Lola ran toward the glowing red exit sign, feeling happier than she had since she’d arrived in New York. Kyle was already forgetting his old mate Sticks—the one who had terrible bangs and wore board shorts over her bathing suit when they went swimming in his pool in London.
Lola caught her reflection in the mirrored doors, her kelly green silk top looking perfect with her pale freckled skin. She was already forgetting Sticks too.
BALL GOWNS AND BLOWOUTS
Stella rested her hand on the cold metal clothing rack. It was packed with bridesmaid dresses, a cloth rainbow of greens, purples, browns, and blues. “So we should each pick a different style, but we’ll all do satin and we’ll all be in the same color—apple green,” she said authoritatively, pinching a pale green dress between her fingers. She’d picked the color out of a French Vogue wedding spread.
Lola and Andie sat on the beige settee, quietly nodding. Cate was texting furiously on her mobile. She hadn’t taken her Prada sunglasses off since they left the town house, not even when they entered the soft lighting of the Vera Wang dressing suite. Emma stood on a pedestal in the middle of the room as Gloria tucked her fingers into the sweetheart neckline of her dress, pulling it up.
Cate dropped her iPhone into her black Prada Cervo pleat bag. “Sophie says hi,” she said breezily, picking up an armful of dresses without even looking at them.
Stella gripped the metal rack tighter. “That’s funny, I just talked to her.” Cate had been trying to taunt her all day—bragging about how she and Priya had run around the Central Park reservoir during gym, or how Sophie had said the funniest thing in geometry. But Stella hadn’t flinched. She’d been texting all day with Blythe and Priya, and she had talked to Sophie online after school. They kept asking her about the Haverford basketball team and when they were going to hang out with them again. Stella had promised something was “in the works,” but she hadn’t talked to the boys since yesterday. And she wouldn’t…not until the girls voted her their leader.
Cate picked up the skirt of one of the pale green dresses and scrunched up her nose. “Ugh. Of course you picked this color. I’m going to look so washed out.” She strutted into the dressing room, slamming the oak door shut.
Andie and Lola began thumbing through the rack like they were in slow motion, every now and then pulling out a dress only to put it right back. Gloria fanned out the small train of Emma’s gown. Her gold bracelets clinked together, making a sound like wind chimes. When Gloria had told Vera Wang Emma Childs was getting married—this Sunday—she’d offered one of her couture gowns as a wedding present.
“I adore this floral waist corsage—breathtaking,” Gloria cooed, pressing her fingers to the fabric on the side of the dress. It was delicately formed into roselike flowers. Stella had already oohed and aahed over the mermaid dress. It could have been covered in rubies and diamonds—it didn’t change the fact that her mum was getting married this Sunday and stranding them, permanently, in New York.
Lola pulled a bubble-hem satin gown off the rack and held it up to her lanky frame. “This is gorgeous!” she cried.
“That wouldn’t look right on you,” Stella said, taking the hanger from her. She picked out a full-length strapless dress with an empire waist and shoved it in Lola’s arms. “This one’s for you, and this,” she said, passing the short dress to Andie, “is for you.”
“Thanks, Stella!” Andie said brightly, hugging the dress to her chest. Then she retreated to the dressing room.
“Cheers,” Lola mumbled. Lately her self-confidence had been on a roller coaster. She’d felt good yesterday, pretty, even, hanging out with Kyle. But suddenly she felt like the ugly duckling again. She couldn’t help but remember the way that man with the skinny little legs at Fashion Week had looked at her at first—like he couldn’t believe she was Emma’s daughter. Lola turned the dress over in her hands and looked at her mom, who was studying her reflection in the mirror. Sometimes Lola couldn’t believe it either.
Stella turned back to the rack and her gaze fell on another full-length satin dress with a deep V-neck in the front and the back. With the exception of the pale green color, which screamed Wedding!, it was just the kind of dress she would wear.
She pulled off her red gingham halter and slipped the soft satin dress over her head. It clung perfectly to every curve—not that Stella had much in that department, but it emphasized what was there. She’d pair it with her silver Manolo Blahniks with the brooch on the toe and twist her curly hair up, a few tendrils falling in front of her face. A diamond solitaire in each ear would be the finishing touch. She stared at her reflection and smiled.
“Mum!” she called, opening the door of the dressing room. Gloria and Emma looked up from studying the Chantilly lace detailing on the front of the wedding dress. It reminded Stella of the curtains in her grandmother’s sitting room.
“Nice,” Gloria said flatly, then went back to Emma’s dress, fluffing the small train. Her face was stiff and expressionless, like it had been blasted with liquid nitrogen.
“It’s lovely, Stella.” Emma pushed a blond tendril away from her face.
Lola stumbled out of the dressing room in her strapless gown, her jeans still twisted around one ankle. She hopped on one foot, kicking furiously as if a denim boa constrictor had grabbed hold of her leg. The top of the dress sagged at her chest, and the crisscrossing tan lines on her back made it look like she was wearing a white Speedo.
“No, no, no.” Gloria ran her mauve fingernails through her thin hair. “We need to cover up those tan lines. And you’d need a padded bra.”
Emma pressed two fingers to her lips. “Let’s try something else, luv,” she said, offering Lola a weak smile.
Andie emerged from the dressing room wearing the bubble-hem dress that Stella had picked out for her. The style was perfect. She looked like a pale green bell. “What do you think?” she asked, biting her lip nervously.
“You look like quite the young lady,” Emma cooed.
“Thanks, Emma!” Andie cried, her face turning a pleased pink. She spun around twice, admiring herself in the mirror, then returned to her dressing room.
Stella watched as Lola adjusted her Burberry headband, the nose twitch just barely visible. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you find something else.” They returned to the rack and started thumbing through it again as Gloria and Emma disappeared into the wide curtained dressing room designed especially for brides.
The door to Cate’s dressing room swung open and she strutted out, a pleased grin on her face. She had twisted her dark brown hair up into a sleek bun, and she was wearing a full-length gown with a deep V-neck in the front and in the back. It was a beautiful dress. It was also the same one Stella was wearing.
“Too late,” Stella snapped.
Cate scanned Stella’s outfit, then rested her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘too late’?” she asked indignantly. “This dress looks amazing on me.”
“Well, I’ve already decided I’m wearing it.” Stella stepped toward the full-length mirror on the wall, annoyed. It was shopping 101—first to try is first to buy.
“No, you’re not—it fits me perfectly.” Cate followed Stella to the mirror and stood behind her, talking over her shoulder at her reflection.
Stella met Cate’s gaze in the mirror. “I’d rather snap the heels off my Louboutins than let you wear it,” she said coolly, turning to the side to see her profile.
“Lola!” Cate cried, spinning around. Lola froze, one hand on the dressing room door. “Who looks better in this dress—me or Stella?” Cate demanded.
Stella rested her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows as if to say, You already know the answer to this question. Stella was the one who had taken care of Heath Bar when Lola was at equestrian camp last summer—she had even let the little furball sleep on her pillow!
“Um…right,” Lola bit her finger and looked back and forth between the girls, her skin second-degree-sunburn red.
&nb
sp; “Lola, it’s a simple question—who looks better in it?” Stella kept her eyes on Lola. Fine, she hadn’t spent the last week French-braiding Lola’s hair, but she was still her sister.
Just then, Gloria pulled the curtain open and Emma stepped out. She had changed back into her bright yellow dress with thick rope halter straps. Gloria passed Emma her black heels while arguing with her mobile. “You will never work again!” she threatened, staring menacingly at the glossy screen.
“Forget it,” Cate growled. “I’m wearing it. I’m the head of Chi Beta Phi and I’ve decided I want this dress—you have to listen to me.”
“No way,” Stella cried. “We’re having a revote tomorrow. You’re not going to be in power for long.” Soon Cate would be carrying her books.
Emma sat down on the small beige couch and eyed the girls. “Stella,” Emma said in a calm but serious voice, “it’s not a big deal. Just pick another dress.”
“Mum!” Stella squealed, spinning around. “I tried this on first!” But Emma shot her a look that said, That wasn’t a question.
Stella was about to head back into the dressing room but thought better of it. She pulled up the hem of her long gown, holding up one silver Sigerson Morrison wedge for Cate to see. “Like my shoes?” she whispered. “Blythe lent them to me.” Blythe had pulled her aside after Jackson Hole and told her what a great idea the revote was.
Cate slapped her palms to her cheeks in mock surprise. “I thought I recognized those,” she cried. “Her senile golden retriever peed on them last year. She swore she’d never wear them again.” Cate leaned forward so that she was close to Stella’s ear. “They’re rejects—just like you.” Stella retreated to her dressing room, slamming the door shut.
Cate grinned. So it was a lie; Blythe had never even had a dog. But Cate was like the NASA space station—it was dangerous to push her buttons. She twirled around in the mirror and looked at the dress one last time. It did look better on her. Forget the wedding. She’d wear it Saturday, for her victory lap around the town house.
A LITTLE BRIBERY NEVER HURT ANYONE….
Cate tapped on the dressing room door with her midnight blue nails like she was playing “Chopsticks.”
“Sophie,” she singsonged. “Come out, I wanna see.”
She spun around, surveying the Marc Jacobs flagship store. A wall of purses stood in front of her, with more varieties than a midtown deli’s all-you-can-eat buffet. She breathed in, loving the rich, leathery smell.
This morning had been like some sort of sick Upper East Side torture. First Cate had woken up to find Lola’s creature vomiting fur pâté on her new Jimmy Choos. Then Stella had decided to go all sugar mama and take the group to Pastis for brunch, putting it on her AmEx gold card. Sophie and Priya had gone on for twenty minutes about how good the brioche French toast was—Stella’s recommendation. They’d even tried to feed some to Cate, who had insisted (for the ten thousandth time!) that she hated sweets. Cate had spent most of the meal pushing her eggs Norwegian around on her plate, determining just how she was going to top Stella’s brunch.
She wasn’t above bribing the girls, especially now that the pressure was on: The vote was today, at four o’clock. Cate had decided to take everyone shopping at the Marc Jacobs store in Soho. Cate and Stella had each asked Emma and Winston for a plus-one-and-a-half, so they could bring all the Chi Beta Phis to the wedding. Now they were picking out new dresses—on Cate. Who needed brioche French toast when you could have a gorgeous silk gown?
Sophie crept out of the dressing room in a short cocktail dress. The pink satin made her look like a giant slab of grilled salmon. She spun around once and squealed. “You look fabulous,” Cate pronounced. The color clashed with the rosy undertones in Sophie’s skin, but Cate wasn’t going to obsess over minor details. Sophie patted down her pin-straight light brown hair and smiled at her reflection.
“I don’t know,” Stella said, strolling along the long rack of clothes, her two fingers walking along the fabrics. “Salmon feels a bit last season.” She scrunched up her nose like she’d caught a whiff of rotting fish.
“Not at all,” Cate said sharply, shooting Stella a dirty look. “Metallics were last season—salmon is in. Trust me, Sophie.”
Sophie looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the sales counter, her face twisted with worry. “Let me try something else on,” she mumbled, retreating into the dressing room.
Cate spun around and glared at Stella, her fists clenched tight. “Stop trying to sabotage me,” she growled.
Stella rested her hand on her heart, like a real American pledging allegiance. “What? I was just helping out a friend in fashion need.” She smiled sweetly, then sat down on one of the cream-colored leather couches and daintily crossed her legs.
Blythe ran out of the dressing room toward Cate. “This is the one,” she shrieked. A black checked fabric stretched over her new curves.
Priya trailed behind her in a pale pink shift dress with classic lines. “O.O.C.,” she cooed, running her fingers over the glittery jewels embroidered into the fabric. She’d started abbreviating “out of control” back in seventh grade, but it still hadn’t caught on.
Stella eyed Blythe’s dress, crossing her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t do anything for your figure,” she said, shaking her head. “You want something that shows off your two new mates.”
“Are you kidding?” Priya asked. “That dress is all boobs.” Blythe admired her profile in the mirror.
Cate clasped her hands together happily and glanced at Stella. She was biting her lip dejectedly like someone had just thrown up a five-course meal in her Gucci Positano bag.
Priya twirled around. “On behalf of my closet—thank you,” she cried, pulling Cate into a hug.
Sophie came out of the dressing room in a strapless navy blue cocktail dress with gold lamé polka dots. “Thanks, Cate,” she seconded, leaning over to join the hug.
Stella picked up her Gucci bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I need some air,” she muttered. She walked past the long table of shoes and sweaters, and out the massive black door to Mercer Street.
“What’s with her?” Blythe asked, not taking her eyes off her own reflection.
“She’s just jealous,” Cate replied, watching smugly as Stella, the green-eyed monster, disappeared down the street. The girls loved their dresses, and they loved Cate more than ever. Stella didn’t have a chance.
Stella dropped her iPhone in her brown leather bag and strode confidently back into the Marc Jacobs store, a man in a cropped pin-striped suit following close behind her. She walked past the racks of gowns, the cool air goose-bumping her skin. Blythe had a shoe box under her arm and Sophie was trying on a pair of red open-toe pumps. Cate and Priya were browsing the wall of bags, examining a neon blue clutch.
Stella stopped in front of them and cleared her throat. “Are you guys done with your off-the-rack shopping?” She glanced around disgustedly, as though she had just walked into a Salvation Army. “If you are, we should all go upstairs to Marc’s private showroom.” Stella smoothed down the skirt of her tan sateen shirtdress, waiting for the girls to process what she’d just said.
“What?” Sophie cried, dropping a red pump on the floor.
“You’re kidding.” Blythe squeezed the shoe box to her chest.
“Girls—meet Gerard, Marc’s personal assistant.” Stella stared at Cate, whose face was flushed in anger. “My mum has been close with Marc forever—we went on holiday with him three years ago. He still plays tennis with my father when he’s in London.”
“I thought your dad lived in Sydney now?” Sophie asked, tilting her head to the side. Stella bit her lip, feeling Cate’s eyes on her. Yesterday Priya and Sophie had asked her what her father was doing. She couldn’t say what she was really thinking—Cloud McClean—so she’d continued her lies and said he’d gotten a job in Sydney, and was buying Stella her very own condo overlooking Darling Harbor.
Gerard tucked his Black
Berry into the front pocket of his suit jacket, which looked like it had been shrunken in the dryer—the sleeves revealed six inches of tanned, waxed forearm. “Follow me, dolls. Marc just finished next season’s collection.” He turned and started toward the front of the store, Stella and the girls following close behind. Sophie looked over her shoulder at Cate, shooting her a look to say, Sorry…but it’s the new Marc Jacobs line. I’d shave my head to see this.
Cate’s head spun. The neon handbags seemed too bright, the fluorescent spotlights blaring. She bit her cuticle and looked at her Tiffany watch. There was only an hour and a half until tea at the Pierre. Stella had seen her Marc Jacobs dresses and raised her a designer collection.
As the girls followed Marc’s assistant up a narrow white staircase, Cate crept up behind them. Stella was a total mole, sneaking around and plotting against her, but Cate still had to see the new line.
The stairs emptied out into a wide room with stark white walls and high white tin ceilings. Light flooded in from the wall of windows, giving the room an almost holy glow, as if the girls had died and gone to designer heaven. A few headless mannequins were lined up in a row against the wall, a long rack of clothes next to them.
Gerard stopped in front of the first two mannequins. One wore a pale pink silk dress that resembled a nightgown, another a strapless floral dress paired with a structured military-style jacket in a crisp white. Sophie touched the silk fabric and smiled.
“Fabulous, yes?” Gerard cooed. “For his new spring collection Marc was playing with the idea of this youthful, angelic army. He’s using a muted color palette of pale pinks, beiges, blues, and grays mixed with black and white. Take a look around and let me know what you’d like to try on.” He made his way past the row of mannequins and brushed lint off one’s shoulder, resting his hand on its boob to hold it steady. Then he pulled out his BlackBerry and started typing furiously.