Nancy’s Theory of Style, page 8
Tents were erected outside with massage tables, soaking tubs, and stylist stations. An al fresco café was created on the patio and a net of tiny lights replicated stars since the night was overcast.
By the time Nancy and Derek checked the bustling kitchen, Derek’s cheeks were flushed with his exertions and the heat of the room. Nancy saw him looking at the colorful platters of food.
He said, “Not exclusively black and white, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers?”
“The food is like a hand-tinted detail in a black and white photo – the neutral background allows the color to pop,” she said.
One of the cooks wiped his hands on a towel and came to her. “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for the gig.” He looked around at the busy kitchen and said, “We’re all glad to have the work, especially at a time like this.
“You’re doing a wonderful job,” Nancy said. “I hope Froth will be able to hire your company for future events.”
When the cook went back to his tasks, Nancy smiled at Derek and said, “It’s time for us to get changed. I have a surprise for you.”
When they got to the music room, Nancy unzipped the garment bag that she’d brought from home. Inside were two pairs of silk men’s pajamas in midnight blue and two pairs of matching women’s pajamas. Their names were monogrammed in ivory on the pockets.
“It’s our uniform for tonight,” Nancy said and handed Derek the men’s pajamas. “We’ll be matching. I have moccasins for you, too.”
“How very thoughtful,” he said, obviously touched by the gift.
Nancy thought of suggesting that they change here together, the way models do backstage, because she was curious about his underwear, but she didn’t know if he’d interpret it in the highly professional way she intended. So she excused herself to one of the upstairs guest rooms and got ready in a scant 45 minutes.
Of course, she had a little assistance from one of the spa stylists. He applied Nancy’s makeup, including Shu Uemura false eyelashes. Then he fluffed, spritzed, and crunched Nancy’s hair, applied a fixative to seal her makeup, and gave her shoulders a mini-massage.
Nancy did a mirror check and was pleased to see how authoritative and professional she looked in her PJs, cream marabou slippers, headset and clipboard.
She descended the majestic grand staircase and paused half-way to observe the wonders she had wrought. Everything that could sparkle sparkled. The musicians were warming up. The waiters, spa attendants, and other staff wore similar indigo pajamas, but in a cotton/rayon blend. Nancy reached the bottom of the staircase feeling like the captain of a ship.
“Nancy!” Sloane was rushing across the hall in her pajamas, which had an unfortunate bag of potatoes effect on her figure. Her face had a sheen and strands of hair had slipped loose from her ponytail.
“Sloane, how is everything on your end?”
After Sloane reported her activities, Nancy said, “Do you want to go upstairs and touch up your makeup and hair?”
Her friend shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t spare the time.”
“I care. Turn around.” Nancy pulled off the band around Sloane’s hair, pulled all the strands together, banded the hair again, and then tucked the ponytail into itself, making the mess look intentional. “Much better,” she said. “I’ve got my makeup kit in the Palladium Room.”
“Nancy, no one cares what I look like,” Sloane said.
Nancy felt a pang of sorrow that even her friend’s soul had been de-sparkled, but her duties kept her from pondering whether the desparkling was a permanent condition.
Nancy and her team stayed on their feet all night making sure that the guests ate, drank, danced, and passed out in absolute comfort.
Sloane and the first shift left at midnight. By 3 a.m., when most of Gigi’s friends had visited her spa and were wearing their thick white robes (monogrammed with “I Slept with Gigi”), Nancy realized that she was having problems coordinating her body movements.
“Nancy!”
Bailey Whiteside was standing in front of her wearing a red onesie and a flannel nightcap. In one hand, he held a tumbler of amber liquid. He looked good even in these ridiculous pajamas. Especially in the soft, caressing fabric of his pajamas. Don’t look down, she told herself.
“So you decided to show up,” she said.
“I wanted to see you again.” His hazel eyes gazed into hers. “I remember your wedding reception here. You were so beautiful.”
She was so exhausted that the compliment made her sad. Her eyes began to well. “Thank you.”
“I wanted to carry you off. I could never figure out how Todd got to you before me.” Bailey tipped his drink toward her lips and she took a sip of the scotch.
Her brain was foggier than the sky outside. “You could have tried to steal me away before I got married,” she said. “You always flirted, but you’re a flirt.”
“I always flirted with you, Nancy,” he said, “because you’re so pretty and fun. I wasn’t going to do anything unless you gave me an indication that I had a chance. Do you remember that winter when we went to that funky old lodge in Donner?”
“You came alone,” she said. “I got a cold and you stayed and made me cocoa and you taught me how to play Texas Hold-Em.”
“Hoping for my chance with you. I really wanted to play strip poker.”
“And then I got married,” she said.
“Then you got married,” he said. “But now that you’ve left Todd, maybe…” He began running his free hand up and down her arm, sending shivers through her.
“I haven’t left Todd. I am focusing on Froth. I’m doing it as we speak. Froth. It’s a funny word, isn’t it? Froth.”
“When do you get off tonight? Come sleep at my place and we’ll go out to brunch tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I’m married, and I have to stay here and be the captain of the ship. Do you know that Todd put a wet-bar in the bedroom?”
“Maybe you can show me your bedroom sometime.” Bailey handed her the drink and said, “Go ahead, finish it.”
She hadn’t had dinner, and she was thirsty. The scotch burned nicely on the way down. “Are you going to Lizette and Bill’s wine country weekend?”
“No, they’d just try to set me up so I can be stuck married and bored like them. Not that all married women are boring.” Bailey put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly.
Nancy could taste the scotch on his lips. Bailey put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Come home with me.”
“Mrs. Carrington-Chambers.”
She pulled away from Bailey and turned to see Derek standing close. “Hmmm? Bailey, this is my fabulous new assistant, Derek.”
“Hey,” Bailey said.
“Good evening, sir,” Derek said. “Madame, if I could have a moment?”
“Of course.” Nancy noticed that she was wavering on her feet. Derek came to her side and she swayed against him.
“I’ll call you, Nancy,” Bailey said and left, his red posterior hazy in Nancy’s exhaustion.
She looked at her lovely assistant and said, “Am I supposed to be doing something for the party?”
“You’re completely knackered. We’re going to have a kip. The guest rooms are occupied, so I’ve set up something for you.” Derek put his arm around her waist and she leaned against him as he took her to the Palladium Room. “Is Mr. Whiteside a special friend of yours, Madame?”
“Bailey Carson Whiteside the Third came to my wedding. It was a very, very beautiful wedding. I looked like a fairy princess.” Propped against her assistant, she stared into his sympathetic eyes. “My parents and all our friends think that I’m a failure for leaving Todd. But the house, that horrible house. It’s in a hideous development, Villagio Tuscana. Todd put a wet-bar in the bedroom and…”
“Yes?”
“His underwear is always wrong,” she said before closing her eyes. She had a sensation of falling and then strong arms around her, supporting her, and she knew she was safe.
Four hours later, Nancy was pulled out of warm, deep sleep by the click-click-click of footsteps on the polished stone floor. She opened her eyes and saw that she was lying in a nest of soft comforters and pillows. Mrs. Yao had come into the room.
“Good morning, Nancy. Time to get up.”
“Thank you. I’ll just brush my teeth and see to the breakfast.”
Mrs. Yao looked amused and said, “That’s a good idea,” as she left.
Nancy got up and saw Derrick rolled up on a blanket on the floor on the other side of the room. He had excellent bed head and his morning shadow made him look a little dangerous.
She went to him, bent over and shook him. “Wake up.”
He threw an arm around her legs, pulling her down beside him.
“Come back to bed, Mel” he said and rolled on his back.
Nancy shouldn’t have been surprised at what she saw, because Derek was a man and men had natural bodily reactions, what Todd called his “morning rudder,” but Derek was her assistant and she jumped up and away.
Her sudden movement was enough to startle Derek fully awake.
“Well, uhm, well,” Nancy said, feeling envious of Mel. That must be Derek’s lover.
Her assistant soon understood the reason for her reaction. He calmly arranged the comforter to obscure the protrusion. “My apologies, Madame. I mistook you for my special friend in the depth of my slumber.”
Nancy wasn’t going to be less sophisticated than he was. “Don’t worry about it. Meet me in the kitchen when you’ve, uhm, collect yourself.”
She grabbed her headset, slipped on her marabou slippers, and hurried through the main hall, cupping her hand to her mouth to check her breath, and then went to the kitchen. Two cooks were already grilling traditional breakfast foods, and a woman was unpacking big plastic bins of cereals and toppings.
“Good morning,” Nancy said brightly to her. “You’ll be setting up the cereal bar on the patio slash cafe.”
“Morning,” said the spiky haired woman. “You’re rocking the goth look.”
“Thank you.” Nancy tried to surreptitiously catch her reflection in the wall of stainless steel refrigerators across the room. “I have something urgent to take care of and then I’ll be back to supervise.”
“What’s to supervise? It’s cereal,” the manager said flatly. “Trix are for kids.”
“Yes, of course.” Nancy smiled and nodded at a cook flipping hash browns on the grill. She continued to smile at the few guests she passed on her way upstairs to room that was reserved for the spa stylists.
She rushed to the mirror. Her hair was completely flattened on one side and stuck out on the other. Her smear-proof makeup wasn’t. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and one of her false eyelashes had migrated onto her cheek.
Nancy tried to wash off the makeup, but the fixative wouldn’t dissolve in soap and water. She used a washcloth to scrub it off, leaving red blotches. She tried to cover the ruddy marks with powder, which caked on her wet skin.
Nancy was about to start over when she heard Gigi’s contralto calling, “Nancy!”
Nancy went into the hallway to see her hostess strolling gracefully in a long, gossamer thin silk nightgown and wrap. “There you are. Now we can finally talk over a bowl of Coco Puffs. Do you know that I’ve never tasted them? Milagro called and told me that you had taken a female lover, but she kept laughing, so I didn’t actually believe her.”
“But, Gigi,” Nancy began and raked her hair with her fingers.
“I’m going to nibble and then fall asleep on the massage table.” Gigi hooked her arm through Nancy’s and pulled her toward the hall. “You don’t happen to have any Halcion on you, do you?”
“No, but, Gigi---“
“I was completely surprised when you showed up with that yummy assistant. Mrs. Yao tells me that you both slept in the Music Room.”
“We slept separately, and he’s gay.”
“So was my third husband, but we were both flexible. He was double-jointed, as a matter of fact. He pretended to be an Italian count, but he was actually a Croatian bank clerk,” Gigi said as they turned to the grand staircase and began walking down. “He was after my money, can you imagine? But he was a wonderfully amusing man and he had a spectacular…” Gigi spotted a friend and held her arms out wide. “Peter!”
Gigi’s gesture set Nancy off balance, and the heel of her marabou slipper caught in the hem of her pajama pants, yanking them down and sending Nancy slipping on the dangerous marble steps.
She desperately reached out for the banister and grabbed it, righting herself just as a camera flashed.
Nancy used her last reserve of energy to drive home from the party, and she slept until the afternoon. She dreamt about a tall man. His lips nuzzled her neck and he slipped his hand between her thighs sending the most incredible sensations through her – and then a car alarm on the street started blaring. She fought to stay in the dream, but it was too late. She was awake.
Still, Nancy felt better than she had in years. She felt hopeful. Everyone had loved the slumber party, only a few had witnessed her stumble on the stairs, and Bailey had flirted with her. The faceless man in her dream must have been Bailey. Her subconscious was giving her a sign.
Nancy’s family and friends might have a different idea about her marriage if she started dating Bailey. Nancy Carrington-Chambers-Whiteside, she thought to herself. Nancy Whiteside. Nancy Edith Carrington-Whiteside. Mrs. Carrington-Whiteside.
Nancy liked that Bailey was ambitious. She would look like the ideal confidante/advisor as he made his acceptance speeches for increasingly important offices. She’d have to find out his political party.
She drove to her favorite grocery store. The small parking lot was full, so she parked in a bus zone, since she’d only be a few minutes.
She walked in cheerful preoccupation through the aisles of the lavish market, pushing her cart of imported water, low-fat milk, and limes. She was wearing a short, smocked, pink dress and glossy flats, and looked as if she belonged here with the chic and conscientious shoppers, buying attractively arranged, spotlighted organic produce.
Like the chic men in front of her, for example.
The auburn-haired man with the marvelous blazer, and dark wash jeans said, “Grilled fish or chicken? Because I can do sautéed veggies with either,” to his lanky, dark-haired boyfriend with the great butt.
The dark-haired man turned his head and Nancy said, “Derek!”
He still hadn’t shaved and was wearing black Dickies and a worn-out Clash t-shirt under a faded blue-plaid flannel shirt. His hair was still bedheaded in a way that made her think about him this morning.
Derek took a moment and then said, “Mrs. Carrington-Chambers!”
The other man turned to look at her, holding a bunch of baby bok choy aloft.
Nancy noticed that his lycra-blend, v-neck t-shirt fit snugly across his trim torso. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see Derek here, since it was so close to Polk Gulch. She smiled at him and his friend. This must be Mel. Nancy said, “You’ll think I’m stalking you, but I needed to stock up on the essentials.”
Derek said, “I’d like to introduce my very special friend, Prescott Bottomsly. Prescott, this is Mrs. Carrington-Chambers.”
“Just Nancy,” she said. “How nice to meet you, Prescott!” She held out her hand, but wondered, who is Mel?
“Nice to meet you,” the man said and shook hands with her. He had an American accent and was more pretty than handsome, with gentle features and a round chin.
Nancy said, “Derek, I didn’t recognize you at first in those clothes.”
“This costume? Prescott and I are going to a Rockers and Boytoys tea dance. I’m Joe Strummer and he’s a rent-boy.” Derek slipped his arm through his friend’s.
“So that’s why you look so rough! But I would have dressed you up as Tommy Lee. You have that look.”
Prescott smiled and said, “Yes, there is a resemblance. An angularity. And elsewhere, if you know what I mean.”
Derek raised his eyebrows. Then he said to Nancy, “Your party was fantastic. Was Miss Barton pleased?”
“I think so. Tomorrow we’ll do our post-mortem and then we’ve got to start on Mrs. Friendly’s party.”
Derek looked vaguely confused and Prescott said to him, “A post-mortem is what Americans call the after-party dissection and analysis.”
“I hope you won’t be squeamish, Derek,” Nancy said.
The boyfriend was looking at Nancy’s pleated turquoise suede bag with gold studs. “That’s a fabulous bag.”
“It’s not really mine. I stole it from my mother’s closet.”
“That’s a closet I wouldn’t mind being in!”
“I get her scarves, too. I heart your blazer.”
“Ted Baker. You should see the lining.”
“You must be a high-rent boy, then,” Nancy said and they both laughed. “Derek didn’t tell me you had such marvelous taste.”
“He didn’t tell me you were so very scrumptious.”
“I don’t think he notices. I’m not his type.”
Derek said, “I endeavor to keep my personal and professional lives separate out of respect for the both of you.”
“Oh, no need,” his companion said. “You can share all the details of our passionate relationship with the world.”
“And, I don’t mind you sharing our relationship, Derek,” Nancy said. “We have nothing to hide.” As she put her hand on his arm and squeezed, she flashed back to her dream. But it was Bailey in her dream. “Have fun at your party!”
When she returned to her car, a ticket was stuck under the windshield wiper. She tossed it on the passenger seat so that Derek could mail it to her husband.
Chapter 8: Bags that Don’t Overwhelm
On Monday morning, Gigi Barton called just after 8:00 a.m. “Nancy, marvelous job on the party! Some of my guests are still here and we kept a masseuse and a guitarist to entertain us.”
“I’m uber-thrilled that you were happy with it, Gigi,” Nancy said. “I’ll send the invoices to Mrs. Yao, and I hope you’ll tell your friends about Froth for their events.”
