“Let me in,” Pops begged. “Please.”
My chest shook with sobs as I gasped for air. Hot tears came, sheets and sheets of them, salty to the taste as I blubbered, wailed, and choked until finally I was spent. Denis had moved on and there was nothing I could do.
“SO THAT’S MY PROPOSITION, Carleen. A million dollars would go a long way in making you an important donor at the Met’s Costume Institute, and they’d take me seriously as a rainmaking curator if I brought you to them,” I explained.
“Can you pass me the toast, Holly,” Pops asked, “and the strawberry jam?”
I handed him the basket. “No more for me,” I said to the waiter pouring coffee.
Carleen opened her pocketbook, ripped out a check, and started writing. “You sure one million’s enough?” she asked. “It doesn’t even put a ding in what I need to spend to keep Tex’s money-grubbing tit-sucking children from getting their sticky little paws on it.”
“Well, I…”
“Let’s make it two, just to be safe,” she said. “Here. Now, you listen to me, Holly, there’s way more where this comes from. Not just from me, but from all my girlfriends back home. They’d love to be involved in a big important New York charity. I’m writing the check out to you as my agent. If the Met won’t hire you, then find another fashion museum that will and give them my donation, got it? Now, you go out there and get yourself a new job so your daddy doesn’t have to worry about you.”
My eyes welled at her generosity. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Carleen smiled and waved away her kind act. “Puh-lease, you deserve it. If that boss of yours with her thumpin’ gizzard heart can’t see how valuable you are, well, someone else will. In fact…” Carleen grabbed the check from my hand and ripped it in half. She turned over one of the halves and jotted down a name and number.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Carleen gave me a sly smile. “How much would it take to endow my own museum in New York, one that knocks the teeth down the throat of that two-bit fashion house you work for and spits ’em out in single file?”
“Wait. You want to start a new museum?” I asked.
Carleen nodded. “Yes, and you’re going to run it for me. What’ll it take? Fifty million? A hundred million? I got more money than sense and I’d just as soon spend it as leave it.”
I stared at her, too stunned to speak.
“Darlin’, when I saw you being carried through the dining room in that chocolate corset, I knew you were a fashion superstar. And that fig-leaf bikini just sealed the deal for me. It was pure genius, something I might have done in my youth.” She pointed to the name she’d written on the back of the check. “When you get home, you call this man. He’s my lawyer. Work with him to put the whole shebang together. I’ll be on your board. Sven’ll be on your board, and pick whoever else you like. And pay yourself a nice fat salary from the get-go. You hear?”
“Carleen, I can’t take that from you. What about your stepchildren? Not to mention world hunger? AIDS? Cancer? That kind of thing…”
“Bless your heart, darlin’,” Carleen said. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but you needn’t be. Tex was richer than a hound dog with two sets of balls. He left his family billions with a capital B. Those evil children of his will be swimming in dough no matter how many times I book the penthouse on this ship. Our foundation gives buttloads of money to all those five-hankie charities. I think it’d be a hoot to start my own museum. Tex always wanted me to have fun with his money. You gonna begrudge me that?”
“Far be it from me…” I said. “Can we name the museum after you?”
“After me and Tex,” Carleen said. “It’ll be another tribute to his legacy, not that he cared for dresses much. In point of fact, he mainly liked to remove my clothes to enjoy my womanly charms.”
I reached over and hugged her tight. “You are my fairy godmother.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Carleen said. “Now, get on off to the ball. You’re about to be busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest.”
I turned to my father. “I’ll miss you, Pops,” I said, hugging him goodbye one last time.
“Give my love to BL,” Pops said, putting his napkin on the table. “Tell her I’m sorry, she’ll have to find another dog walker.”
“She’ll understand when I explain what you’re doing.” I was carrying an extra bag—Pops’ tuxedos and suits. The borrowed finery had to go back to Armani, but Svenderella had finally found his happy ending. Queen Carleen had taken him shopping on via Borgognona the morning before and now he was fully outfitted and moving into the floating castle.
Pops and Carleen escorted me down the long hallway to the opulent two-story marble lobby where the staff was bidding everyone arrivederci. It was changeover day and they needed to get us off the ship so it could be cleaned and readied for the next lucky group of passengers.
“Now, you be good,” I whispered to Pops. “Don’t get into trouble.”
“Me? Trouble? Are you kidding? I’m going to be on my best behavior. This is the finest gig I’ve ever had. Room, gourmet food, a steady paycheck, hot women, I mean woman—I won’t mess up; I promise.”
As I journeyed down the gangplank to the waiting bus, I turned and saw Pops smiling at me. Carleen stood behind him holding Famous, waving me off. Okay, so I didn’t get the prince. Thanks to
