“It doesn’t sound like it from what I’ve read in the tabloids,” Betty said, blushing. She was fascinated by them, and touched by how in love they were, and now a baby. It was her mother who had mentioned Nadia to her, and who felt sorry for her. She said she was a smart, beautiful, talented woman with two little girls. This put a new spin on it for Betty, and even for Charity, as she thought about it.
“Maybe Rose’s daughter is divorcing him. Rose never talks about her personal life. She’s famous for it. She wins the prize for this one. Let’s keep it between us for now,” she said, showing more respect for their boss than Betty had expected. Charity was tough, fought for what she believed in, and had a big mouth, but she admired the editor-in-chief and her decisions, now more than ever. “It must have nearly killed her to agree to put Pascale on the cover, as the feature.” She had new respect for her. “Make that two Advil,” she said to Betty. “And a martini…just kidding about the martini,” she added so her assistant didn’t think she was a lush. The girl was very literal in her interpretations. “I’m happy I’m not writing the interview.” The staff writer who had been chosen to do it was known for her bland, upbeat pieces. She was not out to set the world on fire. She had volunteered and Rose had agreed to let her do it. Charity was now sure Rose must have been relieved by that. “Jesus, life is complicated sometimes, isn’t it?”
Charity was forty years old, divorced, and felt like she had to fight to stay on top every day. She loved the dog-eat-dog world of fashion, but underneath it, she wasn’t out to hurt anyone, just to get the best shoots she could into the magazine and build her reputation. She was looking forward to working with Pascale. It was going to be a lot more interesting and exciting than styling the First Lady, who was almost seventy years old.
Betty brought the Advil and Charity kept the bottle on her desk. She had a lot to think about. It was daunting to realize that even with something as benign as fashion, people could get hurt. She was suddenly glad the final decision to put Pascale on the cover and run an interview with her hadn’t been hers.
* * *
—
There were stacks of fabric samples in bright colors and sketches piled high on Venetia’s desk, as she dug through the piles frantically, looking for something. She had her mane of red hair pulled up helter-skelter in clips and three pencils stuck through it. She gave a victorious shout when she found what she was looking for. It was a sketch of a sexy black see-through dress for their resort collection. She went running down the hall with it to their head designer, and showed her where she had gone off course from the original design, while the designer explained to her that the fabric hadn’t responded the way they expected, and didn’t drape the way they thought it would. The way the dress fell was the whole genius of it, and they sat together for almost half an hour, playing with the fabric and altering Venetia’s design subtly until it worked.
“You are a master,” the young designer said admiringly.
“No, believe me, I’ve made plenty of mistakes. As long as we make them pre-production, we’re fine.” She squinted then, and suggested a dusting of tiny black beads and sequins, just enough to make the dress shimmer, which was Venetia’s genius. She knew just what to add and where for a surprising effect. It made every one of her evening gowns feel like a party when women put them on, and her daywear was just plain fun. Venetia was wearing jeans with a sexy red sweater and leopard platform shoes when she ran back down the hall to her office. She wore high heels to work every day, just as she always had. Nothing had changed about the way she dressed when she turned forty, or now at forty-one. She dressed like a twenty-year-old, and had the energy and figure for it. She insisted that her designs weren’t for young women, they were for everyone, and she knew that there were grandmothers who wore them, and young girls if they could afford them.
She took her hair out of the clips, and let it cascade down her back. She was wearing no makeup and didn’t need any, but her perfume was a mysterious warm aroma that she’d had made specially for her in Paris by Serge Lutens. Everything about Venetia was special, appealing, and sensual, and she worked harder than anyone in her company. Her friends and co-workers knew how much she loved her three kids and husband. She wished she could spend more time with them, she was constantly dashing to some school event, and then came back to the office to work until midnight or one a.m. Her husband, Ben, was used to it. He wanted more time with her, but knew how much her work meant to her, and he respected her enormous talent. The business model he had designed for her was working brilliantly. Her brand, Venetia Wade, was a dazzling success and sound as a bell, as her mother said.
Venetia’s cellphone rang as soon as she got back to her desk, and she saw at a glance that it was her sister in Paris. She wondered why Nadia was calling, and hoped that some new horrifying story about Nicolas hadn’t surfaced. She knew that Nadia had been through the wringer for the past month, and Venetia couldn’t imagine how she was getting through it. She and Ben had never had problems, but she realized that they were unusual and very lucky. She swore that sex three times a week was their secret for success, and her sisters couldn’t figure out how she managed it, with a company to run, six collections a year to come up with, three children to raise, one of them on the cusp of becoming a teenager, and a husband who needed her attention too.
“I barely have time to brush my teeth and go to yoga class once a month,” Olivia had said, and Athena said that she and Joe were lucky to have sex once a month. Nadia had been discreet about her sex life when the sisters had had a couple of glasses of wine and told all at Christmas. Nadia had their mother’s reserve, and they sometimes teased her for being prudish, but she still didn’t tell them what the others shared and they wanted to know. Now Nicolas was having sex with someone else. They all felt sorry for her.
“Hi, Squirt, what’s up?” Venetia addressed her and Nadia laughed. Nadia was the shortest of her sisters, and she accused them of being giants. They considered Olivia short too and she was several inches taller and a few pounds heavier than Nadia, the “baby.”
“I think Mom and Dad ran out of tall genes when they got to you two,” Athena would say to Nadia and Olivia when they got together. Athena and Venetia were even taller than their mother, who was six feet.
“I’m trying to organize a sisters’ reunion on the Fourth of July weekend,” Nadia said, sounding hesitant. It had been their mother’s idea, and Nadia was sure they would all be too busy with their mates and children, and Athena with her dogs and Joe. “What are you doing for the fourth?” Nadia asked her. Venetia stared into space and thought about it for a minute.
“We’re going to the Hamptons. I guess Ben could handle it without me. We go to our neighbor’s for a big barbecue and picnic every year.”
“I’m sure you don’t want to miss it,” Nadia said shyly and Venetia laughed.