Текст книги "Being Audrey Hepburn"

Автор книги: Mitchell Kriegman

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

12

Crap, crap, crap.

Rounding the corner in the Beast on the way home from work, there it was—red and blue lights flashing, a New Jersey State Trooper squad car in my driveway.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

My heart bashed at my rib cage. This was it. They’d come to arrest me. They knew about the dress. I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt as though they were being crushed. Stay calm, stay calm.

Okay, I didn’t actually steal it, right? I didn’t leave the premises. So that wasn’t stealing. It was borrowing. Not even. Really, I just relocated the dress from the archives to the main gallery and back again. Like a curator. Except not.

It’s not like I was a klepto, taking a five-finger discount at a jewelry store. Didn’t celebrities swipe stuff all the time? No, it wasn’t stealing. I didn’t steal the dress.

It was way worse. Fraud.

I pretended as if I were someone I’m not. I lied to everyone and let them believe I was somebody. I’d spent my whole life imagining what it would be like, full of magic and glamour and tuxedos and sparkle. That night, I’d gotten a taste of “sipping starlight,” as Nan called it, though it was for just an hour. It was flat-out glorious, and inevitably I had to pay for it.

The cop car just sat there with its lights flashing but no sound. I assumed they must still be inside. Jess was right. Trying on a one-of-a-kind, million-dollar dress was a boneheaded move.

Oh crap. I walked Tabitha Eden out the service entrance in the back. I did leave the Met with the dress. They’d convict me in a second … you know, like shoplifting jewelry. Once you leave the store, you’re guilty.

A million tiny details of my crime gone wrong flooded my mind. Of course, the Met had dozens of security cameras everywhere. It was a museum filled with valuable things, for chrissakes. I mean, was it okay to grab a six-thousand-year-old pharaohs’ necklace made of gold and turquoise and dance around with it on your neck? Duh. No.

Surely they’d tracked every movement I made and had me red-handed, leaving the building in a hot Givenchy.

About six hundred people, including the most famous people in New York City, saw me in the dress, prancing around, laughing, and drinking champagne. How hard would it have been to pick out that dress on a security camera, with a tiara in my hair, no less? Security Joe, he must have told them.

It was eerie how the cop car just sat there, lights flashing, no sound. New Jersey’s finest. I gunned the gas of my Purple Beast and kept driving past my house.

Jess flashed in my frantic thoughts. She was screwed way more than me. I had let my complete and total obsession with Audrey Hepburn drag her smack into the middle of all this. Jess would get blamed, even though it was my fault. I stomped on the brakes and steered the Beast to the curb.

Oh shit, I was the worst, worst friend ever.

The police were probably combing my room for evidence that very second.

Page Six. Oh, crap. What about Page Six?

I was sure the Page Six photo was up on my laptop. Mom probably saw it, or Courtney or my creep brother. Page Six was photographic evidence, now posted on the Internet for every DA in the state to see. I’d practically turned this all on myself.

In my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Mom as she walked out on the stoop dressed in her worn yellow tracksuit. Her face creased with worry, leaning against the rickety railing, she lowered herself dejectedly to sit on the front step of our house like she was in pain, drawing on a cig.

She was sipping from her usual blue travel mug. Apparently, a houseful of police officers wasn’t enough to keep her from the booze. She pulled out her cell phone.

My phone buzzed, and I was terrified it was her.

Instead it was another text from Tabitha.

“Pop up party at the High Line !! Use Tabbycat to get in ;) XOXOXOXO.”

Jeez, the life of a party girl never seemed further away.

I stepped on the gas and headed for the only place I could think of.

13

The second she opened the door, I was sobbing so hard it felt as though I might implode.

“Well, this isn’t good, is it, dear?” soothed Nan. She squeezed me tightly and ushered me inside. I made my way to the couch on wobbly legs as Nan closed the front door.

Oh God, she knew. The police had probably already been here. I hoped Nan was okay. Should I have gone somewhere else? I was so wound up, I couldn’t think straight. Sinking down into the cushions on her worn velvet sofa, I inhaled the soothing essence of my Nan—rose oil and vanilla. She sat next to me, her arm encircling me tightly.

“Dearest, it’s probably not as awful as it seems right now.”

I sobbed. Nan reached for a box of tissues, and I felt my phone vibrate. I didn’t want to look, but I was worried it might be Jess. Were the police at her house, too?

It was Tabitha Eden again.

“R u coming ?!”

Jeez.

“CALL ME !!”

I was pretty positive that America’s pop princess wasn’t going to want me at that pop-up party once it hit the news that I was a felon, a couture con. I couldn’t even think what she’d say.

Of course I’d gotten caught. I’ve never gotten away with anything in my entire life. Ever. Unlike most of my friends, I’d never shoplifted, I’d never cheated on a test, I’d never snuck into a movie theater, I’d never pinched booze or money or cigarettes from Mom like Courtney always did.

I guessed the good news was that if I got jailed for Givenchy jacking, I wouldn’t have to confess to Mom that I wasn’t going to college and killing her “my daughter the nurse-practitioner” dream.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked my body. I couldn’t think of a single thing about my life that didn’t suck. Nan rubbed my back, her voice low and soothing.

“There, there, these things have a way of working themselves out,” she said.

Gulping deep breaths, I tried to speak. Nan looked at me with those kind blue eyes and pressed her cool, silky hand to the side of my face. Oh how I wished I could be Nan. All eighty-one years of her. To have her memories would be better than having my life.

“Not to sound disrespectful of your feelings, dear, but I’m a tiny bit surprised you’re so distressed about this,” said Nan.

“It’s a disaster!” I wailed. Of course I was distressed!

“I wouldn’t say it’s a disaster,” soothed Nan. “Ryan will probably just get probation.” Wait, what? “That would be the best for everybody.”

We were clearly talking about two entirely different crime sprees. An involuntary laugh bubbled up in my throat before I could stop it, like a hiccup. I swallowed, trying to shift gears.

“Ryan’s in trouble? What’d he do this time?”

“Isn’t that what you were upset about?” she asked.

I didn’t want to lie to Nan. I couldn’t lie to Nan.

“I came home from work, and there was a state trooper’s car in the driveway,” I said cautiously. “I freaked out and drove straight here.”

Question avoided. Jess would have strangled me if I told Nan. Which sucked, because I didn’t keep anything from Nan.

“Your brother set off the fire alarm at school. And then he joked with some kids he had a gun, but of course he didn’t.” Nan sighed. “These days, even saying something like that is practically a felony. I don’t know what gets into that boy. The sprinklers went off and flooded the gym. They put the whole school on lockdown. It was on the local news. Quite a big stir.”

“What was he thinking?” The knot in my gut began to loosen a little; I could almost breathe again. Ryan seemed as if he was going to end up in Rahway before he even got his learner’s permit.

“Your mom called here fifteen minutes ago, trying to find you,” Nan said. “She thought she saw your car.”

Oh great. If Mom called Nan, then she was really upset. They never talked.

“How’d she sound?”

“Not well,” she said. “She couldn’t find Courtney either. She said she feels abandoned.”

I groaned.

“Dear, it’s not your job to take care of your mother,” Nan said. “She can take care of herself.”

“I don’t want to go home. It’s going to be bad,” I said, burying my face in her shoulder. I felt like a big blubbering baby, scared and helpless.

“Yes, well it probably is a good idea to wait while she’s in that … condition.” We both knew exactly what she wasn’t saying.

“You can always stay here as long as you’d like.” She gave me a warm squeeze. “How about milk and cookies, and maybe a medicinal viewing of Tiffany’s?”

I nodded gratefully, and she gave me one last squeeze before she eased off the couch and headed into the kitchen. I’d totally dodged a bullet. Okay, maybe the cops were after Ryan, my delinquent-threat-to-society brother. But they could have been after me. Next time, I might not be so lucky.

I closed the drapes, grabbed the Tiffany’s DVD from its case, and popped it into the player. A healthy dose of Audrey. Or … maybe not. How guilty would it feel to see that dress again?

Grabbing an afghan from the basket behind the couch, I fast-forwarded through the outdated previews until I reached the menu screen so the movie would be ready when Nan returned from the kitchen.

She elbowed her way through the kitchen doorway, balancing a giant plate of cookies, napkins, and two large glasses of milk. She could have worked at the diner.

“Let me help you with that,” I said, relieving her of the plate of cookies and setting them gently on the coffee table. She handed me a napkin and a glass of milk.

“So what’s going to happen to Ryan?” I asked.

“Pretty much like last time. Your mom said Ryan’s been suspended. There’s a mandatory fine for the false alarm, up to a thousand dollars. He’ll probably have to do significant community service and more therapy, which might do Ryan good, honestly. I love my grandson, but he needs a wake-up call. When you think about it, maybe this isn’t a bad thing after all.”

“Mom’s going to lose it over the thousand bucks.”

Nan just nodded.

“And the family drama continues,” I said.

“You know, Lisbeth, sometimes good things aren’t always so great, and bad things often turn out to be good for you,” she said.

I nodded, trying to figure out what she meant, but honestly I’d never really understood what people were talking about when they said that kind of thing. Seemed to me it was all pretty black and white.

We snuggled on the couch together and gathered the afghan around us. I hit PLAY on the remote and mere seconds later found myself lulled by the opening notes of “Moon River.”

Audrey appeared on screen in the Givenchy. The night before, the original of that dress had transformed me into a creature far more glamorous and elegant than I could have ever dreamed of being on my own.

My breath caught in my chest.

Audrey stood there with her little white coffee shop bag … that somber, subdued opening always seemed to me like the ending to a movie, not the beginning. For the first time ever, I couldn’t watch. I turned away, feeling horrible.

“What is it, dear?” Nan’s face filled with concern. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

I nodded, terrified and desperate to tell her. Jess would kill me.

“You know whatever trouble you may be in, no matter what kind, you can always come to me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said harshly. I don’t know why I spoke that way, but I felt as if I was drowning.

“And that’s a good thing,” Nan said, perplexed.

She patiently waited for me to say something. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears.

“Nan,” I said, “what if it was me that the cops were after, instead of Ryan? What if they came after me tomorrow or next week or next month? What would I do?”

“You’ve got me worried now, Lisbeth.”

My hand felt as though it was moving in slow motion as I reached for the remote and paused the movie. Audrey was frozen on the screen, larger than life, resplendent in her pearls and timeless elegance, staring into the Tiffany’s window.

“Nan,” I said, my voice shaky and weak. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

14

Nan was laughing so hard, I worried she’d pass out from lack of oxygen. Seriously, she was practically purple.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not going to jail for trying on a dress!” she laughed. “Even a very dazzling, extraordinarily wonderful, famous dress.” And she did a little spin as if she were wearing it herself.

“Really? What do you mean?” I was desperate to believe her.

“Well, first of all, I do believe the Met has a vested interest in keeping this quiet. Many of their exhibits are loaned or donated, and the last thing the museum needs is for people to get the idea that their security is lax.”

I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“You and Jess didn’t damage the dress or spill anything on it, and it’s safe and sound locked up in the vault at the Met, right?” I nodded yes.

“Then, no harm, no foul,” she said, her eyes gleaming.

I shrugged. “Right. But what if the security cameras or one of the guests…?”

“The museum staff knows that all sorts of things happen when they open the museum up to party guests. Occasionally some mischief is going to take place.” Her eyes sparkled slyly. I couldn’t help smiling. I had a feeling I was about to hear a story.

“In fact,” she continued, “I seem to remember a little soiree in my debutante days where a certain Kennedy sibling spent a large portion of the evening drinking single malt scotch while wearing a priceless New Borneo Fertility mask.”

“Scandalous!” I said.

“As I recall, he did a sort of tribal dance to go with it. What a night!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and memories. “He was a good dancer, that one. Swept a girl right off her feet.”

“You?… Really?” I couldn’t help but picture Nan doing a wicked tango or snuggled in a corner of the Met with a Kennedy. I wondered which one.

“How hard do you really think the authorities are going to be on you for trying on a little dress? They don’t want to know! You’re so clever; you’ve completely fooled them. In fact, they should hire you to curate a show about Audrey if they’re smart.”

“But Nan, what if they do come after me. What should I do?”

“Apologize like mad. Promise to never, ever do it again.”

I laughed.

“Enough about that,” she said and set off for the kitchen, returning with a bottle of champagne.

“Now let’s talk about something far more serious, my dear,” she said, pouring us each a glass with a studied look in her eyes. “Tell me everything that happened at the party.”

We placed the plate of cookies between us, and I spilled every detail: what it felt like to wear that iconic Givenchy, the champagne, Tabitha splayed on the floor with her underwear showing, the glitz and glamour of the main gallery, flirting with ZK Northcott, my picture on Page Six.

“Page Six!” said Nan. “Oh, I’d love to see that!” I took her over to the small desk in the corner of her living room, cranked up the old desktop that she never used, and quickly searched online for the image. I was already starting to feel lighter.

“Oh, my! There you are!” she exclaimed. “You look exquisite! And happy!” She raised her left eyebrow at me. “Glamour adores you.”

“Really? Glamour and me? I would be happy if we could just get along. Are you sure?”

I gazed longingly at the image of me in the Givenchy on the screen one last time, trying to let Nan’s words sink in. Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could look like that for real? If I could be the girl in that photo? I don’t know why—maybe just relief, maybe it had something to do with Nan seeing the Page Six picture and being so proud of me—I felt like crying again. I tried to keep myself together as the two of us returned to the sofa.

Nan clasped my hands in hers and giggled. “Of course, my advice … if you have the opportunity to try on … say, the gown from Gone with the Wind or Marilyn Monroe’s dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, you should probably decline.”

“Thanks for the tip.” We laughed, even though I was a little choked up. She squeezed my hands tightly; my panic over the police car nearly dissipated. “Nan, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, love.”

“When I hear you talk about your life in New York before you met Grandpa, it all sounds so glamorous and exciting. I mean, the parties and the dancing and hanging out with the Kennedys and Jackie Bouvier and Frank Sinatra and everything. Don’t you miss it? That’s all I dream about, living a life like the one you had. I mean, did your family go bankrupt? Was there a scandal? Like, maybe one involving fertility masks?”

“No, no, not at all.” Nan laughed.

“It seems so impossible. How could you just give it all up?”

She shrugged her tiny shoulders.

“I fell in love.”

“Really? Was he a scoundrel? A cad? Did he take all your money? Did your parents cast you out?”

“No, I went on my own. Happily. Never looked back.”

“But how? You had all of New York in the palm of your hand. You could have been or done anything. You knew the Vanderbilts. You knew the Rockefellers and that Mafia guy.”

“I knew everybody,” she laughed. “They’re just people, dear.”

“But really rich and famous people. Wasn’t Peter Lawford trying to go out with you? And, like, the Duke of Liechtenstein or something? I mean, I loved Grandpa, and he was the greatest guy ever, but how could you give up the life you had to marry a construction worker?”

Nan smiled a faraway smile and glanced over at the old black-and-white photo of her and Grandpa Frank snuggled together in a beach blanket by the ocean, way before I was born, way before my mother was born, even. They looked so content together. So totally at ease in each other’s arms. I knew that I’d never felt that way ever.

She looked at me with watery blue eyes and said, “Lisbeth, my sweet, when you truly fall in love, you’ll understand.” She stifled a tiny sigh.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hugging her tightly. “You miss him, don’t you?”

“Every day.” A bittersweet expression came over her face. “You said it yourself: Grandpa was the greatest guy ever. Something special, that man. Someone to change your life for.”

“Can we look at the scrapbook again?” I asked, sliding it out from the side table cabinet before she had a chance to answer.

Flipping through Nan’s scrapbook was one of my favorite things to do. Nan’s photos were like a drug to me; they made all the darkness go away—all the ingenues and dashing young men, their faces golden with hope and possibility. I didn’t know anyone in my family who believed in hope besides Nan.

“Hope is a kick in the teeth,” Mom always said. Maybe that was why she never visited. It was just so weird how troubled Mom was, when her parents seemed so perfect and loving.

“Someday, Lisbeth, I expect your own memories will be as exciting to you as mine,” said Nan.

“As if,” I said, flipping the page. “Now tell me again about the time you fell in love with the jazz drummer at your first debutante ball…”

We plunged. The beginning pages were all photos and society-column clippings from before Nan met my granddad. I loved those photos. Nan dressed in pearls and white chiffon for her debutante ball or poised and elegant on the arm of a dapper young man or gracefully posing with my great-grandparents in a crystal ballroom.

And so many dresses.

“You had to have five ball gowns, at least four cocktail dresses, and all the accessories to lunch in and to wear to tea, cute little hats and several pairs of matching gloves,” Nan said. “It was really quite something.”

“I wish I could see you in just one of these dresses,” I said. “You were so beautiful.”

“They still fit, you know,” she said, “every one.”

“You don’t still have them, do you?” I’d been in Nan’s little apartment a million times, and I’d never seen any of these dresses. “Are they here?”

“Not here—there’s not enough room. I know it’s extravagant, but I couldn’t bear to give all of them away. I always thought I’d give the ones I kept to your mother, but she had no interest.”

“Where are they?” I realized how urgent I sounded. She laughed, and I did, too.

“I haven’t been out there in years. They’re packed away in one of those big concrete storage places by the Holland Tunnel entrance. Pay the bill every month.”

No way. My heart was racing.

“Oh Nan! Can I please see them?” I begged. “Please, please?”

“Of course! You can have them.” She laughed. “Or what’s left of them. They’re all yours if the moths haven’t gotten there first. I haven’t visited that place in almost twenty years. Dearest, bring me that little music box over there, would you please?”

I crossed the room, fetching a little heart-shaped music box with a crystal lid, and placed it in Nan’s lap. As she opened it, the box played “Moon River.” We looked at each other and grinned.

“See, I love Audrey almost as much as you do.”

She slipped a little key tied with a pink ribbon out of the box and gently dropped it in my hand.

“Alpha Building, unit 504.”

“Holy shit. I mean, wow. Thank you!” I said, tracing the outline of the key in my palm.

“So are we going to watch this movie or not?” asked Nan.

“We are!” I laughed and reached for the remote.

I hit PLAY and Audrey came to life again. Nan and I snuggled together, holding hands while we watched Tiffany’s. When it was over, I hugged Nan close once again, thanked her for everything, and said good-bye.

As I made my way to the Beast, my phone buzzed with another text from Tabitha Eden.

“Do u really exist ?!”

I couldn’t believe how many times Tabitha had texted me. Honestly, I’d figured she’d get bored when I didn’t respond and forget about our bizarre encounter in the Met bathroom that night.

“U better b my +1 this wkend !! ;) don’t make me go alone !! >.<”

Alone? How could she possibly be always so alone all the time? At her own party for her new album? It was so weird, I felt bad for her. I was dying to go, but I had to be realistic. I couldn’t possibly show up at her record party. Tabitha and her A-list friends were bound to figure out that I wasn’t actually the reincarnation of Audrey Hepburn.

Besides, I didn’t have a thing to wear, did I?

I gazed at the little key with the pink ribbon and wondered.