Designer Knockoff (22 page)
“You tell her yourself if you don’t want her here. I’ll be in the kitchen.” With that, Ruby left the room.
“I do apologize for disturbing you, Mrs. Martin,” Lacey said. “But I have another photograph and I wonder if you could identify a woman in it. It seems to be from the same day as the picnic.”
With a deep sigh, Honey held out her hand and received the photograph. “Your visit brought back a lot of memories. Memories I’m not so proud of. I suppose I judged Gloria too harshly. And I lost a dear friendship over it. Things have changed so much. Now, let me look at this.” Honey peered at the photo through her glasses, then turned it over. “Dotty? No, Dorrie, I think. Dorrie Rogers, I believe it was. I didn’t remember that she was there. She was such a quiet little thing.”
“Who was she?”
“Someone Gloria knew in New York. Yes, she was her roommate.”
“Do you remember anything about her?”
“Not really, I never got the impression they were friends. Mimi felt sorry for Dorrie, and that must be why she invited her along on a picnic over Easter. Mimi was always doing things like that. Things that made you feel that you weren’t quite as good or as charitable as she was. It could be a little irritating, I’ll tell you. But we all went along with her so she wouldn’t think we were as mean or petty as we really were.” Honey set the photo down on a round cherry tilt-top table with scalloped edges.
“Do you know what happened to Dorrie Rogers? And her full name? What was Dorrie short for?”
“Child, I don’t know what happened to Gloria, or what happened with my friendship with Mimi. How on earth can you suppose I know what happened to that little woman? I have no earthly idea.” Honey gestured, then let her hands fall in her lap.
Lacey supposed she had just made the top of Honey Martin’s list of exasperating people. However, she couldn’t resist one more question. “But she was a factory girl?”
“Oh, yes, they both worked at Bentley’s. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m sorry; I really don’t know.” Honey picked up her needlework and focused her attention.
“I’ll just show myself out,” Lacey said. She retrieved the picture from the table and exited quietly, waving to Ruby in the kitchen door.
That evening she settled down on her sofa. She hadn’t exactly run a marathon, but she felt like it. She opened her new folder of the Tremain letters, which also had Gloria’s telltale sketches.
Dear Glad—March 10, 1943Everything I’ve ever wanted is about to come true. I’m going to marry the man I love and we’re going to be a design team. Of course, there is one big complication. Her name is Marilyn. But things will work out. You’ll see....
chapter 15
At six o’clock Monday morning, Lacey had cause to regret her decision the night before to plug the phone back in and return it to the bedroom. It started ringing, crashing insistently into her dreams no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She reached for the receiver. She didn’t even get a word out.
“Lacey, you’ve got to come down to Stylettos right away. I’ve got a brilliant idea.”
“Stella, it’s too early for brilliant ideas.”
“Trust me.”
Lacey snuggled down in her comforter. She had no desire to get up. She yawned. “I’m listening. Dazzle me.”
“We have to create your look for the fashion gala. And not just one look, but, like, a whole gallery of looks, you know? Different Forties styles and makeup, to see what goes with the dress. Miguel and I tried calling you all day yesterday, but your machine didn’t pick up.”
“I gave it the day off. And it’s too early.”
“Wake up! If we don’t do it this morning, we’ll be a whole day behind on the game plan. Meet me at eight o’clock. Come with clean, dry hair, but don’t style it. And dress the part so we can see if it goes.” Lacey groaned. There was always an implied threat that when she didn’t please Stella, retribution would rain down on her hair. Besides, it now seemed that she wasn’t going to the gala for herself, but as the point woman for a whole team.
I wouldn’t want to let the team down.
I wouldn’t want to let the team down.
At eight o’clock, fortified with a large Starbucks latte, Lacy arrived at Stylettos. Stella unlocked the door. The salon didn’t officially open until ten. “What? You didn’t get me a coffee?”
Lacey glared at her. “I don’t remember that order, milady.”
“Never mind, I have a Coke.” Stella handed Lacey the early edition of
The Eye.
“Body Found in Swamp May Be Missing Intern.” The stylist’s dragon-lady nail pointed to the double byline. “I knew it; you were there. She was wearing a jade-green suit. ‘Body showed signs of violence.’ What was it like? I want all the details.”
The Eye.
“Body Found in Swamp May Be Missing Intern.” The stylist’s dragon-lady nail pointed to the double byline. “I knew it; you were there. She was wearing a jade-green suit. ‘Body showed signs of violence.’ What was it like? I want all the details.”
“It was heartbreaking.”
“You poor thing. Don’t worry about a thing; I’ll take care of you,” Stella said. Lacey wore a vintage navy wool crepe suit with pearl buttons. The sleeves ended in buttoned cuffs. She also wore Mimi’s three-strand pearl necklace. She sat in the chair and Stella went to work. “Nothing too extreme,” Lacey warned her. “And if I fall asleep, I’d better recognize myself when I wake up.”
“But the blue mohawk will match your suit.” Armed with a comb, hairpins, and a curling iron, Stella proceeded to transform Lacey. By nine o’clock she stared back at herself in a time warp from 1943, wearing an upswept twist spilling over with saucy pin curls on top, rather like Gloria’s finger curls.
I’m so sophisticated you won’t
know
me.
Gloria’s words echoed again in her head. Lacey marveled at her heavily mascaraed eyes, seductively arched brows, and bright red lips. Stella brushed a little more blush on Lacy’s cheeks. “Voilà! What did I tell you? Forties, right? Fabulous, right?” Stella whipped out a Polaroid camera and took a picture.
I’m so sophisticated you won’t
know
me.
Gloria’s words echoed again in her head. Lacey marveled at her heavily mascaraed eyes, seductively arched brows, and bright red lips. Stella brushed a little more blush on Lacy’s cheeks. “Voilà! What did I tell you? Forties, right? Fabulous, right?” Stella whipped out a Polaroid camera and took a picture.
“Whoa! What’s that for?’
“For the judges, of course. Me and Miguel. This is Look Number One. We’re going to vote. So I want you back here tomorrow. Same time, same place, same station.”
Lacey groaned.
When she got to the office, people noticed. Trujillo was, of course, the first to comment. “Hey, it’s
His Girl Friday.”
His Girl Friday.”
“And it’s only Monday, you lucky fella.”
Trujillo just grinned. “Did you see the story? We nailed it, Lacey! You can be my nature guide anytime.”
Mac wandered over to her desk, looking at her quizzically. “Good job on that Fairchild story. Tragic as hell, but a nice job. What the hell are you all dressed up for? The Pulitzer Prize?”
She ignored this question. “They haven’t officially verified it’s her yet, have they?”
“No, but they will. She was wearing a suit she borrowed from one of her roommates; they ID’d it. But you’re late, Smithsonian. Explanation?”
Explanation? Yes
,
I have one of those.
“I was researching some styles for the Bentley Museum gala, Mac. ‘Sixty Years of American Fashion.’ You remember.”
,
I have one of those.
“I was researching some styles for the Bentley Museum gala, Mac. ‘Sixty Years of American Fashion.’ You remember.”
“Impress me.” He looked like he might believe her.
“Well, the gala will feature a lot of women in vintage looks. Like this. So I’m going to try one out every day to, um”—
Think
fast,
Lacey
—“to see what it takes to get the right look, what kind of preparation women went through. It’s just an idea for a column.”
Think
fast,
Lacey
—“to see what it takes to get the right look, what kind of preparation women went through. It’s just an idea for a column.”
Mac’s eyebrows were dubious. One went up; one went down. “What do you think, Trujillo?”
“I think she looks hot.” He winked at Lacey. “In an old-movie kind of way. I can’t wait to see who she is tomorrow.”
“Different every day, huh?” Mac was thinking. His eyebrows were doing the rhumba across his forehead. Lacey didn’t know what it was he was thinking, but she had a pretty good idea she wouldn’t like it. “I have an idea, Smithsonian. A fashion idea.”
Mac with a fashion idea? She and Tony were both struck dumb at the thought. Mac picked up the phone. “Hansen? Mac Jones here. Come on up to the newsroom and bring some cameras. I’m gonna need—”
Disaster loomed. “Hold on, Mac,” Lacey said.
Am I
so
photogenic all of a sudden? First Stella, now Mac.
She had a sinking feeling.
Am I
so
photogenic all of a sudden? First Stella, now Mac.
She had a sinking feeling.
“—a photo spread. A fashion thing. Yeah, of course it’s for Smithsonian. She’s gonna model five different hairdos for the fashion gala thing. We’ll run it on Sunday as a prelude to that museum thing. How big a spread? Oh, big, really big.”
“Oh, no, not me, Mac. We should get a professional model; this is just an experiment—”
“It’s not like you’re hard news, Lacey. You’re on the fashion beat. Hell, you
are
the fashion beat. You already got the silly hairdo. What’s a few snaps? I gotta go talk to Hansen.”
are
the fashion beat. You already got the silly hairdo. What’s a few snaps? I gotta go talk to Hansen.”
“Wait a minute, buster! It’s not silly!” But he was out of earshot. Mac was getting the wrong idea about her. At this rate she’d never get away from the fashion beat.
Her phone rang. Miguel reported from New York that he had found the right fabric and he narrowed it down to two color choices. He had her twist of silk with him, and he would try for an exact match. Did she trust him to select it? She did. Did she want bugle beads, faux pearls, or both? Gloria’s design stipulated both. Lacey went out on a limb. Both.
“Good choice, and I take it that cost is no object?” Miguel said cheerily.
“Wait a minute, Miguel—”
“ ‘Bye.” He hung up.
She felt like she’d been rolled over by a truck, and the rest of the convoy was due to arrive any minute. She decided to stop trying to solve the mystery of what she’d gotten herself into and concentrate on the mystery at hand. She wanted to find Dorrie Rogers, Gloria’s roommate, who worked for Bentley during the war. Bentley had had a union contract—it was part of his deal in supplying military clothing—so Lacey put in a call to UNITE, the garment workers’ union. After being transferred to a number of different people she eventually found a courteous woman in the press office who said it would be a long shot.
“The only way we could find her is through a pension, if she got one, if she’s still alive,” the woman said in distinctive New York tones. “What if she quit, got married, and changed her name?”
After depressing Lacey with the seeming futility of her quest, she said she would put in a call to the pension people. But if they found her, they would have to contact Miss Rogers first to see if she wanted to talk with Lacey. “Who did you say you were?”
“A reporter with a Washington newspaper.”
“And this is about?”
“She might have witnessed management abuses that may have taken place in that factory.” Lacey thought the union would like the sound of that. It was too early to go hollering
murder.
murder.
“I’ll try,” the woman promised, but not before pointing out that another problem was that no one knew what name Dorrie was a diminutive for. Dorothy seemed the best bet, but she might have been Doreen or Dora or Eudora or something completely unexpected. Worse, it might be her middle name; the pension rolls might list dozens of Mary D. Rogerses and Martha E. Rogerses—and which one was she? “And in the end she might be already dead.” Lacey had a headache, and it wasn’t even ten A.M. yet.
Lacey also made another call to Chevalier and gave him a message for Hugh, saying that she planned to write about both Esme and Gloria, two young women who aimed for the stars but fell to earth too soon. History repeating itself, with the House of Bentley playing a key role in both tragedies. His comments would be welcome.
But unlikely,
Lacey added silently.
But unlikely,
Lacey added silently.
Chevalier suggested politely that she give it a rest. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to keep dragging this up.” He would pass her message along, though, and to her surprise, Hugh called back shortly.
“Is this necessary, Lacey? It’s old news. I thought you had more class than that.”
You hoped I’d roll over.
“I’m a reporter. I have a job to do. I’m just letting you know as a courtesy.”
“I’m a reporter. I have a job to do. I’m just letting you know as a courtesy.”
“Don’t you have something else to write about?”
“I choose my own stories, and this one is running whether you like it or not.” Hugh was silent for too long. She wasn’t going to speak first, so she said good-bye, hung up, and sighed.
“Another happy customer, Smithsonian?” Mac reappeared, ready for the photo session.
“Hugh Bentley. There’s a tiny chance that a story I’m writing is not going to please him.”
“And this is different from your other stories how?”
“He might try to bar me from the fashion gala. Even with a ticket.” Disappointment washed over her. The dress, the preparations, the cost all seemed overwhelming. And now this special humiliation with the photos. She liked the look, but Mac’s photo spread idea was an open invitation to mockery.
I much prefer to be the mocker, not the mockee.
I much prefer to be the mocker, not the mockee.
“Ha. Let him try. And you’re not getting out of the photo shoot.” He laughed diabolically. “ ‘Retro Makeover Turns Tables on
Eye Street Observer
Fashion Maven.’ Or something like that.”
Eye Street Observer
Fashion Maven.’ Or something like that.”
“You’d better not make me look like an idiot. I’m not kidding about this, Mac.”
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