“Yes, yes,” Tanya said, “we all know our French shoe designers.”
“Right,” Nigel said, momentarily flustered. “Anyway, the ladies loved it and I daresay it would be a good model for a show we could mount. The history of the couture shoe.”
“Ooh, ooh,” I said, practically bursting out of my seat. “What if we didn’t limit ourselves to shoes, but included all couture accessories—faux jewels, witty bags, amusing hats. We could call it les riens de couture, you know, the ‘little nothings’ that posh ladies buy at designer boutiques.”
“I love it,” Nigel crowed. “Balenciaga pillbox hats, Christian Dior pocketbooks and gloves, Moschino hats—remember when he showed that airplane headdress…”
“1988,” I said, “also the year of the Napoleonic coat-hanger hat.”
“We could show Christian Lacroix bibbed necklaces,” Cosima Fairchild added. “Chanel brooches and cuffs and necklaces…”
“Oh my,” Nigel said.
“Sto-op! It would be so much fun to put together,” I said.
“Cosima, why don’t you take this one,” Tanya said. While we were all encouraged to offer ideas for exhibits, it was the curator’s job to write the proposal and “own” the show. First, she would outline the story she wanted to tell, and then list the objects she would need to bring the narrative to life, along with where she thought she might find them. I’d ghostwritten more than my share of exhibit proposals.
“Nigel, did you give any talks?” Cosima asked, her green eyes darting from Nigel to Tanya and back again.
“When?” he asked.
“On the cruise,” she said, twirling her flame-colored curls with an index finger. Bright blotches appeared on her ivory face and neck. Cosima, who specialized in fine jewels and accessories, was one of our most innovative curators, but she was deathly afraid to speak in public, which was why she hadn’t yet lectured on the cruise circuit. Tanya had warned her to overcome the phobia, or else. The top cruise ships were swarming with potential donors for our museum. We had already garnered hundreds of vintage ensembles, four million dollars in donations, and twenty-five million in promised bequests just by befriending and working this überwealthy crowd. I had to hand it to Tanya. It was another of her shrewd fund-raising strategies and none of our competitors had caught on.
“I gave the lectures that Holly wrote,” Nigel said. “The Life and Times of Coco Chanel, The History of Oscar Fashions, and Hollywood Legends as Style Makers. They were well received. Thank you, Holly.”
Oh, go on, I thought, but sadly he didn’t.
“Let’s go around the room for updates,” Tanya said. “Elaina, what’s the final word on the Audrey exhibit?”
Elaina Erskin, another senior curator, always reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. She had golden blond hair, a bright smile, and wore low-cut dresses that showcased her voluptuous breasts. Elaina was active in the human potential movement and often quoted A Course in Miracles.
“I’m happy to report that Tinsley Stachyra Presents: Audrey Hepburn, Icon of Style was the most successful show in the history of the museum,” Elaina trilled. “We spent half a million dollars to mount and market the exhibit, but ninety percent was covered by Tinsley’s donation. Ticket sales were two-point-eight million over four months, net profit was two-point-six million, and the publicity and prestige the show brought us was priceless. We’ll be dismantling over the next few days and shipping it to Italy for the fiftieth anniversary of Roman Holiday.”
“I didn’t realize Roman Holiday is only fifty,” Nigel said.
“Fifty-five, but Italians aren’t sticklers on time,” Elaina explained.
“What’s our cut?” Tanya asked.
“Ten percent of the gross,” Elaina said.
Tanya led us all in a round of applause. “Excellent. Leveraging the fiftieth anniversary of Roman Holiday was one of my more brilliant notions,” she said, taking a bow with a slight nod of head.
Tanya suffered from an acute case of high self-esteem.
It may have been Tanya’s idea to send the Audrey show to Rome, but it was my idea to create the exhibit in the first place. I was sure the public would love it and naturally they did. As a little girl, I would watch Sabrina and daydream that my father would ship me off to Paris, where I’d learn to crack eggs properly and bake a soufflé. When I was a teenager and went to my first boy-girl party (where no one asked me to dance), I retreated to the world of Roman Holiday, and dreamed of waltzing in the arms of the oh-so-manly Gregory Peck. After I got my first job in a Greenwich Village bookstore, I would put on Funny Face and imagine Fred Astaire popping in to do a location shoot, discovering me, and putting me on the cover of Vogue. The Hepburn show was my way of honoring my favorite actress of the 1950s, the woman who never failed to raise me up when I was down. And the exhibit was a major success, thank you very much.
“Cosima, how’s the new show coming along?” Tanya asked.
“We announce Denis King Presents: Tiaras through Time on Wednesday,” she said.
My stomach did a somersault when she mentioned Denis’ name.
“The press conference is set. Tomorrow, Lloyd’s of London is installing the special safe they’re requiring. Starting Thursday, they’re providing their own security guards. They won’t accept ours. I want to thank Holly, who has been instrumental in researching and writing the catalog and organizing the press conference.”
Oh, please, no need to applaud, I thought, unless you really want to.
“Excellent updates, everyone. And now I want to announce a staff change,” Tanya said.
Oooh, time for my close-up, I mentally squealed. I was scared. I was excited. I practically tinkled in anticipation.
“As you know, with Karolina Burden’s departure, we’ve had an open senior curator position that I’ve been looking to fill for some time. I am happy to announce that Sammie Kittenplatt has been chosen for the spot.”
They Can’t Take That Away from Me
THE ROOM WENT SILENT. Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. For a minute I thought she said someone
