Rich Girls Page 8

  They stood silently, eyes wide open.

  “Great!” Debi said. “Ahre we all clear? Let’s get this tea staw-ted!” She clapped her hands, and the workers dispersed.

  “Adriana?” a voice called from the back of the apartment. It was Mrs. Warner—Adrienne could hear her shoes approaching on the marble floor.

  Here we go, Adrienne thought.

  “I just have one quick question for you,” Mrs. Warner said, sidling up to her. “Have you gotten rid of that boy yet?” she whispered.

  “Not yet, Mrs. Warner,” Adrienne replied. “I hope to really make some progress today.”

  Mrs. Warner raised a skeptical eyebrow, then frowned. “All right. If that’s the best you can do.”

  An hour later, Mrs. Warner’s living room was full. At every table, Manhattan’s most important women were chatting and talking with one another as if they had no cares in the world.

  Actually, thought Adrienne, they really do have no cares in the world. And with such power, money, and no worries, the women had no problem making remarks that Adrienne never would have even considered uttering in public.

  “She’s dreadful,” one woman said, putting down a canapé and picking up her tea. “Ever since she fell in with that Kabbalah trend, she’s always trying to make me do addition and read all this spiritual nonsense. As if I’m not spiritual! Why, twenty years ago my husband and I were married at that little church down the street. What’s its name, darling?”

  “Saint Tropez?” replied another woman.

  “Saint Thomas,” said her daughter, embarrassed.

  Adrienne watched the waiters circulating the room.

  “Miniature pecan pie?” one of them asked Isabelle.

  “No, thank you,” Isabelle said, and started to turn back to Mrs. Bleecker, head of the Cotillion Refreshments Committee.

  “They uh SO good, DAW-lin’!” Debi said, coming up behind her, plucking the sweet off the silver tray and handing it to Isabelle without a napkin. “They uh di-VINE with cream!” She plopped a towering dollop of cream onto the little pie with a silver spoon.

  Isabelle looked helpless as she tried to maneuver the sticky dessert from one hand to another.

  “Isabelle, have you met Mrs. Van Tassel?” Mrs. Bleecker asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” Isabelle said, searching desperately for a napkin to wipe her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, her hands covered with dessert. “I’m a bit of a mess.”

  “Oh, you’re just like me,” the portly Mrs. Van Tassel said. “You can’t resist a sweet!”

  “Ladies! A photo, please!” A photographer held up a camera.

  Mrs. Van Tassel pulled Isabelle closer, making the cream slide off the pie and onto her dress. The photographer snapped a quick picture; Isabelle looked furious, her soft silk dress stained with cream, her hands full of crumbling dessert.

  From what Adrienne could tell, Mimi was the undisputed star of the tea. All the girls stared with jealousy at the Chanel tea dress Karl Lagerfeld had made for her, and at the handsome archduke at her side. The gorgeous young couple smiled and spoke to everyone, greeting people as if they were related to the British Royal Family, which, of course, they were—even if only distantly.

  Mimi smiled and fluttered around her archduke, successfully avoiding the slippery and precarious canapés Debi kept trying to put in her path. Her escort, Adrienne noted, gulped down the champagne, but he didn’t show it; he just got very pink.

  “Princess von Fallschirm is quite extraordinary,” Mrs. Bleecker said approvingly. “She has adjusted to America and New York so well. Not a rough edge on her. She really is every inch a princess.”

  “Well, Cameron may have had a few rough edges once,” Mrs. Warner said with a nervous laugh. “But look at her now!” Mrs. Warner gestured toward the living room.

  Cameron stood in the doorway, looking beautiful in her modest Valentino, making a very calculated and effective late entrance.

  You have to hand it to her, Adrienne thought. She looks great.

  Cameron walked in slowly, as if one of Emma’s enormous dictionaries were on her head. “Thank you so much for coming,” she greeted Mrs. Bleecker in a low and perfectly modulated voice.

  Cameron looked at Adrienne, and her eyes narrowed as she took in the Valentino. “And Adrienne!” she said. “What a dress!” She turned to Mrs. Bleecker. “Of course, it would be more appropriate at a cocktail party, but you really can’t expect the nanny to understand such things.”

  “How true,” Mrs. Warner added quickly. “Nannies!”

  Mrs. Polk, another cotillion committee woman, was passing by. “Oh, is she any good?” she asked Mrs. Warner as if Adrienne weren’t standing right there. “I lost mine.”

  Suddenly there was a cluster of society moms. “Was she deported?” asked a woman in Gucci. “Mine was. So rude.”

  “No,” Mrs. Polk replied. “I literally lost her. We were in Bergdorf’s, and she handed Lindsay back to me and disappeared. Lost like an Hermès scarf.”

  “You allow your nanny at social functions?” one of the socialites asked.

  Mrs. Warner blanched slightly, then turned to Adrienne. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” Adrienne asked, surprised by the question. Minutes before the party had started, the COW had demanded Adrienne circulate in case there was anything to be done.

  “You should keep Emma occupied,” Mrs. Warner instructed, becoming more imperious, obviously putting on a little show for her socialite friends.

  “Oh, let her stay out here a little longer,” Cameron said sweetly. “There’s so much for her to see.”

  Adrienne glanced sharply at Cameron. Why would she want me out here? Then she saw the reason.

  Brian was standing in the doorway, shifting his weight foot to foot.

  Cameron excused herself politely and joined Brian. She slipped her arm through his and beamed at Adrienne.

  “Who is that boy?” Mrs. Polk asked. “I’ve never seen him at any of the charity functions.”

  Adrienne could see that Brian was having a different impact on the crowd than Cameron might have hoped. There was a hush, and then quite a bit of soft chatter. All the mothers were trying to place Brian. Which, of course, they couldn’t.

  To Adrienne, Brian looked totally handsome in his Ralph Lauren suit and Charvet tie, but he didn’t look very comfortable, as if the clothes didn’t belong to him.

  “Oh, he’s just Cameron’s latest boy toy,” Mimi said. “Don’t worry, she’ll tire of him soon enough.’

  Mrs. Warner bristled, then laughed. “Oh, these girls and their slang. He’s just the son of a friend who happened to be in town this weekend. Mimi, let’s go get you a tea cake.” She took Mimi’s arm and hustled her away from the group.

  Cameron began circulating through the room, with Brian silent at her side.

  Did she tell him he wasn’t allowed to speak, Adrienne wondered, or is he feeling horribly tongue-tied?

  As she watched, Brian glanced in her direction. His eyes got wide.

  This dress is seriously doing its job. I really need to get Kevyn a thank-you gift. Adrienne crossed the room to Cameron and Brian. “Hi,” Adrienne said, smiling warmly at Brian.

  “Adrienne,” Brian said. “You—wow. You look amazing.” He couldn’t stop staring at her. She flushed with pleasure.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  Cameron glared at Adrienne through narrowed eyes. “Don’t you have to watch Emma?”

  “It’s all under control,” Adrienne said. “Brian, have you had any of the hors d’oeuvres? I made sure they had your favorites since I thought you might be here.”

  “Really?” Brian said. “That was thoughtful of you.”

  Adrienne ducked her head as if she were feeling shy. “Well, you know how much I care about you.”

  “Brian, let me get you a glass of champagne,” Cameron said. “Besides, you don’t want to get Adrienne in trouble, since she’s crashing the party.
The longer she’s out here, the more likely she’ll get caught.”

  “Oh, of course. Right,” Brian said. “See you, Adrienne.”

  Adrienne watched Cameron stroll off with Brian. Cam glanced back over her shoulder, and then whispered something to Brian. They both laughed.

  Knowing Cam, Adrienne thought, that joke is on me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  will the real Parker please stand up?

  Liz rested her elbows on the table in the back of the Warners’ kitchen. She had come upstairs to give Adrienne a hand with Emma, who sat across from Liz, her nose buried in a thick book. David giggled with Grumpus as they created a huge traffic jam on the table using several metal race cars. Heather had crawled under the table to avoid the antics of David and Grumpus and Emma’s obvious disdain.

  “How’s it going in here?” Adrienne asked, coming back into the kitchen.

  “Shockingly smoothly,” Liz said. “So, how’s the war going out there?”

  Adrienne sighed. “My dress was a hit. I mean, Brian looked at me like I was his favorite dessert. But then…” Her voice trailed off.

  “But then Cameron snapped her fingers and dessert time was over?”

  “Exactly,” Adrienne said.

  “That sucks,” Liz said. She really hoped Adrienne would be able to win back Brian, but she had a feeling the longer Cameron had her claws into him, the harder it would be to pry him away.

  “Can you go out and peek and see what they’re doing?” Adrienne asked. “Maybe Brian is trying to find me.”

  “Well…I’ll take a look, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  Liz peeked out the door. Darn. She couldn’t see anyone. She slipped out and hoped if anyone spotted her she could just claim she was part of the catering crew.

  She stepped into the hallway and ran into Isabelle.

  “Oh, hi, Liz,” Isabelle said morosely.

  “Hi, Isabelle,” Liz said. “Something wrong?”

  “This party is a disaster,” Isabelle moaned. “I got a stain on my dress, and they took the worst picture of me.”

  “I’m sure your dry cleaner can fix it,” Liz said.

  “I guess…but Parker suggested seltzer.”

  “What?” Did she just say Parker?

  “Oh, yeah. He said it’s some age-old stain-removal trick.” She twisted one of her golden curls around her finger. “Who knew that a guy who looks like that could add housekeeping to his many charms.”

  “Parker is here?” Liz tried to figure out what that meant. The only explanation she could come up with was that Parker was taking Isabelle to the cotillion, too. Didn’t Adrienne say the girls were bringing their cotillion escorts to this tea?

  “Sure!” Isabelle smiled. “He’s over at the buffet getting seltzer. Isn’t he the best?”

  “Um, I gotta go, Isabelle,” Liz said, suddenly having trouble breathing properly.

  “See you in Aspen,” Isabelle said.

  Liz dodged her way through the crowd—she had to get back to the kitchen before Parker spotted her. She just didn’t know how she’d behave if she saw him right now.

  “Hey,” Adrienne said, grabbing her friend’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Liz fought back tears. “Parker is out there with Isabelle.”

  Adrienne’s face flooded with sympathy. “I was so focused on Brian that I never even noticed Parker was here,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Liz said. “Listen, can you watch Emma now? I really want to get out of here.”

  Adrienne nodded. “No prob.”

  Liz got Heather out from under the table, put David in charge of Grumpus, and left through the service entrance.

  What is the deal? she wondered. Who is the real Parker? The sweet guy who treats me like a princess? Or the bad boy dating the rich—and slumming with the help?

  On Sunday, Liz dragged her suitcase to 841 Fifth Avenue. She, the kids, and Dr. M-C were flying first class on an afternoon flight from LaGuardia. Liz was exhausted. She had barely slept, having spent the whole night after the tea worrying about Parker.

  At least I’ll be able to get some decent sleep in first class, she thought, stepping into the apartment.

  “Liz, make Heather quit hitting Grumpus!” David shrieked, racing through the hall after Heather, who ran screaming from him.

  “I didn’t touch ANYONE!” she yelled. “Because there is NOBODY THERE!”

  “Hey!” Liz snapped. “Hey, hey, HEY!” She grabbed both kids and yanked them to a stop.

  “What about—” David began.

  “Grumpus, you too!” Liz ordered. “PLEASE stop!”

  David and Heather pouted and glared at each other, but at least they were quiet.

  Liz looked around. “Where are your bags?” she asked.

  “Mommy said you would pack them,” Heather offered.

  “We started,” David said.

  Liz sighed. At least they had started.

  They walked into Heather’s room. “See?” the little girl said proudly, gesturing to the bed. A huge suitcase sat open on Heather’s bed, completely stuffed with toys.

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s exactly what you’ll need in Aspen,” Liz said. If this is what Heather packed, what does David have stashed in his suitcase?

  She dashed into David’s room, suddenly aware of the time. David scurried around in front of her and stood in front of his bed. “Please don’t tell?” he begged.

  “Let me see what you packed,” Liz said.

  “Okay,” he said in a small voice.

  He stepped aside. On his bed were two suitcases—both empty except for large plastic bags of candy corn he must have been hoarding since Halloween.

  “Okay,” Liz said, mustering all of the calm force that she could. “We have one hour. Only one hour to pack everything you need.”

  Soon, Liz had the kids gathering clothes, toys, and equipment for skating. Thank God I don’t have to deal with skis, she thought.

  “Now pack Grumpus!” David ordered. He handed her an empty suitcase.

  “David, I really don’t think—”

  David plopped onto the floor, his face twisted with a barely contained sob.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Liz said. “I’ll pack for Grumpus as long as you finish your own packing. And,” she added, seeing him reach for the bags of candy, “only the things we have already agreed on.”

  As they were finishing up, Dr. M-C walked in. “Everything ready?” she asked, shuffling through papers in her purse. “The car is downstairs.”

  “All set. Even Grumpus,” Liz said.

  Dr. M-C beamed. “Excellent!”

  “Do we have a ticket for Grumpus?” David asked. “Do we, Mommy? Do we?”

  For a moment, Dr. M-C looked startled, but then she quickly recovered. “Ah, David,” she said, “of course we do! One first class ticket for you, one for me, one for Heather”—she reached into her purse and pulled out an invisible ticket—“and one for Grumpus.”

  David frowned. “That’s not a ticket,” he said. “That’s not really there.”

  “Well, then, David,” Liz said, “if we can’t see the ticket, that means it’s not there. And if we can’t see Grumpus, what does that mean?”

  “It means Mommy has to look harder!” Dr. M-C said forcefully, shooting Liz a warning look. She reached back into her purse and pulled out a real ticket this time. She handed it to David. “For Grumpus.”

  “Thanks, Mommy!” David cheered.

  Liz gulped. That was obviously her ticket. Am I not going now?

  “Kids, go get the elevator!” Dr. M-C said. “Liz will get your bags.”

  As the children shuffled off, Liz turned to Dr. M-C, her mouth open.

  Dr. M-C looked extremely miffed. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I’ll call my travel agent. We’ll get you something else. But I don’t know why you did that. I’m very disappointed.”

  “Did what?” Liz asked.

  “Try to get David to admit that Gru
mpus is imaginary. And just when we’re about to get started. If he gives up Grumpus now, I’ll have no book.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Markham-Collins,” Liz said.

  “Now go help the children while I get your ticket arranged.”

  “Right,” Liz said.

  She bustled the kids and their luggage downstairs and helped the doormen load the car. Dr. M-C came down, and she and the kids climbed into the town car.

  “Well, we’re all set!” Dr. M-C said, slipping an e-ticket printed from the computer into Liz’s hand.

  Liz glanced at the ticket. Oh joy, she thought. I’ve been bumped down to coach by an invisible kid. And smack into a middle seat.

  “This is going to be a loooooooong flight,” she muttered.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  putting the plan in motion

  “Adriana,” Mrs. Warner called from her bedroom. “Can you get my jewelry case?”

  Adrienne sighed and looked around the large entrance hall of the Warner apartment. Piles of suitcases and boxes lined the walls, containing the things that the Warner family regarded as essential on a trip to Saint Moritz, the exclusive Swiss ski resort.

  She picked up the heavy case and moved slowly, trying to support the case’s awkward shape against her body. She placed it on the dressing table with a thud.

  It startled Mrs. Warner, who frowned at her. “Really, Adriana,” she muttered. Then she swiveled in her chair to face Adrienne squarely. “I didn’t actually need that case,” she confided. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”

  “Oh?” Adrienne said.

  “I have to say I was rather disappointed to see that boy Byron at the tea,” Mrs. Warner said. “I had hoped you would have accomplished our little goal before then.”

  “I know, Mrs. Warner,” Adrienne replied, “but the tea took up so much time….” Though she was pretty pleased by the impact her dress had made on Brian at the tea party.

  “Darling, I know!” said Mrs. Warner, turning to her reflection in the mirror and patting the skin under her eyes gently. “I’m exhausted just thinking of all the work I did.”