Being Audrey Hepburn

As we talk the words fall away. They fly like seeds in the wind, clinging to the hem of your dress before they disappear.

The words made the dress a secret message. Was it from Jess’s journal? It was startling and provocative, just what you’d expect from Designer X.

“So you like it,” Jess said confidently. I turned. She must have been watching me.

“Like it? It’s mind-blowing.” I felt the air go out of me. Jess was so talented, I felt like I was bathing in her brilliance.

“I’m getting tired of the asymmetric hem length; I might change that. Try it on,” she offered, lifting the dress out of the closet. “It should fit.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, noticing Sarrah watching us from the kitchen.

“It’s for my show. I made it with your measurements.”

I stripped down to my underwear and slipped on the tight skirt and overskirt and then the blouse.

“It needs to be a tad tighter at the waist,” she said, staring into the full-length mirror propped against the wall.

“Jess, I think it’s perfect.”

“Then wear it tonight.”

“What? Really? It’s one of a kind; it’s your original…” I stammered.

“They all are,” she said. “Do me a favor, Lizzy, wear it. I’m sure you’re going somewhere fantastic tonight. That dress deserves to escape this closet and be worn. What did you used to say? Its destiny is to be worn?”

I smiled while Sarrah, holding a tea bag, watching us from the kitchen, seethed.

43

The doorman greeted me at Tabitha’s building on North Moore Street in Tribeca. He was just a few years older than me and had that unshaven-Euro-model look. His uniform must have been designed by Comme des Garçons. Fanciest doorman I’d ever seen, no joke. He was a perfect fantasy. After all, who wouldn’t want a good-looking guy who is always nice and opens doors, hails cabs, and carries heavy packages for you?

“Please let me help you with your bag,” he said. I only had a garment bag with the latest Designer X creation inside. It seemed a little silly, but I acquiesced, feeling very indulged. He pushed the PENTHOUSE button as I entered the elevator.

I heard Tabitha’s familiar high-pitched squeal as the door opened.

“You’re here!”

She was standing in a comfy pink bathrobe with her hair up in a towel, Galileo yapping at her feet. It was good to see her again, and I appreciated how happy she was to see me. Walking into her penthouse apartment, I was totally awed.

The Princess of Pop truly had pop-star-worthy digs. The cherrywood floors and staircase were so deeply lacquered I could see my reflection as I walked in. There was a high-tech kitchen that was so pristine that it seemed impossible Tabitha had ever boiled water in it. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves complete with a library ladder on rails was utterly impressive. Tabitha’s collection of leather-bound literature was remarkable, though I doubted there was a book on those shelves that had ever been touched. The living room had a view of New York City on three sides.

“Hurry,” she said as she skipped barefoot up the spiral staircase at the back of the living room. “Come up to my bedroom and help me pick out what to wear.”

I followed. The second floor was even more sensational. Calling it a bedroom seemed a poor way of describing the place. There was a large built-in mahogany desk, a plump couch, upholstered chairs, an antique wooden coffee table, and a sleek designer bed that seemed to be floating on air, all of which faced onto an open terrace with views of all of Lower Manhattan. You could even see the Statue of Liberty.

“In here!” Tabitha called. I wondered where she could be.

She poked her head out of a doorway “Hello? Come on, I need help.” I followed her and found myself in an enormous walk-in closet.

I know from closets. Even with tons of hangers, clothes, and shoes, this was significantly more than a closet. Nothing like the smushed-in cozy closet I had at home. All the bedrooms in my house could fit in there. This was a closet you could get lost in for days.

It reminded me of the showroom where we tried on clothes at Barneys. At the center of the room was a gorgeous French walnut armoire with a full-length mirror.

“What do you think of this?” Tabitha said, posing in a black leather halter and black harem pants, looking like an upscale relative of JWoww’s. She could tell from my expression that it wasn’t my favorite. “Okay, okay, give me a second.” She ducked back behind the armoire.

“So, how are you?” I asked, wondering where we stood relative to my meeting with Robert.

“Great!” she said from behind the armoire before popping her head back out. “Thanks to you!”

“Me?”

“What about this?” She was wearing a nude-colored, skin-tight, studded tank dress and some strappy sandals. It was very close to being naked.

“Well, that’s an interesting dress. I like the sandals,” I said.

“I don’t like it either,” she replied, frowning, and ducked back into her vast racks of clothes. I contemplated the rows and rows of shoes. This walk-in was the final resting place of so many of Tabitha’s cocktailing shopping sprees. You could dress an army of pop stars from this one closet.

“I don’t know what you said to RF, but it certainly worked,” she said.

“Really?” I asked.

Tabitha popped back out in her underwear.

“Robert said he’s willing to start the process. And my mom is coming, so we’re going to meet in the Hamptons. You have to join us. We’ll celebrate!”

The Hamptons? For me, the Hamptons were a bigger fantasy than I dared ever dream of, even bigger than New York City. After all, in Jersey we have the Jersey Shore, the McMansions of Brigantine and the old historical houses of Cape May, but nothing compared to what I had heard about the Hamptons. I hadn’t fully comprehended that summering in the Hamptons was a likely requirement for a Park Avenue Princess or a SoHo Darling.

“We desperately need a little getaway, and I want you to meet my mother.”

“I have a few obligations,” I said. “So I can’t say for sure.” My mother for one. Then there was the fact that I still had no means of supporting myself and Jess’s show. Although Jess didn’t have an exact date, we wanted to time her show at FIT to Fashion Week at the end of the summer. How much she would need me before, we hadn’t discussed. We both knew she could stage the show herself. Getting people there was the problem. She would kill me if I didn’t make that happen for her.

“Well you’ll have to let me know. You should definitely come,” she said.

“Thank you for asking. That’s quite nice of you.”

“I hear you’ve contacted Flo. She’s coming to stay with me, too,” Tabitha said as she pulled on a skirt. “You certainly know how to get around.”

“I’m just not quite sure if there’s anything she can do,” I said. “But she’s so lovely, and it’s just a small hobby of mine.” Tabitha made a half smile as if she didn’t believe me, and I thought it better to change the subject.

“So Robert is giving you what you want? Are you surprised?”

“Not really. You talked to him, right?” she said, hidden from view.

“But Tabitha, we didn’t really talk about very much.”

Tabitha popped back out again. “Oh really? It didn’t seem that way to Robert,” she said. She was half-dressed in a sheer black-and-white dress and tights. The kind of thing Lindsay Lohan might wear at her tackiest. Tabitha noted my expression.

“I don’t really like this, do you?” I didn’t even have to answer.

“Damn, I just don’t have anything to wear.” She ducked behind the mirror. “I just bought these.” She thrust out a pair of black and nude heels. “What do you think I should wear with them?”

Clearly she wasn’t in the mood for a serious talk. I sca