Southern Charm (21 page)

Kevin looked at Jenny and smiled. I couldn't believe this was actually a job. I almost felt like I should be paying Kevin, not the other way around!

“Feel free to take everything home and look it over in detail, by the way,” Jenny added. “And of course let me know if you have any questions. But maybe we can go over a few dates while we have you here?”

Lane handed me a calendar for the month of February with several dates highlighted. The first thing I noticed was the Kevin Park fashion show at Lincoln Center. I'd secretly hoped I was going to be invited. I'd only been to a fashion show once in my life. My cousin Virginia was working for Ralph Lauren at the time. My mother and I were due to be in New York for a few days before I went back to school and Virginia mentioned she could get me backstage. It was such a cool experience, being in the thick of everything, the makeup artists and hairstylists working in a frenzy to get the models finished in time.

I could barely see the models from where we sat, but it was such a treat nonetheless. Afterward, I turned to my right and I saw legendary
Vogue
editor André Leon Talley had been standing next to us the whole time. I was starstruck! And I couldn't believe someone of his stature would deign to watch the show from the nosebleed seats. It was like the fashion equivalent of seeing a celebrity on the subway. Virginia explained that sometimes he preferred to watch the show from the bleachers because they were more “low-key.”

I couldn't believe how much had changed since that day. I was actually getting
invited
to fashion shows, with my own seat and everything. “I'm so excited to go to the show,” I said.

“Oh, honey,” he said, “you won't just be
attending
the show, you'll be walking in it.”

“What?” I couldn't help but nearly jump out of my seat, and not in a good way. “You're kidding, right?”

Kevin laughed. “Not in the slightest. It will be your big debut. I'm thinking I'll have you walk in the grand finale dress.”

“Kevin, you're crazy!” I said.

My phone started vibrating. Mother. I ignored it.

“So, anyway,” Kevin said, standing up, “Jenny will schedule a few minutes for you to come in tomorrow to make sure everything is perfect with the dress. We have your measurements on file already so it should be all set, but there are always a few last-minute adjustments.”

“I'll e-mail you first thing in the morning when I have a better idea of how the day is going to pan out,” Jenny said.

“Sounds good!”

A
s I was walking out of Kevin's studio, I called my mother back. She was due to arrive in New York Tuesday evening, a few days before the engagement party, so we could iron out some wedding details and do a little dress shopping. Maybe she had another activity to add to our itinerary, I thought.

“Oh, Minty,” she said, “this is just awful.”

I frowned. What was she talking about? Did she see my photo in Bruce Williams's column and hate it? Was it my hair?

“Mommy,” I began, “it was a theme party. I was dressed up like Marie Antoinette!”

There was silence.

“I'm telling you,” I said, “a lot of people at the Frick were dressed up in theme!” Okay, not a lot of people, but she didn't have to know that. I stood on the corner of Washington and Jane and hailed a cab. I had less than twenty minutes to make it up to Columbus Circle to meet Emily for our spa day.

“The Frick?” She paused. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I am not talking about the Frick.”

“Columbus Circle, please,” I said. The cab took off. “What are you talking about then? You didn't see the photo of Tripp and me in ‘Sunday Styles'? It's amazing!”

“Sweetie, I'm sure it is and, God, I would have looked at it if I hadn't been dealing with this ‘Page Six' thing all morning.”

“‘Page Six'?” I looked down at my lap and realized I'd left both of my newspapers at Kevin's office. Shit. What the hell was in the
Post
? I could tell from her tone that it was bad. Like, epically bad. I closed my eyes.

“Just tell me,” I said.

She sighed loudly.

“Check the Internet, honey,” she said, suddenly sounding rushed. “I've got the Hendersons and the Gregorys coming over for brunch. Up to my ears in errands. Oh, and your sister is calling on the other line. Gotta go. Bye.”

“What on earth?” The cab approached a newsstand on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-seventh Street. “Sir,” I said, “do you mind stopping here quickly? I need to pick up a copy of the
Post
.”

He swerved over to the right, nearly sending me flying across the seat. “Make it quick,” he said. “There's no standing on this corner.”

I rushed over to the newsstand, threw a dollar at the guy in the window, grabbed a copy, and ran back to the cab, which, thankfully, was still waiting on the corner. I barely had time to close the door before he sped off again and I was thrown backward into the seat. I didn't care. I just wanted to know what the hell was going on!

I skimmed through the headlines:
BLOOMBERG'S BLUNDER, NIX TIME FOR THE KNICKS?, GIRL SAVES RAT FROM SUBWAY AND KEEPS AS PET,
and so on. Finally, there it was, the headline simple enough:
PARTY OVER FOR SOUTHERN DEB?

The item started with the news of my departure from RVPR, saying that I'd been “replaced” by a “pretty young thing” named Alexis Barnaby who'd been recruited from the offices of a rival fashion PR firm, where she had been working as an intern while taking classes at FIT. There was a direct quote from Ruth, who said that I had grown “too big for my britches” but that she wished me the “best of luck.”

For a second I was almost relieved. I wondered why my mother thought this was so bad. Why did she sound so shocked? And then I reached the final paragraph.
No stranger to the late nights and indulgent lifestyle of Manhattan's elite, bachelor du Pont may know how to play the role of doting fiancé, but there's evidence he's spreading the love beyond the boundaries of his commitment to Miss Minty. As recently as only a few weeks ago, he was seen escorting a certain comely cougar back to his Upper East Side bachelor pad.

I closed the newspaper. I might have developed a tough skin over the last couple of months, but I wasn't made of Teflon. There was something so official about seeing the words printed in black and white. It was almost like the
Post
was confirming a sneaking suspicion I'd had deep down for some time now. As the cab pulled up in front of Emily, who was waiting on the corner, my phone buzzed: Tripp, of course. I noticed he'd already texted me several times,
CALL ME
. Half of me wanted to call him and hear what he had to say. The other half needed some time to process the whole thing. I put my phone back in my Lady Dior bag.

“Em,” was all I could say as I rushed over to her.

We hugged.

“Let's get inside,” she said.

Once we made it up to the thirty-fifth floor and checked in, Emily and I met in a little seating area overlooking the park and waited for our therapists. We had one of the most amazing views I'd ever experienced in New York.

Emily broke the silence, clearly trying to keep the conversation lighthearted and fun. “First of all, the ‘Sunday Styles' photo is
beyond
. You've arrived, Mints,” she said with a smirk.

I stuck out my tongue and let it hang there for a moment. Literally, that was all I could bring myself to do. I didn't even have a raspberry noise left in me.

“Are you okay?”

“I just read the
Post
in the cab over here,” I said. “I just keep hearing the words ‘comely cougar' over and over again in my head.”

“Oh God, you
just
read it?”

“Yes. I had my meeting with Kevin first thing this morning! I glanced at the
Times
and that's it. No wonder Kevin asked me if I was doing all right when I walked into his office! I can't believe this!”

“Well, look at it this way,” Emily said. “They say it's better to be on ‘Page Six' than to
not
be on ‘Page Six'!”

There was some truth to what she was saying, but it wasn't what I needed to hear at that moment. I needed to hear the
real
truth, and I had a nagging feeling that Emily was hiding something.

“Just spill it, Em,” I said.

She looked down at the floor.

“Listen,” she sighed. “It's not that I know anything. It's just that yes, I've heard things. And I'm not saying Tripp is a bad guy or that he doesn't love you. But, like I've said in the past, he's not always honest about everything.”

“Emily, just tell me! I'm ready!”

“I saw him that night,” she blurted. “I'm pretty sure it's the same night they're talking about in ‘Page Six.' About a week before Christmas, May Abernathy had a little get-together at her apartment on Gramercy Park.” She paused for a quick breath. “I can't remember why you weren't there. I think you were working late or something? Tabitha showed up and I was going to tell you, I just didn't know if it was worth it. I mean honestly, Minty, I'm not even one hundred percent sure anything happened!”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Slow down. So Tabitha was just
at
this party or you saw them leave together or what?”

Emily was silent.

“Em.”

“It was pretty late,” she said. “And I was a little tipsy myself. Tripp said good-bye and walked to the door by himself. But Tabitha followed him.”

“She
what
?”

“She followed him to the door,” Emily said. “And yes, I saw them leave together.”

If Tabitha really wanted to sneak around with my fiancé, she could just as easily have texted him and set up a time and place to meet in
private. Was she hoping it would get back to me somehow? Probably. I pictured her curling up with her Sunday
New York Post
and smiling to herself, satisfied. Before I had a chance to respond, our therapists came out and handed us each an “organic purification tea” which was supposed to jump-start the detoxification process. I felt like I already had toxins oozing out of my pores between Tripp, Tabitha, and “Page Six.”

I sipped my tea, which tasted like licorice and dirt.

“Just take a deep breath, first of all. It's a stupid newspaper.”

“But what about the tiny little fact that my fiancé might be running around behind my back?”

“You don't know if it's a fact yet. You have to talk to him first.” She paused. “Have you talked to him yet?”

I thought about my phone, far away in the ladies' locker room where I didn't have to think about it for at least another three hours—more if I finished up my treatment in the sauna and vitality pool. In fact, if I played my cards right, I could probably extend my spa visit into an entire spa day.

“No,” I said. “I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to him, especially after what you just told me.”

“That's fair,” Emily said.

“What bothers me the most,” I said, “is I don't even know this woman. I've seen her a few times from afar and that's about it. Tripp swears she's obsessed with him, that she practically stalks him. Maybe that's true but at the same time I feel like she's out to get
me
as well. It just all feels so . . . deliberate. It's like she's trying to get caught or get Tripp in trouble.”

“The thing that you need to remember about Tabitha,” Emily said, taking a sip of her tea, “is that she'll do what it takes to stay on top. No matter what.”

Gossip Is an Unladylike Endeavor

A
s I hailed a cab outside of the Mandarin Oriental, I summoned up the courage to check my phone. No less than fifteen missed calls from Tripp. The last text message had come in a few minutes ago, around two thirty
P.M
.