New York City
The Boulevard of Broken Dreams
AS SOON AS I returned to New York, I dug up the business card Denis had given me the day his car nailed my Versace suit in the rain. I wanted to apologize and let him know that while I’d deceived him about the donation, the rest had been real, at least for me. It was too late for the two of us, but I didn’t want him to go through life thinking I was a no-good conniving skunk. Each time I called him, I’d get his assistant, Elvira. She said she was giving him the messages, but he never called back.
“Here you go, luv.” Nigel handed me the framed photograph of Pops and me that I’d kept at my desk.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping it into my bag. We were tucked into a booth in Jackson Hole (the restaurant, not the ski resort). Nigel and I were back on good terms. He’d agreed to share the blame with me over the Roman Holiday gown, not that we’d come clean about it yet, but soon we would have to. I promised Nigel a job at my new museum. How could I start such a project without him, Elaina, and Cosima by my side? I couldn’t. It was still very hush-hush, but all three had agreed to join me as soon as I found a building to house the Tex and Carleen Panthollow Institute of Fashion. I wondered what Tanya would say when her staff did a mass exodus. At least she’d still have Sammie. That would be a comfort (to me).
“Thanks for the stuff,” I said. “It would have been tough to go back for it.” Nigel had cleaned off my desk and brought me my Rolodex and a few personal items.
“I hate to tell you, luv, but you’re going back,” Nigel said, “at least for one night.”
“Methinks you’re mistaken,” I said. “Tanya would call the police if I showed up.”
“Au contraire. Apparently Denis King pitched a fit when he found out you weren’t coming to his opening tomorrow.”
“What? I’ve been trying to reach him for days. He won’t return my calls. Now he wants me at his opening. Why?”
“You know your little mistake at the press conference?” Nigel said. “It was the typo heard round the world. The film from Extra was posted on YouTube. It’s been played a couple of million times. His company has gotten more attention in the past two weeks than it got in the past two years. The stock’s up ten percent from all the publicity. Where have you been?”
“On a cruise, remember?” I said. “With Denis King, I might add.” I wondered why he hadn’t told me what a boon my little mistake had been to his business. How dare he let me feel awful about it and grovel for forgiveness!
“Hot plate,” the waiter said, putting my hamburger and fries in front of me. Nigel was having a salad, as usual. Me? I needed to put on weight.
“Mr. King has you to thank for his sudden increase in fortune. I’m sure that’s why he asked Phinnaeus to invite you. Phinn called me personally to make sure you’d be there.” Phinnaeus Milch was the chairman of the Fashion Museum’s board. I’d spoken to his secretary before, but never to the man himself.
“What did you say?”
“Well,” he said conspiratorially, “I told him you wouldn’t come because you had absolutely nothing to wear. Then I asked for special permission to let you borrow something from the museum.”
“And?”
Nigel shrugged. “He said fine, borrow anything you like just as long as you come.”
My stomach was filled with butterflies at the thought of seeing Denis again. I wanted to say I was sorry, but not to his face. Why had I made that stupid bet? Of course he went back to Sydney. Her motives may not have been pure, but they were out in the open.
“So? Will you come?” Nigel said. “Everyone who’ll be there is a potential donor to your new museum.”
“Tanya won’t like it,” I mumbled, sucking the salt off a hot French fry.
“What choice does she have? Phinn’s her boss,” Nigel said. “I’d stay out of her way, though. Here’s the best part. Denis is making a big announcement at the party, but nobody knows what it is. Cosima thinks he’s giving a huge gift to the institute in appreciation of your fortuitous error.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Sydney gets Denis. Tanya gets a big donation. I get fired, not that I care because I don’t. French fry?”
“I’m sorry for what happened between you and Denis,” Nigel said, taking a handful of fries. “What was he like, anyway?”
I considered the question. “He was like no billionaire I’ve ever known.”
“How many have you known?”
“Do you mean personally?”
Nigel nodded.
“Two. Him and Carleen. But trust me, Denis is unusual. He was kind, handsome like a teddy bear, generous, fun, loyal to his family, a good father. But as soon as he thought he couldn’t trust me, he put up this wall. Polite but unforgiving, you know?” I shook my head sadly. “He was falling in love with me, but I blew it. It doesn’t matter. I deserved it.”
“Don’t say that,” Nigel said. “You were going to tell him the truth.”
“Of course. Eventually,” I said. “Don’t you think he should have forgiven me? Princess Ann forgave Joe Bradley when she found out he was a journalist trying to get a story in Roman Holiday.”
“Life isn’t like the movies, luv.”
I sighed. “I know. But I wish it was. For a while, I was hoping Denis would be my prince—you know, rescue me from my godforsaken life. At least now I know there’s only one person I can depend on when I need to be rescued.”
“Me, right?” Nigel said.
“No! You are the antithesis of dependable. It’s me. I’m
