The Crasher Page 22

  In the vestibule outside the Rainbow Room was a long table manned by a row of perfectly coiffed and made-up young women. Ginny recognized one of them from Peggy Siegal’s celebrated public relations company, specializing in movie and movie star events. She couldn’t remember her name, but that was all right; the young woman couldn’t remember hers, either.

  “Hi,” they said together.

  Ginny smiled and waved, about to move on.

  “Don’t you want your table number?”

  “I may not be listed. I’m with Poppy Gan.”

  “Oh, she’s already here with Mr. Svank… she looks bootiful.”

  “I’m sure.” Ginny’s smile was pasted on tight. Did “bootiful” mean Lana Turner white satin? Surely not tonight. Even Poppy wouldn’t trot that old number out to wear to the movies. Ginny clutched the georgette bag more closely to remind herself of the main reason she was there.

  “Table sixteen, Ms…”

  “Ginny Walker,” she breathed over her shoulder.

  The Rainbow Room might have been designed for grand entrances. Ginny was ready, preparing herself to stand still for a few moments on the top step, head held high, before slowly, gracefully descending the sweeping stairs.

  Out of nowhere came a sudden fear that Johnny Peet was staring at her, about to materialize out of the crowd with an “I-know-what-you’re-up-to” look on his face. Because of this, instead of posing on the wide step for those few important seconds, Ginny rushed down as if her train was pulling out of the station.

  “Where’s table sixteen?” she asked another well-put-together young woman holding a floor plan. As she began to scan it, Ginny glanced at the ballroom floor. It was slowly revolving.

  In shock, so sudden it was almost physically painful, she let out a little cry. Poppy was dancing cheek to cheek with… Ginny couldn’t believe it… with Alex, her cousin.

  At that second Alex looked right at her. He winked, then whirled Poppy around as if to demonstrate his ballroom dancing technique.

  The girl with the floor plan was staring at her. “Are you all right?”

  Ginny nodded. She was far from all right. Across the room, presumably at table sixteen, she could see the loathsome Svank, as expressionless as ever, his eyes never moving away from the laughing, dancing pair.

  “Sixteen is over there…”

  “Thank you.” Ginny didn’t follow the pointing hand. She felt so shaken she didn’t know whether she was crawling or walking toward a huge panoramic window, which revealed in dazzling detail Manhattan’s ruler-straight main thoroughfares. Ginny saw nothing. She sank down in a chair, thinking for the first time how incongruous the georgette bag looked with her oilskin bodysuit.

  First, she had to admit it, she’d felt jealous, seeing Alex dancing so ecstatically with, she again had to admit, an extremely “bootiful” Poppy in a tight-fitting gray jersey sheath. Now, however, came a stronger emotion. Fear. Did Alex know what he was doing, dancing so intimately with Svank’s woman? Was he aware Svank was watching every step they took? Didn’t Alex remember the story she’d told him about the birthday dress?

  Ginny shivered. She had no doubt that Svank would stop at nothing to blot Alex out of Poppy’s life. Nothing.

  “Ginny, darling,” said Alex, “there you are in your slinky, oh-so-svelte cheetah suit. Well, fancy seeing you here…” She tried to pull away from him, as Alex led her onto the floor, but it was impossible without making a scene.

  Congratulations,” he whispered. “Poppy is looking like a stunning nun. It won’t be long before she’s on the BDL.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Ginny snapped angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here with Poppy?”

  “Ginny, m’dear, I told you before, I’m working occasionally for Svank. I am under the Big Man’s command. I didn’t know I was coming myself until yesterday. I arrived last night. Don’t look so mad, Ginny, especially if you’re… eh… crashing. You look as if you’d like to murder me. Don’t call attention to yourself that way.”

  Again she tried to pull away, but Alex held her tightly to him.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” she hissed.

  He ignored her anger, saying brightly, “This has to be fate. Remember I told you about the parties that never get in the papers? The ones held in private, very private homes? Well, I’d like to take you to a very important one on Friday, full of the fashionable people, potential backers, Ginny, m’dear. Are you free?”

  Over Alex’s shoulder Ginny could see Svank still looking at him. It wasn’t a pleasant look. “Alex, do be careful…”

  “What?” He swirled her around so he was facing table sixteen. “Oh, Mr. Svank—is that what you mean? Relax. He never shows what he’s thinking, poor guy. He can be thinking the most wholesome thoughts and he still looks like a thug. I promise you, he’s very interested in my welfare. He’s just checking that I’m in good company.”

  “I didn’t like the way he was staring at you when you were dancing cheek to cheek with Poppy.”

  Alex laughed. “So you noticed! You couldn’t be more wrong, my Gin. Svank doesn’t like to dance and Ms. Gan does. I was taking her pout away and doing him a favor. Now be a good girl and come and say hello to your benefactors. I see you’re wearing my bracelet. Good. I want you to show it off.”

  Alex had gone too far. She pinched him hard.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “You know. Benefactors, my foot. They’ve done nothing for me.”

  “Patience, patience. Not yet they haven’t, but they will.”

  The Rainbow Room wasn’t a complete waste of time. Not at all. With giggles and sly looks at Svank, Poppy excused herself and followed Ginny to the ladies’ room where, much to the amazement of the attendant, she slithered out of her gray jersey, showing she didn’t believe in underwear, and Ginny began to wrap her in the georgette. The fitting took twenty minutes from start to finish.

  Although Poppy pleaded with her to stay, Ginny knew she couldn’t enjoy herself, let alone eat any of the post-movie supper, with Svank continuing to ignore her existence (although he’d stared steadily at the bracelet). After a quick glass of champagne, she made a fast exit.

  The next day a messenger arrived at the loft with a check for five hundred dollars “on account” from Poppy. It came just in time to help pay the rent.

  Her mother had called, leaving a message, asking if she’d come down to Florida for Christmas. It didn’t make much sense. Not this year. It was only a one-day holiday to her and she already had a couple of invitations, including one from Esme she intended to accept for Christmas dinner. At a time when a lot of people wanted time off she could earn more money staying in town; and in the new year, with store sales, income tax forms to be prepared, and a plea from Lee that some big shoots were coming up, she might even be able to save something.

  “I’d sooner come in February, when the weather’s really miserable,” she’d said. The truth was she didn’t want to go then either, although she longed to see her mother. She felt nervous about leaving the city, so full of opportunities. This is where my future lies, she thought. By February, who knew what might happen.

  She was working at Bloomingdale’s every day that week, and reworking the YSL at night. She decided to leave a message for Johnny Peet at his office around seven-thirty A.M., when she was sure he wouldn’t be there, to say that she was out of town but would definitely “be back at my drawing board” by the weekend. She just had to pray he wouldn’t write anything in Next! without first talking to her.

  Alex called her every evening, asking more or less the same questions.

  “Has anyone called for me?”

  “No, why?”

  “Where are you keeping the gold bracelet?”

  “Locked in my cupboard. Do you want it back?”

  “No.” He paused. “But don’t wear it on Friday. Are you sure no one’s left me a message or a note
at your place?”

  “I’m sure. Who are you expecting?”

  “Oh, forget it.” Then casually, “On second thought, why don’t you give me the bracelet back on Friday. I’ll give you another one for keeps, instead.”

  He sounded jumpy, irritable, showing none of the charm so much in evidence at the Rainbow Room.

  Ginny wasn’t surprised. If her cousin was now working for Svank, how could he be anything but jumpy and irritable, however much Svank “cared” for his welfare?

  What a joke that was. Alex was deluding himself if he believed that.

  By Friday the YSL was transformed, from long to short, as “flapper” as she could make it. She took out the one credit card she possessed, usually locked away out of temptation with the bracelet. To help show off what she still considered to be her best asset, her long, shapely legs, she used it to buy a pair of Fogal hose, exorbitant at thirty dollars, but exactly the right shade of pale plum to match her new fringes.

  Alex was supposed to pick her up at six to take her to the party given by an enormously rich Venezuelan Madame de Perez de something at 834 Fifth Avenue, according to him one of the best addresses in New York.

  “It’s a fancy holiday thank-you party for donors and would-be donors to a new room or wing at the Metropolitan Museum,” he told her. “This, believe me, will be helpful to you, but you must let me handle it. If I say something that surprises you, don’t, for God’s sake, contradict me, and if I ask you to do something, do it. It’s for your sake. Trust me.”

  She’d heard it all before, but as usual she said, “Of course, I won’t. Of course, I will.”

  At six Alex hadn’t arrived, but at five past he phoned to say he’d meet her in the lobby of 834 in thirty minutes. “Don’t forget the bracelet.”

  “I won’t, but Alex, don’t be late. Don’t let me down. You’ve told me we’re expected, we’re invited. It’s such a relief not to be crashing… there’s no way I dare crash this…,” she wailed.

  “Don’t worry, pigeon.”

  And he was there, urbane in a dark gray suit and darker gray silk tie, giving her a quick hug as he slipped the bracelet into his pocket. He looked so distinguished, she was proud to be by his side as they walked into the most magnificent, sumptuous apartment she’d ever seen. Svank should take a look at this, Ginny thought. His apartment cried “money” loud and clear. This, softly lit, richly draped, gloriously furnished, clearly stated “taste.”

  For once Alex hadn’t exaggerated. He was expected and so was she.

  She was so full of pride, there was a lump in her throat, as he began to introduce her to some of the elegant people, the men sipping champagne, the women Perrier water. What a relief it was not to have to look over her shoulder, to move about without fear of being accused as an interloper.

  As they mingled with the crowd, Alex relaxed her further with a typical running commentary. “See the aging hippie with the terrible wig—he’s the king of duty-free, worth zillions. The little wan blonde isn’t in the poorhouse either—she just tucked away another few million, after being widowed, poor thing, for the fourth time. Over there, the horsey one with the chin? She likes girls, little girls…” He appeared to know plenty about the apartment, too, pointing out two Rembrandts, several Francesco Guardis and some Old Masters Ginny had never heard of.

  “It’s like being in a museum.”

  “It is a museum. See that cabinet?”

  Ginny nodded. How could anyone miss it. It was immense.

  “It’s one of a pair—cost about ten or twelve million—by Boulle. The other’s in Versailles.” He looked around. “I’d like to show you the dining room—in fact, I’d like to see it myself. I’m told the table’s eight feet wide and once belonged to James II.”

  A wave of love for Alex flooded over her as he murmured, “Well, not now. Perhaps later. Smile, Ginny. Here comes the lady of the manor, the hostess.”

  A tall, reed-thin woman with a helmet of gleaming jet hair was approaching. From one quick glance Ginny decided she’d had one too many face-lifts, but it was easy not to dwell on her face. Just below the ruffled collar of her black grosgrain dress, she was wearing the largest, most spectacular dark blue sapphire and diamond brooch Ginny had ever seen, while on her ears were huge sapphire and diamond earrings to match.

  “Alex Rossiter, I’m so glad you left your beloved Scotland to be here again. Of course, I keep up with your travels.” She gave a throaty little laugh. “From my English cousins, who love you as you know.”

  There was a faint, charming accent. Was it Venezuelan? Who cared! What she was saying was much more interesting. Beloved Scotland. English cousins. Would she ever be able to fathom her exciting cousin? Ginny looked at him, not bothering to conceal her awe.

  “Luisa, Madame Perez de Villeneva, I am indeed fortunate that my travel plans changed. Thank you so much for allowing me to bring my cousin. We see each other so rarely and as you know I am devoted to her. Virginia is a talented dress designer, just recently moved to New York.”

  Ginny hoped she didn’t look startled at the sudden lengthening of her name. More important, she hoped her fringed dress was making an impact, but she doubted it. All the women here, including horse face and wan face, looked as if they lived and died in safe black couture.

  Madame Luisa extended a pale white hand graced with yet another stunning gem. “Ah, yes,” she purred. “I am delighted to meet you, Virginia. Your guardian has told me of your talent. I believe…” She flashed an alarming smile at Alex. “…I believe, am I right, Alex, you would like me to show your ward my collection of Balenciaga gowns?”

  Guardian? Ward? Balenciaga? Ginny didn’t know where to look, but she didn’t need to look anywhere. Alex had taken over.

  “Luisa, that would be so very kind. One day when you have the time, I am sure Virginia…”

  “No, no, no,” Madame P. de V. interrupted. “Tonight, later, after the speeches. If we don’t do it tonight, who knows when I will have the time. That is the reason you were kind enough to come, no?”

  Ginny wanted to giggle, seeing the way the impenetrable-looking woman softened as Alex put a caressing hand on her skinny arm.

  Ginny smiled warmly. “Thank you very much. You are too kind.”

  When she moved on to greet other guests, Ginny couldn’t stop laughing. “Alex, what on earth…”

  “Trust me, remember!” He winked. “I’ll explain later. Oh, Alejo, how good to see you. Please meet my niece, I am sorry, I mean my cousin, Virginia Walker…” and so the evening went on, with Ginny feeling more and more like a cosseted ward in the protective care of a powerful guardian, loving every moment of it, not wanting it ever to end.

  And the Balenciagas were incredible. Madame de Perez de whatever insisted on Alex coming to see them, too, but Ginny was too overwhelmed to be aware at first that he wasn’t spending much time in the staggering mirrored dressing room, where with a slight touch the walls opened to reveal row after row of extraordinary clothes, all color-and designer-coordinated.

  “Here are the Balenciagas. Ah, Cristóbal, how missed you are! There will never be anyone like him again…”

  Ginny ventured, “What about his pupil, Yves Saint Laurent?” But her hostess was gone, back into her palace of a bedroom where, from time to time, Ginny could hear Alex’s voice boom, followed by Luisa’s throaty laugh.

  She forgot about time as she examined the great Spanish designer’s work, so much so she jumped in alarm when Luisa put a hand on her shoulder and said, “My dear, your cousin is so sorry. He received a phone call. He didn’t want to disturb your obvious enjoyment, but he suddenly had to leave. He is so thoughtful, he has ordered a car for you to take you home. He is really so sorry. He is going to call you tomorrow.”

  The Venezuelan lady could hardly know how used she was to Alex’s erratic behavior. She was a big girl. She could find her own way home.

  From Luisa’s slight look of embarrassment Ginny was sure she was going to meet Alex
later and why not? Alex was into jewelry and art; no wonder this kind of richly bejeweled dragon lady appealed to him.

  Although Ginny knew there was little chance any of the women at 834 could become her customers, Alex had done wonders for her morale bringing her here. It was eight-fifteen, but there was still a big crowd in the drawing room. She stood alone, savoring one more time the atmosphere of great wealth, taste, and beauty.

  Someone tugged one of her fringes. She turned around with her most polite smile and froze. It was Johnny Peet.

  “I have to hand it to you. This was a tough one to crash…”

  “How dare you.” Her voice shook. How could she have thought he had an ounce of sympathy or sensitivity?

  “Come on. I’m not out to spoil your fun. I’m just amazed how you…”

  At that moment Luisa reappeared. “Oh, I see you know Mr. Peet. How nice. I just wanted you to know, Virginia, your car will be here in fifteen minutes. I’m so glad you came. I do hope to see you again.” Despite her words, there was a tone in her voice that declared the party was over.

  It was like being given a present to see the surprised look on Peet’s face, but he quickly recovered as Luisa moved away.

  “Shall I kneel now to beg your forgiveness, or will you allow me to apologize more profusely over a drink?”

  Ginny didn’t know what to do. She was seething that Peet had automatically assumed she was uninvited, that she had no right being in such lofty surroundings, that she was there because she’d dared to crash. She wanted to show him how much he’d insulted her by telling him exactly what to do with his drink. On the other hand, perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to convince him she’d been telling the truth at the Guggenheim, to convince him he didn’t have a story.

  He was looking at her in a funny, quizzical way. A strange thought occurred to her. Perhaps he wasn’t so much at ease with women after all? His wife, or rather ex-wife, had cheated on him for years. That must have been devastating. Perhaps he wasn’t as confident as he appeared?

  “Thank you,” she said primly. “A drink would be delightful.”