Being Audrey Hepburn (13 page)

“Insane, actually, we just finished.”

“Lovely, can’t wait to hear it,” I said, smiling at the other band members as I sauntered off, my body tingling from my toes to my updo with a brazen sort of confidence I’d never felt before.

I couldn’t believe it, little me, a nobody from South End mingling with fancy-schmancy rock and rollers. Who’d have thought? I spied Jess on the balcony with her camera—she gave me a thumbs-up.

Ah, confidence … I can do this,
I thought, until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“I know what you’re up to,” he said, and I wanted to die.

I turned slowly to give myself a few extra milliseconds to formulate an excuse or find a getaway.

He wore a sharply styled black leather jacket. His face was sort of familiar, but I didn’t know why. My eyes met his. His wry smile gave the impression he knew me. Was that a good smile or an evil one? I couldn’t tell. His lively brown eyes were inquisitive and striking against the backdrop of his tousled auburn hair, and he was holding a video camera.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met?” I asked with false bravado.

“Not formally, but I’ve seen you before,” he said. “Where was it, do you know?”

Panicked, I scanned his eyes, searching for intent. Was he the cameraman outside the Met that first night who turned the camera light away from me? Did he already know I was the same skinny girl in jeans gawking at all the celebrities on the red carpet outside the Met?

I went full-on Audrey to distract him. It was my only option.

“Darling, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, which is unfortunate…” His burnished brown eyes connected with mine, and I froze. He examined me with such intensity that I blinked.

“Unfortunate?” he asked.

Oh jeez, how was I going to finish that sentence? What was I even trying to say? He was just a nosy cameraman … I had to get out of there.

“It’s unfortunate because I’m late to meet someone,” I said, scanning the room for an escape route. “Please excuse me.” I turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said, thrusting his hand in my direction. “Chase Reynold, Lux TV.” I smiled and offered my hand reluctantly.

“So nice to meet you, Chase Reynold, Lux TV,” I said. “Funny last name, Lux TV.” Now it was his turn to be flustered.

“Actually it’s just my production company. I had to put something on the camera. I’m a fashion shooter. I feed footage to Web sites, cover Fashion Week, parties, that kind of thing. Here’s my card in case you want more, uh, coverage.” He gave a quick glance up at the balcony where Jess was standing. She gave me a quizzical look, wondering what was going on.

“Well, that’s very interesting, but I really must be going.”

He laughed. “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “Always making an entrance, then slipping away. Trying to control your image.”

“Uh yes, you’re absolutely right,” I said. “A girl has to preserve her privacy, don’t you think? I appreciate your confidentiality. Now if you don’t mind…”

My heart pounded ferociously as I walked to the bar. I asked for a glass of champagne and sipped it quickly. I stalled and then pretended to wave at someone and moved toward the exit. It was so lame and fakey. I certainly wasn’t fooling anyone but myself. I scanned the balcony for Jess, but she was gone. Chase Lux made me nervous. We needed to get out of there, fast.

“Miss Dulac, it’s so marvelous to see you again.”

I jumped, surprised to hear my fake name spoken by anyone. Turning, I found my new pal, Isak Guerrere.

“Aren’t you the girl about town? But you shouldn’t be hiding in the corner, pet, especially when you’re wearing yet another stunning party frock! Avoiding one of your many admirers, I assume?”

“What a pleasure it is to see you,” I said. I already loved Isak. He made me feel drop-dead gorgeous in the way only a gay designer could.

Giving me the once over, he twirled me like a ballerina as he touched the gown at my waist. “Certainly original fabric, but pristine. Another startling redux by … what did you say the designer’s name was?”

I giggled. “Isak, darling, you know I’m sworn to secrecy.” I took another sip of my drink, noticed the Lux guy move away, and felt comfortable again.

My phone rang, and I lifted it from my clutch without thinking.

“Hello, darling.”

“Lizzy, that you?” Shit. It was Jake. “You’re talkin’ kinda funny.”

My heart jumped, I hadn’t talked to Jake in three days. I’d missed him the night before at the diner because Jess and I ditched work, and there was another one of his shows the night after.

“Listen, Lizzy, after our shift do you want to—”

I panicked and hung up on him.

“Poor boy,” said Isak. How he could tell, I don’t know. I gave a tentative smile. But I felt like crap. I didn’t want to treat Jake like that, but I’d just spent the last hour doing my most convincing Audrey to an audience of reporters, celebrities, fashionistas, and one of the most famous fashion designers in the country, which meant if I uttered one more word in front of Isak, it would have blown my cover.

“Well, I’m very happy to see you here tonight,” Isak said, breaking the awkward silence. “These events can be so tedious.” He seemed oddly weary, as though party going was boring for him. I guess new meat like me was good for a change. “Perhaps another drink?”

Jess reappeared on the balcony, alarmed and motioning for us to leave.

“Isak, darling, you’re so wonderful, but our timing is inopportune. I’m on my way out,” I said as calmly as I could manage.

“So soon? Such a shame,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever will I do without you? I do hope that I’ll find you again at that event for your friend…” Before he could finish, the glare of a camera light was on us.

“Mr. Guerrere, can I get a quick shot of you two?” Chase Whatever was back with a self-satisfied expression, his eyes locking on mine.

My first instinct was to bolt. But it would appear suspicious if I did. So I snuggled right up to Isak and posed. How long could one photo take?

Chase laughed.

What had I done?

He leaned forward and whispered, “Uh, this is video. It’s okay for you to move.” He’d said “shot”—didn’t that mean photo? I felt my face flush red.

“Awfully sorry,” I said.

“In fact, movement is preferable,” Chase advised. Isak rolled his eyes. My palms began sweating, and my pulse pounded in my ears. Where was Jess? How could I get out of this? I knew I could pose for a camera shot—but video? I had never even YouTubed. This was absolutely out of my league.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I whispered to Isak. “It was delightful to see you again, but I really must go.” The sad little beast inside was crying for help. But Isak firmly grasped my arm, never breaking eye contact with the camera.

“Not so fast, cupcake,” he said. “Stand, smile, and look gorgeous while I drone on about tonight’s worthy cause. You’ll be fine.”

I had two options: give in to my terror and run or stay and risk passing out. I decided there really wasn’t a choice. I prayed Jess could hold on.

“Of course,” I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself, trying very hard not to think about the video camera. I’d seen celebrities stand there as the cameras rolled, appearing relaxed and poised, and I grew determined to stand up straight and smile like someone who belonged there instead of what I really was—a Holly Golightly imposter in a fifty-year-old dress.

“So, Mr. Guerrere, you’re here at the Cheetah Conservation benefit. I know you’re a big wildlife supporter. What should we know about tonight’s event?” Chase asked.

Chase seemed to know that if he gave Isak a softball question, he would run with it. Isak, ham that he was, launched into a speech that sounded as if he were reading from a brochure. All the right words were there: “natural heritage,” “holistic approach,” “outreach,” and “race for survival.” He even had an anecdote about Jane Goodall.

I started to see spots in front of my eyes and realized I must be hyperventilating. But somewhere between willing myself to smile and hoping I wouldn’t faint, something magical happened. I found myself staring right down the lens of the camera, and, astonishingly, I felt warm all over. I actually loved standing there.

Then it was over, as quickly as it began. The warmth of the light went away, and the magic of that moment was gone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Jess, up on the balcony. Her back was turned, and she was talking to someone. As she shifted, I realized what her panic was about. Her boss, Mr. Myers, was standing inches away, yelling right in her face. Shit.

“Thanks, Isak,” Chase said.

I instinctively looked down at my bare wrist to check my imaginary watch. “I am … very … late. Terribly sorry, Isak darling.” Isak and I exchanged air kisses, a first for me. It was just as goofy as it appeared in the movies and felt ridiculous.

“Chase, dear, it was so nice to meet you,” I said.

“We’ll meet again soon. I’m sure of that,” he said.

I tried not to worry what he meant when he said that.

I glanced up and spotted Jess out of the corner of my eye. Myers was gone, and she was frantically waving her arms at me like some sort of psychotic airport-runway worker. She seemed as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

It was time to go.

20

Jess threw herself on my bed, her arms spread out like she wanted to be crucified. “I’m such an idiot,” she said.

“Come on, Jess, was it really that bad?” We’d been sitting in my bedroom all afternoon. I’d run out of arguments to make her feel better. Although we’d been gloriously successful in our debut with Nan’s dresses, she was quitting. No more Being Audrey.

“I got so carried away with your crazy project, I forgot what I’m supposed to be doing,” she said, burying her face in the pillows. I didn’t know what to say, so I sat on the edge of the bed and worried.

Apparently, Mr. Myers caught Jess taking photos of me in the museum. Normally that wasn’t a big deal—museum visitors could take pictures all the time as long as they didn’t use flash or put their camera on a tripod—
except in certain areas
. The party was in one of the contemporary galleries, and that was one of the
except in certain areas
you couldn’t take pictures in. Of course, not everyone knew that photography was strictly forbidden in the contemporary galleries, so usually a guard just asked you to refrain. But Jess knew because she worked there. Only she forgot because she was taking pictures of me.

Myers didn’t fire her, but he came close. Worse, he screamed at her in front of everyone.

When we were leaving the Met, her face was so flushed and embarrassed I thought she would fall apart crying in front of everyone, and Jess never cries. She also never makes mistakes at work—she felt totally exposed—and I could understand why. It probably hadn’t helped that I was downstairs playing ingenue with Isak and Chase.

“Myers hates me!” she said. I could barely hear her voice muffled in the pillow. Weird reversal. Jess was always more daring than me. But unexpectedly, I was on this strange track where I was willing to risk everything. Unlike Jess, I didn’t really want to keep all those things I was risking. My life might go down in flames, but it wasn’t a life I wanted to have anyway.

Working toward a career that made sense to everyone, Jess was supported by her family at every turn, while I was doomed to be a nurse-practitioner, which might be a perfectly good profession, just not for me.

She stood up, crossed the room, and began digging in her monster bag—tossing out a pair of textured thigh highs, a professional sewing kit, an entire library of rumpled paperback books, pliers, balled-up dollar bills, and a complete Allen wrench set. She could have pulled out a live rabbit, and I wouldn’t have been surprised. She kept digging.

“What are you looking for?”

“Shhh,” she said, furiously burrowing around the secret pockets of her massive bag. “Arrrggggg!!!!” She turned the whole thing upside down, and the remaining contents came pouring out all over the bed—coins rolled across the floor, and everything else went everywhere.

“There it is,” she groaned, like she’d finally located a lost child. She snatched the Hershey’s Cookies ’n’ Creme bar off the bed, ripped the wrapping off, and maniacally bit into it. Not a pretty sight, especially when you consider that Jess spent a whole lot of will power trying not to feed her sugar jones. Inside Jess’s skinny, pixielike body, there was a portly, chubby-cheeked Italian girl just dying to get her hands on a meatball sub.

She wiped her mouth, “God, I need a cannoli.”

Jessica Giovanna Pagliazzi was Jess’s full christening name. In the old-world Italian tradition, Jess’s nonna lived with her—along with a revolving collection of assorted cousins and distant relatives who frequently visited from the old country.

Her dad owned a takeout pizzeria and deli. The whole family worked there at one point or another. Every meal at home was a feast, and there was always room for one more at the table. Jess loved her nonna, but she was a massive food pusher of everything Neapolitan—chicken cacciatore, steak pizzaiola, manicotti, lasagna, and her seven-thousand-calorie macaroni and mayonnaise salad.

“You look tired. Eat something!” she’d say. “Bella, you’re too skinny,
mangia!
You seem sad today.
Mangia, mangia!
” With all that delicious food and the constant pressure to eat, Jess developed a weight problem. It was practically unavoidable.

If I’d lived with Jess’s family, I probably would have been chubby, too—all my mom ever had in the house was vodka, ramen noodles, and cigarettes, so I never had that concern. Jess went through years of idiotic elementary school ridicule, and despite four summers at fat camp (which Jess paid for herself out of babysitting money because her family all thought her weight was just fine), everyone still called her Chubby Cheeks.

Nothing worked until the tenth grade, when Jess just decided to give her life a massive makeover. She changed everything by sheer force of will: exercised like a maniac and never touched pasta again. Then she came out to her entire family at a Sunday dinner, got her belly button pierced and her first tattoo.