Nancy’s Theory of Style, page 6
“They are blue, Madame.”
“No, my eyes are blue. Yours are something else.”
A smiled flickered on his face and he said, “A friend calls them midnight blue.”
“I memorized all the colors in my crayon box, and Midnight Blue is not quite right. I’ll think of it though. Was this a special friend?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m so glad you have someone, Derek.” She sighed. “I thought Todd was special, too. Maybe he is special and I’m just...”
Their food came then. Derek was good enough to share his French fries with Nancy and even welcomed her suggestion that they eat them with catsup, the American way.
She almost wanted to talk to him about Todd, because that was what gay friends were for, right? She wasn’t sure about the rules since Todd wasn’t comfortable having gay men around. He wasn’t comfortable with anyone who wasn’t like just him.
There was a parking ticket on the car’s windshield. Nancy plucked it off and handed it to Derek, saying, “There are some others in the glove compartment. Send them to Mr. Chambers, please. He’ll have his friends take care of them.”
When Derek and Nancy returned to the apartment, she called Mrs. Jamieson Friendly. After the phone rang and rang, the woman herself answered and explained that she was in her sunroom with her orchids.
Nancy resisted the urge to tell Mrs. Friendly that orchids were so ‘80s, since she might think Nancy meant the 1880s. “Let’s talk about your fundraising event. It’s such an important date on all of our calendars!”
Mrs. Friendly barked out a laugh. “Come on, sugar, we both know it’s as dried up as my lady parts! That’s what I want to talk to you about. How soon can you drop by the Saloon?”
Nancy said that she could be there within an hour and asked if she could bring her assistant.
“The more the merrier.”
Mrs. Friendly’s mansion was only a ten-minute walk from Chateau Winkles.
“Is this saloon a pub?” Derek asked.
“No, it’s called that in honor of Mrs. Friendly’s bar-owner ancestor. Although once you see it, you’ll need a stiff drink.”
The Saloon was a swollen red-brick furuncle among its more gracious neighbors. A border of flowering plants in confetti colors lined the semi-circular driveway that curved around an appalling fountain: portly cherubs squirted water from their chubby privates and frolicked in eternal stony abandon.
As Nancy and Derek approached the mansion, she said, “Why doesn’t Zac Posen design a tote-bag size rocket launcher? But before we could do anything useful, Mrs. Friendly’s super-secret security team would whisk us away and we’d never be seen again.”
Derek glanced around the house and grounds. “I see no guards.”
“No one ever has, but they see us. Daddy says they’re all former KGB or Mossad. When Mrs. Friendly was a girl, someone tried to kidnap her and she’s been under guard ever since.”
The theme of the house was “more.” More turrets, more mullioned windows, more marble friezes, more statuary. Five minutes after they rang the doorbell, the door was opened by a scrawny and blank-faced old man in a misbuttoned gold blazer, striped pajama pants and slippers.
“We’ll take four boxes of the Thin Mints and one of the Gauchos,” he told Nancy. Then he stared at Derrick and said, “Heard you drowned off the Great Barrier Reef after you were sent packing. Damned nuisance.” Then the old man turned and shuffled off.
“The quaint and ancient retainer,” Nancy said, staring at the open door.
“I fear that you’ve glimpsed my future, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers,” Derek replied softly and made her laugh.
She saw it for the first time then, the way that one corner of Derek’s lips went up in something that might be called a smirk rather than a smile. It made her feel as if they were conspiratorial.
They followed the old man inside and gazed in fascination at all the things that covered the two-story entry hall. The walls were barely visible under stuffed animal heads, paintings, hat racks, and mirrors.
“I wonder if he’s gone to announce us,” Nancy said to Derek.
He was staring in wonder at the wall. She followed his glance and saw a mallard head mounted on a wood plaque beside a cubist painting of female nudes.
The painting gave her a sense of deep comfort. Beautiful, true things had that effect on Nancy. “She’s got an astonishing collection of art.”
“Hellooo,” called someone from another room. “Come on in.”
They followed the voice down a hall to a long drawing room stuffed with heavy carved oak and maroon velvet furnishings. A wall of windows had a glorious view of the white-capped gray-green bay.
Above the carved redwood fireplace was a cartoon bright pop-art triptych portrait of Mrs. Friendly. When Nancy tore her eyes from it she spotted a tiny plump woman in a St. John orange sweater and peach knit skirt perched on a brocade armchair.
Mrs. Friendly had never been a beauty, her money and lively personality had drawn admirers. She’d been dying her hair flame red so long that it had cycled in and out of fashion through the decades. Now a darker scarlet hairpiece was pinned like a hat atop her own wispy locks. She powdered her face with haphazard enthusiasm and huge, thick glasses were propped on her button of a nose.
Mrs. Friendly stood, and the weighted-hem of her skirt fell fluidly to the wrinkled “Suntan” stockings that showed just above her purple suede and lambskin booties. “Did Greene show you in? Did you see where he went?” Her cloudy blue eyes searched the room.
“He met us at the door,” Nancy said. “I’m Nancy Carrington-Chambers, and this is my assistant, Derek Cathcart.”
“I know who you are, missy, and I know your family, too, and your cousin Birdie, of course. Quite the adventuress, that one.”
“She does like traveling,” Nancy said with a polite smile and she thought, please, please, let’s not talk about Birdie.
“Come close and let me take a look at you. Everything’s a blur these days, but I still like to look.”
Nancy went to Mrs. Friendly who put her face close and peered at Nancy.
“You seem pretty, but I’ll be able to tell better once I have my cataract surgery. You know, they do it outpatient, now, and it takes only a day to recover.”
“Science is astounding,” Nancy said and hoped that she would be able to have a robot maid soon.
“Take a load off. If we’re lucky Greene will show up with something to eat or drink. He gets upset if I ask one of the girls,” Mrs. Friendly said and waved off a uniformed maid who’d come into the room.
They sat on the deep, creaky sofa. Creaks, except on floors and staircases, always seemed a little rude to Nancy. “We’re fine.”
“Gigi Barton is raving about with the slumber party you’re arranging for her. I wonder how old she is now. She’s had so much work done you’d have to saw her across like a redwood and count the rings to know her age.”
Nancy had checked the guest list yesterday and knew that Mrs. Friendly hadn’t responded to her invitation. “I hope you’ll be able to make it this Friday.”
“Lord, no! I made the mistake of going to Gigi’s second wedding. Mr. Friendly and I woke up three days later on a tiny island in Belize with a deed in his hand and the worst hangovers of our lives. It turned out to be a good purchase though, because he loved to swing in his hammock there.”
As much as Nancy wanted to gossip, she knew she had to act like a real businesswoman. “How fun! Now let’s talk about the annual gala.”
Mrs. Friendly adjusted her red wig and said, “Do you know that unlike all the fancy fundraisers mine actually raises money?”
Nancy smiled. “I didn’t know that. But the primary purpose of the other fundraisers is to promote the organizations. The more impressive the party, the bigger annual donor base you’ll develop.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. My event turns a profit, but it’s only one day of the year. The rest of the time, our operating fund leaks like an old whore. I’m tired of writing the checks, so I want you to bring in the glamorpusses and let them take over the society.”
As Mrs. Friendly spoke, Derek reached into his inside pocket and brought out a small notepad and a silver pen. He looked so comfortable taking notes, as if he’d spent his life transcribing conversations.
Nancy said, “I think there are a few ways we can make the event more of a social-must!”
“Honey, talk straight. I can take it.”
Nancy couldn’t help smiling. “Your fundraiser is stuck in a scary time warp of egg-salad sandwiches and canned lobster bisque. It’s tacky and depressing.”
Mrs. Friendly laughed. “Don’t I know it! When I first joined, I tried dolling it up, but the hags on the board wanted me to fetch their tea and keep my yap shut. I’ve been serving crappy canapés ever since. Teach people not to get snotty with Mrs. goddamn Bentley Jamieson Friendly.”
“But those hags are long gone.”
“It got to be a tradition, and Greene liked the pinwheel sandwiches.”
As if summoned, her quaint and ancient retainer shuffled into the room, pushing a drinks trolley atop which teetered a frosty glass pitcher and a clatter of unmatched tumblers. He stopped in front of his employer.
“What have you brought, Greene?” Mrs. Friendly asked.
“If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain…” he warbled. He poured a tumbler to the brim, stuck a pink straw in it, and carried it out of the room, singing, “If you’re not into yoga, and you have half a brain…”
“He remembers song lyrics perfectly,” Mrs. Friendly said with an admiring tone. “He listens to whatever Cook is listening to, and Cook is an old pothead. I hear an awful lot of Rupert Holmes and the Doobie Brothers. On good days, we might get Tony Bennett or the Eagles.”
“Allow me,” Derek said, and he stood and poured drinks for the women.
Mrs. Friendly looked up at him. “You’re a nice stretch of a fellow. Let me get a good gander.” Derek bent toward her and she gazed into his face. “You remind me of someone I knew once. Where are you from?”
“Derek is English,” Nancy said.
“That’s how it is – the older I get, the more I keep imagining that I’m seeing ghosts from the past. Pour a drink for yourself, young man.”
Derek didn’t decline or accept, but politely handed the women their drinks.
Nancy took a sip of coconutty-pineapplely goodness. “Yummy. It’s a drink and a dessert,” she said. “Your event has got to be so incredible that people are clamoring to come even though we’ll triple the cost of a table. The best tables, of course, will require a long-term museum sponsorship that we can work out.”
“How do you plan to get people to fork out?”
“We’ll give them something that’s unique and thrilling.”
“You have no idea, do you, little miss?” Mrs. Friendly said and then laughed. “Well, you couldn’t do any worse than me. Spend what you need to spend, but don’t take me for a fool. I’m not about to give away the Koh-I-Noor diamond as a party favor.”
Nancy smiled and said, “I’ll draw up a proposal and get back to you in a week.”
When she and Derek left the house, Nancy felt dizzy with happiness, or possibly that second piña colada. “Derek, with your help, I’ll make this an event that everyone will be talking about.”
When Derek left at 5:00, Nancy was still on the phone with Sloane Seitz, reviewing plans for Gigi’s slumber party. Sloane had been a popular grad student when Nancy was a sophomore, but she got married and left. Now Sloane was a single mother who patched together freelance jobs to make ends meet.
“Let me read back my notes,” Sloane said, “I’ll pick up the robes and the gifts, and make sure that the linens will be delivered. I’ll meet the spa manager to review the schedule. I’m lucky the boys are visiting Grammy this week so I can stay late at the party.”
“Lovely, Sloane. Ciao!” She hung up before Sloane could recite another endless saga about her children.
Nancy pulled out one of the six photo albums from her wedding. Her cousin Sissy had designed the tulle and peau de soie dress that made Nancy look like a beautiful and kind fairy princess. The photographer hadn’t done a good job with the groom, though. Todd looked blockier in the pictures than she remembered.
She was considering having Lizette digitally removed from all her photos when the phone rang.
“Hello, Nanny,” Hester Carrington said.
Nancy had given up objecting to the nickname that had caused endless confusion when the family had employed nannies.
“Hello, Mommy. How are you and Daddy?”
“Wonderful!” Hester said too cheerfully. “Todd told us you’re at the Château, and we decided to come into town. We’d like to take you out for dinner tonight.”
Nancy glanced at the time. It was 5:20 p.m. and her parents calculated this call to ambush her. “Dinner would be lovely!”
“Lovely! Daddy’s already made reservations at the hotel for six.” Hester and Julian Chambers, who were so right in so many other ways, ate at a geriatrically early hour.
“Lovely! I’ll see you then. Love you!”
Nancy freshened her makeup, revived her curls, and put her shoes back on. Lint roller in hand, she inspected herself in the mirror and removed stray hairs and particles of lint.
Traffic was awful, forcing Nancy to blare her horn once, swerve dangerously around a cable car and cut off an eco-freak in an electric car as she sped up Nob Hill. As wrong as Todd was on so many things, he was right about the Mini; it was zippy.
There was a line of cars waiting for the valet in the brick entry courtyard, so Nancy parked in front of a fire hydrant and hurried through the majestic glass portico of the old hotel.
Even though Mr. and Mrs. Carrington lived less than 40 miles away, they stayed overnight when they visited San Francisco, booking a suite at the hotel where they’d met decades ago at a tea-dance.
Nancy walked through the cream and gilt lobby and glanced at the clock above the reception desk. It was 5:55. She waited anxious minutes for the elevator to the restaurant on the top floor.
Chapter 6: The Fluid Rules of Today’s Fashion
Nancy’s parents were waiting at the host’s station. They looked exactly the way they should, like nice people, people you wouldn’t mind sitting next to on the plane or at the theatre. They looked like people who took interesting vacations, read serious books, and never argued in public.
Hester’s narrow, sharp features had softened with age, and people always assumed that she had been pretty when she was young. Her hair was a tasteful ash blonde and in heels she was as tall as her husband. She wore a simple cream knit jacket with black piping, black slacks, and a gold necklace and earrings.
Hester’s only flamboyance was her handbags and now she carried a rose-colored handbag in shining patent leather with glittering gold hardware.
Nancy smiled at her father. Julian Carrington was a good-looking, trim man in a navy blazer, Tattersall check shirt, and gabardine trousers. His blondish hair had gone silver years before. He made a point of looking at his steel chronograph, which was precise enough to mark a daughter’s tardiness before it actually occurred.
Then he smiled and greeted Nancy with a kiss. “Hello, dear. You were almost late.”
“Sorry, Daddy! Traffic was a grizzly. Hi, Mommy.” Nancy gave her mother a hug and a kiss, inhaling the floral scent of L’Air du Temps, which she’d worn since she was a student.
Hester released her daughter and looked her up and down. “Your nail shade…very dramatic, isn’t it?”
Julian signaled to the maitre d’, who immediately led the trio to a table by a window looking out to the city and the Bay Bridge stretching out to Treasure Island.
Nancy made sure to keep her fingernails out of view, which wasn’t easy when she was holding a menu. She didn’t bother taking out her sustainable fishing guide, which would have given her father something to criticize.
“How is Miss Winkles?” her mother asked.
“She’s as effervescent as ever,” Nancy said.
After they’d ordered, Julian said, “Nanny, your mother and I came here because we’re extremely worried about you. You left Todd and didn’t tell us.”
“Todd tried to put the best face on the situation,” Hester said. Her eyes lit up as the waiter brought her double martini.
Nancy kept her voice as calm as theirs. “It’s just a sabbatical, to get my business going.”
“Planning parties isn’t a business,” Julian said. “It’s socializing. If you really want to go into business, you’ll get your MBA like you should have in the first place. Or, you can go to law school.”
“You should finish graduate school before you have children,” Hester said. “After you have babies, you can’t do anything. Even with Nanny.”
“What did I have to do with it?” Nancy asked.
“I meant the nanny.” Hester finished her drink and said, “It would be a terrible shame if you were the first in our family to divorce.”
“Not to mention the problems you’d cause in my dealings with Todd and his family,” Julian said. “We’re going in on a vacation development in New Zealand, you know.”
Nancy’s smile was tense. “Yes, you’ve told me. Todd’s told me.” Her father’s private equity firm and Todd’s family were investing in the development to benefit Todd and herself. “I just needed a break from that house. That’s all.”
Her parents exchanged looks and Julian said, “You could have saved everyone all this trouble by doing what I suggested, buying a good house in an established neighborhood, like Bailey Whiteside. There’s a young man with some common sense.”
“The house could have been livable if Todd hadn’t hijacked my plans. There’s a wet bar and a huge television in my bedroom!”
“A first house should be built with resale in mind, and that wet bar and theater-size TV are desirable features for most homeowners.” Julian frowned and said, “I hope that your Foam foolishness doesn’t draw the wrong kind of attention to our family.”
