Authors: Elizabeth Amelia Barrington
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The night of the party finally arrived, and I felt so excited I actually had butterflies in my stomach. I was almost ready to put on my evening dress.
###
Frank had initially insisted that I go to Los Angeles to buy my dress for the occasion. One day, after having coffee together, Margaret and I had taken a stroll through the trendy area known as the "Alphabet District," in Portland and stumbled upon a boutique called Marie's. I immediately fell in love with the place. I had really wanted to buy my dress in Portland anyway, and they made it easy.
First, t
wo lovely young ladies catered to our every need and gave us glasses of Perrier, after we demurred on the concept of drinking champagne in the early afternoon. The Perrier was eventually followed up with a luscious sour cream blini for me, which just happened to be one of my favorite foods in the world and cookies for Margaret, after she had turned down blinis, caviar, and a number of other assorted delicacies. The four of us discussed the upcoming party and my tastes, often getting off topic and, at one point, digressing into a lengthy discussion of how rude people were nowadays, a subject about which we all agreed.
A tall, stylish and strikingly beautiful woman, in her mid-thirties, walked up to the group and introduced herself to
me.
"I am Marie Dubois, at your service.
" This was said in a charming French accent. "Have my girls been helping you?"
"Oh, yes,"
I answered. "They are wonderful. But, I feel that I may have taken up too much of their time."
Marie smiled encouragingly
. "And why do you say that? Even if you are not buying anything today, we try to set up lifelong relationships with each customer we meet, and that takes time and finesse."
"These two are spilling over with finesse,"
I laughed. "Actually, I really do need to buy a dress for a black tie evening affair. My employer wants me to go to Los Angeles to buy something. He doesn't believe silly little Oregon can offer a decent dress. I've looked around on the internet and in some store windows. I just don't like anything I've seen so far. Everything seems so fussy. I want something elegant but plain. Does that make any sense at all? I probably don't even know what I'm talking about."
Marie
sat in a nearby chair. She studied my face, a faraway look in her eyes. "How old are you?"
"I'm 19."
"To me, you are what is called an old soul." Then, with what seemed to be an effort, she pulled herself out of her mental reverie. "Have you ever heard of Coco Chanel?"
"I'
ve heard of Chanel perfume. Oh--yes. Coco Chanel was a famous Parisian fashion designer.
"Exactiment!"
It sounded like "exactimo."
"And, your words sound like an echo of her thoughts about the fashion of her day
. Unfortunately, she is long gone, but the Chanel fashion house still exists, of course." Marie placed a finger over her lips and stared at me, as if she were reading my mind.
"I think you would be very happy in a
gown styled like that of the vintage Chanel gowns, and I am just the woman to do it for you."
"Wouldn't that be terribly expensive?"
I wondered.
"Not as expensive as you wo
uld think. If you cannot get the vintage gown you like, I will make a copy for you. Her designs were simple but elegant, and I think you would love them. I have a book with some examples." With that, Marie hurried to the back of the store and brought an old book back out.
She handed it to
me. Looking through the pictures, I realized I loved every outfit in the book. When I turned to the eveningwear section, a gown immediately caught my eye. It was a strapless blue dress, made out of silk tulle and lined with satin. The outer fabric looked so delicate; it could have been the gown of a fairy princess.
"Can you make me something like this?"
"Oh, that is a beautiful choice. For that dress, the fabric will be expensive, and its delicacy will make the sewing more time-consuming. "All right. It's a deal. I just need to talk to Frank--Mr. Armstrong about it and get back to you."
"Here is my card, and you may borrow my book
. Just be really careful with it."
"Yes. Of cours
e." Eventually I had my fantasy gown and a lifelong contact for clothes: the wonderful Marie.
Margaret had been invited to see her new beau's children in California at the last minute. She had offered to reschedule the trip, but I had insisted that she go. This was an important time in Margaret's life, and she had further bloomed since meeting Tim. I did not want anything to stand in the way of her new happiness.
On the night of the party,
I showered and then bathed in lightly scented water. I applied makeup that highlighted my eyes, a dusting of face powder, and a lightly scented gloss for my lips. I put lotion on my feet, arms, and legs and then put on my new, strapless bra, underpants, and stockings and prepared to put on the golden dress, which had taken on a personality of its own, at least in my mind. I had had my hair especially styled that day and wore it long.
Once I had
put on the dress and then the special silk shoes, dyed to match, I looked in the full-length mirror. Every time I saw myself in the dress, I seemed transformed, glowing.
I sat at my
dresser to open the little, antique box containing Frank's grandmother's jewelry. I felt that it was far too extravagant, but he had insisted. I placed the impossibly delicate, diamond bracelet on my left arm and closed the tiny clasp. Again, I walked over to the full-length mirror to view the results. I looked like a princess in a fairytale.
Then, my
constant sorrow wrapped itself over me like a familiar shawl, marring the magic of the moment. If only my mother could be with me on this night to share my joy, then everything would be perfect. Then, the words crept into her mind, unbidden,
my rosebud.
It was as if I heard my mother's voice. I glanced behind me. That had been my mother's term of endearment for me as a child. Not for the first time, I wondered if I were losing my mind. With a great effort of will, I pulled myself back into the present moment.
I
began descending the stairs, which faced the front foyer. Mom's words again sounded in my ears, "Poor posture will ruin even the most beautiful dress." So, I stood more erect and walked slowly, distracted by the feeling that Mom was present with me in some way.
Suddenly, I heard clapping and turned toward the sound.
A few people, in conversational groups, were applauding my entrance, smiling encouragingly. Others came to see what was happening, and they, too, began to clap. Frank, proudly smiling, came up the steps and took my arm. Tonight, he looked distinguished and good-looking. He had gone to great lengths about his appearance, having had a facial and a tanning treatment. He actually looked healthy.
We
walked down the steps and out into the crowd in the large living room of the house, which had been transformed by the workers. Small tables, illumined with light from underneath, with linen tablecloths, had been placed throughout the ground floor of the house, with table lamps at the center of each table, giving soft lighting. Each lamp was surrounded by a small arrangement of roses. Art deco sofas were arranged along the side of the room with small tables in front of them on which candles in glass chimneys were placed. Every detail of the room matched as to color and style. Frank walked me into the center of the room.
Frank
handed me a glass of mineral water and then raised his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast, to my dear friend Vicky Howell. To her beauty and intelligence!"
The crowd
raised their glasses.
Suddenly, my
friends ran up to me and embraced me in a group hug.
Jennifer
was the first to speak. "Vicky, you look like a princess! What a great party."
"And, it's so wonderful to see you
. We've missed you." Bett's eyes looked troubled. "Why wouldn't you see us?"
"Oh, I just haven't been myself.
" If they only knew! "That's all going to change. From now on, it's 'one for all and all for one,' just like in the old days."
John and
Matt walked up to the group. They both looked completely at home in their tuxedos, casually elegant. John looked particularly striking. His eyes looked even darker than usual, as reflected in the dark jacket. He was one of those men who would always be handsome and sophisticated, regardless of his age.
John was the first to speak. "I don't believe I've had the honor of meeting your charming friends." I felt so relieved that he had interrupted my friends, before they could continue asking questions for which I had no answers. After introductions were made, John skillfully steered the conversation. He was a master, and he soon mesmerized my friends and had them excitedly laughing and talking.
Suddenly,
I remembered that I was unofficial co-host of the evening's festivities. Frank had suggested I stretch my social muscles, so to speak, at this gathering, and make an effort to speak to all the groups of people. I excused myself from my friends and introduced myself to a group of three, who were sitting at one of the small tables, sipping their drinks in a desultory fashion, looking rather bored. I discovered that they were acquaintances of Frank's from the Multnomah Athletic Club.
The woman, who looked to be in her thirties, wore a
short, black dress, of some sheer fabric, with a pearl choker around her neck. She was an attractive blonde, with medium-length hair and intelligent, brown eyes made up to look smoky for the evening occasion. She was a corporate attorney, at a Portland-based firm. She introduced her husband, a man with a severe expression, who was about five inches shorter than she, and appeared to be over 50. He was the CEO of a company headquartered in Seattle. The third man worked for a federal agency as a Chief Financial Officer. I felt completely out of my league, but the three seemed to be very taken with Frank, the house, and me.
The blonde woman gushed, "I know you've probably heard this a million times, but are you a model or a movie st
ar? You just look so fantastic--sorry."
"Oh
--my goodness. Why should you be sorry? What a beautiful compliment. But, no--I'm neither a model nor a star. However," she wanted to deflect the conversation away from a dialogue about her appearance, "that man over there," she pointed out John, "is a Hollywood and independent film director. He writes many of his own screenplays as well. You may have seen his most movie
Slap Shot
."
The CEO, Carl, suddenly became interested in the conversation
. "He did that? Yes, Mary and I have seen it. It was great. How do you and Frank know him?"
Suddenly,
I wondered if many people at the party believed Frank and I were a romantic item. Yuk, I thought. "He's directing a new movie for one of the studios owned by the media company Frank's family owns."
Carl interjected, "Actually, that company is publicly owned
. But, Frank's family do own controlling shares."
Mary gave her husband a wilting look
. "No one wants to hear about that right now." Carl smiled indulgently at his wife.
And so it went
. I walked around and spoke to so many groups of people that I began to feel that I began to doubt I could come up with anything more to say. A uniformed waiter offered me a tray with caviar on toast. Finding myself hungry, I took two and ate them in succession. Then, I walked outside and sat in the front garden to get some fresh air and gather my thoughts.
Frank came out with a small plate of snacks and a dark blue drink in a cocktail glass
. "I've come with reinforcements." He handed me the glass.
"What's this?"
"I thought you'd never ask. It's a blue Margarita. This one only has a slight amount of alcohol in it. I had it specially made."
"Thank you Frank
. I haven't eaten enough tonight." I gulped down half of the cocktail glass. The drink tasted like fruit punch, and I was thirsty. The hors d'oeuvres on the plate looked delicious. More caviar on toast and squares of olive bread topped with crab salad.
Frank sat down beside me as I
ate and sipped. "You know, it's already after midnight. I think you've mingled enough for one party. Just sit somewhere comfortable and let people come to you. Believe me, they will."
"I am tired
. These beautiful heals are not great for hours of standing."
"So, rest and continue to grab snacks
. Remember, you're trying to gain weight anyway. I've got to go back in and see to my guests." Frank gently patted her on the shoulder and went back inside.
A group of five left through the front door, after thanking Frank
. Feeling fortified by the food, I re-entered the party. It seemed that a substantial number of guests had left. After thinking a moment, I realized that I had not noticed because I had been working my way from the front of the house to the back. Frank must have been saying goodbye at the door as people left. I sat in the corner on one of the myriad small tables with a crystal lamp in the center. After a few moments, a man came to sit and talk with me. Then, two other men followed suit. All three were relatively young, in the range of 25 to 40-years old. They introduced themselves. The youngest, Chad, was a student at Lewis and Clark Law School. Neal was an assistant something-or-other working with John on his latest movie. The third young man was also working on the picture in some capacity.