Fashionably Late (51 page)

Once they realize I’m American, they respect me less, but by then it’s harder for them to be snotty.” Lisa laughed. Karen took another sip of her infusion. It felt good to share this time with her sister. It had been too long. Lisa seemed almost tipsy with pleasure. She seemed to have recovered without a scar from the bat mitzvah travesty. “Will Tiff be all right, without you this week?” Karen asked. “She could have come, too.” Karen hadn’t had time or courage to ask how Tiff had recuperated from the ordeal.

“Oh, she’ll be fine with Belle,” Lisa answered Karen.

“Why? We never were,” Karen said. Lisa just laughed.

“I’m going to take Stephanie back to the hotel for a rest and then Mercedes is bringing her over to the Grand Palais. I’m just going to do a little window shopping and then I’ll be there for the black show.

I can’t wait to see Stephie in that wedding dress.” Lisa reached across the table and took Karen’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. “This is so exciting for both of us. I just can’t thank you enough.”

Stephanie jerked her head, tilting her hair over her face again.

“Mother!” she said.

Lisa kept right on, despite her daughter’s embarrassment. “And, Karen, you are going to accept the NormCo deal when you meet them over here?

It’s going to mean so much to me.”

“Yeah. A new wardrobe,” Stephanie muttered.

Karen sat back in her chair. “How did you know about the meeting?”

“Oh, I guess Jeffrey mentioned it.”

Karen stared at her sister. Was Lisa blushing? Karen heard the irritation in her voice and saw her sister look away in embarrassment.

To change the focus, Karen looked at her niece’s untouched plate. “Are we finished?” she asked rhetorically. “Let’s take a look around.

Then I’ll get you back to the hotel for your beauty rest.”

Later, after it all, Karen couldn’t believe it. In her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have imagined the tumult, swarming press, the customers in a feeding frenzy. Maybe Defina was right, she thought. Low expectations were the secret to happiness. Because she had been so filled with apprehension about the show, because Paris had meant so much and seemed so unconquerable for a Jewish girl from Brooklyn, she was transported by the reaction the dual shows had generated.

Everything had gone like clockwork, but it had been a jazzed-up, hip, hell of a clock. All the novice models had come alive on the runway.

Their freshness had worked in her favor. But they hadn’t looked like kids dressed up in women’s clothes except maybe for Stephie. Their simplicity had set off the sophistication of Karen’s designs. The clothes had been successful beyond her expectations. She’d torn herself away from the black show at the Grand Palais and run by limo to the Place des Vosges in time to see the last quarter of the white show.

Her only regret was that she missed the explosion when Stephanie had slouched down the Grand Palais runway in the black cloud of the closing wedding gown. Apparently the audience had gone berserk. Meanwhile, at the Place des Vosges, Karen had been dragged down the runway by Tangela and all the other young models at the close of the white show, where she’d been handed a fabulous bouquet of black tulips and white lilies by Carl. It was sincere, not orchestrated, and she really hadn’t expected it, or the standing ovation that followed.

Paris had cheered for her! Jeffrey had stood there too, his arms crossed, his smile a grin of approval that stretched from ear to ear.

It had been wonderful. And Defina, behind her, had whispered in her ear.

“It don’t get any better than this.” As usual, it seemed as if Defina was right.

But it turned out that Defina was wrong. Because back at the hotel, in Jeffrey’s arms, it did get better. He fed her caviar wrapped in tiny crepes and held the champagne glass to her mouth. He babied her. “You did it!” he said, over and over. “You did it!”

He covered her face in kisses and then worked his way down. Then he gave her a back massageţa real four-star one. “Ouch! Not so hard!”

she begged.

“What’s the difference between light and hard?” he asked. She shrugged under his strong hands. “You can sleep with a light on,” Jeffrey said, and she groaned at the silly joke and at the way his fingers were finding and unknotting the muscles in her neck. High on the massage, the excitement, the champagne, the success, and the relief, she felt that she could totally abandon herself to his love.

And he was wild. Sex had always been good between them, but now, tonight, Karen felt his passion for her more than she ever had before.

He seemed to want to possess every inch of her, to claim all of her as his own. And she let him, bathed in the luxury of complete approval.

For once in her life, Karen felt perfectly loved.

Defina sashayed down the long promenade of the Plaza Athenee Hotel to the bergere beside Karen’s. As she sank into the armchair, she grinned.

She knew that every woman’s eye had been on her. There were no wives of marchands de fromage in this joint. “Still got what it takes, if I do say so myself. Maybe I should lose a few pounds and go back to the runway.”

“Maybe you should sleep a few hours and get back to reality,” Karen teased. “Want some tea?”

“Best tea sandwiches?” Defina asked.

“William Poll.”

Defina nodded agreement. “Best tea?”

“In New York? The Stanhope. But in London, Claridge’s.”

Defina shook her head. “Nuh-uh. You ever had tea on the fourth floor of Harrod’s? To die for.”

One of the young, attractive waiters approached. Karen wondered if management selected them as a special treat for the women of a certain age who regularly took their tea at the Plaza Athenee. The young men always seemed so proud to serve, as if it were an honor. She turned to Defina.

“What will you have?” she asked.

Defina ordered Earl Grey and some sandwiches. Le the Anglais was always served in the afternoon at the Plaza. Once the waiter left with their order, Defina turned to Karen. “Well, girlfriend, you did it.

Everybody, and I mean everybody, is talking about the show. Tout Paris. How does it feel to have a triumph like this?”

Karen grinned. “Pretty fucking good,” she admitted. And after this tea, she was meeting Jeffrey back at the hotel for a good night’s sleep, her first in weeks. No worrying about the deal, about the show, or about the baby phone. Karen felt most of the pressure drop from her shoulders. She took a deep breath and relaxed.

The waiter returned, an assistant behind him, carrying the tea service and all the little goodies that came with it. Karen leaned back, crossed her legs, and watched the rest of the room watch her and Defina. For this week, in Paris, Karen was a recognizable star. It was gratifying, but kind of silly too. I mean, when it comes right down to it, it’s just schmates, Karen thought.

With that thought, somehow, all at once, despite the show, despite the good press, despite the orders, and despite Jeffrey’s passion last night, Karen’s giddy mood began to evaporate. She felt, suddenly, as flat as the champagne she and Jeffrey had left overnight on the bedside table. It’s just schmates. Is that all she’d be left with in the end?

As if sensing her mood shift, Defina patted her hand. “Where’s your husband?” she asked.

“Sleeping it off,” Karen told her. “He put in quite a performance last night.”

Defina pursed her lips. “Yeah, baby. Nothing like a little success to act as an aphrodisiac.” She smiled, but Karen could see it was directed inward, at memories, not at her. “Nights after a big show, I could had any man I wanted.” Defina laughed. “Well, I did have any man I wanted.

But, of course, you couldn’t keep them. Not usually.”

“But Defina, they didn’t leave you. You usually threw them out.”

“Yeah. Because they couldn’t give me what I wanted. Let’s face it, girlfriend: most men want to find a mother. Well, everyone knows that, but the big secret is that it isn’t just men who want mothers. We do, too. And there ain’t no chance that we’re gonna get em. Why do you think women always complain that men don’t cuddle enough in bed? How come we’re always disappointed? How come you live with any man long enough and you come to see him as weak? As a child? Because he ain’t a mother to you! And the few men who could be are usually ignored by women because they’re not what we see as attractive.” Defina whooshed out a sigh from somewhere deep inside. She shook her head. “I could write a book,” she said. “Sure was one thing my African ancestors got right: worship the fertility goddess, the mother. That’s all anybody wants. A real mom.”

“Well, I’m still looking for mhae.”

Defina raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, how’s that going? And what has Belle said about it?” she asked.

Karen snorted. “I’m crazy, not stupid. I haven’t told Belle. Nobody knows, not even Jeffrey. But the detective hasn’t called. I guess he’s only come up with dead ends. Do you think it’s crazy?”

Defina looked at Karen, her black eyes warm with understanding.

“Karen, I think you’re a miracle girl. You keep spinning out designs and businesses and jobs and money for everybody. Sometimes I ask myself when the well is going to run dry.” She reached out and took Karen’s hand. “I just hope that this is something that will feed you.

What did Madame Renault say?”

“Madame Renault said I already found my mother,” Karen murmured. “She was wrong about that, but she also said I was in a web and would have to break strands and that each of them would bleed.” Karen paused.

“And that I have a child waiting. It doesn’t seem like it. That’s the only thing that really makes me sad.”

“Madame knows a lot of things.”

“But she also said I already had my mother.”

“Well, you do.”

“I don’t know, Defina. Somehow this isn’t enough. Maybe if Belle were different, if we were closer or if I was … well, anyway, I feel more connected to you and Carl than I do to my family. Maybe that’s why I wanted a baby so much. To feel connected, to make Jeffrey and me into more than just a couple. I’m not related by blood to anyone I know. It makes me feel sometimes like I’m lost in space, in that big black nothingness. Sometimes I wake up at night with the sweats. I’m just connected to the mother-ship by a thin life line, and sometimes I feel it might snap.”

Defina nodded. “Just like a spider with a line of silk! Did you ever see them throw themselves out into space to weave? They’re taking a chance, every single time. They got to do it or else they’d never create anything. But I bet it don’t feel good, even to a spider.”

They were interrupted by a throat clearing, and looked up to see Carl towering over them. “Longer in tooth, perhaps, but more beautiful than ever,” he said, and kissed each of them on both cheeks. Karen could see he was in new clothes from head to foot. “You look awfully grim for two girls who have just taken Paris by storm,” Carl said. “Mind if I join the funeral? I see you got the best table in town. As well you should. Hey, did you check out the jewelry on some of these babes?”

Karen raised her eyebrows. “Carl, there isn’t a babe in this entire hotel. Not at these prices.”

“Well excuser-moi. You’re absolutely right. I stand corrected. You can take the boy out of Lawn Guylind but you can’t take Lawn Guylind out of the boy.” He sat himself gingerly in afauteiZ that a waiter had discreetly provided.

“Speaking of babes, what’s the news on the baby front?” Carl asked.

Karen brought him and Defina up-to-date. Defina patted Karen’s arm.

“You’ll find your baby,” Defina said. “You got any names ready for when you do?”

Karen smiled and shook her head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Come on girl, you got to think positive. Want some suggestions?”

“Carl is nice for a boy,” Carl said.

“Forget about it,” Defina told him. It saved Karen the trouble.

“Yeah? Well, black people sure do weird names,” Carl retorted. “Did you know that all four of George Foreman’s sons are named George Edward? And a black woman in my building had triplet girls and she named them Latisha, Alisha, and Talisha.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Defina asked.

Carl crossed his arms and looked up toward the ceiling. “Exactly the kind of response I would expect from a woman who named her kid Tangela.

Is that a girl or a fruit?”

Defina chose, regally, to ignore the obvious cheap shot and turned to Karen. “Do you think black names are weird?” she asked Karen.

“Some of them,” Karen admitted.

“Like Tiffany Saperstein isn’t.” Defina sniffed. “Come to think of it, Defina is a very nice name.”

Karen grinned. “Too many people have trouble pronouncing it. Is it a family name, Dee?”

“My mother made it up. You know, she was country folk. When she was carrying me she found out that another woman in town was carrying a baby she said was my father’s. When we were born, my mother named me Defina because she said I was the finer one.”

Karen laughed. She never knew when Dee was pulling her leg. “But you pronounce it Da-feen-ah.”

” “That’s only since I moved to the city. You can imagine what happened when I got up north and found out that Defina’ rhymed with vagina.” I only became Da-feen-ah’ when I became a Yankee.”

Carl looked around the elegant promenade. He leaned toward them and spoke in a confidential tone. “Isn’t that the Duchess of Windsor at the table in the corner?”

“Carl, the Duchess of Windsor’s been dead for more than ten years.”

“That never stopped Bessie from attending a good party,” Carl snapped.

He raised his hand to signal a waiter. “Oh, garcon!” he called.

Both Karen and Defina winced. “Carl, you never call a waiter garcon.”

It’s very rude.”

“Well, they are boys. And quite lovely ones at that.” He turned to Defina. “But I promise I won’t call any black ones garcZon.”

” “My people thank you for that,” Defina said sarcastically.

Then, as if to cap Carl’s already high spirits, Lee Bouvier Radziwell Ross walked past them and took the back elevator. Like her sister Jackie, Lee never looked overdressed, though she did look underfed.

“Oh my God!” Carl cned in a strangled whisper. “Did you see her?”