A week he’s married and he already has a roving eye. I kicked him in the shin. “Shame on you.”
“Aaaaah,” he cried. “What did you do that for?”
“The answer’s no. You can’t name the museum for me and I won’t run it for you.”
“But why?” he asked, looking deflated and in pain. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“Thrilled? What? To win second place?” I said. “I get the job but not the man. How could I work with you after what happened between us? Don’t you think Sydney would have something to say about that?”
“Sydney? Why would I care what she says?”
I knocked on his head. “Hello. Anyone home? She’s your wife.”
“Ooooh, you think I married her,” Denis said, his eyebrows arched mischievously. “I called it off.”
My body stiffened in shock. “You did? Then what is she doing here?”
“She’s here because she and Bunny are million-dollar donors. And I called it off because I’m in love with you,” he said, smoothing a wayward tuft of my hair.
I crossed my arms and shot him a cold look. “You have a funny way of showing it, leaving the ship without saying goodbye, not calling me back.”
His expression grew serious. “I’m sorry. I was worried Sydney would cause a scene. And I wanted to get back to arrange all this,” he said, gesturing toward the ballroom, “to surprise you. I told you I had a thing about rescuing damsels.”
I met his gaze. “Denis, I don’t need rescuing.”
“Of course you don’t. What I meant was—”
I shook my head and held my palms up to stop him. “Forget it. You see, the point is. Denis, here’s the thing…”
“What is the thing?”
A slow smile spread across my face. “The thing is, Carleen is donating one hundred million dollars so I can start a fashion museum in her name. Can you believe it? I’m thrilled. I’ll get to do everything—find the building, build a permanent collection, put on shows. It’s all going to be my vision. That’s why I couldn’t possibly let you name this place for me. It wouldn’t look right if I was running a competing institute across the street.”
“Ah, I see,” Denis said. He stroked his chin as though he had a beard. “This does complicate things.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I said. “You can name your museum for Lucille or Annie…”
“I have a better idea,” Denis said.
“I’m listening.”
“How about a merger?”
“A merger?”
“Yes,” Denis said. “Take Carleen’s money, along with my donation, and run this museum according to your vision. Name it whatever you like. That way, you don’t have to start from scratch. It’ll be up and running much faster. You would control the most highly endowed fashion museum in the world.”
“That’s certainly tempting,” I said thoughtfully. “So what you’re proposing is a business merger between our two museums?”
Denis lifted my chin with his hand. “And a personal merger between the two of us.”
“And you’re proposing this why?”
Denis took me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine, softly caressing my mouth more than kissing it, teasing me with his lips and tongue until we finally parted.
“Oh, that’s why,” I murmured. “I can be so stupid.”
It occurred to me that if the film of my life were An Affair to Remember, this would be the part where Cary Grant comes back to give Deborah Kerr his grandmother’s shawl and then he realizes she’s in a wheelchair and that’s why she never met him at the top of the Empire State Building and then they fall into each other’s arms and…shut up! This isn’t An Affair to Remember. This is my real, honest-to-goodness life, so go live it for crying out loud…
“Excuse me, Denis, but could you explain that to me again?”
He looked at me, his eyes moist with affection, then reclaimed my lips, ravishing them with his deep, warm kiss, sending my stomach into orbit.
“And again…” I said.
I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face
One year later…
“I DIDN’T BRING YOU all the way to Los Angeles so you could go swimming,” Denis said to Annie. “You’ll love Disneyland, I promise.”
“But, Daddy, Poppy said it’s an hour-and-a-half drive. That’s boring,” Annie whined. “And aren’t you proud of how I’m not complaining that you dragged me to this stinky, grown-up restaurant.”
“The Ivy isn’t a grown-up restaurant, Annie,” I said. “Didn’t you see Hilary Duff walk out when you were coming in?”
“Yeah, but she’s so yesterday,” Annie protested.
I playfully lobbed my buttered roll her way, and watched it bounce off her arm and fall to the ground. Two bluebirds landed to partake in the feast. We were sitting outside, under a large white umbrella, inside the picket fence enclosing the Ivy’s brick patio. The space was utterly charming with hanging baskets of flowers and wooden boxes of blooming red roses.
“I’ll hear none of that, young lady,” Lucille said. “You’re going and that’s that. You’re going by helicopter!”
“A helicopter. Grandma, you are so cool.”
“Yes, aren’t I fabulous?” Lucille said. “You don’t mind if I spoil her, do you? I only have one grandchild…that is, unless you have something you want to tell me.”
Denis laughed and looked at me. “What do you think, Holly?”
“Nothing to report, but spoil her all you like,” I said. “It’s a grandmother’s right.”
Denis and I were going to Sotheby’s while Annie and Lucille went to Disneyland. There were a few pieces we had our eyes on, most especially a 1958 Balenciaga blue silk-taffeta gown, a conical bra Jean Paul Gaultier designed for Madonna’s Blond Ambition tour, and the black dress Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Few people know it, but they made three black dresses for the movie (in case one was damaged) and now a second one was up for sale. I just love having my own fashion museum. It’s so much fun to shop for. Naturally, the first piece
