“Tanya got caught,” Nigel said. “Well, she didn’t; Martin did. And we were disqualified.”
“NO!” I said, wondering if Tanya would blame me even though I wasn’t there. Yes, probably.
“Over here,” Elaina said. She strolled over to the famous black dress Audrey wore as Holly Golightly. It had recently sold at auction to the house of Givenchy. They were kind enough to lend it to us for the exhibit, along with several other pieces.
“Heidi Klum caught him,” Nigel said, as he began to inspect the iconic dress.
“Well, cross my heart and kiss my elbow!” I said, wondering if anyone but me knew that expression came from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
“Heidi was antsy for the next show to start and was looking around the room,” Nigel said. “That’s when she spotted him.”
“She whispered something into Valentina’s ear and Martin was busted. What’s My Line? was O-V-E-R,” Elaina said, signaling “cut” with her finger across her neck. “The Met’s getting the prize and I’m sure the Fashion Council won’t ever do it again.”
“Not with us, anyway,” I said.
“Martin got fired,” Nigel said.
“What?” I said, outraged but not entirely surprised. “She made him do it, just like she made me do it.”
“She told him auf Wiedersehen right there and then,” he said.
“She fired a devout Jew in German?” I said. “That was cold.”
“Tanya was trying to impress Heidi,” Elaina theorized. “I still can’t believe she cheated. I have to decide if I can continue working for someone like that. ‘I will step back and let Him lead the way.’”
“A Course in Miracles?” I asked.
Elaina nodded as she gently lifted the black dress off the mannequin.
“Elaina, the basic trouble with you is you’re too honest,” Nigel said. “Anyway, the story’s in all the papers. Tanya looks like a fool.”
“It was a blessing I got kicked out early,” I said. “Elaina, you’ve got to hide me today.”
Elaina gestured at the enormous exhibit that needed to be inspected, dismantled, and packed. One thing about working in such a small museum was that everybody pitched in to help colleagues. “Your wish is my command.”
I smiled at my friends, grateful for their support.
“Sooooo,” Nigel said, “how did you make out with Alessandro?”
“We broke up.” I told them how Alessandro had the nerve to dump me by text message (they were shocked and appalled), how a bus ran over my wardrobe, and how I was now homeless.
“But otherwise, Mrs. Lincoln, how’d you enjoy the play?” Elaina said with a giggle. “Come, let’s do the Sabrina costumes. Those are already inspected, right, Nigel?”
“Right-oh,” he said.
My phone vibrated, but I didn’t answer it. Alessandro was cell phone stalking me, leaving message after message demanding his ring back. Plus, he kept asking if I’d canceled the wedding plans and gotten his deposits refunded. The calls were good therapy. His obnoxious behavior was softening the blow of being dumped.
We wandered over to the dresses Hepburn wore for Sabrina.
“You know what never ceases to amaze me?” Nigel said. “These are over fifty years old, but if you wore them tomorrow, you would be completely in fashion.”
“That was the genius of Givenchy,” I said. “His style was timeless.”
“Oh, bloody hell!” Nigel shrieked. He had caught a glimpse of the ethereal gown Audrey had worn to the embassy ball in My Fair Lady. The dress, designed by Cecil Beaton, was a cream silk organza overlay with a ballet neckline, empire waist, and a matching silk crepe de chine underslip. It was embroidered with thousands of tiny silver and gold beads, along with fiery Swarovski crystals. Somehow it had suffered a four-inch tear on the side seam. A smattering of beads lay on the floor near the gown. “How did this happen?”
Elaina ran over and inspected the damage. “A visitor must have gotten too close,” she said. “Mrs. Weidermeyer can fix it.”
Nigel gasped. “Have you lost your senses?” Mrs. Weidermeyer was a highly skilled seamstress who worked on modern garments the museum needed stabilized. But only a certified conservator could restore vintage couture. In this case, Nigel would first contact Warner Brothers’ costume archives to see if he could obtain thread from the spool that was used to sew the gown in the first place. Whoever repaired the gown would follow the original seam line, carefully placing his needle through the same holes left by Beaton’s tailors when the dress was first created. Each bead would have to be individually hand sewn and knotted back to its original position. This would all be done under intense magnification, without rush and with utter perfection. Sometimes Nigel repaired garments himself. Other times, he hired outside experts.
“I’m kidding,” Elaina said. “I know Mrs. Weidermeyer can’t do this.”
“She just wanted to give you a heart attack,” I said.
“Puh-lease,” Nigel said, “we’ll send it to Jacques Doucet.”
“Can he fix it in time for Rome?” Elaina asked.
“Doubtful. We’ll ship it late if we have to,” Nigel said.
I gently ran my hand over the silk lace. The craftsmanship in the gown was impeccable, the material exquisite.
Nigel and Elaina gingerly removed the gown from the mannequin while I knelt on my hands and knees to gather up every bead I could find. We carefully folded the slip and lace overlay, wrapped it in tissue, and packed it into an oversize acid-free box. Then we set the tiara, Edwardian necklace, and earrings into custom cases that were placed in the container with the dress. For the movie, these pieces came from Cartier. However, we used copies made with cubic zirconia stones. For our upcoming Tiaras through Time show, only the real thing would do. But since the star of this exhibit was the clothing, costume jewels were acceptable. Even so, insurance required that each ensemble that was lent as a package stay together.
“I’ll take the dress to Doucet tomorrow,” Nigel said.
“Remember the Gina Lollobrigida bridal gown from the Hollywood Weddings show? All those seed pearls that fell off?” I said.
“These costumes are fragile to begin with,” Nigel said, shaking his head sadly. “They
