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“CUTTER, DARLING—WE go to Bergdorf,” Blackwell said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to me as he pulled into traffic, and her eyes were brighter than they’d been earlier that morning. Hell, give the woman a reason to shop and they became electric. “You know, just saying the word ‘Berrrrrgdorf’ sounds like mischief to me,” she said.
“I know where you’re going with this, and you need to be nice to Chloe.”
“Says who? She makes a fortune in commissions off us. And besides, all I generally do is poke her with a stick a few times when she disappoints me.”
“Sometimes I think you poke her too hard.”
“And sometimes I think you’re entirely too soft.”
“You’re impossible.”
She lifted her chin at me. “What I am is Blackwell...”
“Jesus.”
“How are you, Cutter?” Lisa asked. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Lisa was sitting between Blackwell and me, and because I’d told her that Blackwell was the one taking us shopping, she’d totally and intentionally whipped herself into shape.
Though she generally sat behind a computer all day in sweats and a T-shirt while she wrote whatever novel she was working on, today Lisa had brought it—she was wearing cream-colored Prada pants, a matching cashmere sweater, and a bright-red mid-length coat by Akris. On her feet—red Louboutins. She wore her blonde hair softly around her shoulders, and her make-up was spot-on. She’d nailed it to the point that Blackwell actually gave her a compliment when we’d picked her up.
“I’m good, Lisa,” Cutter said. “Yourself?”
“Fantastic. This morning, one of my zombies whacked off a guy’s head, cracked open his skull with the help of a rock, and used his fingers to scoop out his brains so he could eat them. But since that’s clearly been done before, I’m thinking of throwing in a twist. If the dead guy was smart, maybe eating his brains will make the zombie smarter...”
“Actually, that would be a nice twist...”
“I think it might be, too. I mean, what if the dead guy was some sort of genius? And the zombie becomes super smart because of eating his brain? Think of the possibilities.”
“That zombie could organize a revolt of some sort.”
“Oh, my God, see? I love it!”
“You two and your zombies,” I said.
“Like Tank to this day, Cutter also knows the power of the Z,” Lisa said.
“Can’t you write about something that matters?” Blackwell said as Cutter came to a stop at a traffic light. “You know, something useful like topical Botox or something? Just dab it around your eyes and everything’s perfectly smooth within minutes. I hate those damned injections.”
“What matters?” Lisa said. “I thought what matters was lifting Wenn’s bottom line, which my books are doing.”
“Well, aren’t you the little scrappy one this morning?”
“Actually, I am feeling scrappy.” She turned to Barbara and I saw my friend’s eyes glimmer. “You know, Barbara, I’ve written a character based on you into my new book.”
Oh, no, she’s not...
“What in the fresh hell are you talking about now?”
“Jennifer knows about it... We’ve just kept it secret.”
“Traitor!” Blackwell said to me. “Like hell she’s putting me into one of her books.”
“It’s not as bad as you think...” I said to her.
“Lies!”
“It isn’t,” Lisa said. “And it’s already done. Her name is Bertha. You inspired her. Naturally, Bertha is a member of the undead, but because some part of her remembers that she loves couture, she raids all of the Chanel stores in Manhattan.”
“I’ll sue!”
“It’s satire—you can’t. Besides, I think you’d rather like Bertha—”
“A horrible name!”
“—because as she rots, she goes from a size zero to a size minus two. Oh, and she also decides which tailors get to live or die, if only so that her clothes can be fitted properly to her. If they screw it up, it’s off with any number of their body parts. So, you know, thanks for the inspiration.”
“Are you telling me that Iris has sanctioned this?”
“I’m telling you that even my editor doesn’t know that it’s you, so don’t worry. What I’ve done is actually given an homage to you, if you think about it. I mean, shouldn’t the undead also crave couture as much as you do?”
“Well,” Blackwell said, clearly cornered.
“I mean, shouldn’t they?”
“Everyone should look their best—dead or alive.”
“Then take it as a compliment. It was only meant out of good fun. I actually think you’re going to enjoy the scene.”
“To be determined. But whatever. I have far more important things on my plate right now than worrying about being the inspiration for a zombie named Bertha. We’re here. At Bergdorf. Jennifer, I can already tell you that you will shine on Saturday night.”
And then she turned coolly to Lisa.
“But as for you, my kind-hearted little scribbler, the zombies, as you might say, are still out on that one.”
* * *
AS CUTTER PULLED THE car next to Bergdorf and stopped beside it, Blackwell held up her hand and stopped us from exiting the car.
She reached into her clutch, removed her SlimPhone, and punched in a few numbers. After a pause, she said, “Chloe. Are you ready for us? Good. We’re just outside and we’ll see you in thirty seconds.”
With that said, she clicked off her phone. Then, Cutter got out of the car and came around to open the door next to me and we all stepped onto the sidewalk.
“You totally should be in charge of a militia,” Lisa said to Blackwell.
“Watch it, girl.”
“I mean it. It’s kind of crazy to watch you like this. Obviously, I’ve seen you in action before after all these years, but I still can’t process how you can make everyone fall in line the way you do.”
“That’s because you don’t understand or even grasp the idea of power,” she said. “Now, move forward toward the building. I told Chloe that we’d be inside in thirty seconds, and you are not going to blow that for me. Cutter, my darling young man, I’ll call you ten minutes before we’re ready to leave, OK?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“See!” Lisa said as we all moved toward Bergdorf’s entrance. “Look at Jennifer and me—both marching toward Bergdorf’s like we’re one of your automatons while poor Cutter is now on guard, ready to pick us up at a moment’s notice. I think that we’re your militia.”
“Then I have terrible tastes when it comes to choosing my soldiers—with the exception of Cutter. He’s someone you want on your team, as is Tank.”
“I’m totally team Tank!” Lisa said.
“What you two ‘totally’ need to do is get the hell married, but we’ll save that for another day,” Blackwell said as Chloe opened the door for us, meeting us with a genuine smile.
“Barbara,” Chloe said as we stepped inside.
“Hellohoware?” Blackwell said as she breezed past her.
“I’m excellent,” she said. “And very happy to see you, Jennifer, and Lisa.”
Blackwell raised an eyebrow at the middle-aged blonde beauty standing before us. “Really, Chloe? You’re... happy?”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps I should phrase it another way. Is it your bank account that’s happy to see us—or is it you who are happy?”
“Barbara,” I said.
“Never mind answering, Chloe—I think we all know,” Blackwell said. “Now, I assume you have things in mind for these two?”
“I do.”
“And I assume you’ve given those things a great deal of thought?”
“I have.”
“More thought than you’d even give to a dying loved one? Like your mother...?”
“I—”
“Don’t answer that—too awkward. Even for me. Let’s just see what you have in mind, my dear,” Blackwell said as we set off toward the elevator, which we’d take to the designer eveningwear section on the third floor. “And hope to hell that you’ve come through.”
* * *
WHEN THE ELEVATOR DOORS slid open, Blackwell looked out at the busy floor before her, and sighed.
“Look at them,” she said. “The general public. And some of them are actually checking the price tags, which suggests something even worse—we’re surrounded by tourists. It’s disgusting. We should have come before hours.”
“If you’d like to come early tomorrow morning, I can certainly make that happen,” Chloe said. “The store will be yours.”
“No,” Blackwell said. “We’re here. We’ll muddle through the depraved and the rancid as we’ve done before. Just get us into a private dressing room, pour us some champagne, and get me a glass of ice. Then, we’ll see what you’ve chosen for Jennifer and Lisa. Naturally, I have a few things in mind myself—but we’ll test what you have in mind first.”
“It’s like we’re going to a hanging,” Lisa said under her breath to me.
“I heard that, Scribbles,” Blackwell said. “Now, come on. We’re wasting time, which I eschew. Let’s get this show on the road.”
In the dressing room, Chloe got each of us a glass of champagne and a glass of ice for Blackwell. Lisa and I felt so bad for Chloe, we thanked her profusely while Blackwell popped a cube into her mouth, bit down hard on it, and then took a sip of her champagne. And when she did that? She screwed up her face. “It’s flat,” she said. “Send it back, Chloe—try again.”
“Oh, it is not flat,” I said.
“The hell it isn’t.”
“We all heard that bottle pop.”
“That pop could have been the bottle’s death.”
“If that’s the case, then why is your glass filled with bubbles?”
“Are they bubbles? Or a series of last gasps?”
I ignored her and looked at Chloe, who already seemed undone despite the fact that she knew exactly who she was dealing with since she’d been working with Blackwell for years and was used to this kind of treatment.
“The champagne is fine, Chloe,” I said. “In fact, it’s delicious.”
“Says the farmhand from Maine...” Blackwell said.
“God, you’re impossible.”
“Of course I’m impossible. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” She looked at Chloe and deepened her voice. “Bring out the gowns,” she said to her. “We’ll begin with what you have in store for Lisa.”
“Of course, Barbara,” Chloe said, and then she moved through a door and disappeared from sight, likely to take one mother of a Xanax.
“Stop being such a bitch,” I hushed at Blackwell.
“Oh, please—you love it! And besides, Chloe knows that I’m mostly only joking, so lighten up.”
“She’s starting to go pale,” Lisa said.
“Then perhaps she should find a better foundation that’s more suited to her skin tone.”
“Here is my first choice,” Chloe said when she reentered the room with a deep red gown slung carefully over her arms. She moved to the center of the room, hung it on a stand so it was reflected in the mirrors that surrounded it, and then stepped back so all of us could have a better look.
“I love it,” Lisa said.
“You’d love the first donkey set free from the barn,” Blackwell said as she stood. “Though I have to admit, it is pretty.” She locked eyes with Chloe. “Alexander McQueen?”
“It is.”
“His crystal-embellished bustier gown?”
“That’s right.”
“The one featured in this month’s Vogue?”
“The very one—and it’s so new, we’re the only establishment in the city to have received it.”
“Hyperbole!”
“It’s true.”
“I can’t have Lisa or Jennifer showing up in something that some other woman will be wearing—you know how important that is to me.”
“I do, Barbara—that’s why this is my first choice for Lisa.”
“Well, how clever of you...”
Blackwell circled the dress with her glass of champagne in her hand and admired its design. “V neckline,” she said almost to herself. “Square back. Gently ruffled hem. Viscose. Long column silhouette, which was a smart call on your part, Chloe, since Lisa has always been my perfect size zero, something Jennifer will never achieve. If fitted properly, this dress will actually give Lisa a shape.”
“I have a perfectly fine shape,” Lisa said.
“You’re a stick with tits and a menstrual cycle,” Blackwell said. “And you know it. So? Try it on—and then we’ll assess. In the meantime, Chloe, please bring out every other dress you had in mind for Lisa. We’ll see how she looks in this, but I want to see your other choices.”
“Of course,” Chloe said. “I’ll be right back.”
“And here I thought you were about to run,” Blackwell said to her as she sat down on a chaise lounge and fluttered her eyelashes at me.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Never,” she answered. And then she lowered her voice. “Let me just say this again—I’ve known Chloe far longer than I’ve known you, my dear, and she knows that much of this is just an act. We each play our part. I get to have a bit of fun. She gets to run around like a madwoman who ultimately makes a hell of a lot of money. And at the end of the day, we part friends. So, calm down. After the hell these past few days have been for everyone in this city, this sideshow is a necessary distraction.”
* * *
“IT’S GORGEOUS,” I SAID when Lisa stepped out of the changing room and stood before us. “Look at how well it already fits her, Barbara—even before there’s been any tailoring.”
“That’s because McQueen understands women like Lisa,” she said. “Thin women who need a bit of trickery to bring out their best. I’ve never dressed you in him because he doesn’t understand that ass of yours or your curves. That said, Valentino and Dior celebrate the kind of body you have, which is why I generally dress you in them. But Lisa was built for McQueen. How do you feel in it, my dear?” she asked Lisa.
Lisa stood in front of one of the mirrors and turned this way and that. And as she did, a slow smile started to spread across her face, which lifted my heart. I loved my best friend, and seeing her happy right now made me just as happy for her.
“I kind of dig it,” she said. “I mean, I get it—it needs to be taken in at the waist and let out at the bust, but this dress rocks. I especially like how the red offsets my blonde hair, but you already thought of that, didn’t you, Chloe?”
“I had it in mind,” she said.
“Then, I’m done,” Lisa said. “This is it.”
“But you haven’t even looked at the other dresses and gowns Chloe chose for you,” Blackwell said.
“This was Chloe’s first choice for a reason,” she said. “And there’s a clear reason why. I don’t need to see the others,” she said as she turned in front of the mirrors again. “Because I already know that Tank is going to fall again for me when he sees me in this one.”
“Then, we’ll take it,” Blackwell said. “Especially if it can finally bring you two to the altar.”
* * *
WHEN IT CAME TO ME, Blackwell didn’t even ask Chloe what she had in mind. Instead, all she said was this: “I know that it just came out a few weeks ago, but I’m hoping that when it comes to Jennifer that you have Carolina Herrera’s new sequined illusion tulle ball gown in champagne. From what I’ve seen in photos of it, it’s a work of art, which I believe you’ll agree with.”
“I do. It’s amazing.”
“Then don’t break my heart, Chloe. Tell me you have it. And if you do, tell me how many you have already sold.”
“We have it,” she said. “But we only received one. While I’m certain that Lisa’s McQueen is exclusive to us, I will warn you on this—I’m not sure if other retailers have this particular gown in stock.” Still, she shrugged at Blackwell. “That said, it costs over fifty thousand dollars. Even in this city, not many will be willing to spring on a gown for that price, so the odds are on our side that only Jennifer will be wearing it.”
“There are plenty of people in this city with money, Chloe,” Blackwell said. “Fifty thousand is nothing to them.”
“But will they appear at the same party in the same dress? Isn’t that the main concern?”
“Part of it. What concerns me most is that Jennifer is photographed in it first. So, tell me—have you seen anyone featured in it in the magazines? On the Internet? I scour the tabloids for just this sort of thing. I know that you do, too. I’ve yet to see anyone in it, which isn’t unusual since the dress is so new. Have you?”
“I haven’t.”
“Has anyone phoned or come in to ask for it?”
“Not that I know of, but I can certainly cast a net and find out.”
“We’ll do that later,” Blackwell said. “After we see it in person and decide whether it works on Jennifer—because that’s when it will matter. So, please, take Jennifer with you. I don’t even want to see it first. I just want to see it on her and hopefully be delighted by what I see. Take her away. Put the gown on her.” She popped another cube of ice into her mouth and cracked down it so hard, it sounded like bones shattering.
“And then bring her to me.”
* * *
WHEN I STEPPED OUT of the back room and into the interior of our private dressing room with Chloe, who at this point had seen me in my underwear so many times that dressing in front of her was like dressing in front of Lisa or Blackwell, Blackwell gasped and stood up from her sofa.
“Well,” Blackwell said. “Well, well, well. Herrera hasn’t disappointed at all, has she? My goodness—just look at it, Jennifer. It’s divoon over the moon.”
“That’s a new one,” I said.
“Go with it. Now, twirl.”
I turned in front of the many mirrors that were in front of me, and even I had to admit that his gown made me feel like a princess. I think it must have been made for that reason. Everything about it screamed ‘Cinderella.’
“Love, love, love!” Lisa said.
“You think?” I said to her. “Isn’t it too much? I feel like fairies should be swirling around me with needles and thread.”
“Are you joking? It’s fabulous, and it’s worth every penny!”
“I’m not so sure about the cost,” I said. “But I do have to admit that it’s quite something. I especially like how it complements the color of my hair.”
“Please,” Blackwell said. “About the cost—do you have any idea how much work went into this gown? The hand-stitched beading around the bodice and sleeves alone likely took a good month, if not longer. This is a work of art.”
She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to the left and then to the right while she studied me in the mirrors in front of us. “J’adore the long illusion sleeves,” she said. “And the keyhole back. And the degraded sequin embroidery—it’s sublime. In fact, it’s what I live for! Turn around for us!”
I spun, and the gown fanned out.
“Do it again!” Lisa said.
With a laugh, I did.
“You’re a queen,” Blackwell said. “No one is going to come anywhere near touching you with this gown.” She looked at Chloe. “We’ll take both. Then, naturally, we’re going to have to find the proper undergarments and shoes. Are you prepared to assist us with those, or do you have other clients clipping at your heels?”
“I’m here for you, just as I always am, Barbara.”
“Smart girl,” Blackwell said. “But we’ll need these tailored to each of them by Saturday morning. Can you do that for us?”
“I can.”
“And they’ll be delivered to Jennifer and Lisa on time?”
“They will. We just need to have them fitted. And as it so happens, I’ve reserved a tailor especially for you today.”
“Especially for us...?” Blackwell said.
“That’s right.”
“Then I must applaud you on that, Chloe—well done.”
She turned to Lisa and me. “All right, ladies—to the tailor we go. After that, it’s shoes and Spanx, and then we go to Van Cleef! Because if you truly are going to win the night, then you need a fresh set of diamonds at your ears, wrists, fingers, and throats!”
“Diamonds?” Lisa said. “At Van Cleef? Are you serious? I can’t afford those along with this dress!”
“Please. Not long ago, you signed a five million dollar advance with Wenn Publishing, so I call bullshit on that. It’s time to part with some of your money, my little scribbling hoarder, and I’m ordering you to do just that right now.”
“But Tank will be furious if I spend that kind of money!”
“Oh no, he won’t.” Blackwell walked over to Lisa and took her hands in her own as Lisa stood up to face her. “Because don’t you see? When Tank sees you looking as you will in that dress and whatever jewels we find for you today—and especially after Bernie works his magic on you—Tank is going to fall even harder for you, my dear.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Then you don’t know men. It’s been a while since you two have gone out for a big event such as this, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been months...”
“And during that time, has Tank had the pleasure of seeing you fully done up?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m always working. Iris is always cracking her whip.”
“Then it’s time for Tank to remember what you can become with the power of couture, jewels, and a good stylist. You’ve seen what I’ve done for Jennifer time and again throughout the past few years. You’ve also seen what I’ve done for you back in the day when you gave a goddamn. Sure, I’ll admit that today will cost you plenty. But since all of us are waiting for a wedding between you and Tank, you must trust me on this—when he sees you after Bernie and I are finished with you? When he remembers just how sexy and beautiful you are with the right touches? Those wedding bells will be ringing far sooner than any of us have imagined. Even you, my dear. Even you...”
