Confessions of a Teen Nanny Page 7
“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. The clothes won’t be right on you until you get your total look. There is no point in shopping until your hair and makeup are done. Zoya will take you up to the John Barrett Salon, and she’ll oversee the cut. Do whatever she tells you. She’s the best.”
I completely can’t afford this, Adrienne thought, panicking. Then she remembered: She had more than a thousand dollars in cash in her pocket. The idea of all that money belonging to her made her a little giddy. She glanced back at the door. She knew she could make an excuse and leave. But Cam had brought her here. This is how Cam spent time with her friends. Adrienne didn’t want to say no. She stepped into the elevator. And besides, there was no way a haircut could be that expensive.
“I am Juan!” the colorist announced. He spun her around. “Today, we turn you into a goddess. Your hair, it will be like flaming sunsets! Like the change of seasons!” He continued for so long that, by the time he was finished talking, Adrienne was really afraid.
My hair is going to look like a pile of dead leaves, she thought.
Then, Nils, the stylist, took over. Adrienne grew a little calmer.
After the cutting and blow-drying ceased, Adrienne noticed Cameron standing behind her. Cameron, if possible, looked even better than ever. “Cameron,” Adrienne said, “you’re so blond! You’re amazing!” She admired Cameron’s almost platinum-blond hair, softened by hints of pale gold.
“I know,” she said without any pretense at modesty. “The Palm Beach season starts any minute. I had to put the sun-kissed streaks in there before the chlorine did it to me. Nothing on earth is worse than coming out with green hair in a picture in the Palm Beach Post’s color supplement.”
“I can imagine,” Adrienne said, even though she couldn’t.
“Well,” Nils said, putting the last bit of product in her hair. “You ready, Adrienne?”
“I guess so,” she said.
Nils turned her chair around, and Adrienne looked at herself in the mirror.
She didn’t recognize herself. Her unruly, flyaway hair fell around her face in sleek, silky chunks. Bangs drew attention to her eyes, which suddenly appeared blazingly green. The color of her hair had gone from a gingery brown to a real red, laced with streaks of honey and chestnut. It was amazing. This, Adrienne thought, is me. This is how I am supposed to look.
“Fabulous!” Cameron announced, pronouncing the final word on the transformation. “Adrienne, you’re gorgeous. Juan, Nils, Zoya—you are the best. Now, let’s do some damage downstairs. Adrienne, prepare yourself. I am a trained shopping professional—do not try this alone.”
The two girls went through the store like predators. Prada, Narciso Rodriguez, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana.
“Adrienne, try these on.” Cameron threw her three wrap dresses and a miniskirt in quick succession.
Adrienne glanced at the beautiful things. There is nothing I would like better, she thought, but why bother? There was no way she could afford them, and trying them on would only make her feel worse.
“Adrienne, please, you’re bringing me down!” Cameron scolded. “Why the long face?”
Adrienne took a deep breath. “Well, Cameron, I’m really not sure these clothes are me. I mean, look at this miniskirt—it has less fabric than a washcloth.”
“It’s hot,” Cameron agreed, nodding her head. “What you need is a pair of thigh-high boots to go with it.”
“Cameron, did you hear me? I can’t really use these things,” Adrienne said.
Cameron looked at her. “Adrienne, I heard you, but I just don’t care. You see”—Cameron leaned forward and whispered—“no one needs these things. They just want them. I hope you’re not worried about the money—I don’t pay for these clothes, and neither will you.” She smiled.
Adrienne froze. “You’re going to steal them?” she whispered, her heart pounding.
Cameron laughed hysterically, leaning on a mannequin in a beaded evening ensemble for support. “No, you idiot! They give them to me.”
Adrienne blinked. “Really?”
“Seriously, Adrienne,” Cameron said, quieting down and letting go of the mannequin, which had begun to rock perilously on its platform. “The reason I go out every night of the week is to make sure I get photographed by the press. I do that to keep my family’s name in the papers. It doesn’t reflect badly on my dad—a wild child gives him something to talk about at his stupid board meetings. My stepmom gets a little edgier about it. She’s a social climber and really wants me to be Debutante of the Year.” Cameron rolled her eyes.
“So your parents buy you the clothes?” Adrienne asked, still confused.
“Well, they do give me a monthly clothing allowance, but that is for the stuff I need: riding clothes, things for Palm Beach, ball gowns, stuff for dinner parties. You know.”
I wish I did, Adrienne thought.
“But this stuff”—she gestured around the store—“these are my crazy clothes. These are the things that I wear to clubs, to restaurants with my friends, you know—things to hang out in.” She grinned.
“So, who pays?” Adrienne asked.
“Bergdorf’s. Barneys. Jeffrey. Wherever I shop. They know that this is the kind of stuff I get photographed in, and when the photographers ask me what I’m wearing, I tell them who designed it, and where I bought it, and then, the next day, in the paper, there’s a picture of me and it says, ‘Socialite Cameron Warner at Blah-blah Club, wearing Alexander McQueen, available at Bergdorf Goodman.’”
“That’s amazing,” Adrienne replied.
“So what I’m saying, Adrienne, is to take whatever you want. We’re almost the same size. They’ll never know it’s not for me. Now, put on that miniskirt and show the world you have legs, please. Those cargo pants you always wear are atrocious.”
As they continued shopping, Cameron talked about the pressure of growing up a Warner. “I guess I seem icy to some people. I can’t help it. I’m actually pretty shy,” she confessed.
Adrienne looked at her in astonishment. Cameron Warner? Shy?
“It’s true,” Cameron continued. “My therapist says I wear sunglasses so people can’t see my eyes. I feel protected that way. The clothes give me more confidence than I have. My stepmother puts a lot of pressure on me.”
“Well, I see she puts a ton on Emma,” Adrienne confided.
“Emma can handle it. She’s a supergenius.”
“Pressure is pressure,” Adrienne said, feeling bad for Cameron for the first time. Poor Cameron, she thought. She’s really kind of sad.
“Anyway. Enough of that,” Cameron said. “Oh, you know what? I had the nicest time with your friend Liz. She’s really great. She came over to Mimi von Fallschirm’s for lunch last week. You know what? I promised to set her up with Parker. He’s an old friend, and I think he really likes her.”
“Cameron, that’s so great of you!”
“I know. I have no boyfriend of my own, but I’m happy to get them for other people. I’m an absolute saint!” she cried, striking a pose that was anything but saintly. “Hey, tell me about your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
Adrienne smiled. “Brian. He’s a brain, but he’s so cute. He’s really intense, he loves music—”
“We should all go to a concert sometime,” Cameron interrupted. “I can get great tickets.”
“We kissed for the first time at a concert,” Adrienne admitted. “Radiohead. It was a little noisy, but so romantic.”
Cameron smiled. “That’s cute,” she said. “Tell me more about him—”
“Excuse me, Miss Warner,” Petra said. “It’s almost nine. We’ll be closing in a few minutes. Would you like me to pack up these bags?”
“Absolutely,” Cameron said. “Listen, Petra. Load this pile into my car and give that other pile to Adrienne. She’s taking them for…um…alterations.” She winked at Adrienne.
“That’s fine, Miss Warner.” Petra hurried off with the clothes, and Zoya followed her.
Adrienne stepped onto Fifty-seventh Street and began to walk west toward the subway. She wondered if she should just spring for a taxi. She still had hours of homework to tackle. The distinctive ring of her cell phone cut into her thoughts.
Adrienne struggled with her shopping bags to find her phone in her shoulder bag.
“Hi, it’s me. Where have you been? I’ve left you messages.” Brian sounded hurt.
“Bri, I’m so sorry! I was at the Warners’, and I got stuck with Cameron.”
“I figured that,” he said. “Listen, I’m bored. I’ve been sitting at my desk all afternoon. I need to get out. You still owe me a late-night slice.”
“I haven’t even started to study—”
“You work too hard. Come on—a quick slice. Just you and me.”
Adrienne hesitated. She knew she would probably have trouble concentrating on her math problems, anyway. I’ll wake up early and study, she promised herself. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll see you at the pizza place on my corner in ten minutes. I’m just getting into the subway.”
“Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “See you then.”
“Whoa!” Brian said when Adrienne entered the pizza place near her apartment. “What happened to your hair?”
“Do you like it?” Adrienne asked, dropping her bags onto the bench across from him and sliding into the booth.
“It’s…sexy,” he said. “You look hot.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“Cameron got me a makeover,” Adrienne said. “You won’t believe how she’s treated at Bergdorf’s. It’s like she’s royalty or something. It’s so cool.”
“What’s in all those bags?”
“Some things Cameron gave me,” Adrienne said, reaching over and pulling a cute Marc Jacobs dress and a Theory top out of a bag and holding them up.
“They look expensive,” he said.
“They are,” Adrienne said with a smile. “And they look great on me.”
Brian shook his head and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Adrienne asked.
“Nothing. I just think that you are too into their money, that’s all. I mean, the Warners—Cameron—they’re just people, like you and me. No big deal.”
Adrienne laughed. “They are not just like you and me.”
“See? You’re blinded by all their stuff,” Brian said. “Sure, they have a great apartment, lots of jewelry, whatever. But what do all those fancy clothes really get you?”
“Power…fame…popularity…come on, you can’t tell me that Cameron doesn’t look hot,” Adrienne said.
“She’s a type. I hate types. I like real,” Brian said.
Adrienne rolled her eyes. “Oh, please…”
“Okay, maybe some guys would say she’s hot,” Brian conceded. “Not me.”
“Why not?”
Brian leaned over and kissed her, hard. He kissed her again and again, his mouth melting into hers. He finally pulled away and said, “Because I want you.”
CHAPTER NINE
arrive late, leave early. make an impression.
It’s finally Friday. What a relief, Liz thought as she herded Heather and David into the elevator of 841 Fifth Avenue. Heather had been whining ever since Liz had picked them both up from the Karl Steinbach School.
“My foot hurts,” Heather said, her lip trembling and her voice quivering. “I think I’m going to die of toenail cancer.”
“Toenail cancer?” Liz said, trying hard not to laugh. Steinbach was a school that prided itself in developing the emotions of its students by exposing them to challenging experiences and information. Liz had always thought the kids at Steinbach were sensitive, but they were also the most neurotic kids in New York City. Heather was a born hypochondriac.
“Heather, there is no way you have toenail cancer. There is no such thing as toenail cancer.” She bent down to look Heather in the eye.
“There isn’t?” Heather asked uncertainly.
“No. Is there anything bothering you that you want to tell me about?”
“Well…” Heather sniffed. “Bunny Crawford dropped a book on my foot, and it really hurt. She has displaced anxiety, and she used me as a surrogate for releasing her misplaced emotions of hostility against her mother.”
“So you’re telling me that your friend Bunny dropped a book on your foot?”
“Yes.” Heather sniffed again.
“Then we have good news. You don’t have toenail cancer. You have an actual hurt foot. I bet when we get upstairs if you just take your shoes off, you’ll feel better right away.”
“Hey!” David said. “It skipped our floor! We’re going up.”
Liz glanced up. The elevator was indeed going all the way up.
The elevator door opened, and Emma stepped in with a well-dressed redheaded girl.
“Adrienne?” Liz said, shocked. Liz looked at her friend. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Adrienne had had a serious makeover. “You look incredible!” Liz said, giving Adrienne a hug. “When did you do this?”
“Last night.” Adrienne smiled. “I got the Cameron Warner makeover at Bergdorf Goodman.”
“You look amazing.”
“She looks stupid,” Emma said. “She looks like Cameron.”
“Be nice,” Liz warned Emma.
Emma shrugged and turned to Heather. The two girls stared each other down like cowboys in an old Western movie.
Liz rolled her eyes at Adrienne. The tension between the two little girls was funny.
“Wait a second,” Liz said. “What are you doing here? Wasn’t yesterday your last day?”
“Not quite.” Adrienne laughed. “Mrs. Warner asked me to stay for another month. They couldn’t get their nanny in time.”
“That’s great!” Liz cried. “But why didn’t you call and tell me?”
Adrienne sighed. “I went out with Brian, and then I was up past midnight doing homework. Plus, my mother was not happy at all about the makeover.”
“Why?” Liz asked.
“Beats me,” Adrienne said. “She’s so hypersensitive sometimes. She was furious about all the clothes. At first, she thought I’d spent all the money I’d earned on them. Then, when I explained that they were free, my mother went ballistic. I don’t get it. I mean, what’s the big deal?”
“They were free?” Liz said.
“Yeah. Cameron treated me. We even had personal shoppers—one for each of us.”
“You had personal shoppers?”
“There’s no other way to shop!” Adrienne replied. “Cameron’s so great, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” Liz wasn’t sure how she felt. She had really started to like Cameron at Mimi’s. But the way she was now cozying up to Adrienne made Liz unsure. “It’s kind of weird that Cameron just gave you all those clothes,” Liz whispered, even though the kids didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation. “I kind of see why your mom might be angry.”
“It’s not weird. She’s my friend,” Adrienne said. “And I can’t believe you’re siding with my mother!”
“I’m not. Okay…new subject,” Liz said. She knew it was always better to stay away from the latest battle Adrienne was having with her mother. “Do you think Cameron will really set me up with Parker? I can’t stop obsessing about it.”
“You don’t know? You’re seeing Parker tonight!” Adrienne said as the elevator opened to Dr. M-C’s apartment.
“Tonight? What are you talking about?” Liz demanded, holding open the elevator door with her foot.
“Oh, no!” Adrienne cried. “You don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Cameron just told me upstairs that she’s arranged a whole dinner party for us at Khmer, down on Bleecker Street. It’s tonight! I’m bringi
ng Brian, and she’s making certain that Parker is there for you, and she invited some of her other friends from P-B also. We’re meeting at eight-thirty.”
I have a date with Parker! I have a date with Parker! Liz was finding it hard to breathe, she was so excited. It was at that moment that she caught a glance at her reflection in the mirror in Dr. M-C’s entryway. She was wearing her school uniform. There is no way I’m going on a date with the cutest guy in Manhattan wearing my school uniform! she thought. I have to go home to change.
She looked at her watch and went over the different options in her mind. She had to work until eight tonight. She could race to the Upper West Side, change clothes, and then race all the way downtown. She knew she’d be really late. And she didn’t trust that Parker would wait around for her. I could borrow something out of Dr. M-C’s closet, she thought, but she buys the worst things, and nothing would probably fit me. She didn’t dare ask Adrienne to swipe something from Mrs. Warner. That was way too risky if Cameron was coming to dinner.
“I’m going to have to run out and buy something to wear,” Liz announced.
“I’ll help you!” Heather shrieked. “I love to go shopping!”
“See,” Adrienne said, pointing to Heather, “I told you there was nothing like a personal shopper!”
Oh, there is nothing here to wear! Liz thought, combing through the racks at Loehmann’s, a discount store where she sometimes found great things very cheap.
Heather was in absolute heaven. She had never been in any store besides the children’s department at Brooks Brothers, and for her, Loehmann’s was a paradise of women’s clothes and bustle. David, on the other hand, was beside himself with boredom. It was only through regular administrations of Halloween-sized Snickers bars that Liz managed to keep him under control.
“How about this?” Heather asked, pulling a vibrant Pucci knockoff off the rack.
“Too colorful,” Liz said. “I need something really simple and sexy. Look for things in black.”
Heather sorted through the racks. The two girls worked side by side until Liz felt she had seen everything in the huge store twice.