The Billionaire Game 3(14)
“I don’t actually know anything about polio,” Lacey informed me with a straight face.
I slugged her in the arm. “I’m kidding, you jerk. Seriously, though, let’s talk about something actually happy before I go from babbling tipsy to blubbering drunk. Like…oh hey, your wedding! That’s happy! How’s that going? Is it all roses and champagne, or is it just mostly roses and champagne?”
Lacey somehow managed to shudder and smile at the same time. “Girl, you know I am looking forward to being Mrs. Devlin more than a saint looks forward to Judgment Day, but right now the whole subject of wedding planning is enough to send me into hives, so I am putting it off the table. It has fallen through the floor and into the basement, that is how far I have shoved it off the table. Something else!”
I looked around, casting about for a subject that we were both willing to talk about. When had it gotten so hard to speak to my best friend?
Probably when you started avoiding all talk about the major problems in your life so she wouldn’t feel sorry for you, a nagging interior voice noted.
“How about this event?” I said. “Is that on the table? All the planning’s over, and it seems to be going pretty well.”
That was an understatement. Everywhere we looked, groups of people mingled, happily chatting and eating and scribbling down bids for the silent auction. The tables sagged under the donated items, and I’d already seen underlings scurry forward with more sheets of paper as the lists of bidders grew and grew.
“Careful, you’ll jinx it,” Lacey warned, but she was smiling, proud and certain, despite her words, that I was right. “I’ve learned it’s never too late for a—” Her head snapped to the side, tracking movement as she spotted someone. “Oh, Kate, this is perfect!” she exclaimed, waving to whomever they were. “I was just talking to Mira about your line, and she was really interested. Let me introduce you!”
Lacey didn’t actually wait for my response before grabbing my hand and dragging me along to meet—and holy shit, was that Mira Weisman, Seamstress to the Stars?!
Holy shit, it was.
Holy, holy shit.
I managed to get my jaw back into place just before Lacey pulled me up in front of Mira Weisman, whom I’d idolized since my teenage days, when a random school research project had led me into a side alley of Hollywood history: the Seamstress to the Stars, and how she had defined the fashions of the 1950s elite, both with elaborate ballgowns on the set and with elaborate lingerie on the pages of the racy magazines. Mira Weisman, the first non-actress female millionaire in Hollywood. Mira Weisman, who congressmen and Mafia bosses alike had begged to make lingerie sets for their wives and girlfriends—only to be turned down because of the mile-long waiting list. Mira Weisman, who oh my God was standing right in front of me.
“Hi!” I blurted, trying not to hyperventilate too loudly. “Mira—Miss Weisman—I’m such a huge fan!”
Well, so much for playing it cool.
“Why thank you,” Ms. Weisman said warmly.
“No, thank you,” I gushed before I could stop myself. Yep, definitely not going to be able play it cool. I was playing it the opposite of cool. I was playing it as cool as the midday temperature of the Sahara desert. “Everything you’ve done, I mean—the body of work you’ve accomplished—you’ve been such an inspiration to me!”
“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she said.
She had aged more than a few years since the photo in my dog-eared copy of her autobiography; there were a few strands of grey in her hair, and her skin was starting to paper slightly and wrinkle; no plastic surgery for her. But she was still classy as hell in a slim gray pinstriped pantsuit and string of pale pearls, a tennis bracelet on her wrist and sensible shoes on her feet. Damn, I hoped I looked that good when I was pushing eighty.
“This is my friend Kate,” Lacey said with a smile, giving Mira a hug—and almost giving me a heart attack, Lacey was on hugging terms with Mira Weisman?! “She’s the proud, successful owner of Kate’s Trifles, and she can almost always string her sentences together when she’s not meeting one of her heroes.”
“She seemed to be stringing them together perfectly well to me,” Ms. Weisman said. “But ah, I’m biased, aren’t I, they were full of compliments.” She turned her warm gaze to me. “So you’re the best friend Lacey can’t stop raving about. And you’re the young lady who’s offering a custom handmade lingerie set and a private fitting and fashion consultation as part of the auction.”