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LATER THAT AFTERNOON, after dropping an obscene amount of money at Cartier, we had a late lunch of roughage at Salade on Park, where Blackwell first taught me the importance of piling on the greens “so one can cleanse before an evening out.”
And even later, as the sun started to set behind Manhattan’s jagged skyline as we drove to Wenn, I tried to reach Alex, but for some reason he didn’t answer his phone.
Where is he? I wondered.
When Blackwell and I stepped into Wenn, we cross the lobby, took the elevator to the fifty-first floo,r and moved down the hallway toward the office we’d always used as a makeshift dressing room.
“It’s seems like a lifetime ago when we were last here,” I said to Blackwell when we first entered the room.
“And yet it hasn’t even been a month. The time on that island felt like a good six months—if not a year. But here we are—and here is dear Bernie. You’re looking as fantastic as ever, my love,” she said to him. “And together, we’re about to remove the island from Jennifer’s whiskbroom of a hairdon’t and fix what has become, for me, her reptilian-like skin.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said.
“Oh, you will be thanking me. And also Bernie,” she said as she approached him with open arms. “Mostly Bernie.” She fell into his open arms and held him for a moment. “Thank God I’m able to see you again.”
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said.
“And here I thought the same.”
“And yet you triumphed.”
“I did,” she said. “Like a phoenix from the ashes.”
“And yet look at you,” he said, standing away from her while still holding her hands in his own. “Nothing ashy here.”
“You’re being too kind,” she said. “I know I’m a wreck. I know I need your spells. Your voodoo. Your...your je ne sais pas!”
He took a lock of her hair, and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. “You’re not out of the game yet,” he said. “But a dark cloud hovers.”
“I know it does.”
“We can fix it.”
“It needs to be fixed. I need to be fixed.”
“Then, it’s done. We tend to Jennifer tonight. Tomorrow, it’s all about you.”
“J’espere,” Blackwell said.
“I promise.”
“How I’ve missed you, my friend.”
“I have a confession,” he said.
“What confession?”
“I turned to pharmaceuticals when I thought you were lost to me.”
“You didn’t?”
“I did. Happy pills, they call them. And yet somehow, throughout it all, I remained sallow.”
“Take yourself off them,” she said. “They’re no good for you. I’m here now.”
And with that, the stylish, good-looking fifty-something man, took a deep breath and said with his eyes closed, “I’m not sure that I can.”
“Why?”
“Because of my lost youth. Because I’ve returned to old habits.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I need to know everything.”
“It will be a burden.”
“No, it won’t.”
“Fine, then—but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
“Tell me.”
“If I crush up the pills and snort them, I’m in absolute heaven, even though it lasts for only a moment before I fall into a funk again.”
“That’s just you zipping back to your days at Studio 54, before you found Madonna, gave her the crucifix, and turned her into the fashion icon she became because of you! But you’re beyond that now, Bernie. You must know that you are.”
“What I know is that I’m an addict.”
“Who isn’t? I, for one, am addicted to power. And fashion. But you have strength, and part of your strength is back with you now. I’m here again. I might have crashed out of the sky and slammed onto an island overrun with gun-toting hippies, but look—I’ve returned. I’m alive and well. So, ditch the pills. Forget about putting that blow up your nose.”
“In my own defense, I was using rolled up hundred-dollar bills lightly scented with perfume...”
“Well, I will give you points there. May I ask what you cut it with?”
“A gold razor blade. I got it in 1980 from Grace Jones at a party at 54. It has too much sentimental value for me to throw it away. Oh, the times I had with that blade!”
“My God—that blade has provenance...”
“It does.”
“Well, if nothing else, I applaud that you applied style in your, uh, addiction. And for that, you’ll always be a class act. But you need to get yourself back on track. Will you flush the rest of those pills for me?”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I’ll do it tonight.”
“Thank God! I can’t lose you now—not after coming so close to doing so. You know I can’t. I couldn’t bear it!”
“Je suis d’accord.”
“I knew you’d agree.”
He turned to me and smiled. “Jennifer,” he said.
“You mean you can actually recognize her?” Blackwell said.
“I do. And she’s beautiful. Come and give Bernie a hug,” he said to me.
“As you can see, I’m a little limited when it comes to giving hugs, Bernie—”
“She’s a goddamned cripple.”
I shot Blackwell a withering, sidelong glance. “—but I’ll do my best.”
Gently, we hugged, and as we did, I could smell just a touch of his cologne, which was clean and bright with hints of lavender, amber, and sandalwood.
“You smell wonderful,” I said.
“Do I? Even though I’ve just outted myself as a borderline drug baron?”
“You’ll be fine,” I said.
“Are you high now, Bernie?” Blackwell asked tentatively. “Because we can’t, you know, have anything go wrong on this very important night. Tonight, after all, marks Jennifer’s reintroduction back into the world of high society.”
“No, no. I’m fine. The six lines I snorted this morning are long gone. Even that hundred-dollar bill I used is gone—I burned it up out of shame. I held it right over the toilet, set it ablaze, and let it go with the rest of the waste. Now I’m just high on life!”
“Perfect,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Then we need to commence. The party is just a few hours away.”
* * *
WHEN BERNIE WAS FINISHED with me—repairing my hair with a wealth of tonics, blowing it out and then straightening it with a flatiron, and making my skin look dewy, fresh, and youthful with his masterful approach to applying just the right touch of makeup—I stared at myself in the mirror, and then looked up at him.
“So, who is she?” I said.
“That’s what I’m wondering,” Blackwell said.
“She’s you,” Bernie said. “The best of you. Own it. Work it. Twerk it, as they’re saying these days. Because you look fabulous, Jennifer, even if I do say so myself.”
“I have to agree,” Blackwell said, coming to my side and looking at me in the lighted mirror. “I love the smoky eye and the pouty lip. J’adore the fact that her face looks as if it’s been sandblasted by granite. She came in here looking like one of the Little Rascals on even harder times, and now she’s been transformed into a princess.” Her gaze flicked up to meet Bernie’s in the mirror. “You’re a magician. Or, in this one’s case, a superb mortician. Somehow, you brought her back to life.”
“Why does my self-esteem plummet when you’re like this?” I asked.
“Oh, please—you know I’m only joking. You look fab. But when you get dressed, what are we to do with your bum arm? That’s what concerns me. So, go and get into your dress, and we’ll see what I can come up with that will make your sling somehow mesh with your dress. Now, scoot!”
It was at that moment that my cell rang.
“Alex,” I said to Blackwell. “Finally. I haven’t heard from him all day.”
“Then take the call,” she said.
I went to the makeup table, grabbed my phone, and answered it. “Where have you been?” I asked. “I called earlier.”
“I apologize,” he said. “I had a long lunch with the old guard—Jonathan and Tim. You remember them?”
“Of course I do. What happened?”
“I wanted to know if and how I could get my seat back as CEO. I told them that I couldn’t care less about being chairman of the board—that can go to someone else. The long answer they gave me is complicated, but the short answer is that it’s not going to happen unless Stephen Rowe does something radical enough to throw off investors and the board. Only then, in their estimation, will I be able to win my seat back.”
“Did you tell them about Janice Jones?”
“I did.”
“What was their reaction?”
“They said that we’d need to bring the board proof of his indiscretions and, more importantly, show how they might affect Wenn’s stock if those indiscretions were made public.”
“That’s just what we plan to do.”
“And that’s why we need to find Jones and convince her to come clean about her affair with Rowe. As for the rest of the day, I’ve just been answering emails, getting caught up on work—that sort of thing. Ann had a pile of paperwork for me to go through. I’m sorry that I went missing, but now I’m dressed and ready for Henri’s party. Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes? Tank will drive us to Henri’s.”
“I’ll see you in fifteen,” I said. “And I love you, Alex.”
“I love you, too—more than anything, Jennifer.”
“Tonight should be curious,” I said. “Are you ready for it?”
“Bring it on,” he said. And after he said that he loved me again, he severed the connection.
I put my phone back onto the makeup table and turned to Blackwell. “I’ve got fifteen minutes,” I said. “We should move. But you know I won’t be able to get into that dress on my own without your help.”
She heard the tension in my voice, and her face softened. “Then let me help you.”
And she did. And when we were finished, I stood before the mirror in my Michael Kors gown with my arm out of its sling, but still held up close to my chest.
“It’s lovely,” Blackwell said. “And sexy. And it makes a statement—you’re back and you’re in charge. You’re the complete package. Now, here, let’s put on your jewelry so you’re not late for Alex.”
Swiftly, Blackwell dipped into her bag from Cartier, and fastened a new diamond necklace, bracelet, and earrings to me. The ring she slipped onto my right index finger was a ten-carat emerald diamond with a brilliant cut that dazzled in ways that made me wonder again how in the hell I’d ever gotten to this point in my life. The lot of it was as stunning as it was obnoxious.
“You’re like a damned disco ball,” she said. “But in the right way.”
“I long for the days of disco balls,” Bernie said. “Twirling beneath them, not a care in the world.”
“Just be happy that you survived those days,” she said to him. “But what are we to do with her arm? She might have a black sling, but it won’t work for this. Bernie?”
“I have no idea...”
“And this is why I’m Blackwell.”
“What does that mean?” I asked her. “Are you going to magically heal my wound?”
“Not quite, though I would if I could,” she said. “That said, I did tell you earlier today that a surprise was coming, so allow me to spring that surprise upon you now.”
With that, she went to the far end of the room, where she grabbed a bag from behind a group of tables. She must have put it there earlier so I wouldn’t see it. It said “Swarovski” on it, which puzzled me.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Your new sling.”
And with a flourish, she removed from the bag a large white box inside which was a black sling encrusted with black Swarovski crystals that sparkled, flared and danced in the light as if they were about to go out on the town themselves. My breath caught when I saw it, and when I locked eyes with Blackwell, her mouth was set in a self-satisfied smirk.
“You can’t be serious?” I asked. “A sling made out of Swarovski crystals? And black ones at that? How did you pull that off in such a limited amount of time?”
“Money always talks,” she said. “Speak loudly enough, and people will listen. And act, for that matter. I ordered this the day you left for Maine, knowing that you’d likely be going to an event while you were still healing. With a fair bit of pressure, I made sure that it arrived today. Now, here. Stop looking like a raccoon in the headlights. Let me put it on you. You’re about to see that your arm is no longer a burden to couture. In fact, this sling is meant to only enhance the couture.”
“How do we know if it will even fit?”
“Maine, please. Do you really think I don’t know your measurements by now? Even if you did lose some weight on that beastly island, I’ve got this. Now, come on—let me help you into it.”
Once she had maneuvered my arm into the sling and clipped it behind my back, she stepped away from me, folded her arms in front of herself, and lifted a self-satisfied eyebrow at me. Then, I heard Bernie gasp and start to clap his hands as I turned to the mirror and looked at myself. As imperfect as I was due to my injury, the effect Blackwell and Bernie had created for me was as perfect as it could get.
“That’s Page Six material,” Bernie said.
“And that was my intent,” Blackwell said. “She’ll land there tomorrow—just you wait and see.”
“Thank you,” I said to her. “You always have my back.”
“That’s because, even though I love to tease you, my dear, I will always have your back because I love you. Look at you,” she said. “That slings says that you’re not embarrassed by what happened to you, but that you are owning what happened to you. You’re proud of what happened to you because you saved your husband’s life. You’re willing to draw attention to your injury, not because you’re searching for pity, but because you’re a strong woman who refuses to let a bullet to the shoulder get in her way. That will speak volumes about who you are. In fact, it is who you are—a fighter. Now, make the best of it.”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you both so much. I do love you both—you have to know that!”
“We do,” she said. “Now, go. Alex is waiting, and soon the party will begin.”
“I can’t take a clutch,” I said. “I need to leave one arm open in order to hold a drink and to shake hands. What am I going to do about a compact and lipstick, never mind my phone?”
“You don’t need your phone, but you do need your lipstick and your compact, so here—give them to Alex, and ask him to put them in his pants pocket for you.”
“Thank you again,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” Blackwell said. “And we both love you too, darling. Now, go!”
