“It won’t be long. You’ve done a wonderful job with the room.”
“Do you like it?” Cosima asked. “You should. You arranged it and it’s perfect.”
I smiled modestly and took another glass of champagne from a waitress. Glancing over Cosima’s shoulder, I saw Denis standing with Lucille. He was watching me from across the room.
“Would you excuse me?” I said, starting to make my way to the Kings. I was not going to hide from them. Plus, I looked très magnifique and wanted Denis to see what he had foolishly cast aside.
By the time I reached them, Lucille had moved over to the sushi station and was deep in conversation with Muffie Rockefeller.
Denis lit up when he saw me. If I didn’t know he was married, I would have thought he wanted to kiss me. Considering whom he married, it made perfect sense that he would want to kiss me, but that was not in the cards.
“You are stunning,” he marveled.
“It’s the dress,” I demurred.
“What dress?” Denis said. “The only thing I see is you. There’s a magnificence that comes out in your eyes and voice, in the way you stand, in the way you walk. It’s like you’re lit from within, Holly.”
“Stop, you’re making me self-conscious.”
“Will you forgive me for not saying goodbye on the ship?”
I held up my hand to stop him. “I’m the one who is sorry. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. Did you get the message that I called?”
“Yes, I…I did, but I didn’t have a chance—”
“It doesn’t matter. Here,” I said, reaching into my evening bag and handing him a note and a personal check.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Read it,” I said, as he opened the letter.
Dear Mr. King,
Enclosed is an itemized statement of all expenses incurred by you on my behalf. This includes the use of your private jet, hotel meals, clothing, Vespa rental, and tips, which comes to a total of $10,411.35. It is only an estimate. If your figure amount differs, please let me know. Enclosed is a check covering such amount.
With best wishes for your continued success,
Holly J. Ross
“Ten thousand, four hundred eleven dollars and thirty-five cents? How did you figure that?” Denis suppressed a smile.
“It was my best guess.”
Denis tore the check in half. “I can’t accept this.”
A feeling of relief washed over me. My ship was in the harbor, but it hadn’t quite come in. Carleen’s lawyer couldn’t meet with me until next week. Kitty and I were still sleeping on the AeroBed in the basement of Muttropolis. If Denis had cashed the darn thing, it would have bounced. But at least now he could see I was an honorable person who paid her debts rather than the despicable schemer he thought I was. Not that giving someone a hot check was honorable. I was doing the best I could with what little I had.
“Well, then I thank you for—” I said.
“Excuse me,” Tanya said, interrupting our conversation. “Oh, hello, Holly. Borrowed another dress, I see. We’re starting the presentation, Denis. I can’t wait to find out what all the mystery is about.” Tanya took Denis’ elbow and guided him toward the dais.
Denis glanced back at me. “Stay, please,” he said.
It Had to Be You
NIGEL APPEARED AS IF by magic. “Is everything all right, luv?”
Cosima was behind him. “Ignore Tanya. Someday she’ll get hers.”
Phinnaeus Milch took the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is a most auspicious occasion. This party marks the opening of Denis King Presents: Tiaras through Time, which we at the Fashion Museum are honored to present. It is also a very special night because of the exciting announcement we are about to make. As you know, when our patron, Cornelia Von Aston LeClaire Peabody, died, she bequeathed twenty million dollars, this elegant mansion, and a stunning collection of her own couture wardrobe to be used to establish our museum. But no one knew better than Corny that it takes much more than that to endow an organization such as this in perpetuity. It was Corny’s express wish that we not name the museum for her, but that we wait for an even bigger gift, a gift of at least one hundred million dollars, and that we allow that donor to name our museum. Ladies and gentlemen, we have received such a gift tonight.”
The room buzzed with excitement. A one-hundred-million-dollar donation was gasp-worthy, even for this jaded crowd. It would take “the Little Fashion Museum That Could” into a whole new league.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Denis King,” Phinnaeus said, gesturing toward the biggest man in town.
Denis approached the microphone, grinning like a kid who just found a train set under his Christmas tree. “Fashion Museum, friends, my chest swells with pride as I stand before you tonight. This exhibit is spectacular, don’t you agree?”
Everyone clapped and a few less civilized guests hooted. Lucille stood near the front, beaming at her son like he just won the Academy Award. Annie, who must have gone back to her mother, wasn’t there. That was too bad. It would have meant a lot to Denis to share the moment.
“New York City is one of the world’s most important cultural capitals,” Denis said. “We have the best in art museums, theaters, dance companies—you name it. And while this city hosts spectacular costume museums that are affiliated with larger institutions like the Met and the Fashion Institute of Technology, there is enough interest in the subject to warrant a stand-alone, equally important museum. So I have decided to make a gift of ten million dollars a year over the next ten years to the National Museum of Fashion; that’s one hundred million dollars in total.”
There was gasping, applause, and squealing from the crowd. I glanced at Tanya, whose mouth was agape. How would she spend one hundred million dollars? I wondered for a nanosecond. Oh, let me count the ways. This was going to
