Lauren's Designs (18 page)

Reb didn’t even look at her. “I vote yes.” That was it.

Lauren rose quickly and almost ran from the room. She was deeply afraid that if she tried to thank her friends—and she wasn’t sure after the secret ballot who her friends were—she would probably break into tears and embarrass everyone. Also she couldn’t face Carlos’s fierce glare or bear to listen to any more of his disparaging remarks. Her show was still part of the contest, but at this point Lauren didn’t really care who would see it. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t be herself. How could it, with only a third of her costumes available for judging? They didn’t really know what the other dresses and suits and the rest had looked like. But at least she wasn’t thrown out, like some sort of push impostor. She hurried to her stateroom, anxious to rest and recover her poise in private.

And somewhere in her mind was the hope that Mike Landrill might be there to meet her: Mike, who had brought guests to her showing, to fill the seats and give it a popular, successful ambience.

Chapter Seven

Lauren and her models dressed for dinner in an atmosphere of mingled triumph and fear. Lauren was fighting the depression that had enveloped her as the afternoon waned and Mike didn’t put in an appearance. Dani was high on the excitement of the favorable vote for their show. When Lauren told her they had made it only by one vote, she grinned and said, “One’s as good as a hundred, if it’s in our favor.” Nella was nervous again, audibly wondering what else Carlos or Herbert had up their sleeves.

“Maybe we shouldn’t eat or drink anything tonight, Lauren,” she suggested.

“Do you see Carlos or Herbert as Borgias?” Lauren teased. At Nella’s frightened stare, she added quickly, “Just a joke, Nella. Neither of them has access to the kitchens and I’d stake my life on the integrity of the
Queen’s
stewards.”

“You might have to,” Nella muttered.

However, when they were all three dressed and ready, a more cheerful atmosphere prevailed. There is nothing, thought Lauren, so reassuring to a woman as a beautiful dress that flatters her.

They did look impressive, she decided, casting a critical eye over Dani in the jewel. Nella in her bronze silk, and her own image in the mirror. She was wearing the dress Mike had taken off her that night—was it only Tuesday,
two
nights ago? Its alluring caftan of sheer chiffon, with the sensuously tight bodice of shimmering sequins beneath, had attracted his admiration then. Would he see her, want her, tonight?

It was a quarter to eight, and the Captain’s Dinner was set for eight, to be followed by the awards ceremony.

“Will we do, Lauren?” Nella asked.

Lauren said proudly, “You are beautiful.”

Both models smiled. Then they held up their heads and strolled along the passage and into the elevator as though they were on the runway. Lauren’s heart lifted. Whatever anyone said, whether they won or lost, they’d put up a good show.

The plan was that all the designers and their models were to meet in the captain’s dayroom for cocktails before dinner. The judges would be there also, and Maida and several officers. A few special guests had also been invited. Lauren hoped one would be Mike. Then, after cocktails, the party would proceed to the Queen’s Grill for dinner. Following that, they would adjourn to the theater, where an audience of interested fashion-lovers would be waiting for the awards ceremonies.

These were to include a showing of each designer’s choice of two best costumes while the designer commented, if he or she wished, from one side of the stage. The judges’ decision would then be announced, and prizes awarded. It seemed there were to be more prizes than one. As a special feature, the awards ceremony would be broadcast to all lounges and even into those cabins that had television as part of the regular furnishing. The hopeful gesture was to avoid crowding in the theater.

“Some hope,” was Dani’s show-wise comment.

It didn’t take Lauren long to find the big man with the wide shoulders. He stood out for many reasons. She and her models were greeted by junior officers and led at once to where the captain was chatting with Lady Winston-Bell and Maida Hass. The captain welcomed the three women with pleasantly correct compliments on their appearance and a glinting aside that of course he mustn’t show favoritism. Her Ladyship was gracious and friendly as ever. The three were passed deftly to Maida, who took them to the buffet and asked their preferences in drinks.

Her eyebrow lifted a fraction as all three chose Perrier. “Keeping a clear head? Perhaps that’s wise,” she murmured, gesturing toward the center of the dayroom, where Carlos was holding forth with a whiskey in one fist.

“Don’t look so frightened, Nella,” Dani teased. “He can’t eat you in front of all these people. You’re not on the menu.”

“I guess we aren’t on the prize list, either,” Nella mourned. They all glanced around. The room was jammed with gorgeously dressed women. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and lesser gems shimmered on every surface, Lauren thought wryly. They’d hang them from their noses if it didn’t hurt. The men were equally festive, with some pretty wild jackets on display for this fashion-conscious group. It’s as though they wanted to rival the models, Lauren confided to Dani.

“Most of them’d have to lose about thirty pounds before they’d be competition,” snipped the model.

And then he was beside her. She sensed more than felt his broad shoulders and his silver-gray eyes. Lauren didn’t care how revealing her expression was. She was so happy to see him.

His rather anxious expression softened into a wicked grin. He bent close to her and said in her ear, “Not here, darling. You’re going to have to wait until we get to my cabin.”

Lauren felt the warm blood rising in her cheeks. Ye gods, she mocked herself, I’m an adult and this guy can make me blush. But she didn’t care, because the show was safely over, and Mike was here beside her. What could go wrong?

Mike was saying, “I heard over the grapevine that your show was allowed, in spite of the theatrical format.”

Lauren nodded, smiling. “I didn’t let anyone down.”

Mike frowned. “I also hear that for some reason, probably her loyalty to Maartens, Claire Cornelius is claiming that you mustn’t be considered a serious contender because you didn’t show enough costumes.”

“I’m sorry she feels that way. But, then, she’s right, isn’t she?” Lauren knew she would feel deeply hurt later, but right now just being with concerned and attentive Mike was pleasure enough.

“Are you being a good sport or are you just punch-drunk after the session in Maida’s office?” Mike asked in a louder voice.

Dani spoke up unexpectedly. “I think she’s in love,” the model teased. “Better watch out she doesn’t miss her footing and fall overboard.”

They all laughed except Nella, who hadn’t got the point and looked at Lauren with a worried frown.

Several couples and some unescorted women moved in on Mike, who was evidently well-known and liked. He introduced Lauren and the models, even draping one arm lightly over Lauren’s shoulders. The socialites tended to ignore her. Some of them quizzed the models. Dani made them laugh with her spirited plain-speaking. The men tended to stare at Nella, who always looked serenely lovely and rather mysterious when she was on display, as she was now.

Ben Nowak strolled over and Preppy Telford joined him. The male designers were definitely patronizing to Lauren; both mentioned that they hadn’t seen her show but had heard it was unusual.

Damned with this faint praise, Lauren was holding her tongue with a feeling of mounting annoyance when Mike said it for her.

“I saw the whole show. So did Buffy and her crowd. Ask them. It was really terrific. The least boring fashion show I’ve ever attended.”

He got some hard looks for that one, but Lauren knew that the designers, no matter how powerful with their own cliques, would hardly wish to cross swords with a man of Landrill’s importance and wealth. They drifted away.

“Nice cutthroat business you’re in,” Mike muttered. “Let’s eat.”

Fortunately for protocol, the captain had apparently had the same idea and he led his guests down to the Queen’s Grill. Lauren had been placed at a table of only medium visibility; there weren’t any bad tables in the Queen’s Grill, but she wasn’t near the head table by any means.

Mike followed while the steward led her to it. He frowned. It was a table for four. The other three seats were occupied by Jan, his partner, Sidney, and a bright-eyed youth in a magnificent ruby velvet dinner jacket with a matching cummerbund.

“I’ll toss you for that seat,” Mike drawled.

“But I specially requested to be seated with Janus,” protested the youth.

Mike turned to the steward. “Where’s my table? Landrill’s the name.”

“If you’ll come with me, sir?”

Mike gripped Lauren’s elbow, grinned insouciantly at the smiling Jan, and followed the steward.

Lauren said, “Really, Mike, I don’t mind. Jan was very supportive today in Maida’s office. And he voted to accept my presentation.”

“Bully for him,” Mike said shortly. “Now we’re going to find a table. I’m hungry, what with all this temperament and jostling for position. I’ve a good mind to eat in my own suite.”

“I need to be here, Mike,” Lauren said.

He glared at her. “Of course you do. Being part of this ridiculous rat race or Fashion Cruise or whatever you call it. I can tell you what I call it.” He pronounced a rather crude epithet.

Lauren chuckled. “Don’t let Carlos hear you,” she advised.

“You think he’d challenge me to a duel?” Mike grinned hopefully. “Needles at forty paces?”

“You’re talking about Landrill’s prize designer,” Lauren teased.

Mike groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

By this time the steward had brought them to the kindly guidance of the maître d’. That suave and charming gentleman discovered that Mike has been assigned to a table for eight, and that Buffy Landrill was his partner.

“Is she here yet? She’s usually late—likes to make a grand entrance.”

The maître d’ consulted his list. “Mrs. Landrill has not yet been shown to her table,” he admitted.

Mike gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Mrs. Landrill is my sister-in-law. I’d like to arrange a little treat for her. She’s very eager to be seated with one of the seven stars of the show. Mrs. Rose has graciously agreed to relinquish her place at Janus’s table so Mrs. Landrill may sit there.”

The maître d’ gave him an avuncular glance. “Is that so, sir? He asked.

“Indeed it is. Oh, here she comes now. I’ll explain it to her.” Mike strode over to the doorway where Buffy, looking petulant, was hovering. He talked rapidly. Her expression went from surprise to suspicion to delight. Mike led her toward the waiting maître d’.

“You mean
Janus
actually requested that I sit at his table?” she was saying.

The maître d’ smiled. “Let me escort you there, Mrs. Landrill,” he said with charm and authority.

Buffy giggled and followed him without a glance at Mike or Lauren.

“Very neat, sir,” the steward murmured, leading Lauren and Mike to a table near the captain’s.

“How could you?” whispered Lauren.

“Silence,” Mike warned. “Never admit anything.” He had cupped a warm hand around her elbow again. Lauren would have followed him anywhere.

When they reached the table, they found it already occupied except for the two seats originally intended for Buffy and Mike. Everyone wanted to know where Buffy was, although they smiled pleasantly enough at Lauren when Mike introduced her.

“Buffy,” Mike said portentously, “has been requisitioned to keep Janus happy.”

There was a blank silence and then laughter.

“No, really?” asked Tippy, a husky blonde from Buffy’s Hunt Club. “Hadn’t realized Buff was into leather.”

This brought another laugh, and Mike seated Lauren. The man next to her smiled and said, “Are you from California, Laurie?”

Lauren resisted the temptation to correct him, and smiled sweetly. “I’m with September Song.”

Her neighbor moved a little closer. “A model.” He looked her over avidly. “Isn’t Mike the lucky one.”

Lauren laughed. She couldn’t help it; the whole setup seemed childish, somehow. “I’m Lauren Rose, the designer. My show was this afternoon. I’m sure you didn’t see it; I would have remembered your face.” I can play these games, too, she decided. She grinned at the surprise and pleasure on his face.

“Designer?” he said. Clearly, he’d never heard of her.

The woman next to him had been listening. She gave Lauren a condescending smile. “September Song, did you say? Do you design sportswear?”

Suddenly Mike’s dark, velvet voice sounded so close to Lauren’s ear that her nerves quivered. “September Song is the newest thing in the fashion world,” he told the woman. “Landrill’s has been trying to get Lauren under contract for several years. Wish me luck, Baba.”

Baba, Tippy, and Midge turned as one person to stare at Lauren. If Landrill’s was after her, their glances seemed to say, there must be more to her than they had thought. Lauren’s smile was wry. Was that all it took? She glanced at Mike, caught the glint in his eye, and realized that he knew exactly what he was doing. Suddenly she felt lighthearted, happy, mischievous.