The Botox Diaries (40 page)

Although when I see her later, it will probably be on Josh’s arm. When will I learn not to get my hopes up?

I find the hotel manager who reassures me that electricity or not, dinner will be fine. Steak and salmon entrées are being prepared on the gas grill. “And you were so smart to order sashimi for a first course,” he confides, as if I had anticipated tonight’s disaster. I call Vincent—who tells me the theater wasn’t affected by the power outage. But he’s in a frenzy, anyway.

“The lightning could strike again at any moment!” he shrills, flapping his cape in the background.

No use explaining that lightning never strikes twice—because it does. And it wasn’t lightning that struck the first time, anyway.

“Should I come over and help out?” I ask instead hopefully, looking for a reason to escape the ballroom. “I can be right there.”

“No, no, no,” Vincent bellows. “Your job is the dinner. My job is the show. It
will
go on.”

But how am I supposed to go on? I hang up, wondering what to do next. My gown, abandoned forty flights up, might as well be on Mars. The dresses for the
My Fair Lady
ballroom scene are just a few blocks away—but no way I’m squeezing into tiny Tamika’s clothes. And for once, Lucy doesn’t have an emergency backup to pull out of her bag. Okay, I might as well hide out in the ladies’ room for the next hour and a half. I’m just on my way there when Josh Gordon grabs my sleeve and spins me around.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, giving me a quick hug. “Didn’t see you come in. I was worried.”

“Didn’t want you to see me,” I admit. “I look like an idiot. Sorry about all this. As soon as the elevators are fixed, I’ll go back and change. Really sorry.”

He steps back but leaves his hands on my shoulders. “Did anybody ever tell you that you apologize too much?” he asks.

“Sorry …,” I begin, but stop myself before I apologize for apologizing. “Just don’t want to embarrass you in front of your date,” I say, trying again. “Marissa’s already made it clear I should leave.”

“Don’t you dare leave,” says Josh. “You’ve made this whole night happen.”

But I’ve already turned and am heading for the ladies’ room. Josh follows me and grabs my hand.

“Could you listen to me for just one minute?” he asks. “You’ve got it all wrong. Marissa isn’t my date. She works for me. Attends various business functions with me representing the firm.”

“I’ve heard you’re nice to staff,” I tell him.

“Too nice.” He shakes his head. “Look, Jess, you and I didn’t get off to a great start. And it was probably all my fault. So now I’ll do the apologizing, okay? I want us to begin again. That’s why I asked you to sit with me tonight. As my date.”

I look at him, startled. His date? I’m suddenly aware that he’s still holding my hand. And it feels nice. A few drops of perspiration are glinting on his chiseled brow. Could it be he’s flustered around me for a change?

“Starting again sounds good,” I say in a small voice.

“I find myself thinking about you a lot,” Josh says slowly. “You’re different from anybody I’ve ever known. Funny. Unassuming. You don’t try to be anything you’re not. I never know what to expect. It’s fun to be around you.”

He steps back for a moment. “I have a little something from the Board. To thank you for all you did on the benefit.”

He hands me a small velvet pouch, and opening it, I take out the delicate green charm inside, inscribed with a Chinese character.

“What’s it say?” I ask, fingering the smooth jade.

“I’m told it means ‘Happy Fortune,’ ” Josh says with a smile. “But I can’t guarantee it. For all I know, it means ‘Someone on the Board Really Likes You.’ Which would be appropriate, too.”

I look up at him, wide-eyed, and he smiles. “Actually, it’s not from the Board. It’s from me. I got it last week when I was in Hong Kong. Put it on your key chain.”

“I can do better than that,” I say, unhooking the thin gold chain I’m wearing and sliding the charm onto it. I fumble to refasten the necklace, but Josh reaches his arms around me to secure my good luck.

“Looks nice on you,” he says. “Sets off your eyes.”

“You don’t think it’s too much with the bathrobe?” I ask, smiling. “I don’t want to be overdressed tonight.”

“No, it’s just the right touch,” he says, leaning in and stroking the green medallion lightly with his thumb. “Now I have my good luck.”

“And I have mine.” I step hesitantly forward to give him a kiss.

“Nice,” he says. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. We kiss for longer than I would have expected.

Since the lights can’t dim to announce dinner, the waiters circulate, graciously inviting people to take their seats. I look anxiously at Josh and then toward the door.

“You’re not sneaking out of dinner,” Josh says firmly, taking my hand again. “Let’s go sit down. Don’t worry about the bathrobe. For once everyone will have something to talk about other than the SEC.”

Josh is right and it turns out an electrical outage is just what every charity event really needs. The room looks beautiful in the flickering candlelight, and so do all the women. My bathrobe inspires spirited conversation about everyone’s most embarrassing moments. Everyone except Marissa, who claims to have never had one. Speeches are kept short, since without working microphones, no one can hear them anyway. And the band, unplugged, unamplified, and unable to do their usual job of making it impossible to hear the person next to you, provides pleasant background music.

We’re just finishing up dessert when Lucy comes over to whisper that the hotel now has one service elevator running on an emergency generator. “I told them you’re an emergency,” she says. “Come on.”

I stand up and put my hand on Josh’s broad tuxedoed shoulder. “I’ll see you over at the theater,” I tell him. “I have some things to do backstage, but I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll save you a seat,” he smiles.

“Who’s Mr. Wonderful?” Lucy asks as soon as we’ve been ushered into the huge, padded service elevator and are blessedly on our way to the penthouse.

“Josh Gordon. And he gave me this,” I say, holding out my green charm as if that answers the question.

Apparently it does, because once we’re in the room and I’ve combed my hair, fixed my makeup, and changed into my borrowed gown, Lucy looks skeptically at the sparkly choker that Chanel also sent over for the night.

“I think your Chinese good luck charm works better,” she says, noticing that I haven’t taken it off yet.

“I like it better, too,” I say, airily rejecting what may be my only chance to flaunt a sapphire and ruby bauble.

Lucy looks me over carefully. “You clean up nicely,” she says. “Fabulous dress. Your hair looks sexy when it’s curly. And your face is glowing.”

I scrutinize myself in the mirror. “Must be the new pink lip gloss,” I suggest.

Lucy sighs. “Nope, it’s your new Mr. Wonderful. Goddammit, we’ll never be able to replace men. One good kiss from the right guy still makes you more radiant than a year of dermabrasion.”

“And hurts less,” I say, grinning.

We go back down in the elevator and walk quickly to the theater where Lucy gives me a big hug. “Let everyone see how gorgeous you are tonight,” she says.

“Later,” I promise.

Backstage, Vincent has the cast collected in a tiny dressing room for a preshow pep talk. The children have their arms around each other, no longer divided by what school they went to or whether they came from up- or downtown. They’re one cast, one big group of friends. And suddenly I realize that however the show goes, it’s already been a success.

“You’re all
fabulous,”
Vincent is telling the cast as I walk in. “You’ve worked so hard and people have paid thousands of dollars to see you. And trust me, you’re all worth every penny. Go out and break a leg.”

“He doesn’t
really
mean to break it,” offers Tamika, now in full voice, recovered from the allergic reaction and wanting to make sure her dance partner doesn’t take Vincent’s advice literally.

Vincent goes on for a few more minutes, and then the kids put their hands together in the middle of the circle, pulling them up and
cheering “Let’s Go Team!” as if they’re at the World Cup finals. Jen comes over in her ragamuffin costume, a perfect street urchin with smudged cheeks and nose.

“Mom, you look so pretty,” she says. “Was your dinner good?”

“Better than you could imagine,” I tell her. “And you look pretty cute yourself.”

The orchestra strikes up the overture, and the house lights dim as Chauncey calls for the kids to take their places. The curtain slowly rises and Pierce, our Professor Higgins, strolls elegantly across the stage in his morning coat and top hat—borrowed from his father, no doubt—and bumps into flower-vendor Tamika, our Eliza Doolittle, who drops her basket of bouquets, exactly on cue. And in her now perfectly honed Cockney accent, Tamika howls, “Full day’s wages, trod in the mud!”

The kids are off and running, and after all the rehearsing and worrying and working, they’re just about perfect. I feel goose bumps when Tamika breaks into the first verse of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly,” and when she’s done and the audience gives her a standing ovation, tears well up in my eyes.

From my position in the wings, I look out across the house and see Dan and Lucy kissing in the second row. Guess they’re entitled to miss the show. Cliff and Boulder are right behind them, leading the cheers. Zelda, who makes friends wherever she goes, is engaged in an animated conversation with a gentleman next to her. My well-groomed benefit ladies and their husbands are lined up in a single row, flanking Josh Gordon, who has an empty seat next to him. And it takes me a moment to realize that he’s saved the seat for me.

“Go out front,” Vincent says to me, his eyes gleaming. “It’s fabulous, isn’t it? I want you to enjoy it.” And he’s clearly enjoying it, too. Probably his first success in years.

As the audience is just getting back into their seats from the standing ovation, I hurry out to the front and slip into the seat next to Josh.

“Wonderful show,” he whispers, taking my elbow to guide me over. “You should be proud. And happy.”

“I am. Both,” I whisper back.

He puts his hand on my knee and rubs my beautiful dress. “Look
at you,” he murmurs into my ear. “So lovely. I liked the way you looked at dinner. But this is pretty darned good, too.”

As the musical goes on, I’m torn between focusing on the show and feeling the warmth of Josh’s body close to mine. He puts his arm around me, stroking my bare shoulder and then playing softly with my curls.

“Thanks for the second chance,” he says. “I have a good feeling about us.”

“Me too,” I say, stroking the jade charm at my chest.

Just then, the boy playing Liza’s father, Mr. Doolittle, steps forward to belt out yet another showstopper. Josh clasps my fingers and rests our intertwined hands on his leg.

“I’m getting’ married in the morning!”
sings the young boy on stage.
“Ding-Dong the bells are gonna chime!”

Josh squeezes my hand tightly and half turns to smile at me.

Maybe not in the morning, I think, gazing into his glimmering blue eyes. But anything’s possible.

I wonder if Chanel would lend me another dress.