“No, it’s fine,” I said, biting into my lobster, which was broiled to perfection.
He rubbed his ample belly. “Horace says I have the body of an Olympian covered in fat.”
“Daddy,” Annie said. “Did you know that Sydney is closer to my age than she is to yours? She’s sixteen years older than me, but twenty-two years younger than you.”
“What are you, the human calculator?” Sydney said.
Denis laughed. “No, but she’s a whiz in math. You’re right, Annie,” he said. “Sydney is closer to your age than mine.”
“So I should marry her, not you,” Annie said. “But I can’t.”
“Oh, no, why not?” Denis asked.
Annie laughed. “Girls can’t marry girls.”
“Not yet,” Denis explained. “But someday the laws will change.”
“But how would we have babies?” Annie asked.
“Could we please talk about something else?” Sydney said, rolling her eyes.
“You could adopt,” I suggested.
“Or have artificial insemination,” Carleen said.
“The ol’ turkey baster method,” Pops added.
“Pops,” I growled.
“See, Daddy,” Annie giggled, “I’m not the only one who says inappropriate things at the table.”
“This conversation is killing my appetite,” Sydney said, throwing her napkin on the table.
“Forgive me,” Pops said.
“Saves her having to stick her finger down her throat,” Carleen whispered.
“Daddy, may I please be excused?” Annie said. “I need to go urinate.”
“Yes, of course,” Denis said, waving her away. “But next time…come here.”
Annie walked over to her father, who whispered something in her ear. “Excuse me, everyone,” she announced. “I’m going to go powder my nose.”
After the plates were cleared, the waiter stopped by for coffee orders.
“You having dessert?” I asked Carleen.
She patted her nonexistent stomach. “No, darlin’. I’m just as full as a tick.”
“So can anyone else come to my lecture tomorrow?” I asked.
“I just remembered,” Bunny said, “there’s a cooking demonstration with Enrico Derflingher at ten. I simply can’t miss that.”
“Maybe you should go, too, Syd,” Denis said.
“Why?” Sydney said. “We have a private chef.”
“I meant so you could be with your mother,” Denis said. “You never have time together when you’re working.”
“Sorry,” she said. “But when I’m not working working, I’m working out.” She made a fist and showed off her biceps. “Gotta be a buff bride.”
“There sure are lots of options,” I said. “I hope someone comes to my talk.”
“They will,” Lucille said. “How about you, Denis dear? Join us for a lecture on Hollywood style. It’ll be fabulous.”
“I’d love to, Mother,” Denis said.
Yay, I thought.
“Then maybe I will come,” Sydney said.
Boo, I thought. A wide yawn escaped from my mouth. “Oh, excuse me. I’m exhausted. I think I’ll say good night.” It had been a long two days and I still needed to shop for clothes from Lucille’s penthouse closet and catch some sleep before my lecture. Plus, I didn’t want to have a conversation with Denis. Not yet, anyway.
Stormy Weather
THE RING OF THE phone jolted me awake. The cabin was pitch-black and the clock read 3:07 A.M.
“H-hello,” I mumbled.
“Ship-to-shore call for Holly Ross,” said an operator with a heavy Italian accent.
“Um, wait,” I said, groggily unhooking my headgear so I could speak properly. I tried to remember. Who did I know from shore?
“Hello,” I said.
“Holly, thank goodness you’re there.” It was Nigel, my colleague and best pal.
“Of course I’m here. It’s the middle of the night. What is it?”
“There’s been a crap development, simply crap,” he said. “I was out today visiting Madonna, you know, for the Denis King show. You should see her apartment, luv. It’s huuuuuge. And soooo opulent. She finally said yes on the nineteenth-century diamond tiara she wore for her wedding, the one from Asprey and Garrard? Seventy-eight karats of diamonds…”
“Nigel, what crap thing happened?”
“Right, well, while I was out, Sammie went through the Audrey exhibit boxes one last time. She realized the costumes were missing.”
“Sammie? She had no business…this wasn’t her project…” I sputtered. “You promised no one would find out.”
“I know, and I’m bloody sorry. The show was packed to ship. Why she opened the trunks, I cannot fathom. I never thought…”
“What did she do?”
“Wait, I’m not finished. The thing is,” he moaned and his voice trailed off.
“What? What is the thing?” I insisted.
“The thing is,” he mumbled, “the Jennifer Love-Hewitt garments are here. The trunk containing all the original Givenchy evening gowns is missing.”
“What?” I cried. “But that’s impossible. You saw which case I took, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “And the packing slip said it held the reproductions. I even looked inside to verify. Someone must have switched the paperwork on the trunks at the last minute.”
My heart sank. I was sure I knew who that someone was. “Sammie must have overheard us talking. She wants to ruin me. But to do this?”
“It’s an act of fashion terrorism,” Nigel professed.
“By someone who claims to love fashion,” I snarled. “So what happened? Did she call the police?”
“No, it’s worse,” Nigel said. “She called Tanya. Then Tanya called the police and the FBI because they thought the dresses might end up on the black market somewhere. By the time I got to the office, everything was cordoned off with yellow tape. They were dusting for prints, questioning everyone, trying to sort it out. Elaina had to be medicated. Tanya insisted everyone take a lie detector test.”
“Now I’ll never get promoted,” I groaned.
“That’s the least of your problems.”
“My problems,” I said. “You’re my coconspirator.”
“I had to tell them everything, well almost everything. I left out my involvement because I’m sure you’ll agree there’s no point in us both getting sacked and going to jail. Orange jumpsuits do nothing for my silhouette.”
“SACKED? JAIL?” I was standing now. “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re doing a first-rate job.”
“I’m just saying…” Nigel started.
My stomach was clenched tight. “Nigel, this was your idea. You know I didn’t plan to steal anything.”
“Yes, well, and I explained all that, except for the part about my making you courier for the reproductions and you taking the wrong trunk, but they didn’t buy it. They think you acted alone.”
“For the love of
