Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (4 page)

“Yes, but it’s also our message,” Sophia said, and Ava loved hearing the passion in her sister’s voice. “We wanted to build a brand that was fun and exciting, easy to wear but still makes the client feel special, and lets them feel comfortable standing out. It’s an invitation. Come AS you are. Because that is our story. We’ve made mistakes, as you said, some of them publicly. We have flaws. And we’ve succeeded in spite of—”

“Sometimes because of them,” Ava added.

“That’s the story of AS,” Sophia continued. “That we aren’t professional designers, we are normal girls who have a chance to do extraordinary things. Take us AS we are.”

The reporter glanced at the pad next to her and said, “I think that’s all I have. It was a pleasure meeting you both. Good luck.”

“Can you tell us when the story is going to run?” Sophia asked.

The reporter shook her head. “I’m not sure. We’ll definitely be doing a profile on you, but this may also become part of a larger piece a colleague of mine is working on. Within the next week I’d say.”

After she left, Sophia sat very still on the sofa, toying with the handle of her teacup.

“What’s bothering you?” Ava asked.

“She was so
nice,
” Sophia said.

“And that’s bad?” Ava said. “Do we live in backward world now?”

“I guess I’m afraid this is too good to be true and something will happen to take it all away.” Sophia shook her head. “You’re right, I’m just feeling disoriented. I mean, where do we live? Look at this place.” She spread her arms out, indicating the gold ceiling, black-carpeted floor, black-silk walls, and black-velvet sectional.

“It’s what I imagine the inside of a genie’s bottle would look like,” Ava said, and Sophia nodded.

“Exactly. Only with ten bedrooms. I never really pictured genies having company.”

“No, too busy answering their masters’ wishes,” Ava pointed out.

Sophia’s phone rang. “It’s Hunter. I have to take it.”

Ava said, “Go.” As she slid off the black-velvet couch and went in search of her bedroom, she wondered if genies were ever lonely.

LonDOs

Having a genie to grant you wishes

Silver-satin bedroom with mirrored canopy over the bed

Lavender-satin bedroom with pearl-gray canopy over the bed

Footed bathtubs

Heated bathroom floors

Boys who call you just to say they are thinking about you

Hand lotion

Fleece mittens

My sister

Mine too

LonDON’Ts

Boys who are not on Skype when they say they will be on Skype

The phrase
I’m sorry, babe, we had to reshoot

The phrase
I’m sorry, babe, I was running lines

Boys who growl and accuse you of ruining their lives

Mirrors on the bathroom ceiling

And on the couch

Sleet

Being the genie

3

beauty and the tweet

He was draped across the silver-satin quilt on the bed in her room, apparently wearing nothing but a burgundy robe and dinosaur slippers, when Ava came out of the bathroom, two nights later.

“Hey,
bebe,
” Tomasso said. “You feeling lucky?”

Tomasso was the Contessa’s twelve-year-old son, and the more Ava saw of him, the less angelic he seemed.

Ava was exhausted. It was only nine but they’d been at the studio at seven that morning, casting models. They’d found fifteen girls they liked and were supposed to convene in the kitchen at nine thirty for Chinese food and to make their final selections. This was the first time she’d had to herself all day and she did not feel like sharing it with a preteen pervert.

Popcorn paced near his feet, growling. “Good boy, Popcorn, protecting Mommy from intruders,” Ava said, picking him up. “Hello, Tomasso. Shouldn’t you be in your own apartment? There are what, seven bedrooms there?”

The Contessa, Tomasso, and her husband, Eduardo, lived upstairs, using the apartment the London sisters and their team shared for guests, but Ava was discovering that the boundaries were sometimes a bit loose.

“Ten,” Tomasso said. “But this is my apartment too, you know,
bebe.
” He patted the bed. “Come and teach me the ways of the world. I like an older woman.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “What would your mother say if I called her and told her you were here, Tomasso?”

“She would say, of course he is; it is where he belongs.” He grinned and sat up. “She sent me here, you know. To get you. She wants to have a quickie with you.”

Ava stared at him. “A what?”

“The short chat. Quickie. You say that, no?”

“No,” Ava said. She was wearing black jeans and the oversized cardigan she’d had on at the studio. She had considered changing but since it was nine at night, and Tomasso was setting a casual tone, she decided to go AS she was.

Adding just a scarf.

And some lip gloss.

As Tomasso escorted her up to the other apartment, which meant to the elevator that opened directly into it, he said, “You should call me Toma. It is more manly, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“What is a quickie then?”

“Where did you hear about it?” Ava countered.

“From Bobo, the driver. He is always having them with my mother’s friend Max. You can learn a lot just from listening.”

Yes, you can,
Ava thought. She was so tired that it was only when the elevator doors slid open in the Bellevistas’ apartment that she wondered what the Contessa might want. This wasn’t the first time she or Sophia or any of their team had been summoned, but it was the first time she’d been brought up alone and it occurred to her that maybe she should be worried.

Going from the downstairs apartment to the upstairs was kind of disorienting. While the downstairs apartment was done in Modern Genie style, the upstairs one was like being in a model suburban house, all chintz upholstery and floral curtains and framed prints of geese flying over rivers.

The Contessa was in her office, sitting behind an oak desk. There was a fire in the fireplace, and a comfortable-looking couch in a discreet cream brocade was set against one wall, but Toma showed Ava into an uncomfortable straight-backed chair with an itchy needlepoint cushion across from the desk. He took a much more comfortable upholstered chair next to his mother’s desk and settled in as though he planned to be there awhile.

Fantastic,
Ava thought.

The floor was wood, with a yellow-and-cream area rug, and the curtains framing the window behind the Contessa were blue-and-yellow paisley. The room was homey, cozy even, and if it hadn’t been for the view across the river and the fact that the Contessa was wearing pearl earrings the size of pheasant eggs, it would have been possible to forget you were two dozen floors up in a deluxe apartment on Riverside Drive in New York City.

The Contessa finished writing something, set down her silver fountain pen, and smiled at Ava. Ava was always struck by how perfect she looked, and tranquil, especially knowing that she was prone to rather exciting shows of temper. For example, Ava had come back from walking Popcorn the day before to find the Contessa’s husband, Eduardo, pacing in front of their door, waiting for the Thai food delivery guy because he refused to deliver to their apartment, or as he put it “the house of that demon lady with the big knife and crazy eyes” anymore.

But when she didn’t have crazy eyes, the Contessa looked beautiful and serene, like someone you could picture singing to birds in a park. Now she smiled at Ava and announced, “I have brought you here to give you the very good news.”

“Oh good,” Ava said. She’d learned that the best way to avoid seeing the crazy eyes was to keep her replies short.

“I am going to marry you.”

Ava leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?”

Toma looked as surprised as she did.

“No not me myself. I will be your half mother.” She turned to her son. “How do you say it, Toma?”

“Aunt,” Toma answered, frowning.

“Yes, I will be your aunt. You will marry my nephew.”

“I don’t want to marry anyone,” Ava said.

“Yes, it will be perfect.” The Contessa leaned forward, tenting her hands over the desk. “Right now you do the boytox, yes? The no men, no dating. It is because your heart has been hurt.”

“How do you know?”

“People, they have mouths, yes?
Bene.
” She nodded. “This one who has hurt you, you pretend that you are healing but really you are holding an empty place in your heart for him.”

“That’s not—” Ava objected.

“Let me tell you about my nephew and why you will do this. You will like him. For one thing, he is rich. Eh. But there is more. He has”—she made a face, like she was searching for words—“a very unusual mind.”

“This is true,” Toma agreed in a way that made Ava nervous.

The Contessa went on. “He is very, how do you say–
simpatico
—”

Toma offered, “Simple.”

The Contessa tapped her forehead, nodding amiably. “And very funny here.”

“Are you saying that he is funny in the head?” Ava asked, just to be clear.

The Contessa smiled. “Exactly. Sometimes I am not perfect with the idioms. Funny in the head.”

“At least now that he has the right medicine…” Toma whispered to Ava.

Ava stared from him to his mother. This wasn’t happening. Was this happening?

“And he has much hair,” the Contessa went on. “You are young, you do not yet know, but this is very important for men, having the hair. They will not admit it, no, but here”—she patted her chest, presumably pointing to where the hair was—“it means everything.”

“Like a beast,” Toma said. “My uncle, his father, that was his nickname.”

“Is that true?” Ava asked the Contessa.

She got a dreamy expression. “It is. Even in his coffin, people they talked about the hair of my brother. So you will not have to worry, there will always be plenty of hair.”

“Oh. Good.” Ava felt a little faint.

The Contessa looked delighted. “I see you begin to understand. He is a very good man, my nephew. He has the good eye. He will appreciate you too.”

“He has a good
eye
?” Ava repeated.

The Contessa nodded.

“But what about the other—”

“Is best not to mention it,” Toma interrupted her.

Naturally,
Ava thought.
Probably you didn’t even notice the eye because he was so hairy. Or so crazy.
Ava looked at the Contessa. “But why do you want me to marry him?”

“Because you have a broken heart and also he has a broken heart and together you will heal. I realize this today. It is for this one reason that we have been brought together. You two are perfect for one another.”

Ava didn’t let herself think about what it meant that the Contessa saw her as perfect for her beast-man nephew, and focused instead on the other part of what the woman had said. “I thought we were brought together to put on a fashion show.”

“For both of you, it will yield a thing of joy. For him, a pretty wife. For you, a delightful husband
and
a fashion line.”

Ava suddenly felt cold. “Do you mean if I don’t marry your nephew we can’t do our show?”

The Contessa laughed. “But no. I am not the crazy person. You just will go to some parties with him to start. For the Fashion Week. He will be your”—She snapped her fingers and looked at Toma—
“squero.”

“Master,” Toma translated.

A master,
Ava thought. The apartment was feeling more and more like a genie’s bottle with each passing moment.

“And if I say no?” Ava asked, risking the crazy eyes but having to.

The Contessa laughed again. “And why would you do this thing? It would be madness. You must trust me. I am very experienced in the matters of heart, and I know you two will make perfect match. Besides, what will it hurt? It is just one date.”

In her head Ava heard,
Funny in the head, hairy, one good eye.

“And do not forget, he is a count,” the Contessa added. “You know this is important, the bloodlines, for breeding. You see my Toma here. Such an angel. And look at his hair. Perhaps one day also he will be the beast.”

“Mom,” the angel said, batting her hand away from his hair.

“And also there is this,” the Contessa said, her expression earnest. “If you said no, I am afraid I would think you were a not serious girl. Your sister, she is a serious girl I am sure. You, I think you are serious, but what if I am wrong? Eh? Of course I would not back the clothing line of a not-serious girl. A silly girl. A girl who does not know how to say
why not.
I tell you, I do this for your happiness. You and he are made for each other. But you do not yet know how I am always right. So for now is a few parties. Not much. That is all I ask. Then, after, we discuss more.” She smiled encouragingly. “
Va bene
? Okay?”

A few parties,
Ava thought. That wasn’t a big deal. Even with someone who was a little crazy and hairy. And eye patches could be handsome. Very James Bond villain.

Why was she hesitating? She felt like there was something she was missing, a trick the Contessa was playing, that somehow she was agreeing to more than she thought and that this was a bad idea in a way she had yet to understand, but how?

And then she remembered Sophia saying, “I guess I’m just afraid this is too good to be true and something will happen to take it all away,” and decided it didn’t matter. That something was
not
going to be her. Whatever weird bargain the Contessa was striking, Ava would say yes.

“It would be a pleasure to go to parties with your nephew,” Ava said and realized that the Contessa had already gone back to writing.

“Yes, of course,” the Contessa said without looking up. She made a gesture with her hand like she was brushing off crumbs and Ava realized she was dismissed.