That, Lola was not prepared to answer. She closed the book decisively and reached for another bag.
“Now,” she said. “Where’s Spencer? I have to see him in this suit. I’m almost positive this will be a great fit. I mean, I know his general size and his pants measurements were up on eBay anyway. Look!”
She unzippered another Bergdorf bag. There was a sharp, gray pin-striped suit inside.
“And these go with it,” she said, indicating various bags. “Shirt, shoes, cuff links. It’s the perfect suit. I mean, if you were going to have one suit in your whole life, this should be that suit. And he can carry a suit so well, you know, because he’s got the height going for him. We might have to take the trousers up a half inch or so, and I had to guess on the shirt since he has long arms, so I just bought three and we’ll see which one works.”
“I don’t think he’s here,” Scarlett said.
“Okay, well…let’s show Marlene her dress!”
The clothes seemed to make Lola manic—giving her focus, something she could understand. Something she could share. She plucked up Marlene’s garment bag and hurried down the hall, forgetting that Marlene still wasn’t very happy with her.
Marlene was on her bed, yet another biography of Princess Diana open in front of her, but it didn’t seem like she was reading.
“You really like Princess Diana,” Scarlett said.
Marlene gave Scarlett a look that suggested that another pointless conversational remark about Princess Diana might result in a Princess Diana biography making contact with her face. At least she was acting kind of normal.
“I got you a dress,” Lola said.
“I don’t care.”
Lola ignored this and hung the bag on the closet door. She unzipped it, revealing what looked like a rose-colored ballerina outfit. Marlene stared at it, then turned right back to her book.
“Well?” Lola said hopefully.
“Looks expensive,” she said. “I guess you’re rich now.”
They left her alone. Lola insisted on waiting for Spencer to get home, and got a similar reaction—he stared at the suit on his bed, asked who died, and shut his door. Lola never once stopped smiling.
“Tomorrow,” Lola said as she prepared to go. “I scheduled your fitting with the seamstress at four. And get Spencer to try on his suit, please? You’re the only one on my side.”
She reached out and grabbed Scarlett’s hand for support.
“Sure,” Scarlett said. “I’ll try.”
Demo version limitation
PARTY AT POINT MANHATTAN
Scarlett lay on her bed, staring at the yellowing spot on the ceiling that seemed like it was more over her bed than it ever was Lola’s. She could move to Lola’s bed now, if she wanted. Get out from under the spot.
No. It would always be Lola’s bed. Her spot was here, by the window. That was the way the world was, and how it should remain.
Next door, someone was taking a long shower. Lola would be here soon to dress. She was out at a salon getting her hair, nails, and makeup done. Scarlett had been offered an invitation—a whole morning at one of the nicest spas in town, eating mini brownies and having people apply things to her. She had turned it down to wallow in her bed and stare at the spot on the ceiling.
It occurred to her that she should probably go down the hall and make sure Marlene was dressed. She knew her mom would have already done this, but it seemed big sisterly, and now she was kind of the big sister of the house. That was an unwelcome promotion, a fancy new title with no benefits, just more work.
Marlene was sitting on her bed. She had already stuffed herself into her dress, even though they had about two hours before they had to go. She was stabbing at her hair with a brush.
“It’s pretty,” Scarlett said.
It was very pretty. It also made Marlene look very demure, which she probably hated. Ideally, Marlene probably wanted an outfit that had a special holder for a gun.
“It itches” was all she said.
“Do you need help?”
“Does it look it?”
“With your hair?” Scarlett countered.
“No.”
Scarlett returned to the Orchid Suite, noticing that the bathroom was now free. Spencer must have been getting ready. Now it was her turn. Mercifully, there was some hot water left for her, and she used it all, until it ran to freezing, probably a half hour. When she returned to her room wrapped in a huge towel, Lola was there. Even on the worst of days, Lola looked better than 90 percent of the population. Today, her hair was exquisite, but her makeup was too heavy, and it made her look much older than she was. She was removing it with a cloth. Lola had been one of the best makeup artists at Henri Bendel. Scarlett was surprised she’d let anyone else touch her face.
“I should have known better,” she said. “I’m just going to take it all off and improvise. Can I use your makeup? I don’t have mine with me.”
Scarlett silently passed the bag over from her dresser.
“How are you?” Lola asked, working at her cheek in slow, careful circles.