Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (25 page)

“I’m
Pauline Barreau,” she said.
 
“It’s
good to meet you, Ms. Kent.
 
I’ve
heard much about you.”

What has she heard?

“Ms.
Blackwell and I spoke late last night, and we had a meeting of the minds.
 
If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a
private dressing area to show you the dress we both think will be perfect for
you tonight.
 
It’s something that
will set you apart from the rest.”

Late last night?
 
I got home around one.
 
I agreed to go to the event with Alex
around one-thirty.
 
He must have got
Blackwell on the phone and told her to make this happen.
 

At
that moment, I felt for her.
 
But
when I turned to look at her, it was clear that she was in her element and was
getting off on this.
 
She once told
me that she loved fashion, so maybe this was fun for her.
 
Maybe she saw it as a day off.
 
I hoped so.
 

We
went to a dressing room on the third floor, and I got a sense by how private it
was that only a select few were allowed back here.

“Champagne?”
Pauline asked.

“No,
thank you,” I said.

“Ms.
Blackwell?”

“Tempting
as it is, Pauline, I also must pass.
 
Jennifer and I are mainlining caffeine this morning.
 
Why don’t we see the dress?
 
You know I’m dying to see it in
person.
 
You’re so cruel, Pauline,
making me wait like this.”

Pauline
arched an eyebrow in amusement.
 
“Cruel, Ms. Blackwell?”

“Evil.”

“Give
me a moment.”

“I’ve
waited hours for this moment.”

“Just
a moment more....”

“God!”

She
left through a mirrored door and returned with a sheer blue dress that seemed
to float through the air as she carried it toward us.
 
It looked weightless to me until she
held it up, allowing it to drop, and Blackwell and I were able to see the front
of the dress, which was laden with an intricate pattern of crystals.

“Swarovski
Elements,” Blackwell said, circling the garment without touching it.
 
“The design of the crystals is divoon,
Pauline.
 
Beyond divoon.
 
Divoon to the tenth power.
 
Very twenties.
 
Very now.
 
So on trend.
 
Miu Miu designed the dress, Jennifer.
 
Isn’t it fantastic?”
 
She was so caught up in the moment, she
just charged forward, not allowing me to speak.
 
I kind of loved her when she was like
this.
 
She became more human to me.
 
“The blue is just right.
 
Soft.
 
Muted.
 
Slate undertones.”
 
She pointed a finger at Pauline.
 
“Just as you said there’d be.”
 
Then, she looked at me.
 
“The color will work with your hair and
with your skin.
 
I think we’ve found
it.
 
I think this is it.”
 
She put her hand to her chest.
 
“Two in a row!”

“Perhaps
Ms. Kent should try it on before we get too excited.”
 

“Right,
right,” Blackwell said, composing herself.
 
“Jennifer, follow Pauline and try on the dress.
 
I’m too stressed out to think that it
won’t fit.
 
We know the
obstacles—your tantrum of a derriere being the real challenge.
 
Naturally, I’m concerned.
 
Pauline, you have a tailor for me, don’t
you?”

“I
do.”

“And
this can happen today if it doesn’t fit?”

“I
can make it happen within an hour.”

“
Je
t’aime
.
”

I
went into a large changing room surrounded by mirrors, and put on the
dress.
 
I then looked at myself, and
just stopped for a moment.
 
Was this
really my life?
 
I’d been here once
before, but again?
 
Really?
 
The dress was stunning.
 
I could only imagine what I’d look like
when Bernie was finished with me.
 
I
turned this way and that way, and I heard my father’s voice in my head.

Don’t think you’re all that, girl.

“I
don’t,” I said to him in the mirrors.
 
“But I’m working on it.
 
You
won’t hold me back forever.
 
And you
won’t be in my head for the rest of my life, either.
 
I’m getting rid of you, you son of a
bitch.
 
I’m moving forward.”

I
took a breath and walked out of the changing room, knowing I was about to be
judged by Blackwell in the dressing room, which intimidated me.
 
In some ways, her criticism reminded me
of my father, and so I braced myself for whatever she had to say.

But
there was no judgment.
 
When she saw
me, she held up her hands in what looked to me like a show of relief.
 
She turned to Pauline in what looked to
me like a show of gratitude, and then she told me to turn, turn, turn so she
could see, see, see.
 
When I
finished, laughing, she said, “Can you believe this?
 
We just need a nip and a tuck above her
ass, and we’re good!
 
God!”

*
 
*
 
*

Later,
after leaving Bergdorf, we went to Van Cleef & Arpels on Fifth, and
Blackwell, who apparently already had spoken to one of the managers, introduced
me to him.

“This
is Christopher,” she said.
 
“Christopher, Jennifer Kent.
 
Are we good?
 
Great, because
time is running out.
 
Did you find
anything that comes close to what I had in mind?” she asked him.

“I
did.
 
I’ve chosen a few statement
pieces.
 
Vintage pieces from the
twenties.”

“You’re
too good.
 
So smart.
 
Let’s see.”

In
a private room at the back of the store, he showed us a bracelet that made me
catch my breath.
 
It was a line
bracelet, streamlined in design, with geometric panels indicative of the Art
Deco period.
 
The diamonds and
sapphires that encompassed it were set in platinum.

“Try
it on,” Blackwell said.

I
held out my wrist, and Christopher fastened the bracelet around it.
 
Before I could admire it, Blackwell took
hold of my wrist and turned it over.
 
Her eyes flicked up to Christopher’s.

“You’ll
need to take out two links,” she said.
 
“Otherwise, it’s fantastic.
 
Jennifer?
 
Thoughts?”

“It’s
beautiful.”

She
turned back to Christopher.
 
“You
have matching earrings?”

He
did.
 
I tried them on.
 
They were large sapphire teardrops
framed with tiny, delicate diamonds also set in platinum.
 
Blackwell held my chin in her hand,
appraised them, approved of them, and bought them.
 
In a cloud of disbelief, I watched her
shower Christopher with a flourish of air kisses before I followed her out of
the building and onto the sidewalk.
 
She led me to the limousine waiting for us curbside, and we stepped
inside.

“Success,”
she said.

“I
don’t know how you do it.”

“I
love fashion.
 
Absolutely live for
it.
 
So far, today has been like a
vacation for me.
 
Thank you.”

I
didn’t know what to say.
 
Being
treated like this was humbling.

“You’re
probably hungry,” she said.
 
“So am
I, even if the very idea of eating repels me.
 
No one should eat—ever.
 
But I suppose we have to don’t we?
 
Of course, we do.
 
Otherwise, we’ll just end up looking
like shit in a coffin, which absolutely will not do, unless we’re cremated.
 
There’s a thought.
 
No one will know then.
 
Hmmmm.
 
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
 
Salad?
 
Something light?
 
We’ve got time.”

“Sure,”
I said.

“I
suggest a salad for you.
 
Some
hardcore roughage.
 
Give it an hour
or two, and it will clear you out.
 
You’ll thank me later.”

“Isn’t
that was the Spanx is for?”

“Spanx
can only do so much, Jennifer.
 
Trust me.
 
We’re talking
total body cleanse here.
 
Let’s do
it.
 
Let’s get rid of whatever’s in
you.”

I
looked at her and blushed.

*
 
*
 
*

It
was just after four o’clock when we arrived at a very simple and understated
salad bar on Park called, “Salade.”

“It
looks cheap because it is cheap.
 
It’s a damned hole in the wall, but it’s clean, well managed, and
painstakingly attended to.
 
It’s
über fresh and, in a weird kind of way, it’s kind of fabulous.
 
You don’t always have to spend the kind
of money we just spent to get the results you want.
 
I come here almost every day.
 
Salad, salad, salad.
 
Thin, thin, thin.
 
Slim, slim, slim.
 
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
 
Eat what I tell you to eat, and you’ll
send me roses me tomorrow.”

“Is
that your favorite flower?”

“God,
no.”

“What
is?”

“Why
do you want to know?”

“I’m
just curious.”

“You’re
going to judge me for this.”

“No,
I won’t.”

“Yes,
you will, but it is what it is.
 
The
flower is very rare.
 
You can hardly
find it, and if you do, it’s in the low-lying tropical rainforests of
Indonesia.
 
It’s the Corpse Flower.”

Of course, it is.

“Don’t
you dare make a face at me, Jennifer.
 
It’s endangered--but who or what isn’t?
 
My wardrobe is endangered at the end of
every season.
 
It just dies in my
closets, and then I have the lot of it thrown out.
 
God!
 
The flower smells like crap, it dies within
a week, and yes, it eats flies and other bugs to survive, but when it’s in bloom,
it’s divoon.
 
It’s almost a meter
wide.
 
And it’s gorgeous.
 
I love it.”

“Who
knew?” I said.

When
we went to the salad bar, which was enormous, Blackwell was precise in what she
wanted me to eat.
 
“Take the
romaine.
 
Get the spinach.
 
No, no—more of it.
 
And the arugula.
 
Don’t be so prissy, Jennifer.
 
Jesus.
 
Pile it on.
 
We came here for a cleanse.
 
Now, the endive.
 
That’s right.
 
And the bib lettuce.
 
And the radicchio.
 
Look at you.
 
Perfect.
 
Try the frisée.
 
Not that.
 
That’s iceberg.
 
God!
 
It’s the other one.
 
That’s right.
 
The one that looks like it’s been
electrocuted.
 
Get lots of
that.
 
Oh, and the watercress and
the mache.
 
Yes, that’s right,
those.
 
Finish it all with a
small
drop of oil and a huge dollop of fresh
lemon and vinegar, and you’re on your way to an A.
 
What are you doing?
 
Don’t you dare touch the salt!”

“What
about tomatoes?” I said.
 
“Mushrooms?
 
Cucumbers and
peppers?
 
Maybe one of those
hard-boiled eggs right there.
 
I’d
love to have one of those.”