Chapter Five

 

“But you have to go,” Nikki pleaded, pacing up and down Renée’s elegant bedroom.

Renée squeezed her eyes shut. “Nikki, it is the migraine. I must go to bed. Don’t’ worry, Cherie, you look beautiful. Your gown, your hair, your makeup are magnifique.”

“But I need you. I’ve never been to anything like this party. People will look at me.”

Rubbing her temples her mentor said, “Of course, they will. You are the latest sensation. I will call Jolie at the agency. She will provide an escort. It is short notice, but it is certainly within her skills.”

“Jolie can’t stand me. She’s always reminding me of where we met.”

“Nonsense. She will do as I say.” Renée reached for the telephone.

“Please let me stay home. Y-you’re not feeling well. I shouldn’t leave you like this.”

“No. Now I know you feel uncertain, but please believe me, there is nothing for you to be insecure about. It is a party, not a trial.”

But a trial is exactly what it would be. A trial by fire.

“But—”

Renée held up her hand. “Not another word.”

She listened as Renée called Jolie and made her request. “Merci beaucoup, Jolie. I knew you would not fail me.” Her mentor smiled as she hung up the telephone. “See there. She was more than agreeable to finding you an escort for the evening.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet she was thrilled all the way to her toes.”

“Nikki, enough. I am retiring for the evening.” She kissed Nikki on the forehead. “Please try and enjoy yourself.”

She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. Whatever Maman said went in most situations. “Yes, Maman.” Might as well go.

Maybe Max would be there too.

***

Nikki paced back and forth, her stilettos clicking on the black marble floor of the Ladies Room. She couldn’t hide all night. The attendant had already given her some curious glances, offered to assist her with her hair, make-up, whatever. She hated facing all those society broads and tried to remember all the lessons Renée had tried, so patiently, to instill. She should’ve paid more attention. She didn’t want to disgrace the agency or... or Max.

She smoothed the front of her gown. From the first moment she’d slipped the elegant white designer original over her head, she felt like a princess, however momentarily. But the sad fact remained, she felt out of place.

Tonight it was a stranger who stared back. She pouted, then wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at her reflection. Jeez. Still, she felt like a little girl playing dress-up in her mama’s Sunday dress and high heels.

Only a few months before, she’d dined a la garbage, and now she was hobnobbing with people who expected her to know a shrimp fork from a demitasse spoon. If she made it through the evening without tripping or spilling wine down the front of her gown, she’d consider it a pretty good night. Why, this night of all nights, did Maman have to come down with one of her headaches? She took a deep breath and sighed.

The attendant rose to her feet. “Are you all right, Miss?” she asked.

“Uh-yes, thank you.” Taking another deep breath and gathering her courage, she turned to leave.

The door swung open, and a petite young woman with a riot of curly hair swayed in and sank onto the brocade chair. “Is the bartender heavy-handed or what?” the young woman asked.

Nikki walked toward her, hesitating. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, afraid her offer would be refused.

The woman opened one eye and looked Nikki up and down. “Who are you? God, you’re beautiful.”

“I’m Nik-Nikki Prentice,” she stuttered. “Thank you.”

“Marti Lodge,” the young woman announced, indicating herself with a dramatic curtsey, then added, “I should’ve known you. You’re the new model everyone is buzzing about. What are you doing in here? You should be out there breaking hearts.” Marti gestured in a not-so-graceful wave.

Before she could reply, the color drained from the young woman’s face.

Marti clapped a hand to her mouth. “’Scuse me.” She scrambled to her feet and rushed for the nearest stall, leaving the door open in her haste.

Nikki followed and found the young woman on her knees, heaving into the enamel throne. She rushed back to the attendant. “She’s ill. I need a wet cloth.”

“Of course.” The attendant had one ready and handed it to her.

She took the cloth. Throwing a hurried, “Thank you,” over her shoulder, she rushed back to the stall. No longer retching, Marti sagged against the toilet bowl.

“Here, let me bathe your face with this.”

“Thanks, sweetie, I guess I should stick to wine.” Marti wiped her mouth and placed the cold cloth against her neck. “Hard liquor has always been my downfall, ever since I contracted hepatitis on my first honeymoon.” She rolled her eyes, before adding, “In Borneo.”

“Borneo? You went to Borneo on your honeymoon? I’m not even sure where that is.”

Marti nodded her head. “My first one. He was a rock star, and we ran away. It was so romantic, until I drank the water and turned yellow as a pumpkin.”

“Your first honeymoon? Did he take you on another one later?”

“No, I meant my first husband. My second took me to Africa on Safari. I picked up malaria there.”

Nikki stifled a giggle. “Maybe you should think about staying single—or forget about honeymoons. Want to try and stand up? You’re ruining your lovely dress.”

“I guess I might as well.” The young woman held up a petite, well-manicured hand. In comparison, Nikki thought her own were large and ugly. She gave a tug and Marti struggled to her feet.

“Feel any better?”

“Better than I did.” Marti shoved her frosted curls back, but her face remained pale. Together they walked over to a love seat and sat. Marti rubbed her nose and asked, “Now, tell me why you’re hiding in the ladies room, instead of partying with the other young-and-restless beautiful people?”

Nikki looked down at her folded hands, “I don’t really like parties. I’m not used to them,” she admitted shyly, feeling the blood rush to her face.

“Good Lord. How old are you anyway?”

“Seventeen, almost. Come August.”

“Good grief. Sixteen and someone turned you loose in this bunch? Given the chance, some of these people would have you for dinner.”

“I know. One already tried,” she admitted with a slight grin.

Marti leaned forward. “Is it true? Were you really a runaway when Max Devereaux found you?” She waved in a dismissive manner. “I mean there’s so much hype in publicity you never know what’s true and what isn’t.”

Nikki nodded. “It’s true.”

“Well then, this bunch shouldn’t be so scary. You’ve handled worse situations, I’m sure.”

“Well…” She couldn’t help but grin. “… I’m supposed to be on my good behavior. A knee in the crotch and an elbow in the ribs might be a little extreme.”

“Not always, but I do see what you mean.” Again, Marti brushed hair back from her face, her color improved. “Well, it’s obvious you need a chaperone, not that I’m such a good one, but I can certainly make things easier for you.”

“That’s very nice, but it’s a lot of trouble. You don’t have to—”

“But I want to. Look, hon, I’m Martha Lodge. My blood is bluer than blue, and I cut my teeth on Emily Post. Now, let’s drag your buns out there and have some fun.”

Nikki shook her head. “I’d rather go home, but Maman would be disappointed. She’s been so good to me I don’t want to do anything to upset her.”

“Maman—you mean Max’s mother?”

Nikki nodded. “Yeah, she was supposed to be here tonight to sort of supervise from a distance, but she came down with a migraine. I tried to get her to let me stay home, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s pretty stubborn. So here I am.”

“You-uh, live with her?”

“Yeah, until I’m eighteen, anyway.”

“Hmm, cozy.”

“What do you mean—cozy?” Nikki heard the edge creep into her voice, but she couldn’t help it. She knew, or thought she knew, exactly what Marti Lodge meant.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”

“It’s not like that. Max—Mr. Devereaux—he doesn’t live with us. He has his own place, and he’s a perfect gentleman. Besides, he’s way too old for someone like me.” She swallowed and added in a low voice, “He’d never looked at me twice.”

“Sweetie, any man with an ounce of testosterone would look at you twice.”

“Well, he isn’t like that. He’s a gentleman. Very old-fashioned and proper, actually,” she said, affecting a high-toned accent.

“Really?” Marti raised a finely arched brow. “Well, old-fashioned or not, I’ve always heard Frenchmen make the best lovers.”

She gulped. Lover? Max would never—

“Sorry,” her new friend giggled. “Here I am corrupting you. I’ll have to be more careful. How long were you on the streets, anyway? You act more innocent than some of the convent-educated girls I’ve known.”

“’Bout three months, but I was lucky. Mr. Devereaux rescued me before anything bad happened. But I know what you mean about Catholic schools. I’ve attended a couple of them. myself. My mama always did her best to keep me in school.”

“At least she tried.”

“She did, but we fought about everything else. She had a real fit when I started ditching school, so I took off. That’s how I ended up on the streets.”

“I see.” Marti hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I know this is so rude, and absolutely none of my business, but did you... I mean, were you…?”

“No!” She leaned close to Marti and whispered, “Tonight, my date offered to pay me, like he really thought I would…do it.”

“That’s when you should’ve applied your knee to his crotch.”

She giggled and gave a vigorous nod. “That’s why I came in here. My date—Jolie at the agency arranged it—he propositioned me five minutes after he picked me up.”

Marti rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head. “Do you know anyone else at the party tonight?”

“Mr. Devereaux’s here—and a couple of models from the agency, but they still treat me like an outsider. Last I saw of Irena and Kathleen, they were having too good a time to pay any attention to me.”

“Well, let’s find Max Devereaux and tell him it’s time he took responsibility for his newest protégée.”

The last thing she needed was to be near Max. Everyone would see how she felt about him. She pulled back. “Oh, no, let’s don’t.”