Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (22 page)

CHAPTER 43

Regina had passed Front Page Books on the corner of West Fourth Street countless times, and knew it was one of the few remaining independent bookstores in Manhattan. That morning, on her way back to her apartment after four nights in a row at Sebastian's, she noticed a window display of the nominees for the Young Lions Fiction Award, including one of the titles she had recommended as a finalist. She felt it was a sign, and she pushed open the glass door to the sound of a tinkling bell. A big orange tabby cat came running and circled her feet.

Regina bent and rubbed its soft head. The cat brushed against her legs, tail held high.

“Merlin, come here,” a woman called from behind the front counter. She wore a T-shirt and jeans and lots of turquoise jewelry. She looked young, not older than thirty, but her hair was almost completely gray. “I'm sorry,” she said to Regina. “I don't know what's gotten into him lately. After ten years he's suddenly greeting every customer, and not everyone wants that particular addition to their shopping experience, I know.”

The woman walked over and scooped the loudly purring animal into her arms. “May I help you find something?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.

Regina had not known at first why exactly she walked into the store. But as soon as the woman asked if she could help, the answer was obvious.

“I'm wondering if you have any job openings.”

“Possibly,” the woman said. “Do you have experience?”

“I'm a librarian,” Regina said, and it felt good to say it.

“Oh, our poor, beleaguered libraries,” the woman said. “What are we going to do about all these cuts to funding? No libraries, no bookstores. History will see this as the decline of our civilization. They say you judge a civilization by its art, not its politics, you know. Or something like that.”

“I noticed your display in the window of the Young Lions Fiction Award nominees.”

She didn't mention that she had been part of the selection committee.

“What's your name?” the woman asked.

“Regina Finch,” she said.

“Leave your phone number, Regina,” said the woman. “I'll call you after I speak with my partner. Or better yet . . .” The woman placed Merlin the cat on the floor and returned to the counter, beckoning for Regina to follow. She fumbled around in a drawer and then handed Regina a business card.

“I'm Lucy,” she said. “E-mail me your résumé.”

“Great,” Regina said, trying to contain her excitement. “I will. Thanks!”

Outside, she walked quickly back to her apartment. She'd barely spent any time at home during the past two weeks, but she had designated today as a serious job-search day, and she felt Front Page Books was a promising start. She would send her résumé to Lucy, and if it seemed a tad overeager to forward a résumé five minutes after meeting, so be it. She missed books, and she wanted to find her place working with them. As she'd been trying to explain to Sebastian, it wasn't just what she needed, it was what she deeply wanted.

She climbed the stairs, hoping Carly was home. She hadn't spoken to her in days.

“Hey, stranger,” Carly said when Regina walked inside the apartment. Regina felt a stab of guilt. Carly had sent her a
Call me ASAP
text last night when she'd been at a movie with Sebastian; later, she'd forgotten to respond.

“Hi,” Regina said. “I'm sorry I didn't text you back last night. I was at a movie and then—”

“Say no more,” Carly said, waving her hand. “I can only imagine how things get at Sebastian's love shack. By the way, your mother has called, like, nineteen times.”

Regina sighed. She'd been avoiding talking to her mother since she'd been fired. If she admitted that she was now jobless, her mother's campaign to get her to move back home would be painful and relentless.

“I'm so sorry,” Regina said.

“Seriously, give that woman your cell phone number, or
I
will!” Carly said, shaking her finger at her in mock admonishment.

And that's when Regina noticed the large emerald-cut diamond winking at her from Carly's left-hand ring finger.

“Oh my God!” Regina said, crossing the room in a few quick strides and grabbing Carly's hand. “Is this what I think it is?”

Carly nodded, beaming. “He proposed last night. That's why I texted you.”

Regina pulled Carly into a hug. “Congratulations,” she said, feeling her eyes brim with tears of happiness for her roommate. And then she was embarrassed by the purely selfish thought that entered her mind: Now she wasn't just jobless—she was probably about to become homeless.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled back from Carly to fish it out of her bag.

“Sorry,” she said, “one sec. Hello?”

“Where are you?” Sebastian asked, sounding slightly breathless.

“My apartment. Why?”

“Get in a cab and meet me at Sixty-sixth and Madison.”

“Now? I just got home,” she said, walking into her room and closing the door. She pulled out her laptop. “And I have to send out my résumé—”

“It won't take long. And I'll drive you back to your apartment afterward if you want.”

“What's at Sixty-sixth and Madison?”

“The Gaultier boutique.”

She shook her head. “And
why
am I meeting you at the Gaultier boutique?”

“Because I just found the perfect dress for you,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Sebastian, I don't need a Gaultier dress.” Even Regina, in her state of fashion cluelessness, was aware of Jean Paul Gaultier and his provocative designs. If for no other reason, she knew of him as the costumer for Madonna's legendary Blond Ambition tour in the 1990s.

“Of course you do,” Sebastian said. “What are you going to wear to the Young Lions gala?”

Regina held the phone away from her and gave it the annoyed glance she would have given to Sebastian had he been standing in front of her. Then she put the phone back to her ear. “I got fired, remember?”

“So? You're still coming as my date, aren't you? Now get your ass in a cab. I suspect the only thing hotter than you naked will be you in this dress.”

Regina smiled. “Okay. Wait for me there. I'll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the phone. And then she opened her laptop to send out her résumé.

•

It wasn't so much a dress as a confection, a fantasy garment that was sheer black lace from neck to floor. With its folded collar and small capped sleeves, it flirted with conservatism. But the body of the dress clung to her like a second skin, hugging her legs until the flared bottom, ending in a pool of delicate lace at her feet.

“Super-ultra-hot, isn't it?” asked the salesman, a skinny black guy named Marcel. He had short-cropped hair bleached nearly white, and his eyes were rimmed with kohl liner. Regina, with a newfound interest in makeup ever since the photo shoot, resisted the urge to ask him for his brand of eyeliner.

“Very hot,” agreed Sebastian.

Regina looked at herself in the mirror and couldn't disagree with them. The dress was stunning, and she felt as if it had been made for her. There was just one problem.

“It's very, um, see-through,” she said, stating the obvious.

“You
could
line it,” Marcel said slowly, though clearly indicating with a quick purse of his lips that he considered this sacrilege. “Although, when Mr. Gaultier showed it on the runway, he really wanted to emphasize the sheerness of the lace.” He retrieved a large white three-ringed binder and opened it to one of the tabbed pages to show them a photo of the dress in Gaultier's fall fashion show. The model wore the dress with a red bra and red thong underneath.

“Um, that's not happening,” Regina said. “We're going to an event at
the library,
” she said pointedly to Sebastian, as if he'd forgotten.

Marcel nodded, more sympathetic now that he saw Regina's constraint more as a result of the occasion at hand and not one of sartorial incompetence. “If you want to preserve the look without being too risqué, you can wear a demi-bra and boy shorts. You could wear red, or, if you really want to play it safe, black.”

Of course, in keeping with Sebastian's insistence that she wear lingerie at all times—and his dedication to providing it—Regina now had a huge variety from which to choose. She could have found virtually any color to wear under the dress from her personal collection.

“Red,” said Sebastian, smiling.

“Black,” said Regina, crossing her arms.

He looked at Marcel. “Sold.”

•

They walked down Madison Avenue holding hands, passing Barneys, Calvin Klein, and Tod's. Regina adjusted the Gaultier shopping bag over her shoulder.

“You could have bought the dress without summoning me up here,” she said.

He looked at her as if she had made an outrageous suggestion. “Without your trying it on first?”

“That never used to stop you,” she said.

“Okay, you got me there. I just wanted an excuse to see you.”

“I just left your apartment this morning!”

“Exactly,” he said. “Too long ago.”

She smiled and shook her head. As they walked, women looked at Sebastian, and then at her. She never knew if people recognized Sebastian from magazines or the gossip sites, or if they just thought he was handsome, or if the sight of two people madly in love was simply enough to attract attention.

“Are you sure taking me to the gala is a good idea?” she asked. “Sloan is going to go ballistic.”

“I really couldn't care less what Sloan thinks, and neither should you. The only reason I haven't told her exactly what I think about her firing you is because you begged me not to.”

“I'll be uncomfortable there,” she said.

He stopped walking and faced her. “Don't be. You belong there as much as anyone. You worked on this event, and you should experience it.”

Regina knew he was right—she shouldn't care what Sloan thought. She didn't work for her anymore. Showing up at the gala might be the best way for her to put Sloan behind her.

“Besides,” he said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her on the mouth, “I have to be there—I'm presenting the first nominee. And if I go, you go; I want you by my side. Always.”

The kiss deepened, and she pressed her body against his. And then she knew exactly why people were staring.

CHAPTER 44

The library's regal daytime beauty was, by night, transformed into something else entirely.

Astor Hall, lit softly by its roman-influenced candelabras, was a majestic arena of white marble and dramatic shadows. Staged with round, formally set tables for the two hundred and fifty guests, Regina barely recognized it as the place she had once walked through daily on her way up to her desk.

And she tried to pretend it wasn't.

With her arm looped through Sebastian's, Regina told herself that she shouldn't feel uncomfortable at the Young Lions gala. She wasn't the same woman who had walked wide-eyed up the stairs on the first day of her job. In some ways, she wasn't even the same woman Sloan had fired two weeks earlier. With each passing day, Sebastian's love—and she knew now that it was love, as deeply and securely as she had ever known anything—was helping to shape her into a version of herself she never dreamed could exist.

“These events are so much more tolerable when you skip the cocktail hour,” Sebastian said, winking at her. In his black tux, he was a vision—the epitome of male beauty. She smiled at him; in her Louboutins she was just a few inches shy of eye level. Still, he was easily able to kiss the top of her head, which is what he was doing just as a photographer from
New York
magazine snapped their picture. The attention startled her, but she tried not to show it.

“Better get used to it,” Sebastian said to her, but she had no idea what he'd meant by it. Surely, there were more worthy subjects for the photographers. In just the front radius of the room, she spotted a gaggle of young Manhattan socialites, the actor Ethan Hawke (cute and vaguely scruffy but much older-looking than she thought of him), Julianne Moore (stunning in an amethyst-colored silk gown), and Adam Levine, the lead singer of Maroon Five. In his tuxedo jacket, his tattoos covered, he looked like any average New York guy. The only thing that signaled his star status was the willowy strawberry-blonde on his arm, whom Regina recognized from a Times Square billboard ad for Calvin Klein underwear. Regina was thankful Sebastian had talked her into the dramatic Gaultier gown. If she had worn anything less, she would have felt like a duckling among swans. Out of habit, her fingers traced the padlock necklace under her lace collar.

She glanced discreetly around the room, wondering when she would run into Sloan and dreading it. But instead of spotting her nemesis, she was delighted to see Margaret, who was chatting with one of the fiction nominees and looking elegant in a floor-length, beaded black dress, an impressive string of large pearls around her neck. She noticed Regina at almost the same moment Regina saw her, and Margaret excused herself to make her way over.

“I'm pleasantly surprised to see you here,” Margaret said.

“I thought you said you weren't coming,” Regina said, putting her hand on Margaret's shoulder.

“Oh, I hadn't planned on it. But in light of my retirement, they're giving me some sort of award. It would have been in poor taste not to show.” She turned to Sebastian, smiling at him warmly. “How are you, Sebastian? You look so very dapper . . . and more like your mother with every passing year. I know she would be so proud of your work here.”

Regina squeezed his hand, concerned at how he would take the comment. But one look at his face told her that, far from upsetting him, the comment had made him flush with happiness.

“Now if you'll excuse me,” Margaret said, “I have yet to find a waiter with a glass of white wine instead of some ridiculous cocktail.”

Regina heard a familiar voice call, “Finch!” She turned to see Alex walking toward her with his date, a skinny young woman sporting a full-sleeve of tattoos and a buzz cut.

Regina recognized her as the messenger pixie.

“You don't call, you don't write. . . . I can't believe you just left like that,” he said, smiling to show he was just teasing her.

“Yeah, it was kind of sudden. Alex, this is Sebastian, Sebastian, this is Alex and . . .”

“Marnie,” the young woman said, holding out her hand.

Regina tugged on Sebastian's sleeve. “This is the messenger who delivered all of your little missives,” she told him, and didn't fail to see Marnie's eyes widen.

“
You're
the guy?” the young woman asked. “Dude, thanks for the tips. You bought me this,” she extended her arm to show a fresh tattoo, a line of cursive text running across the underside of her forearm:
The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven
. “It's a Milton quote from
Paradise Lost,
” she said proudly.

“You know, I misjudged you,” Alex said to Regina. “You must be real badass to get fired after just three months on the job.”

Regina had no idea how to respond to that, though Marnie was nodding vigorously in agreement.

“We should circulate,” Sebastian said, squeezing Regina's hand. She looked up, and he winked at her.

A short but distinguished-looking man with silver hair crossed the room to talk to Sebastian. Regina spotted him first, but as soon as Sebastian noticed the man, his face brightened.

“Good to see you, Gordon,” Sebastian said. “I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Regina Finch.”

Regina smiled at Sebastian's choice of words. The man shook her hand. “Regina, this is Gordon Mortimer, the publisher of Taschen.”

She knew of Taschen, probably the world's biggest publisher of photography, art, and design books. Sebastian had a considerable collection of them in his apartment: Dalí, Helmet Newton, David LaChapelle, Roy Lichtenstein.

“Sebastian, I saw your show at Manning-Deere. Fabulous work. I've been talking to your agent, and he's been noncommittal. But I'd love to do a book. Has he spoken to you?”

Sebastian nodded. “He has . . . and I'm flattered. I would love to do a project with you. I'm just not sure the Astrid Lindall prints are the right material for my first book.”

“Do you have something else in mind?”

“I might.”

“Let's do lunch next week.” The man smiled at Regina and shook Sebastian's hand. “Looking forward to talking further.”

When he was out of earshot, she turned to Sebastian.

“That's so exciting,” she said, squeezing his hand. “What do you think?”

“I want to talk to you about it later.”

They started to make their way through the crowd, and that's when she saw—or, rather, felt—Sloan's death glare from two yards away. Like an animal in the wild, Regina must have sensed Sloan watching her, because she turned just enough to see her. Sloan was standing with a milquetoast-looking man who had his arm around her, and Regina assumed he was her fiancé, Harrison.

Purely by accident, Regina made eye contact. She quickly looked away, but the damage was done. She could do the dirty-look-to-English translation, and it meant, ‘Get the fuck out of my party, you whore.' ”

“Oh God,” she breathed.

“What?” Sebastian asked.

“Sloan.”

“Just ignore her,” Sebastian said. “You can't let her rattle you. And you can't avoid her all night. She's seated with us.”

•

The table was closest to the podium, and clearly comprised of the A-list of the evening. Regina was sandwiched between Sebastian and the president of the library. Across from her, Ethan Hawke was entertaining their table with tales of the first annual Young Lions gala back in 1999. Regina could barely see him over the centerpiece of calla lilies, but she was following his anecdotes with rapt attention. And next to him, Sloan glowered, simmering with a rage that was no doubt invisible to all but Regina.

Ethan's tale of the narrowly averted disasters of the first award gala was met with hearty laughter, and prompted Harrison to launch into his own anecdote of near disaster, which apparently centered around the first time he took Sloan to England to meet extended family, and she was forced to take part in their annual fox hunt. His recounting of the events amused everyone but Sloan.

“In the end, I always tell Sloan not to fret, and yet she always frets and things always turn out magnificently,” Harrison said.

“Maybe they turn out ‘magnificently' because of my fretting. Or, as I like to put it, hard work,” Sloan snapped.

If anyone else at the table noticed the tension of the exchange, there was no indication. Ethan was answering questions about his latest project, a sequel to the film
Before Sunset
. This was the first Regina had heard of it, and she tried to contain her impulse to jump in and tell him how much she had loved the movie. She realized now she had seen it when she was maybe too young to appreciate fully its exploration of nostalgia, missed opportunities, and life's most haunting compromises, but she had loved it all the same. To this day, it was the reason she wanted to visit Paris. She told herself to mention it to Sebastian. Maybe, someday, they would go together.

Sebastian, though holding her hand under the table, was busy chatting with Adam Levine's date, whom he had apparently just shot a few months ago for
W
. There was a time not long ago when this would have made her jealous and insecure. But she was confident that her place in front of his camera lens—and his heart—was unrivaled. When she caught pieces of his conversation with the model, she smiled to hear him talking about her.

The president of the library excused himself. “Time to get the show on the road,” he said, and walked the few feet to the podium.

The loud buzz of the room grew quiet when the president took to the microphone, welcoming everyone to the fourteenth annual Young Lions Fiction Award gala. “Before we commence with the introduction of our first nominee, I want to thank the entire board of trustees, each of whom went above and beyond this year to put together this evening's event, six months ahead of our usual schedule.”

The room erupted in vigorous applause. “And now I have the pleasure of introducing our board president, Sebastian Barnes.”

“I'll be right back,” Sebastian whispered to her, then joined the president in front of the room. Words were exchanged, introductions were made, and one of the writing finalists eventually took the microphone to read from his debut novel.

Regina watched Sebastian's grace and ease in front of the crowd, and she could feel the eyes of every woman in the room riveted to him—especially a particular blonde sitting just across from her. As he made his way back to their table, her chest felt full with love and pride.

Sebastian didn't sit down but instead touched her lightly on her back.

“Let's go outside for some air,” he said.

He didn't have to ask her twice. After watching him, she was eager for a moment alone. She imagined a quick—but passionate—kiss in the foyer.

Sebastian walked quickly, taking her hand. He didn't say a word until they were outside on the portico.

The night was cooler than she was used to, and she shivered. Sebastian took off his jacket to put around her shoulders.

“You looked so commanding up there,” she said.

“You of all people know what I really look like when I'm ‘commanding.' ”

She smiled and shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

He turned to face her, rubbing her shoulders.

“Are you warming up?”

“Yes,” she said, beaming. The headlights from the cars lit up Fifth Avenue. She breathed in the air, a breeze blowing from the east.

“Regina, you remember what that publisher said earlier, right?”

“Yes. Of course. It's really exciting. Did you know about this? You never mentioned it.”

He nodded. “My agent told me a few weeks ago. But I didn't have anything I wanted to put into a book. I felt it was premature to do something like that with Taschen.”

“Okay,” she said. “I'm sure the offer will still stand when you're ready.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was waiting for the right time, but running into Gordon tonight—it seemed serendipitous.”

She looked at him questioningly. “What? You're making me nervous.”

“I want to show him the photos of you. For a potential book.”

Regina lost her breath. She pressed her hand to her chest, telling herself to stay calm.

“Sebastian, you said those were just for you. For us,” she said in a rush of words, so jumbled she didn't know if he would understand her.

“I know. And that can still be the case. I'm just telling you that they are my most favorite photographs of all I've ever taken. The best, I'm sure of it. The passion and love I feel for you comes across in these prints. It's been what's missing in my work all this time. I love you, Regina.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and he pulled her into his arms. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, careful not to get her red lipstick on his white shirt. Her feelings for him in that moment were so big that they made the answer to his question clear to her.

She was proud of what they'd done together. The photographs were the tangible result of their meeting in the middle, of finding that place where they could love each other, and still love themselves. There was nothing wrong with the photos. She didn't have to insist they remain just between the two of them. And maybe until she was able to truly give them to him, she was still holding back a piece of herself.

She wanted him to have all of her.

“I want you to submit the photos,” she said.

He pulled back and held her gently at arm's length.

“You don't have to say that. I love you either way,” he said. Though she could tell he was trying to be measured, his excitement was palpable.

“I know I don't
have
to say it. I mean it.”

He looked down at the ground, then back at her, and she was shocked to see tears in them. “You've given me a real gift, Regina. And I don't just mean the photos.”