“The key, darling,” I said, “is to keep them on until you get home.”
“Yeah, I really should try that, or maybe stuff them in my purse. But sometimes I just don’t have time.” She shrugged as though she were talking about losing a pair of gloves, a scarf, or sunglasses. Mocha cracked a grin in the rearview mirror. So chauffeurs do hear everything.
“So, you don’t hate me?” Tabitha asked, stretching out into the corner of the limo.
“Why on earth would I?” I wondered how much of Tabitha’s insecurity I could take, considering there was my own insecurity to deal with. “That was impressive and wonderful.”
“Britney’s no different, believe me. I sang with her once, and she can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
“Ah, yes, that’s what Max said.”
“Oh. Really?” she said, eyebrows raised. “Well, I guess he should know.”
I hoped I hadn’t put Max in a bad spot.
“Dear, I’m impressed that you can work with those very talented musicians. The process is mind-boggling,” I said, worried that my Audrey sounded a tad old-fashioned.
Tabitha shrugged. The dark cloud that had made her so anxious had lifted now that the studio recording was behind us.
Taking La Perla by storm, Tabitha dropped six thousand dollars on underwear as if she was buying breath mints at the drugstore. I couldn’t help but wonder how many mortgage payments my mom would have made with her underwear money.
Walking the aisles, I found a pair of boy shorts that were stretch tulle for $140. I assumed that these magic panties, in addition to conveying visible benefits on the wearer, bestowed confidence, romance, and sensuality, something that I could probably use.
“When was the last time you bought lingerie?” Tabitha asked. I hadn’t noticed her step behind me.
“Me? I don’t really keep track,” I said. Yeah, once at T.J.Maxx, and once Jess and I went to a sample sale—did those count?
“Well, why don’t you buy some?”
“I keep my underwear,” I said, giving her a disdainful glance and hoping that would put the discussion to rest.
“Tell me the truth, Lisbeth, are you a prude?”
“What? No!” Stunned, it took me a moment to realize that I had become a puzzle for Tabitha to unravel. Being scrutinized, I knew, wouldn’t be good for my inner Audrey.
“Well, you live with your grandmother and a nurse. That’s kind of old-lady-like,” she said.
“Nan is such a dear. It’s not like that. She…,” I began and trailed off, flustered.
“And you don’t seem to get out much,” she added. Hey, I’d gone out more times in the last three weeks than I had in my entire life. That did in fact sound kind of spinsterish. Think Audrey, think Audrey. At that moment, I saw the two salespeople talking to each other and looking our way. I wondered if we weren’t lingering in the lingerie a bit too long. I prayed they would interrupt us.
“I just believe that one should be private and discrete when one is promiscuous,” I said finally. “Unlike some people we know.”
“Oh, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Tabitha laughed. “But you know, I don’t just buy them for some guy … I mean, a little sexy underwear makes me feel confident and alive. Hey aren’t you going to that art opening with ZK? So…?” I wouldn’t have thought that everyone knew that little piece of information.
My mind was trying to formulate a pithy response when, thankfully, one of the two sales girls approached us. I was still holding the lace shorts and put them down instantly, a reflex born of window-shopping with Jess in stores where we could never afford anything.
“Miss Eden?” the young woman began. “Sorry to intrude, but La Perla would love to gift your companion and wondered if this item might be preferred. Of course, you’re free to take anything in the store.”
“No, I couldn’t,” I said, hoping my eyes weren’t bugging out. I had never heard the words “free to take anything in the store” before.
“Why not?” Tabitha said. “I certainly spend enough here.”
“Any friend of Ms. Eden’s…” the store clerk began, and in moments I was holding a pretty little white La Perla shopping bag as we exited onto the street.
“Now we’ll have to get you a man to go with those,” Tabitha said, pleased with herself as we left the store.
Our next stop was Manhattan’s Meatpacking District, which typically gets described in the fashion blogs I read as the “Disney World of couture” with so many outposts of fashion labels such as Stella McCartney, Jeffrey, Alexander McQueen, Yigal Azrouël, and tons more, all within a four-block area.
Down the street, we hit a cool boutique where the cheapest thing on the shelves was a plain white cotton T-shirt for $400. Maybe the fabric increased your cup size, or your IQ.
Then we arrived at the DVF store—and I loved it! All the clothes in the store were sorted by color. There were washes of gold, pink, and fuchsia everywhere—the entire place was a work of art, another Diane von Furstenberg masterpiece.
Most of all, it was startling to see how nice all the salespeople were. Whenever Jess and I would go there, the staff was always short-tempered. They seemed to know immediately that we weren’t going to buy anything. And if they wanted to be mean, they’d have security follow us. It’s amazing how a limo outside and a famous name on a plastic card can get you so much extra service. Tabitha loaded up at both boutiques, and Mocha tossed the bags in the trunk.
More than once, I registered a suspicious sidelong glance from Tabitha. It had literally slipped my mind that Tabitha might actually expect me to buy something. It was a bit like not drinking at the bar when everyone else is smashed. And who wants to drink alone? I worried how long I could keep this up.
Returning to the comfy limo, Mocha drove us uptown, and Tabitha shared some of her shopping history with me.
“I’ve had a stylist and a personal shopper at Barneys since I was ten—Valerie,” she said. “I’m excited you’re going to meet her. When I was little, I would see her more than I saw my mother. I just never seemed to have enough clothes, so I went to see her a lot.” Despite the sad undercurrent, she seemed oddly lighthearted about it all.
I laughed along, but truthfully I’d never even seen Tabitha wear anything more than once. I’d never seen her photographed in the same dress. Her sense of need was clearly different from that of most people on the planet.
“So if your mother wasn’t around, who took care of you when you were little?”
“Me and my charge card,” she said and let out an awkward laugh. “My mother had this big breakdown after my stepfather left. That was like three husbands ago. She was in rehab a really long time, and she made Robert my guardian until I was eighteen and put him in charge of my trust. All the doctors and lawyers made her do it. Then Robert made himself my business manager. Everything has to be signed by him. He controls all the money. It’s been the worst thing.”
Tabitha fell silent and gazed out the window. I had a thousand questions, but I didn’t want her to start tearing up again. So I stayed quiet for the rest of the ride.
* * *
At Barneys, Valerie was ready for us. She had already laid out a collection for Tabitha, and for me as well. The attractive dark-haired woman in her fifties had a Mediterranean complexion. She was somehow both sophisticated and matronly. Utterly attentive, she exuded warmth and understanding while constantly fingering her tortoiseshell glasses on a chain. It was easy to see why Tabitha was so fond of her.
Valerie’s assistant, Erica, brought us flutes of champagne as we staged our own little dressing-room fashion show. It reminded me of the times Jess and I invaded her mother’s closet and tried on all her mom’s dresses, only now we were in Barneys and these dresses cost a fortune. After a glass or two of bubbly, we were both loosening up.