Nancy’s Theory of Style, page 7
Hester said, “No attention is always the best, Nanny. That’s why we pay the PR firm.”
“Froth, not foam,” Nancy said quietly and reminded herself that a lady did not throw a scene in a public place. She sipped her water and when she felt calm enough she said, “Mrs. Bentley Jamieson Friendly doesn’t think Froth is foolish. She invited me to the Saloon and hired me to coordinate the Barbary Coast Historical Museum’s annual gala.”
Her mother’s eyes widened and then she looked for the waiter. When she caught his attention, she lifted her fingers slightly toward her empty glass. “Well!”
Julian looked as if he was going to say something, reconsidered, and finally asked, “Did you see the security guards?”
“No, and I looked all around. She has the most extraordinarily hideous fountain in the Western world.”
“Nanny, please,” her mother said.
“A party is only a party,” Julian said. “However, it isn’t a bad connection.”
The appetizers and Hester’s second martini arrived. She took a long drink of the cocktail before saying, “But what about Todd? We thought you were all settled and now…” Her gray-blue eyes welled. “What ever will happen to you now?”
“Probably Debtors Prison, scrubbing laundry, and begging for gruel. Speaking of things English, do you know that I have a new assistant?”
“Does he eat gruel?” Hester said confused.
“No, he’s English. His name is Derek and he’s fabulous.”
Julian hmmphed. “What does Todd think of you having a male assistant?”
“One, I said he was fabulous, and, two, Todd’s paying Derek’s wages. Daddy, what funds do I have that can be freed up now?”
“Haven’t you been reading your monthly reports? I’ve managed to stave off the hemorrhaging for now, but you shouldn’t touch a thing.”
“Is that your opinion as my trustee or as my father?” Nancy said.
“Both. Since we are on the topic of money, I hope you will study your pre-nup before making any decisions about your marriage. When we went though it point by point with Todd, you seemed more interested in staring out the window.”
Nancy recalled the interminable meeting and the interesting view of a fabulous neo-classic building designed by Timothy Pflueger. “If I was getting a divorce, I’d be happy that Todd waived his right to community property since I’ve wasted all that money trying to make the house less horrifying, but the ugly is woven in, like bad polyester.”
“Infidelity nullifies the contract, Nancy, and Todd would be entitled to half of what you have,” Julian said quietly.
“Do you asking if I’ve cheated on Todd?” Nancy said and cringed back into her seat at the thought of her father bringing up her sex life. “Daddy.”
“Julian, Nanny, please don’t discuss these things at dinner,” Hester said as she gazed at her empty martini glass.
Julian pushed Hester’s water glass closer to her, and said to Nancy, “You don’t want to end up like Birdie. You’re not going to do any better than Todd Chambers.”
“I worry about that little girl of Birdie’s,” Hester said. “When she visited, the child was dressed in a costume.”
“Really? I was just thinking about Birdie,” Nancy said. “I heard that a friend of hers died.”
“No surprise there,” Julian said. “She surrounds herself with people as irresponsible as she is. She has nothing to show for her life.”
Hester was fiddling nervously with her wedding ring. “That’s right, Nanny. It’s very important to your father and me that you show some maturity. Marriage isn’t always easy. Happiness takes hard work and compromise.”
Nancy heard the quaver in her mother’s voice and felt awful that she was upsetting her so. “How is Birdie?”
“The same. She showed up unannounced on Sunday morning with baguettes and a jar of Beluga. She made that poor child a caviar sandwich for breakfast. What kind of life is that?”
“I would have adored caviar sandwiches as a child,” Nancy said and tried to remember if caviar was on her fish list.
“Yes, but you used to sneak and eat the cat food when you were little, Nanny,” Hester said. “Birdie asked about you. I told her that you were spending a lot of time at the Chateau and she said you should live in the now. Well, with the child sitting right there, I couldn’t tell her that that’s how she got pregnant and why she doesn’t have a place to call home.”
“What about the Redondo Beach house her boyfriend gave her?” Nancy asked.
“His wife found out about it,” her father said. “Take Birdie as a cautionary tale.”
When Nancy said goodnight to her parents and returned to her car, she saw a ticket on her windshield.
She was still so angsty that when she got home that she decided to reorganize her bathroom. In the small linen closet, she found the unopened gift, a bottle of eau de parfum, that Birdie had given to her at groundbreaking party.
Nancy needed a new fragrance now that Junie had stolen her signature scent. She dabbed L’Heure Bleue on her wrists, rubbed them together, waited five minutes and sniffed. The scent was like yearning and passion, like beeswax candles and amber, like elegance and possibility. She wondered why she’d ever worn anything else.
Nancy felt better in the morning when Derek arrived, perfection in a slim-fitting dark gray suit, a blue pinstriped shirt, and a black tie with a subtle pattern.
“Good day, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers. Would you like a cappuccino?”
“I dream of your cappuccinos.”
She followed him into the kitchen, where he moved with efficient grace. “Did you make espresso for your former employer?”
He tapped the espresso grounds and said, “Indeed. He was fond of his coffee, too. I think that a taste for fine beverages is natural to the aristocratic character.” Derek smiled at Nancy, and she felt a blush rising.
When he’d finished frothing up the milk and she was sipping her drink, she said, “I’ve never had a personal assistant before, so if there’s anything else that is expected in your range of duties that you think I’d like, please don’t hesitate to name it.”
He tilted his head attentively and that smirk began to appear. “Madame, are you proposing…”
Suddenly she realized the sort of things that a dazzling gentleman’s gentleman might have had to endure. “Oh, no, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I would never – not that you’re not attractive, because you’re extremely handsome…”
“You are pleasant-looking as well, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers. Forgive my presumption.”
“Yes, of course! Anyway, I know I’m not your type.”
“Yet one may establish a cordial association,” he said. “I was once employed by a lady of distinction, such as you, and we became so at ease with each other that we would often exchange embraces, or as you call them, hugs. She said it was very reassuring and I found the platonic physicality jolly agreeable.”
“Really?” Nancy’s parents didn’t hug their staff, but they had never employed anyone as elegant as Derek.
“Indeed. May I demonstrate?”
“That would be fine,” she said and set her cup on the counter.
Derek stepped close and put his arms around her. Nancy slipped her own around his waist. He felt so different than Todd, taller and more sinewy and his grasp around her was firm without being stifling. He smelled just faintly of cologne that had notes of sandalwood and verbena.
“You smell delicious,” she said. “What are you wearing?”
“Creed Green Irish Tweed. You smell lovely.”
“It’s called L'Heure Bleue. It means that marvelous time when the day has gone, but the night hasn’t come. That’s the color of your eyes.” She nestled closer and felt his chin drop to the top of her head. His lady employer was right; it was reassuring. If he wasn’t gay and her assistant and if she wasn’t married and… She stepped away and said, “That was very nice. But we better get to work.”
While he updated her contacts database, Nancy went through the slumber party to-do list. She talked to the caterer, the furniture warehouse manager, the entertainment agent, photographer and valet service.
There were the expected glitches, and she handled each calmly. After telling the staging director that half-down pillows were not acceptable, she looked up to see Derek watching her.
“I don’t compromise on quality,” she said, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She had compromised her whole marriage.
Derek didn’t ask, but he had his head tipped in that way that invited Nancy to share her deepest, most fervent, most private thoughts.
Impulsively she opened the slim drawer in her writing table, took out a composition book and handed it to him.
He took the composition book almost reverently. “Is this your personal journal?”
“It’s my Theory of Style. Style isn’t just trendy clothing. Style is a way to approach life so that everything is in harmony, so that form and function hold hands and go skipping,” she said. “It’s not Kierkegaard, I know, and it’s too bad he didn’t read it because a makeover might have gotten him his honey and spared us his melancholia.”
“Mrs. Carrington-Chambers, you are not what I anticipated.”
“Neither are you. Derek, I wouldn’t share this with any other man, but there’s something about you that I instinctively trust.”
He smiled, but didn’t respond.
No matter how thoroughly Nancy planned an event, the last hours were insanely busy with all the things that could only be done during the final hours. On Saturday morning, she got up at five and dressed in denim leggings and a t-shirt with a campy superhero graphic.
She transferred the necessary schedules, printouts and personal things into a roomy turquoise tote and gathered everything else she’d need into woven hemp bags with the sea-green Froth logo. She methodically cross-checked her packing list with the items in the bags.
Derek came at 7:15, wearing black jeans that made his legs look even longer, a white button-down shirt, and a striped tie with a gold bar pin.
“Good morning, Derek.”
“Good day, Madame. What an amusing t-shirt.”
“I thought I’d need all my superpowers today.”
“What is your Kryptonite?”
“Uninvited guests,” she said with a smile. “Electrical failures, flat champagne, a rabid skunk in the spa pavilion. What is your Kryptonite?”
“If I told you that I would be at your mercy,” he said.
At 8:15, they arrived at the Barton mansion. Nancy loved the front steps of the Italian Renaissance revival building and the spiraled Corinthian columns that supported the arched entrance. “Line and form,” she said to Derek. “I’ll tell you about the nightmare that is my house sometime.”
“If it is your house, then it must be elegant.”
“Why do you think I’m not living with my husband?” she said, and then tried to counter the bitterness with a smile. “But it’s just temporary. It’s easier for me to concentrate on Froth if I’m here.”
Mrs. Yao, Gigi’s long-time executive assistant, met them at the door. She was very tall, bony, and striking despite her conservative knee-length blue skirt and a rose-pink sweater over a cream blouse. “Good morning, Nancy. I can always trust you to be on time.”
“Hi, Mrs. Yao. This is Derek Cathcart, my assistant.”
“How do you do,” he said.
Mrs. Yao gave Derek a pleasant look, but Nancy knew she was taking in everything about him.
Nancy said, “Mrs. Yao, everyone will be wearing night clothes tonight.”
“I’m glad they’re not going to be naked. Some things are impossible to unsee,” she replied as she led them into the entry hall.
“So in the spirit of the party, you might want to wear—“
“Get that thought out of your head, Nancy,” Mrs. Yao said. “I wear what I want to wear.”
“Mrs. Yao used to model,” Nancy said.
“For only two years. That was enough.” The older woman led them into the entry hall and then into the grand hall, a vast room that ended with views out to the garden shrouded in morning fog. “It seems like just the other day that we had your wedding reception here.”
Nancy had been thinking about that, too, remembering the room filled with her family, friends, and the people Todd invited for business connections. “It was a lovely reception.”
“You were one of the most radiant brides I’ve ever seen. Besides Gigi, of course. She’s always works the aisle like a runway. The caterers are already unloading.”
“Wonderful. The other vendors will be here at nine.”
“The music room was cleared yesterday.” Mrs. Yao led them to a long room with framed murals of the nine muses. Their nymphy garments were very nightgowny, which is why it was ideal for the slumber party theme.
“Wonderful,” Nancy said.
Mrs. Yao crossed the room, saying, “We’ve already set up the Palladium Room for you.” She opened the door to a room with long tables, two house phones, and a credenza with refreshments.
“This is perfect,” Nancy said.
“You know where everything is, but you can ring my office if you need anything.”
“You’re a gem, Mrs. Yao.”
When the assistant left the room, Nancy said, “Isn’t this place beautiful? Look at these floors – Rosato Vicenza marble. I’ll give you a tour.”
Nancy had just showed Derek the long, narrow room by the grand staircase, saying, “This is the cloak room,” when she was interrupted by a shriek. They turned to see a six-foot tall woman coming toward them.
Gigi Barton was wearing a garish paisley caftan with a scarf wrapped around her head like a turban. Her famous cheekbones were remarkable even without makeup. She blew a kiss to Nancy and went directly to Derek. Putting her arm through his she said, “We used to call it the coke-room. Those were wild days, but I haven’t been completely tamed yet.”
She was gazing at Derek with a flirty smile on her newly inflated lips. “Who are you, gorgeous?” she asked.
“Derek Cathcart, ma’am.”
“Derek’s my assistant, Gigi,” Nancy said. “Derek, this is…”
“Just Gigi,” she said.
“A pleasure,” he said.
“That’s what they all tell me. Where are you from, Derek?”
“England.”
“Whereabouts in England?”
“The north when I was but a wee lad, but we had occasion to move frequently, and my employment has kept me traveling.”
“Ah, your accent is…a little different, isn’t it?”
“That’s what they all tell me,” he said playfully.
Gigi was gazing at him with an I-have-vast-resources-for-your-amusement look, but Nancy wasn’t about to let this man-eater get her hooks in Derek. “Gigi, what are you doing up so early?”
She waved one of her too-tan hands. “Oh, please. I haven’t been to bed yet, but I’ll catch a few hours before tonight. Just came to say hello.” Gigi finally turned to Nancy and said, “I know you’ll do everything beautifully. I’m counting on you.”
Although Gigi was smiling, Nancy knew that she was a woman who was used to having things done exactly the way she wanted them to be done.
Nancy said, “It will be everything you want and more.”
“That’s very reassuring. Now, if that new girl hasn’t stolen my Ambien again, I’ll go to bed. Honestly, I’d fire her, but she always gets the best ganja. Until tonight.” Gigi wafted away, her caftan floating behind her.
“That’s real style,” Nancy observed.
“You didn’t think the ensemble was a tad costumey?”
“For anyone else, yes. But on Gigi’s tall frame, it works. Like Elsie de Wolfe, she wears what suits her. De Wolfe was tall, too.” Nancy sighed. “If only I was taller.”
“My mum always said that so long as your feet reach the ground, you are tall enough,” Derek said. “She had a difficult time always keeping me in shoes.”
It was the most personal thing he’d told her. “I’ve come to accept your excessive height.”
“Your acceptance means the world to me, Madame,” he said with that smirk and she felt a pleasant frisson of something.
But before she could analyze it, vans and delivery trucks began arriving.
Chapter 7: Chic Looks for Any Hour
Sloane arrived at 10:10 a.m. with two assistants who would stay through the first shift. She was a brown-haired, brown-eyed type who blended into the background, especially in pouchy mom jeans.
“Sorry, I’m late!” Sloane said. “I took the boys to the park and they were having so much fun that it was hard to get away. Dobler learned how to use the monkey bars! It’s fascinating watching children develop their large and small motor skills.”
Nancy couldn’t imagine how dreary Sloane’s life must be if she thought a child swinging from a bar was exciting. She introduced Sloan to Derek and then reviewed their schedule.
After Sloane left to assemble the swag bags, Nancy said, “I remember her when she just sparkled. It’s hard to believe, but she could light up a room. That’s what children do to their victims. They leave them as flat and dull as a chalkboard.”
“That would mean that our own mothers were de-sparkled by us,” Derek said.
“There are exceptions. I’m sure we added sparkle, Derek. You certainly add sparkle to my life. You’re a human BeDazzler.” She wanted to continue the conversation, but the staging crew had arrived.
The theme was Hollywood Regency, and everything had to look swank and glitzy. The crew rolled out white shag carpeting and hauled in king-size mattresses that were dressed with luxurious white and indigo linens. The white and near-black flowers came: parrot tulips, roses, frilled poppies, musky tuberoses and even tiny black pansies and penny-blacks.
Ivory velvet loveseats and black lacquer cocktail tables were arranged in conversation groups. Silver-framed mirrors were positioned to reflect the spectacular chandeliers. Black-and-white versions of night-themed movies flickered on screens: Fellini’s The Nights of Cabiria, It Happened One Night, Night of the Iguana…
