Being Audrey Hepburn

“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.

“Ooh, that’s stu

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing a glance at the price tag. For $2,400, it should be stu

As I modeled a beaded blue chiffon blouse with exquisite ruching in the dressing room, Tabitha noticed my bracelet. Before I knew it, she was holding my wrist up to the light, examining it.

“How unusual,” she said, twisting it on my wrist. “Understated but dazzling. Is it platinum?”

“Yes.” I had forgotten about Nan’s bracelet. I was already used to wearing it.

“It’s so mysterious … just like you, Lisbeth,” she said, smiling.

“Honestly, dear, I don’t try to be,” I replied.

“I know. You just are,” she said and gave me a hug. I was growing to like Tabitha, despite the strangeness of her mood swings and insecurity. Somehow, she unequivocally accepted me for whoever I was. Like a child, she seemed naive to ulterior motives. We had truly developed a friendship. The mysteries about her mom, her loneliness, made me want to take care of her.

Valerie was over-the-top with enthusiasm for a lilac dress that she had given Tabitha to try on, but I had my doubts. When Tabitha came out wearing it, I could see that it was totally wrong for her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t wear the color, it just wasn’t her shade. It’s interesting to me how often people don’t know their colors. I guess I had consumed enough champagne and was comfortable enough around Tabitha that my guard was down. For some reason, I started blurting out my opinion on everything.

“It’s a lovely dress, but perhaps you should reconsider whether it’s right for you,” I said, assuming I was out of earshot of Valerie. Tabitha looked at me with surprise. It seemed as though she was disturbed that anyone could doubt Valerie, which would explain some of the less-sophisticated choices Tabitha wore in the photos on the gossip blogs.