“Well,” she said, apparently satisfied. “This is the good kind of authentic. I can smoke on the balcony, right? Don’t worry. I won’t burn the curtains.”
She was already climbing over the desk, out of the window, and onto the tiny, sheltered ledge outside. It was really for flower boxes. It definitely didn’t qualify as a balcony.
“That’s not really for people,” Scarlett said. “I don’t know if that’ll…”
“I don’t weigh much. And it’s only four stories. I’ll take my chances.”
She sat against the short wrought-iron rail, sticking her arm through the bars, away from the window. She kept the curtain tucked back with her leg.
“You don’t smoke, do you?”
“No,” Scarlett said.
“Good,” she said through pursed lips as she lit her cigarette. “You should never start. Smoking kills. Oh, that’s good…”
That last remark was addressed to the trail of smoke leaving her lips.
“Twenty-nine hours,” she said. “No smoking on the plane. No smoking in the airport. No smoking in the cab.”
Mrs. Amberson regarded her through the filmy veil that she breathed into the air. Scarlett felt the minutes ticking away. It was one kind of scary thing taking Marlene someplace. It was another, much more scary thing to take her there late.
“Is there anything you need?” she finally asked. “If not, I’ll…”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in New York City,” Mrs. Amberson said.
She went back to smoking for a few more moments and, once again, Scarlett was left waiting for some kind of a sign of release. It was like Mrs. Amberson had her held there with a phantom leash.
“If you want anything…” Scarlett tried again.
“I undoubtedly will,” Mrs. Amberson said. “I’ll need to think about it.”
“I’ll leave my cell phone number,” Scarlett said quickly.
She scrawled it down on the hotel notepad on the dressing table.
“Here it is!” she said, pointing at it as she backed out of the room. “Call me anytime! I’ll just let you get settled, check on your bags…”
Mrs. Amberson didn’t answer. She just made an mmmmm noise, which Scarlett decided to interpret as a dismissal.
“Do you mind if I call you O’Hara?” Mrs. Amberson asked, just as Scarlett reached the door. “Like Scarlett O’Hara?”
“Whatever you want!” Scarlett said, as she backed out of the room.
“We’re going to be great friends, O’Hara,” Mrs. Amberson added. “I can feel it, and I’m always right about these things.”
THE STAR
Back on the fifth floor, Lola and Marlene were standing in the hall side by side in a frozen tableau, like something from a horror movie. Marlene’s face was palpably red.
“Where did you go?” Lola asked under her breath.
“I have a guest,” Scarlett explained. “She just arrived.”
“I got Chip to come by with the car to get you over there on time.”
“Oh, good,” Scarlett said flatly.
Lola plastered a happy smile on her face and turned to Marlene.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
“We’re late,” Marlene said. “It’s ruined!”
“We’re not late! And I told you, the car is coming!”
“Why can’t you take me?” Marlene said, slumping against the wall.
Scarlett felt the dangerous look coming into her own eye, but Lola touched her lightly on the elbow in reassurance.
“We talked about this,” Lola said reasonably. “You’re doing me a big favor, and I won’t forget that. You’re going to love your makeover.”
Marlene considered this by rolling along the wall and burying her face into the wallpaper, like she was trying to stencil it with an imprint of her scowl.
“And Chip said that he really, really wanted you to come out on his boat,” Lola added, in what sounded like a touch of desperation. “Remember the boat? How they have the little kitchen downstairs with the champagne glasses? I can do the makeover and then we can go on the boat. It doesn’t get much more glamorous than that.”
Marlene rolled toward them, the scowl still very much present.
“I don’t want stupid lipstick like that,” Marlene said, looking at Scarlett. Scarlett involuntarily balled her fists into the Dior dress. It just wasn’t worth it. It really wasn’t.
“You know I make everyone up differently,” Lola said. “That color is for Scarlett. But you look better in lighter colors. I have a new apricot gloss set aside for you. It’s my favorite.”
Marlene seemed slightly placated by the fact that she was getting Lola’s favorite color, as opposed to whatever Scarlett was wearing. Scarlett touched her lips. Was it too dark? Did she look like a clown? No. Lola didn’t make mistakes like that.
“We will be late if we don’t hurry,” Lola said, extending her hand. “And remember, when we see Mom, don’t say anything, okay? You’re in on my secret. I need you to keep it.”
Marlene accepted the hand and walked with Lola, brushing past Scarlett without a word.