.

“Lena, who're you with?” one photographer called out.

“Lena, who're you wearing?” yelled another.

“I'm dressed in Dauphin,” Lena said with her arm linked in Dana's, loud enough for several photographers to hear. “And this is Dana Gluck.”

“Dana! Dana! Who are you?” the shouting continued.

“Okay, that's enough,” Lipstick said and steered a terrified Dana inside the museum, right from the frying pan into the feathery fire.

“Oh my God,” Dana said, looking around, “What's going on in here?”

The huge entrance hall had been decked out in gold. Gold fabric lined the walls, gold tables, gold candelabras, everything was gold but the guests—and the animals. To add a physical feathery presence to the Great Hall of the Met, there were three indentured ostriches roaming through the crowd, with harnesses and trainers in tow. Several live eagles and hawks hung from gilded cages in the corners of the room and looked hungrily down at the multicolored peacocks wandering in between tables set with plumes and guests adorned in the feathers of their dead relatives. Every so often the peacocks were prodded by their handlers—not enough to hurt, but enough to scare—so they would fan out their tails and become the living art they were hired to be. They were in the middle of the largest gilded cage ever.

“It's a zoo,” Dana whispered to Lipstick, “literally.”

“Shhh!” Lipstick said, guiding Dana toward the receiving line. “We have to go through the receiving line and pay our
respects before we can mingle.”

The line consisted of Angelina Jolie, Natalie Portman, John Galliano, and Anna Wintour—all in downy Galliano-designed Christian Dior creations.

“Don't say anything,” Lipstick warned Dana. “Just follow my lead and smile.”

After Angelina and Natalie shook the girls' hands and murmured, “Thank you for coming,” they were stopped from moving on. The line slowed behind the Count and Countess of Albedonne, who were talking with Anna Wintour and John Galliano.

The designer's eye wandered over to Lipstick and Dana, where it stopped at their dresses. As the line finally moved forward, Lipstick saw Anna's “seeing eye dog” Nu whisper, “Lena Lippencrass and guest” into the editor's ear. (Nu was always by Anna's side, identifying people as they approached so Anna would never be embarrassed by not knowing who someone was.)

“Beautiful,” Galliano said to Lipstick and Dana, still looking only at the dresses.

“Th-thank you,” said Lipstick.

“These are who?” Galliano asked, waving his hands over her dress.

Lipstick was silent.

“Dauphin—a new designer,” Dana answered for her as Lipstick's nails dug into her arm through her gloves.

“Thank you for coming,” Wintour said icily. The girls were then sent on their way, descending into the bowels of the party.

“God, that was close,” Lipstick said as they walked away. Then a hand grabbed her arm.

It was Nu.

“Anna wants to know about this Dauphin,” Nu said. “She
wants to meet her. Now.”

Dana was starting to drift off toward the bar, and Lipstick said, “Well, she's not with me right now, she went to get a drink.”

“Here is my card. Please call in the morning with the information,” Nu said, walking back to her post just behind the receiving line.

Lipstick caught up to Dana, who was trying to work her way to the bar. “I'm in trouble,” she said. “I think I may have accidentally given people the impression that you are—”

But Dana wasn't paying attention. “Look at this place,” she said. “Look at all these people! It's like your magazine come to life!”

In the crowd were fashion icons Donatella Versace, Giorgio Armani, Ralph Lauren, Marc Jacobs, Miuccia Prada—and those were just the ones Dana could identify. The designers were only outshined by the stars they had dressed. In the line for the bar alone was Julia Roberts (in Armani), Halle Berry (in Versace), Will Smith (in a tux), and Matthew McConaughey (in board shorts, a black jacket, and nothing else). Elsewhere mingling in the crowd were Sarah Jessica Parker, Jennifer Lopez, Renée Zellweger, and Sandra Bullock. Not that you could hear a word anyone was saying. The acoustics in the Grand Hall were not suited for this many people and noise from the crowd was approaching a dull roar, which helped to disguise Jack's stealthy approach. He was with Bitsy Farmdale, who was dolled up in a white bell-shaped minidress covered in silvery feathers and dragging a miserable-looking Thad Newton III behind her like last year's Fendi bag.

“Lena!” Jack said loudly.

The girls turned to see Lipstick's boss arm-in-arm with her nemesis.

“Bitsy informs me that not only did you introduce Dauphin
to Anna Wintour before me but you're planning on a meeting with Anna as well.”

“N-no, no,” Lipstick stammered. “We just went through the reception line.”

“I saw Nu give you her card. What was that about, then?” Bitsy asked.