for his
replacement. I wanted to be that someone. As I happily contemplated this, the
phone rang.
“Mademoiselle Ehlers, it is Mrs. Blackwell,” my assistant,
Denise, called to me.
I picked up the phone. “Tiziana?”
“ Ciao bella! I love Paris! Think of all the lovely
clothes and wonderful food we’ll enjoy this week.” Her lyrical portrayal sang
out to me. She never said, “Hello.” She began conversations as if you’d never
gone your separate ways. Almost ten years after meeting her, I had long since
realized that she drew you into her world or threw herself into the middle of
yours. She didn’t care which, so long as we were together.
“It’s great to hear from you. How was the trip?” I settled
back into my chair. She and her new husband, Ted, had sailed from Saint-Tropez
to Malta for their honeymoon.
After filling me in on the highlights, the conversation
turned to this week. “Bella, are we still on for dinner at your place tonight?”
she asked.
“We are, if you’re sure you don’t mind the fact that it is
truly a work in progress. More like a work in dismantling.” I snorted.
“Don’t worry, darling. It only means I will have something
to compare it to later. Tonight we should flip through our calendars and plan
our week.”
“Great. Will I see you at Stella McCartney?”
“Si, bella. We’ll see you there.” I heard some quiet
murmuring in the background.
“I’m impressed that Ted is willing to sit through this for
you!”
“He’s such a darling. See you soon.” Air kisses wended their
way across the airwaves as we hung up.
Looking at the clock on my computer, I realized there was
just enough time to primp before leaving for the Tuileries. I slid my shoes on
and grabbed my tote bag. It was the first sprint of a very exciting, high-energy
week.
***
I found myself outside happily
waiting in the sunshine for my co-workers. I was so excited that the first show
I would attend this week was Stella McCartney. Not only did I love her designs,
I had been enamored of her ever since Karl Lagerfeld questioned her ability to
take over creative direction for the fashion house Chloe. Though I loved him, I
was a fan of any woman who wanted to chart her own course—hence my helping out
Bethany Halvorsen, who was about to hit the big time. The rest, as they say, is
history: Stella had proven herself, and today was the day to see her newest
collection.
As I dug out my sunglasses, a giant black limo pulled up to
the curb. The rear door burst open, and Tiziana bolted from the cavernous
interior. Wearing a devil-may-care grin, she swept me up in her arms. “Forgive
me, darling, but I just had to see you.” Stepping back, she let me go. “You
look so beautiful.”
I beamed from ear to ear, thrilled to see her. “Me? I look
so… bland. Look at you.” She wore a bold red, knee-length dress with cut-outs. Caught
up in the spirit of the week, I made an educated guess. “Versace?” She was a
huge fan of Donatella Versace’s bold colors and designs. She nodded and
twirled.
“Bella, you look so elegant, so professional.”
My outfit, a gray pencil skirt, paired with a tailored white
shirt, white vest, and matching gray jacket, was a mishmash of designers. I
wiggled my toes to show off my spectacular new pair of Balenciaga peep-toe
heels in deep-purple brushed suede.
“Gorgeous!” she declared then asked, “Kathleen, can we give
you a ride to the show?”
I called my secretary and asked her to let my co-workers
know I would meet them at the Espace Ephémère Tuileries. “I’m all yours.”
Crawling into the limo, I found Marian, Charlotte, and
Hillary hiding there. “Oh my god! You’re here, too!” I threw myself at them.
We’d all been together at Tiziana and Ted’s wedding two months before, but it
was wonderful to have them here. All of them simultaneously descending on Paris
was rare.
I spied Charlotte’s enormous belly and couldn’t help myself.
“I cannot believe you
replacement. I wanted to be that someone. As I happily contemplated this, the
phone rang.
“Mademoiselle Ehlers, it is Mrs. Blackwell,” my assistant,
Denise, called to me.
I picked up the phone. “Tiziana?”
“ Ciao bella! I love Paris! Think of all the lovely
clothes and wonderful food we’ll enjoy this week.” Her lyrical portrayal sang
out to me. She never said, “Hello.” She began conversations as if you’d never
gone your separate ways. Almost ten years after meeting her, I had long since
realized that she drew you into her world or threw herself into the middle of
yours. She didn’t care which, so long as we were together.
“It’s great to hear from you. How was the trip?” I settled
back into my chair. She and her new husband, Ted, had sailed from Saint-Tropez
to Malta for their honeymoon.
After filling me in on the highlights, the conversation
turned to this week. “Bella, are we still on for dinner at your place tonight?”
she asked.
“We are, if you’re sure you don’t mind the fact that it is
truly a work in progress. More like a work in dismantling.” I snorted.
“Don’t worry, darling. It only means I will have something
to compare it to later. Tonight we should flip through our calendars and plan
our week.”
“Great. Will I see you at Stella McCartney?”
“Si, bella. We’ll see you there.” I heard some quiet
murmuring in the background.
“I’m impressed that Ted is willing to sit through this for
you!”
“He’s such a darling. See you soon.” Air kisses wended their
way across the airwaves as we hung up.
Looking at the clock on my computer, I realized there was
just enough time to primp before leaving for the Tuileries. I slid my shoes on
and grabbed my tote bag. It was the first sprint of a very exciting, high-energy
week.
***
I found myself outside happily
waiting in the sunshine for my co-workers. I was so excited that the first show
I would attend this week was Stella McCartney. Not only did I love her designs,
I had been enamored of her ever since Karl Lagerfeld questioned her ability to
take over creative direction for the fashion house Chloe. Though I loved him, I
was a fan of any woman who wanted to chart her own course—hence my helping out
Bethany Halvorsen, who was about to hit the big time. The rest, as they say, is
history: Stella had proven herself, and today was the day to see her newest
collection.
As I dug out my sunglasses, a giant black limo pulled up to
the curb. The rear door burst open, and Tiziana bolted from the cavernous
interior. Wearing a devil-may-care grin, she swept me up in her arms. “Forgive
me, darling, but I just had to see you.” Stepping back, she let me go. “You
look so beautiful.”
I beamed from ear to ear, thrilled to see her. “Me? I look
so… bland. Look at you.” She wore a bold red, knee-length dress with cut-outs. Caught
up in the spirit of the week, I made an educated guess. “Versace?” She was a
huge fan of Donatella Versace’s bold colors and designs. She nodded and
twirled.
“Bella, you look so elegant, so professional.”
My outfit, a gray pencil skirt, paired with a tailored white
shirt, white vest, and matching gray jacket, was a mishmash of designers. I
wiggled my toes to show off my spectacular new pair of Balenciaga peep-toe
heels in deep-purple brushed suede.
“Gorgeous!” she declared then asked, “Kathleen, can we give
you a ride to the show?”
I called my secretary and asked her to let my co-workers
know I would meet them at the Espace Ephémère Tuileries. “I’m all yours.”
Crawling into the limo, I found Marian, Charlotte, and
Hillary hiding there. “Oh my god! You’re here, too!” I threw myself at them.
We’d all been together at Tiziana and Ted’s wedding two months before, but it
was wonderful to have them here. All of them simultaneously descending on Paris
was rare.
I spied Charlotte’s enormous belly and couldn’t help myself.
“I cannot believe you
Similar Books
