Being Audrey Hepburn

“You knew about these?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I assumed you’d tell me all about it at some point,” she said, smoothing a strand of hair behind my ear. “It seemed like such a grand adventure. I didn’t want to spoil your fun. But I couldn’t help collecting every bit of it.” She was beaming with pride.

It startled me that I was actually the girl in these pictures. My charade was a complete fiction, but laying them out like that, collectively, seemed so real. I was impressed at how perfectly she had prepared each photo. Museum-quality work, Jess would have said.

“I even bought a printer and started using the computer.” She pointed proudly to her ancient desktop, where there was a nice new printer and mouse pad.

“Oh Nan…” As I hugged her, I closed my eyes and felt tears welling up.

“At first, I didn’t know what to think. I recognized the dresses, though I was completely shocked at what you’d done to them,” she said.

“I know. Jess was worried about that. But aren’t they incredible?” I said, grabbing a tissue and wiping the tears from my cheeks.

Nan nodded. “I was mostly surprised that you’d cut and changed them so dramatically. But the reworking was indeed impressive. Your friend Jess is quite brilliant. It made me realize that those dresses weren’t meant to stay in a storage box. They were meant to play a part of some romantic adventure. They were meant to be worn dancing.”

“That’s what I told Jess!” I said. “She didn’t want to alter them, but then the first one was such a hit that she’s created a whole look.”

We flipped back through the clippings in the scrapbook, and I gave Nan details on every dress, where I wore it and who I met. I spilled everything about Being Audrey. I worried at first that she’d be disappointed in me for pretending to be something I wasn’t, but her expression grew more interested and astonished as I shared every delicious detail.

“You are so absolutely stu

“It’s all Jess. She did an incredible job on them, really,” I said.

“Stop, Lisbeth.” She held my chin up and gazed deeply into my eyes. “Look at me. You are beautiful. You always have been. I often wondered why you didn’t see that. And it’s important that you know now. You are smart, clever, original, and beautiful. It’s the most wonderful combination, and I am proud of you.”

We hugged that Nan heart-melding hug, and it was such a relief to be with her, to know that she loved me and understood.

“Of course, I worry that I’ve filled your head with too many stories about how wonderful the old days were.”

“But Nan, they are the most amazing stories,” I said, feeling a bit defensive.

“Well, it’s good to see you making your own memories and not only living off of mine. Now you’ll have your own to look back on and cherish. That’s why I wanted you to have this scrapbook.”

I was so moved, I didn’t know how to thank her. My eyes found hers, and she gave me such a warm look I almost broke down and started crying again, but I wanted to keep it together.

“I still have a hard time believing that the trust funders accepted me so readily,” I said, recovering. I cut each of us a slice of cake.

“I’m not,” said Nan, taking a forkful of chocolate. “You’re intelligent and vivacious, and that’s appealing to any social group. Besides, it’s all about money with these people, and if you appear to have money or they think you have money, then they are intrigued. Otherwise, how could you be with them if you didn’t have money?”

“You don’t think it’s lame that I’ve been just acting like Audrey?”

“You may have started that way, but at this point I think it’s something more,” she said. “Even Audrey Hepburn was pretending to be Audrey—until she was, that is. When Audrey started out, much like you, she was operating solely on her charm, wits, spirit, and personal style. She never quite felt like she belonged; she was never fully prepared for what she was about to do next. She just jumped right in and hoped for the best. Eventually, she became the kind of woman we all assumed she was from the very begi

“But Audrey did something. She danced, she acted,” I said. “My friends, Jess, Jake, they know what they want to do with their lives. They know who they want to be. I’m playacting. Do you think there’s a way I can turn my passion into something?”

“Well, you’re going to college, sweetie, that will help, won’t it?”

My eyes dropped and I nodded, hoping she didn’t take too much note of my response.

Nan took my fingers in her smooth, cool hands. “Be true to yourself, Lisbeth. It doesn’t matter that you’ve used Audrey Hepburn as a starting point. The most important thing is where you end up, and that you use this experience to become the best Lisbeth you can be.”

“Oh Nan, it sounds so possible when you say it.” Throwing my arms around her neck, I hugged her again. I needed so many hugs.

Feeling better, I scooped a gob of whip cream frosting with my finger, popping it into my mouth.

“I want to give you something,” Nan said, rising from the couch thoughtfully and walking to the sideboard. She opened one of the lower drawers.

She was holding a bracelet I had never seen before—a simple platinum band. She hesitated a moment, looking at it in her hand, then returned to the couch.

“This is from my days back then. It’s a gift from one of the ‘boys,’ and I want you to have it.”

“Nan, it’s lovely,” I said.

“And remember,” Nan said, jutting her jaw forward and stroking her chin—her version of a movie mobster—“one day I may come to you for a favor.” Her voice was an octave lower and raspy, an almost perfect Don Corleone impression. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“What exactly is this?” I asked.

“It’s a talisman for protection, inscribed by an old boyfriend of mine,” she added. “It will go fabulously with those dresses, and maybe it will keep you safe.”

I turned the bracelet in my hands. It was elegant, just like Nan. Inside, there was an inscription in Latin: TUAM TUTAM TENEBO, SAMMY G. I marveled at how stylish and mysterious it was.

“Be careful, Lisbeth,” Nan added. “As Sammy used to say, ‘a liar’s mouth can be full of truth, but he’s still a liar.’ Be careful who you trust.”

As the platinum band slipped effortlessly around my wrist, I marveled at its soft beauty.

“By the way, dear, I think you should know—your mother has seen the photos, too.”

30

“Why does everything I do for you involve lots of repetitive physical work?” I asked Jess as we pushed her steamer trunk up the five flights of stairs to her new digs in Chinatown.

The scent of decomposing fruit, roasted chestnuts, and fresh fish intermingled with stale frying oil, the heated exhaust of industrial fans, and the cigarette smoke of the Asian men working in the market downstairs: Chinatown was one of those parts of New York that you could pick out blindfolded by the pungent smells alone. All those odors floated up through Jess’s new neighborhood.

Jess had packed her mom’s station wagon with all her worldly possessions—three battered trunks filled with her own designs, as well as fabrics and salvaged clothes that represented years of flea market and church store scavenging. She also had two sewing machines, including a serger that she bought at a yard sale, three dress forms, and a cool antique sewing box filled with the tattered marble composition books she used as journals.

It was Jess’s big move. In return for my moving skills, she promised to help me get my Purple Beast out of the Hudson Street parking lot. I needed to borrow some money to do it. I hadn’t been back for three days, and I was sure my beast missed me, although the parking guys were probably wondering by now if someone had left a body in the trunk.