Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (20 page)

“Do you need me?” Sam called from across the room.

Ava shook her head.

“What about me?” Hunter said. “Are you going into the famed workroom? Can I peek?”

“Not yet,” Ava told him. “But I promise to return Sophia to you soon.” She held the door open for Sophia, followed her through, then shut and locked it behind them. Without saying a word, they made their way to the corner farthest from the other room, where there was a small café table with two chairs. A chipped gold cupid vase stood on the table, with some slightly-past-their-prime yellow and pink roses in it.

“What’s going on?” Sophia asked.

“Dalton called while you were out. I sent it to voice mail because I couldn’t face having to tell him I didn’t want to see him again, and he left this message.”

Ava put it on speaker and leaned the phone against the cupid vase.

“The first part is sort of personal,” Ava said as the message started to play.

“Hi, Ava. It’s Dalton. I don’t want to sound like a selfish ass, I know you’re going through a lot so I’m just going to blurt it fast: I hope I didn’t do something to upset you and that’s why you’ve been so strange on the phone. But if I have, tell me and we’ll figure out a way to fix it, okay? I lost months of time I should have been kissing you and I don’t want to lose any more.”

“That’s really cute,” Sophia said.

“Yeah, too bad I won’t ever get to kiss him,” Ava answered. She turned up the volume. “Here’s the important part.”

“I’m calling because something strange happened at the Wildwood design space today. That’s what he calls it, by the way. The guy is a moron. It’s been pretty organized, low-key the whole time we’ve been practicing there, but today everything was hopping. One of the assistants told me Wildwood had gotten a great idea for a new gown in the middle of the night last night and he’d decided he had to make the dress for the show, which was why everyone was running around. There was something about the way Mikasa—that’s the assistant—said it, though that made me think she didn’t believe in Wildwood’s ‘middle-of-the-night inspiration’ story. I’ll try to get more information out of her, but I thought you should know. I asked her to describe the dress and she said it used multiple layers of tools? Does that make sense to you? Also it had a smocked bodice, is biased cut, and it bustled. I’m sorry if I got the lingo wrong, I was trying not to seem too interested. Let me know how I can help, or if there’s something I should be trying to fix. Yeah, I guess I’ll just—”

It cut off.

“He got our dress,” Sophia mumbled through numb, shell-shocked lips. Both girls stared down the length of the workroom to a dress with a smocked bodice and a bias-cut skirt that bustled in the back over several layers of tulle. “We were so careful,” Sophia said. “I even deleted the picture.”

“It sounds like the dress only started production late yesterday or today,” Ava said. “So we must have deleted the picture too late. But what I don’t understand is that Toma said we shouldn’t have to worry.”

Sophia felt all the blood drain out of her body and into her feet. “
You
didn’t have to worry. I never gave him my phone back to encrypt after he couldn’t finish because of Hunter calling.
My
phone was the leak,” Sophia said. Now not only her lips but her hands and feet felt numb.

“This time,” Ava told her. “The leak could have rotated. And you’re only seeing the negatives.”

“There are positives?” Sophia asked.

Ava nodded. “First, we know not to use your phone for anything because someone’s listening. Which means we also know
to
use your phone for anything we want someone to hear.”

“Like if we were to change the design of the gown,” Sophia said. “We could take a picture—”

“And make Wildwood jump.”

Sophia nodded minutely to herself. “This has potential.”

Ava agreed. “I wish we’d thought of it earlier.”

“For so many reasons.” Sophia stopped nodding. Her eyes flashed to the door, then back to Ava. “I don’t think we should tell anyone what we’re doing. Not because I suspect anyone, but this way—”

“We’ll be able to test for sure if your phone is the source,” Ava said. “And we wouldn’t want to worry them.”

“Right.” Sophia was already up heading to the door. “I’ll go get my phone.”

“I’ll get the shears. What do you think we’re missing from our collection?” Ava asked.

“A micromini of course,” Sophia said.

“With a bustle,” Ava added.

Sophia laughed. “Hideous! And yet oddly perfect for celebrity guest Whitney Frost.”

LonDOs

Turning adversity into advantage

Ava putting on one brown over-the-knee sock and one navy-blue one

Girl who asked Ava where she’d gotten her “totally cute” thigh-highs

Having an inside man

Boyfriends who take what you say seriously

Boyfriends who understand when you fall asleep during your romantic dinner

Finguini

LonDON’Ts

Irresponsible, immature, unreliable guys

Wonderful, loyal, smart, funny, cool guys in bands who give you butterflies not only in your stomach but in your
knees
that you want to date but can’t

Making up fights in your head

Making up what a girl named Mikasa might look like in your head

Your own phone spying on you

Trying to get dressed fast on no sleep

Sisters who don’t tell you your socks don’t match until you are at the showroom

Sisters who won’t help you unlock the secrets of your heart

Kidnappers who have yet to give Further Instructions

17

big slapple

“I think I’m more nervous for this than I’ve ever been for anything,” Ava said to Sophia the next day just before noon.

Sophia looked skeptical. “Even more than when you had that solo in the third-grade Christmas pageant?”

“You’re right, playing Tree Number One was very challenging,” Ava admitted. “But this is right up there.”

They were sitting at the café table in the far corner of the workroom, tying bows on the gilded boxes containing the custom-dipped AS scented candles that the Contessa had set in front of them. Boxes of lavish items had been deposited in the studio over the previous few days by the Contessa’s chauffeur, all of which she claimed were for “gift bags.”

So far their favorites were the custom sunglasses with the gold lenses that had the AS logo screened onto them so it showed up in the sun and the cashmere socks that came in their own little bag with B
E
C
OMFORTABLE
AS
YOU ARE
embroidered on it. Or, as MM said when he saw them, “To die for”—pointing at the glasses—“and to live in”—with his fingers caressing the socks.

“I didn’t even know we were having gift bags,” Sophia said. “And don’t you think it’s odd the Contessa didn’t ask our advice?”

“You just used the words
odd
and
contessa
in the same sentence, as though they were an unlikely match,” Ava pointed out. “That is hilarious.”

In the main area of the workroom the three seamstresses were setting up their sewing machines and supplies for the onslaught of alterations they’d be hit with when the first round of fittings on the AS girls was done. They talked in low voices, as if they were saving their energy.

Ava stretched out her hands and glanced at the door to the main showroom, through which a low babble of voices could be heard. “What if they don’t like us?”

Sophia shook her head. “Impossible. They might not like me but they’ll love you.”

“Are you kidding?” Ava said, pulling another pile of sachets and ribbons toward her. “You’re the charming, lovely, beautiful, classy-but-still-fun one. They all want to be you. I’m the one who obsesses about every tiny thing and makes people bored.”

“I’m pretty sure you mean makes people adore you,” Sophia said. “Besides, you’re BFFs with practically everyone in the room already.”

Ava’s face looked pinched and she whispered, “Don’t let the Contessa hear you say that, we don’t want her to be jealous.”

The door opened and the noise swelled for a moment, then retreated as MM shut it behind him. He stopped to give each of the seamstresses a hug, then made his way to Ava and Sophia. “They’re ready,” he said.

“Are you crying?” Sophia asked.

“No,” he lied. “Okay, yes.”

“Why?” Ava said.

MM took a deep breath and looked up toward the corner of the room. “Because they’re better. Better even than we could have imagined. And this crazy thing you’re doing?” He wiped a tear and his eyes came to them. “It’s not just going to work. It’s going to soar.” He made a face. “Don’t you two start crying too. We don’t have time for more makeup.”

Ava and Sophia each took a few short, quick breaths. At the door he stopped to straighten Sophia’s collar and brush a crease out of Ava’s skirt. “Ready?”

“Yes,” they said together.

He opened the door. “Ava and Sophia,” he said, “meet the AS girls.”

*   *   *

The next three hours passed in a blur of hugs and laughing and jumping up and down and screaming and crying and trading outfits and trading accessories and more stories. By the end, without anyone knowing exactly how, all the outfits had been assigned, polaroided, and pinned for alterations, and everyone knew everyone else’s name, secret dream, deepest wish, and pets’ names.

Each girl had been told to bring a chaperone and one accessory that she particularly loved or that had special meaning to her. MM wanted to incorporate them into the outfits, to highlight the idea that there was no one right way to be an AS girl, no one tyrannical point of view. The chaperones were led by Daisy down the hall to a pop-up nail salon the Contessa had arranged and given manicures and pedicures, while the girls each presented her accessory and explained why she’d chosen it. Sam filmed the whole thing and MM recorded it, flipping through the Polaroids to note which accessories belonged to which girls.

Ava and Sophia felt like they were watching a machine at work, one they’d sort of dreamed about but barely recognized in its fully fleshed-out form, as if each of the parts had taken on a life of its own.

This is going to work,
they said to one another as if they didn’t believe it. Somehow, despite everything, it was going to work.

*   *   *

At four o’clock the AS girls and their chaperones were picked up by a double-decker bus for a tour of Manhattan, which was going to be followed by dinner for everyone at the Contessa’s apartment. When Sophia and Ava had asked whether it was going to be a buffet or seated, and what they should expect, the Contessa had said, “Fire,” and wandered off.

Sophia glanced around the room, saw Lily and Sam putting the final touches on the video to be shown that night at dinner, and heard MM and Sven in the workroom, making the seamstresses laugh. Ava was in the corner, thumbs flying as she texted the AS girls who had just left and—as predicted—adored her. Sophia had the sense that something was missing but it took her another few seconds to realize that it was Hunter. She hadn’t noticed him leave, but she found a text on her phone that read, “I love watching you. You were so absorbed didn’t want to interrupt but had to run out on a quick errand. Let me know if you are home or studio later (no pressure!) and I’ll come see how I can help.”

Nice,
she thought.
Perfect.
She’d been wrong to think—

Ava’s gasp got the attention of the whole room. “He texted me,” she announced loud enough to bring MM and Sven out of the workroom. “He or she. The kidnapper.”

“Read it,” Sophia insisted.

“I almost deleted it,” Ava said, her hand shaking. “I thought it was spam, you know, no phone number, I almost—”

“Read it!”
Sophia urged.

“‘If you value your pets’ lives, go to the NE couch in the lobby of the W Hotel in Times Square at exactly 4:43
P.M.
No Cops, No Press. Come ALONE!’” Ava looked up. “It’s 4:11. What do we do? We don’t have the one hundred thousand dollars demanded in the ransom note.”

“We plan in the car,” Lily said, marshaling everyone toward the door. “Take coats and any weapons you might have,” she commanded. “You too, Sam. I think we’re going to want to film this.”

The Contessa had arranged for a fleet of SUVs to be on call for the next few days and they’d found one of them idling right outside the studio. “There’s something strange about this,” Ava said as the car pulled away from the curb.

“You mean everything?” Sophia said, typing on her phone.

“Who are you texting?” Ava asked her in a whisper. They were sitting together in the farthest-back row. “And what do you want them to know?”

“Only Hunter,” Sophia said, “to tell him what’s— Oh. Good point.” She dropped her phone like it was contaminated. “Could I send him a text from your phone?”

Ava was about to hand it to her when she stopped herself. “Hunter’s phone might be compromised too,” she said. “Most of the designs were stolen while we were still in LA.”

Sophia sighed. “You’re right. We’ll have to get Toma to look at it. Later.”

“Later,” Ava agreed. “What I meant about something weird is that up until now the kidnapper has been a total publicity hound.”

“That’s true,” Sophia said, nodding. “Like having the letter delivered by bike messenger in the middle of a red-carpet event.”

“Exactly,” Ava said. “But now we’re supposed to come alone.”

“Which is our saving grace,” Lily announced from the front of the SUV. She was twisted around to face them. “It means the kidnapper will hopefully be somewhere nearby. To watch and see that you’re alone.”

“Why is that good for us? Since I’m
not
alone?” Ava asked.

“Since we don’t have the money, our one chance of saving Popcorn and Charming is to get to the kidnapper before he can get to them,” Lily explained. “We do that by luring him out. You leave this bag wherever you are told to drop the money.” Lily held up a bag that Ava knew contained a dozen small boxes with unbelievably cool cut-crystal rings with AS A
LWAYS
engraved on them, but no money at all. “As soon as the kidnapper has the bag it will be clear that we haven’t paid up, so he will take action. Best case, we catch him picking up the bag. Less good, we follow them with the bag to Popcorn and Charming.”