Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) (25 page)

“
I
’
m glad you like it
—
but I
’
m
not finished.
”
 
She turned to the table behind her
and removed from a black velvet box a gold and diamond headband.

“
You can
’
t
be serious?
”

“
Oh, I
’
m very serious.
 
This is what will get people talking
—
a
true statement piece.
 
Fred
Leighton.
 
Vintage.
 
On loan, because I have it like that.
”
 
She handed it to Bernie, who admired
it for a moment while I took my seat in front of the mirror.
 
Then, he placed it on my head.
 
The gold was a deeper shade than my
hair, and there was no missing the diamonds
—
they
were so large that they were bordering on the obnoxious.

“
So, apparently I really am a princess,
”
I said.
 
“
At least for tonight.
 
I have some fashion sense, but nothing
that matches this.
”
 
I looked at Blackwell and
Bernie.
 
“
This
is all about you two.
 
Thank you.
”

“
And you get to reap the rewards,
”
Blackwell teased.
 
“
So unfair.
 
But I have to admit that, for you, this
is the best one yet.
 
Even the gays
will love it, and that will cause an ecstatic rumble on the blogs.
 
What
’
s most important is
that this says you are serious about your work.
 
This says that you
’
ve
come to play ball, but not by being threatening or emasculating.
 
And look,
”
Blackwell said to me as she turned to a table behind
her.
 
“
A matching
clutch.
 
Here you are.
 
See how small it is?
 
And look at the color.
 
Oh, stop with the tears.
 
It
’
s made from the same light blue
fabric as your dress.
 
And don
’
t
think I didn
’
t have to hustle for that to happen, because I did.
 
But it
’
s all worth it.
 
You
’
re chic in your couture.
 
I have to say, doing this is one of the
best parts of my day when it happens.
 
I love it.
 
And I love you,
my darling.
”

“
You
’
re a fashionista,
”
Bernie said to her.

“
Oh, not this again,
”
Jennifer said.

Blackwell ignored her and pressed her hand to her heart as
she looked at him.
 
“
I
can feel the tug of that calling
—
it
’
s been there since I
was a child, when I eschewed that awful Macy
’
s department store my
mother favored for the Bloomingdales that was just down the street.
”

“
How did you ever cope?
”
asked
Bernie.

“
It was terrible, but I try not to analyze it.
 
It
’
ll only make me hate my mother more
than I already do.
”

“
You have an eye that few can match.
”

“
It
’
s been said before, but who am I to
judge my own work?
”

“
A true artist would.
”

“
Do you think?
”

“
I know.
 
I
’
ve
witnessed you in action.
 
I
’
ve
seen what you can do.
 
And look at
Lisa now
—
she
’
s a grateful, emotional wreck.
 
All because of you.
”

“
Mon Dieu.
 
C'est
mon destin
.
”

*
 
*
 
*

Later, after Bernie finished with Jennifer, he stepped away
from her to evaluate his work.
 
He
had flat-ironed her hair so it hung straight down her back
—
which
was her best look
—
and had done her makeup just as dramatically as mine, only
with less of an edge.
 
He carefully
studied her, and then added a touch more lipstick, which was just a shade
darker than mine before looking at her in the mirror.

“
What do you think?
”
he
asked.

“
Perfection,
”
she
said.
 
“
You
always come through, Bernie.
 
Thank
God for you.
 
I mean that.
 
I couldn
’
t do any of this on my
own.
”

“
Imagine what Bernie could do with Gollum,
”
I said.

“
With what?
”
Blackwell
said.

“
Gollum.
”

“
I don
’
t know who or what that is.
”

“
It
’
s that creepy little slimy piece of
evil that lurks around in the
‘
Lord of the Rings
’
and the
‘
Hobbit
’
movies.
”

Jennifer looked at me.
 
“
You think I look like Gollum with my makeup off?
”

“
That
’
s not my point.
 
My point is that if he can do this to
us, just imagine what he could do
—
oh, never mind.
”

“
Yes, let
’
s never mind,
”
Jennifer said with a
faux, haughty expression that told me that she got my joke.

Bernie gave Jennifer a kiss on each cheek and then turned
to Blackwell.
 
“
She
’
s
yours,
”
he
said.

“
And she
’
s perfect.
 
But so is this.
”
 
She held up a dress so deeply red and
made of such clingy material that it was clear that it was meant to emphasize
Jennifer
’
s coloring and bold curves.
 

“
Giambattista Valli Couture,
”
Blackwell said.
 
“
You
’
ll barely be able to move or breathe
in it
—
not
that I really care.
 
Like eating,
breathing is overrated
—
both just make you look bloated.
 
Now, get dressed.
 
Let
’
s see how it fits.
 
Undergarments are on the table.
 
Shoes are over here.
 
So, dress.
 
Let
’
s see.
 
Naturally, I have a Plan B.
”

Without hesitation, Jennifer stripped out of her clothes
and did just that.
 
Blackwell helped
her into her Spanx and then into her dress so her hair and makeup wouldn
’
t
be ruined.
 
When all was settled,
Jennifer stood before the mirror to examine herself.
 
At once, I thought she looked beyond
beyond.
 
She turned this way and
that.
 
She asked for a mirror, which
Bernie handed to her, so she could see the back of her dress and hair.
 
She was far more experienced at this
than I was, and it was compelling to watch what she had become since joining
Wenn
—
a
pure professional who, like Blackwell, missed nothing.

“
I think the lower back, just above my ass, needs to be
brought in.
 
Am I right?
”

“
You are,
”
Blackwell
said.
 
“
But
fitting that ass of yours always is a challenge.
 
Anything else?
”

“
I don
’
t think so.
 
What do you think?
”

“
A nip and a tuck, and we
’
re good.
”

“
Then bring in your man,
”
she said.
 
“
Let
him nip and tuck.
 
It won
’
t
take long.
”

*
 
*
 
*

When Jennifer
’
s dress had been properly tailored,
she turned to me.
 
“
What
do you think?
”

“
Turn slowly.
 
Let me drink it in.
 
I don
’
t
have Barbara
’
s eye.
”

“
I should think not,
”
Blackwell
said.

“
I
’
m asking for her opinion first,
”
Jennifer said.
 
“
Then I
’
ll ask for yours and
Bernie
’
s, Barbara.
 
Three sets of eyes are better than one.
”

“
I
’
m Blackwell,
”
she
said.
 
“
I
have dozens of eyes.
 
But let Lisa
and Bernie have their say.
 
Then I
’
ll
have mine.
”

As she turned, I saw nothing but perfection.
 
Her gown hugged her so tightly that it
would have been a disaster if Jennifer wasn
’
t in such fantastic
shape.
 
But she was.
 
Everything seemed to fit as if the dress
had been made for her.
 
But who
knows if I was right.
 
Who knew what
Blackwell would say?
 
Still, I gave
Jennifer my honest opinion.
 
“
I
think it
’
s smashing,
”
I
said.

“
I agree,
”
Bernie
said.
 

“
As do I,
”
Blackwell
said.
 
“
It
’
s
over the moon.
 
So is her makeup and
hair.
 
Now, let
’
s
get it together, ladies.
 
Alex and
Tank will be waiting for us on Alex
’
s floor.
 
We
’
re five minutes shy of being late, so
let
’
s
get a move on.
 
We don
’
t
want to disappoint the boys.
”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When we arrived at the Frick, which was a museum located on
Fifth and Seventieth Street that once had been a mansion owned by the late
Henry Clay Frick, the crowds waiting to get inside were longer than I
’
d
expected.
 

Was this event really that big of a deal?
 
I had no idea.
 
In fact, I knew next to nothing about
what I was in for.
 
But if the lines
were any indication, hundreds had been invited.
 

“
That
’
s quite a line,
”
I said while I looked
out the window.
 
We all had gathered
in one of Wenn
’
s largest limousines.
 
Tank was next to me.
 
Blackwell, Jennifer and Alex were on the bench of seats across from us.

“
It is,
”
Blackwell
said.
 
“
And
one we don
’
t have to stand in.
”
 
She looked at Tank.
 
“
I assume you have security detail for
how we exit?
”

“
I do.
”
 
He pointed out a window while the
limousine came to a stop just outside the entrance on Seventieth Street.
 
“
See those two men there
—
they
’
re
ours.
 
They
’
ve
been there for much of the day to make certain that the place is tight.
 
Other men are inside the building,
watching over everything.
 
When we
leave the car, Cutter will exit the driver
’
s seat first, and will escort us
out.
 
Then, the two men standing at
the entrance will usher us inside, our coats will be taken, we
’
ll
head to the Garden Court, and the party will begin.
 
Sound good?
”

“
Thank you, Tank,
”
Alex
said.
 

“
Shall we go?
”
Blackwell
asked.
 

“
Just get me to the bar,
”
I said.
 
“
I
need to settle my nerves.
”

“
You
’
ll be fine,
”
Jennifer said.
 
“
And guess what?
 
Julian West is coming tonight.
”

“
He is?
”

“
I
’
ve been dying to tell you all day, but I wanted to surprise
you when we got here.
 
He flew in
from L.A. yesterday so he could be here.
”

“
That
’
s so great of him.
 
OK
—
now I
’
m excited.
”

Tank took my hand and squeezed it.
 
“
I think we
’
re
all excited for you.
 
Ready?
”

I kissed his cheek and then used my thumb to rub away the
lipstick I
’
d left behind.
 
“
Absolutely.
”

*
 
*
 
*

I
’
d never been to the Frick before, but it didn
’
t
disappoint.
 
The lobby was large and
beautifully appointed, with tall ceilings and towering vases filled with fresh
flowers on low tables placed along the walls, and the lighting was so subtle
that the place seemed to glow as if lit from within.
 

After we removed our coats and gave them over to the coat
check, we followed scores of people dressed in black tie into the Garden Court,
which was so stunning, it took my breath away.
 

In the center of the room was a long, narrow pool divided
by an ornate, intricately carved fountain that bubbled with the soothing sounds
of falling water.
 
The pool itself
was lit by dozens of floating votive candles and was surrounded by plantings,
flowers, and bronze sculptures.
 
In
the arcade, was a string quartet playing an Albinoni adagio that made the space
seem more magical than it already was.
 
But what struck me most was something I never expected.

Between the tall Ionic columns that encompassed the room
and soared toward the arched glass ceiling thirty feet above us, hung eighteen
massive photographs of all of the authors being recognized tonight.
 

I looked around the room
—
and
in an instant, saw mine straight across from me in what had to be the most
coveted and prominent position any writer could have hoped for.
 
As you entered the Garden Court, it was
straight ahead at the opposite end of the room
—
dead
center, just beyond and above the fountain.
 
You couldn
’
t miss it.
 
It was the photo they
’
d
used for the billboard in Times Square and the ad in the
Times
—
the
one where I had diamonds on my lips.
 
Just below my face was my name in bold red letters, and in the lower
left corner was an image of my book cover.
 
What I was looking at had to be at least ten feet tall, if not more.

Blackwell stepped beside me and lifted her chin as she
studied the photograph.
 
“
Well,
”
she said.
 
“
So it turns out that diamonds
are
a girl
’
s best friend, after all.
 
What do you think?
”

“
You put that in that spot, didn
’
t
you?
”

“
Oh, I don
’
t know.
 
Maybe I had something to do with
it.
 
After all, how does that line
go?
 
‘
Nobody puts baby in
the corner
’
?
 
Something
like that?
”