Read the Overnight Socialite Online
Authors: Bridie Clark
the Overnight Socialite (15 page)
Thanks to her daily double workouts, she'd slimmed down almost immediately, revealing a firm but womanly body. She would never be the willowy waif, but now she was slender and athletic, looking as though she'd spent Saturdays playing field hockey at Wellesley. She had a waist now, and when Wyatt recently had popped his head in on one of her workout sessions, he had no choice but to admire the long, lean line of her thighs. Thanks to her healthy eating, her exercise regimen, and weekly facials, her skin had a new glow. She knew what to talk about at a dinner party, which was essentially nothing, and she knew
how
to talk about it, which was with a demure disinterest. Equally important, she knew where she was supposed to come from: they'd rehearsed the details of her background so thoroughly that she'd started to take a certain pride in her family's imaginary timber fortune.
how
to talk about it, which was with a demure disinterest. Equally important, she knew where she was supposed to come from: they'd rehearsed the details of her background so thoroughly that she'd started to take a certain pride in her family's imaginary timber fortune.
Still, the girl was a wild card. Just when he'd start to relax--
poof
!--ol' Lucy Jo would be back, butchering one of the French phrases he'd taught her to pepper into conversation, blowing her nose at the table, bringing up how much things cost. She still smiled too much and too indiscriminately for his liking, wore yoga pants and sneakers when she had no intention of working out, and used words like "classy" and "fancy." That same night at Amaranth, when he'd caught her checking her teeth in the reflection of a butter knife, Wyatt had seen the prospect of book publication go egg-shaped before his eyes. Without a triumphant ending, Wyatt knew the book would fall flat. Not to mention, he'd lose his bet with Trip--his watch and his pride. Tonight, he knew, could be the first victory in his Lucy experiment, or it could be a decisive failure.
poof
!--ol' Lucy Jo would be back, butchering one of the French phrases he'd taught her to pepper into conversation, blowing her nose at the table, bringing up how much things cost. She still smiled too much and too indiscriminately for his liking, wore yoga pants and sneakers when she had no intention of working out, and used words like "classy" and "fancy." That same night at Amaranth, when he'd caught her checking her teeth in the reflection of a butter knife, Wyatt had seen the prospect of book publication go egg-shaped before his eyes. Without a triumphant ending, Wyatt knew the book would fall flat. Not to mention, he'd lose his bet with Trip--his watch and his pride. Tonight, he knew, could be the first victory in his Lucy experiment, or it could be a decisive failure.
"Wyatt?" Fernanda asked, looking a little peeved. "I asked if you were going to Tamsin and Henry's wedding?"
"Sorry," he said. "I'm a little distracted."
Fernanda laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "No, I completely understand. You're nervous about seeing Cornelia for the first time since--"
The loud hum of chitchat all around them seemed to fall silent. "What are you talking about?" Wyatt sputtered, causing Fernanda to fall back on her heels. "Cornelia's not coming tonight!"
"What, didn't your mother tell you?"
"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Wyatt fixed his mother with a death glare. She well knew the two of them had split; she'd even approved of the breakup. What could she possibly have been thinking? Cornelia's presence tonight was more than a nuisance; it was a potential disaster. Lucy wasn't ready for sniper fire yet. Wyatt stepped back from Fernanda so fast he ground his heel into Max's loafer, and then charged across the drawing room, pulling his mother out of a conversation with the Dutch ceramics collector Lars van Sever and his wife.
"How could you invite Cornelia into your home without telling me?" he hissed. "I thought we were on the same page about her."
"We were. We are. The girl is a social juggernaut. Martha Fairchild called to see if she could come, and wouldn't give up even when I told her the table was already too full. Martha even offered to stay home herself so Cornelia could be here! Last time I invite the Fairchilds--live and learn. But I couldn't think of a graceful way to say no."
"Next time, how about
no
?"
no
?"
Dottie laid her hand on Wyatt's arm and looked at her son with maternal concern. "I've never seen you this nervous. Do you care for this Lucy girl?"
Wyatt looked up to see Trip and Eloise in the doorway, with Lucy behind them, her dark hair gleaming against the oak woodwork. "She just walked in!" he exclaimed, feeling a fresh surge of panic. "Too late. I'll just have to keep them separated as much as I can." He took an urgent sip of his scotch. "And to answer your question, I care for my
book
. A premature encounter with Cornelia could jeopardize everything Lucy and I are working toward."
book
. A premature encounter with Cornelia could jeopardize everything Lucy and I are working toward."
Dottie Hayes followed her son's gaze. Two steps behind Trip and Eloise, a statuesque young woman scanned the room with large, dark eyes. She wore a deep aubergine dress, belted at the waist to create a feminine silhouette. Her dark brown hair was smooth as a sheet of silk, and a saltwater pearl dropped off each earlobe. Complemented by a fabulous pair of Roger Vivier shoes, her legs looked about a mile long.
She was one of the most beautiful young women Dottie Hayes had ever seen.
"The book, of course," she said to her son.
The stern-faced ancestral portraits in Dottie's gargantuan drawing room glared at Lucy, reminding her how many fathoms she was out of her depth. If this classy crew knew who she really was, she'd be relegated to passing out champagne glasses. It had happened before.
She shivered and looked doubtfully at the other guests. It wasn't just that the crowd was impeccably dressed, although that they were. The men looked straight off Savile Row, their suits precisely tailored around the shoulders but not cinched and show-offy around the body, their silk neckties subdued but gleaming. But the women were the main attraction, turned out in gorgeous cocktail frocks and one-of-a-kind bejeweled shoes. Given the heady aura of opulence, the five-carat diamonds flashing from most earlobes managed to seem understated. Lucy's eyes fell on one older woman whose silvery hair and three strands of good pearls offset her dark velvet jacket as she stood next to a younger brunette with Maria Shriver cheekbones. The two of them looked vaguely familiar, but then the rich and powerful were New York's particular genre of celebrity.
These people have nothing to prove
, Lucy thought. It struck her at that moment, after weeks of training, that she had finally grasped the essential difference between old and new money.
, Lucy thought. It struck her at that moment, after weeks of training, that she had finally grasped the essential difference between old and new money.
Like a toddler clutching her mother's skirt, Lucy stayed a cautious step behind Eloise as they hello-ed their way into Dottie's drawing room. Thank God for Eloise--since their day at the spa, her no-nonsense sweetness had been a refuge for Lucy against the tempests and squalls of Wyatt's demands. The two women had bonded quickly. Eloise had savvy and style, but was also more openhearted than Lucy had expected. Lucy had shared the true story of her life, from the discomforts of growing up the daughter of Rita the celebrity-addicted nail artist to her struggles to make it in Manhattan, and Eloise in turn had confided her frustrations with Trip, whom she adored but who seemed less likely to propose to her than was His Eminence the Cardinal of New York. If Eloise weren't here tonight, Lucy knew she would collapse into a little pile of purple silk--especially now that she glimpsed Wyatt's mother, so regal that she made Queen Elizabeth look like Sharon Osbourne. Lucy recognized her from the family photos Wyatt had on the walls of his study.
"Try to relax," Eloise whispered, giving Lucy a warm smile. "Everyone will love you, I promise. You have nothing to worry about."
Wyatt's mother came right up to greet them. "Eloise, your dress is marvelous." She drew out her
r
's. "You know exactly what works."
r
's. "You know exactly what works."
Eloise smiled at her. "Thanks, Dottie. This is our friend Lucy Ellis."
"A pleasure to meet you," said Dottie, extending her hand. Her spun-white hair was cut into an elegant, understated bob, reminding Lucy of a meringue. "I'm Wyatt's mother."
"Thank you very much for including me, Mrs. Hayes," Lucy said, shaking her hand stiffly. She desperately wished she could be as laid-back as Eloise; instead she sounded as if she were reading from a teleprompter. "Your home is, um, magnificent." There was that
um
again. She was glad Wyatt wasn't within earshot.
um
again. She was glad Wyatt wasn't within earshot.
"Call me Dottie, please. That's very kind of you. It's in the process of being redecorated, so, you know, it's a bit of a mess at the moment."
Lucy scanned the room. Not so much as an Hermes ashtray out of place. "If this qualifies as a mess, I'd hate for you to see my closet!"
Dottie laughed politely. "What will you have to drink, dear?"
"Oh, whatever's easy."
"Anything's easy," Dottie answered.
Judging by the flanks of waitstaff poised to serve, Lucy guessed that was true. "Well, um, perhaps a Singapore sling?" She'd blurted out the first fancy, umbrella-adorned drink that came into her head, but judging by her hostess's uncomfortable reaction, she'd blurted wrong.
"A Singapore sling?" Dottie frowned. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure--"
"Or maybe some champagne?" Eloise suggested.
"Oh, yes, that would be perfect," Lucy said, relieved. "I'd love some champagne, if you have it." She was so nervous she was making basic blunders.
Champagne
was the official drink of socialites, duh! Had Nola's party taught her nothing? But Wyatt hadn't told her what to order during the cocktail portion of the evening. What else had he neglected to mention?
Champagne
was the official drink of socialites, duh! Had Nola's party taught her nothing? But Wyatt hadn't told her what to order during the cocktail portion of the evening. What else had he neglected to mention?
"Of course. The server will be right back with it. Excuse me a moment--I see the mayor and his fiancee." Dottie swept away.
"I don't belong here." Lucy suddenly felt overwhelmed. "Everyone keeps looking at me. They all look so perfect. So expensive. So--"
"And you don't?" Eloise subtly directed her attention to the large antique mirror on the wall next to them. "People are looking at you because you're beautiful. But listen, I do know how you feel. As a crowd, they can be a bit imposing. There are good people mixed in. Oh, like Mimi Rutherford-Shaw. You'll like her, I promise." She waved at a mammiferous blonde in pink Pucci. Everyone seemed to adore Mimi, Lucy immediately noticed, and not just because her proximity made them seem thinner. Even in this stuffy environment, she appeared to be having the time of her life.
"El!" Mimi came barreling over.
"Mimi, you've got to meet my friend Lucy."
"Aren't you the most gorgeous thing?" said Mimi, kissing Lucy hello. Wyatt had given Lucy the rundown on Mimi, as he had on many of the usual suspects. She was a proud southern belle whose down-home drawl had grown more pronounced the longer she lived in New York City. By now most people could hardly make out what she was saying. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. Where're you from, doll?"
"Chicago," said Lucy, cringing. She hated lying, especially to someone who seemed so friendly, but she had to stick to the script. It was part of the deal. "And I'm guessing you're from the South?"
"Atlanta, born and bred. But I married a Yankee, and he gets the bends if we go below Virginia."
"Lucky for us," Eloise said. "Lucy, Mimi founded an amazing nonprofit called Baby Love. Maybe you'd be interested in getting involved--"
Before Lucy could form a response, Wyatt descended upon her. He was dressed in an oxford gray suit she'd never seen him wear, and it fit perfectly. "I've been trying to get your attention!" he said.
"Wyatt, hi. You know Mimi?" Lucy asked politely.
Wyatt glanced over. "Hey, Mims. Is Jack here?"
"No, he's got another work dinner. Second one this week! Honestly, I
hope
that man is having an affair. Otherwise, he works too damn much." Mimi paused, as though feeling a sudden shift in the room's energy. Lucy felt it too, and turned around.
hope
that man is having an affair. Otherwise, he works too damn much." Mimi paused, as though feeling a sudden shift in the room's energy. Lucy felt it too, and turned around.
Cornelia Rockman, never one to downplay an entrance, had swept into the drawing room. Finding an opening in the crowd, she paused, smiling lightly as though her photograph might be taken at any moment. Which, given her ubiquity on the party pages that Wyatt had assigned Lucy to read daily, seemed entirely possible.
"Cornelia Rockman, right?" she whispered to Eloise. She recognized the girl from her rainy Nola Sinclair night, when she'd so brazenly swiped Lucy's cab. And of course, Wyatt had given her a full debriefing on the reigning Queen Bee.
"Yeah. Wyatt broke up with her last month. I'm surprised Dottie invited her tonight."
Wyatt's ex?
Wyatt had left out that little detail! Lucy looked at Cornelia with a mixture of curiosity, envy, and professional interest. She was stunning, of course. She was channeling a 1950s housewife--a very expensive 1950s housewife--in a cocktail dress that seemed to hug every curve of her body. It was as if Christian Dior had arisen from the grave long enough to dress her, just to remind the world what feminine beauty really was. As a designer, Lucy had to admire how well Cornelia wore her clothes, and how she clearly knew what cuts flattered her slim but ample body. She made no eye contact with the other guests, even though half the eyes in the room were now on her. Judging by Cornelia's carriage, you'd have guessed the dinner was being held in her honor.
Wyatt had left out that little detail! Lucy looked at Cornelia with a mixture of curiosity, envy, and professional interest. She was stunning, of course. She was channeling a 1950s housewife--a very expensive 1950s housewife--in a cocktail dress that seemed to hug every curve of her body. It was as if Christian Dior had arisen from the grave long enough to dress her, just to remind the world what feminine beauty really was. As a designer, Lucy had to admire how well Cornelia wore her clothes, and how she clearly knew what cuts flattered her slim but ample body. She made no eye contact with the other guests, even though half the eyes in the room were now on her. Judging by Cornelia's carriage, you'd have guessed the dinner was being held in her honor.
Meanwhile, Wyatt's face had taken on a pink tinge. Lucy could feel him tense as Cornelia, after deigning to greet a few of the other guests, approached their little group. "Wyatt!" she said, pressing both his cheeks gently with her own. Lucy watched the reunion with unblinking attention. She'd never seen a more gorgeous pair of people. Wyatt had actually dumped this woman? She wasn't the sweetest soul in the world--but then, was he? Cornelia seemed to possess all the physical perfection and poise that he was trying to drum into Lucy. "I'm glad to see you," she said.
"Why did you insist on coming tonight?" Wyatt demanded, jaw tightly clenched.
"Your mother included me, of course," Cornelia answered smoothly. She twisted a mammoth emerald that she wore on a long gold chain. "But if it makes you too uncomfortable, I can leave."
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm perfectly fine." He seemed to collect himself. "Lucy, this is Cornelia Rockman. Cornelia, Lucy Ellis."
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