The Crasher (41 page)

Poppy had called almost immediately with rave reviews.

“Are you definitely wearing it to the library?” Ginny asked. She was depending on Poppy’s presence to help her crash.

“Right now I am.” Poppy had been laughing, but she’d also sounded slightly hysterical.

“Good, so I’ll see you there…”

“Oh,
wunderbar.
Are you going with Alex?”

Ginny had gulped. “Have you seen him?” For weeks she’d tried to avoid pumping Poppy for information in case she told Svank
and he became suspicious.

“Nooo, but I thought I heard Svank saying something about meeting him this week.”

“Oh, when?” There was no point in trying to show she didn’t care. Her whole future depended on seeing Alex and getting everything
sorted out once and for all.

Poppy had been as maddening as ever, ignoring her question, self-absorbed, cooing what once-upon-a-long-time-ago Ginny would
have longed to hear. “Ginny, you are sooo talented. I’d like a black version of the georgette. Can you do it without a fitting?
You know how I loooathe fittings.”

At least it had given Ginny the perfect opportunity to lock Poppy into turning up at the library. “Yes, if I can see how it
drapes, moves on you. I’ll study it when we meet for the Literary Lions.”

“Goody, goody. I’ll send you a check tomorrow.”

Poppy had been true to her word and it more than helped defray the cost of the velvet for the cloak, the embroidered border,
and new copper patent stiletto sandals Ginny hadn’t been able to resist, spotting them in a theatrical shop in Soho.

She was sure the cloak was the most majestic, stylish piece of clothing she had ever designed. She was also very happy with
the way the bridesmaid dress—or what remained of it— had turned out. Minus the sleeves, with a radically deepened décolletage
(held up with shoestring silk straps) it looked like a totally new gown, seductive in its shapeliness, impressive in its formality.
Luckily, she’d over-ordered on the crepe, so managed to make two new side panels to flow out from the waist as she walked,
increasing the dress’s overall “presence.”

After Johnny called to “book” her, she’d rushed out to pick up a copy of
Next!,
hoping to learn what he’d been writing about in Puerto Rico, hoping to see if he revealed the mysterious “something I’ve
been following for months.” His byline was on the cover, which showed a photo of a man she’d never heard of, Limpo Delchetto,
with the cover line, “Pulitzer Prize Winner ‘Missing in Action.’”

So Johnny had his cover story. To her surprise, it was mostly about drug trafficking, a very different beat for him.

She marveled at his use of language, his knowledge. Johnny knew so much of the world. She sighed, thinking of her poor father
and his endless posturing and striving to be known as a man of letters.

In
Next!’s
movie column she saw that Abel Gance’s movie,
Napoleon,
was showing in the Village and the next day she went alone to see if there was anything Napoleonic that she could still add
to her ensemble. Not really, although one ballroom scene impressed her, where people were dancing with red ribbons tied around
their necks to show that someone in the family had had his head cut off.

Back at the loft she decided to have a dress rehearsal, deliberating whether or not to add a red ribbon to her own neck. During
the last dreadful two and a half months, since discovering the jewelry, she’d often felt her own head was someplace else;
in case Quentin Peet knew its historical significance, she decided against it.

The phone rang soon after she climbed wearily into bed.

“I’m back. I’m home, Ginny. Did I disturb your beauty sleep?”

What time was it? She groped for the light switch as she huskily said, “No, no, of course not.”

It was not the middle of the night. It was only ten thirty-five.

“Can I come over now?” Johnny sounded keyed up, like an excited schoolboy.

Ginny sat up in bed, trying to wake up. She looked around the loft. It was a terrible mess, with bits of velvet and blush
bridesmaid all over the floor. If the loft looked a mess, she knew she looked worse. Her long pause must have been too off-putting,
because before she could answer, Johnny said accusingly, “I think I did wake you up. Go back to sleep. I’ve got a ton of things
to catch up on here anyway.”

As she began to say, “No, it’s okay, really…” he said in a softer, sweeter voice, “Can’t wait to see you. Be ready about six
tomorrow. Wear one of your spectacular long dresses. I’ll
come over with all the details and tell you who and what to look for.” He laughed boyishly. “Ready to go back to work?”

Now wide awake, she fumed, trying to think of a suitable cutting reply. He couldn’t wait to see her? So what was he doing
all the hours in the day before six o’clock tomorrow evening, when he obviously thought he could just drop in for a quick
smooch, deliver her marching orders and then be on his merry way in time for the grand library event?

Should she tell him to go to hell now or let him turn up on her doorstep and find no one at home? She couldn’t think fast
enough. “I don’t know,” she said lamely. “Possibly.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” she said crossly. “You just startled me.” Without thinking she blurted out, “I was going to a dinner
party tomorrow night…”

“Where?”

How dare he question her after being away for fifteen whole days. Who did he think he was? Coolly, “Oh, a friend of Ted and
Esme’s…”

“Male?”

When she didn’t answer, he went on in the same sweet, soft voice. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Ginny. Can’t you make it tomorrow,
for me, at six, please?”

She sighed, a deliberate, subordinate-reporting-for-duty sigh of resignation. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to change my plans. Long
dress, six o’clock, American Cancer, right?”

“Right. Until then, Ms. Ginny. I can’t wait, but you’re worth waiting for.”

So he’d bought her a surprise in Puerto Rico. She wished he hadn’t. She’d had enough surprises to last a lifetime. Now she
was so awake, she wondered how she’d ever get back to sleep. She deliberated about calling him back to ask him to come over
after all, but she worried she might not be able to lie about her plans face-to-face with him.

The phone rang three times between six-thirty and eight the next morning, but every time Ginny picked it up there was no one
there, not even any heavy breathing.

It was so unsettling, and in the bright light of day she knew there was no way she could see Johnny at six, no way she could
pretend to be going one place and turn up at another, no way she could see him at all that day and still be able to go through
with her crash plan.

She’d already given herself the day off to relax, to wash and set her hair and perhaps give herself a face mask. She was just
out of the shower when Esme called to see if she’d like to come over “for tea or catch a movie this afternoon?” Esme sounded
bored. “Ted’s at a meeting in Toronto, and won’t be back till about eight or nine…”

Darling Esme—here was Ginny’s solution.

“I’d love to, but I can’t do a movie. I have to go out early this evening. I was thinking of calling you. I’d love to come
over to change at your place and get some help with my hair… I want you to see how your bridesmaid dress looks now. I need
your vote of approval.” She did, too, or at least some reassurance that she’d never looked better. With Esme’s endless curiosity
about her life, Ginny was sure she wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to find out the latest episode.

“Oh, I’d love you to come over. Is Johnny back?”

“He’s back.”

“So you’re meeting him later? Where are you going? Somewhere suitably romantic, I hope?”

Ginny hesitated, murmuring, “Uptown somewhere… I’ll tell you all about it when we meet.”

Before she left the loft just before four, with her total ensemble, cloak, dress, evening sandals and purse, in a voluminous
old Gosman garment bag, Ginny decided she couldn’t let Johnny arrive all the way downtown and find no one home. At least she
would cover herself by leaving a message. She prayed she’d get his answering service. She did.

“I’m really sorry, Johnny, but I couldn’t get out of my date. It’s such a bore. I hope you’ll understand, but you didn’t give
me enough notice. See you soon. Tomorrow? Miss you.” She knew her voice was wobbly, but it was the best she could do.

On the way to Esme, Ginny decided to tell her best friend the
truth, to confess she was crashing because Johnny, for some paranoid reason, didn’t want her to meet his illustrious father.

When Esme opened the door with a big grin, bursting with excitement about her imminent “reunion” with. Johnny, Ginny couldn’t
get the real, unflattering facts out.

“Is Johnny picking you up here? I hope so.”

“No, he’s… eh… he’s on deadline. I’m meeting him there.”

“Where?”

Ginny sighed. There was no chance Esme wouldn’t demand to know all the where-why-and-how details. She’d mentioned she was
going somewhere uptown, but she’d just have to hope Esme hadn’t caught it.

“The New York Public Library,” she said defensively. “There’s an important dinner there tonight, something called the Literary
Lions, where Johnny’s father’s going to be honored.”

“Oh, my! How glamorous.” Esme squealed with pleasure when Ginny showed her the cloak. “My, my, my, there’s that border from
that godawful sofa. Who would believe it! It’s sumptuous, ravishing. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Ginny, you’re
just a genius, there’s no other word for it.”

When Ginny took out the renovated bridesmaid dress, Esme was far more restrained, and from her lack of comments, let alone
compliments, Ginny realized the changes didn’t meet with Esme’s approval. She could have kicked herself for her insensitivity.
Obviously, Esme was upset; obviously she’d wanted Ginny to preserve the bridesmaid dress just as it was, even if she could
never wear it again.

“Sorry, Esme. I can see from the look on your face I should never have altered a stitch, but when I saw the velvet for the
cloak I knew the blush color would go so perfectly with it. I hope you’re not too mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad, Ginny, just a bit shocked. I…I only wish you’d started from scratch and made a new dress…”

It didn’t take long for Esme to forgive and forget and soon they were shrieking with laughterther—Ginny didn’t even know
what about. She was light-headed with a mixture of fear and elation, apprehension and anticipation.

By the time she was ready (Esme helped, first coiling her hair into a sophisticated chignon, then making up her eyes, and
finally insisting Ginny borrow her deep gold Lancôme lipstick), it was after six and it had begun to spit with rain.

When the phone rang Ginny tensed, sure it was Johnny trying to track her down, but it wasn’t. It was Ted’s company chauffeur
telling Esme the boss’s arrival time at the airport.

Looking out of the window, receiver in hand, Esme turned to Ginny. “You can’t get that divine cloak wet—or your dress either.
You must take Ted’s car. He won’t need it until later this evening. He’s not arriving until eight forty-five at La Guardia.
What time d’you need to be at the library?”

With such a heaven-sent offer, Ginny saw that the best time to arrive was being decided for her. “Seven-thirty?” she suggested.
Her heart thumped beneath the soft crepe.

“Does that give you enough time to pick my husband up?” Esme said into the phone. Ginny could see from the look of pride on
Esme’s face she loved saying “my husband.” Who wouldn’t?

“Okay. Why don’t you come over now. To the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. Yes, fine.” Esme put the phone down. “He’s
just filling up with gas. He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

The rain had decided only to spit and not to pour as Ted’s Mercedes pulled up at the fine stone staircase leading to the library’s
main entrance on Fifth Avenue.

Strange, there was no canopy outside, no red carpet and nobody climbing the steps. Aware that the chauffeur obviously couldn’t
wait to be on the way to the airport, Ginny thanked him politely, and pulling the cloak around her, began her ascent

Now her nerves were giving her trouble. She thought she might easily be sweating away all Esme’s eye expertise. She began
to feel faint. It looked as if the giant doors were shut tight. Had she made a mistake about the date? She couldn’t
have. There had been a few references in the papers to the Literary Lions dinner since the day she’d first opened the invitation
on Johnny’s desk. The date was etched in her brain.

She stopped after climbing the first flight. Was someone calling her name? At first she was too nervous to look around, but
when it came again, “Ginny… Ginny Walker, is that you?” she turned, remembering for some unknown reason Alex’s advice about
the importance of good posture.

She froze. It was Oz, the wily wizard of Oz bounding up the steps toward her, a camera bag slung over the shoulder of his
tux. “Whew,” he blew a long low whistle. “Do you look gorgeous or do you look gorgeous, Miss Ginny.” He was the last person
in the world she expected or, certainly, wanted to see. She gave him a feeble smile.

“And where are you going, so dressed to kill?” Luckily he didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Looking like a heroine, it must
surely be the Literary Lions dinner? But you’re going the wrong way, m’darling. The invitation says enter on Forty-second
Street, cocktails in the Celeste Bartos Forum, remember? May I escort you?”

She remembered only too well her behavior to Oz at Esme’s wedding. She didn’t deserve any courtesy from him. Why was he being
so charming? Whatever his reason, she was already unnerved by choosing the wrong entrance and she realized Oz could be a valuable
lifeline if, God forbid, she needed one.

“Oz, how lucky you saw me. I wasn’t thinking. My car dropped me here… How stupid of me. Of course, I should be around the
corner…” She gave him her most vivid smile, and tucked her arm in his.

“Who are you meeting? That magazine guy, Peet? Can’t he ever pick you up?” Now, his tone wasn’t so friendly.