Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [81]
Paris ordered a glass of wine. Damn, she thought irritably, is Didi going to crack now, just when I need him the most? Am I going to have to do all the work?
“What’s the plat du jour?” she asked icily.
“Argentine rice and beans.”
Paris began to laugh. “Oh, Didi, here I am—the famous couturier-to-be, on the very eve of her success, eating rice and beans at a zinc!”
Didi grinned. “You want rice and beans, then?”
“Of course I do—I’m starving. I just realized I’ve had nothing to eat today. And you, too, I suppose.” She patted his shoulder and leaned forward to kiss him. “I’m sorry, Didi. I didn’t mean to be difficult, I just feel so … wound up. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, and now it’s here I’m determined that nothing shall go wrong. Am I being very hard on everyone?”
“Not when you put it like that.” Didi grinned, wiping the fuchsia lipstick from his cheek. “We’re all a bit tired, that’s all.”
“Tired?” Paris dug into her rice and beans. “I’m not tired. I could go on all night—and if necessary that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“Okay, okay. Just allow us lesser mortals to ease up a bit now and then—the odd ten-minute break, a sandwich, a drink … you know, the staff of life….”
“Right!” Paris put down her fork and signaled the bartender. “I want to order some champagne,” she said as Didi stared at her in surprise.
“Of course, madame.”
“A dozen bottles of the best you’ve got,” said Paris grandly, “and trays of hors d’oeuvres—to be sent over the road to the hotel at eight o’clock this evening.”
“Twelve bottles of the best … you’ll ruin us, Paris!” groaned Didi.
“We are already ruined. We’ve spent our money—and more besides. What difference does a few bottles of champagne make? And it’s got to be decent champagne—I’m not going to give my models a headache before the show. Oh, Didi, tomorrow we’ll be successful and you won’t give twelve bottles of champagne a second thought. That reminds me,” she added, sliding off the stool and heading for the door. “Have the drinks arrived for tomorrow?”
“Not yet.” Didi paid the bill and followed her. “But they will. I’ll call as soon as I get back.” You had to admit, she didn’t forget a thing.
Paris felt elation zing through her veins as the dancers swung down the catwalk behind Naomi, outrageous in her tiny wedding gown. Six dancers, elegant in white tie and tails, formed her handsome escort, the lighting man had the pinspots perfectly, and at last the crackle had gone from the speakers. The voice of Fred Astaire singing “Night and Day” added romance to the scene as Naomi, smiling demurely, paused at the end of the runway. The lights zapped up suddenly as the music switched to something by the Eurythmics and the other models strode back onto the runway in the brilliant chemises they had worn at the beginning.
God, they looked fabulous—just fabulous. Leaping from her chair where she’d been checking the timing and each outfit to make sure everyone wore the right accessories with the right garment, and that their makeup and hair was as perfect as they could get it, Paris burst into applause.
“Bravo, bravo,” she called, “you are all wonderful. I think we’ve finally got it right. Now, I know you must all be exhausted.” Groans followed her words. “All right, all right. As soon as you get out of those clothes, champagne will be served.”
Cheers and whistles came from the runway and Paris laughed again. She’d forgotten that they were so young and—unlike the professional models—so unblasé. They’d worked bloody hard and the champagne was only a small return. After tomorrow, she thought, stretching her aching back, I’ll be able to give them all a bonus.
The bottles had been standing in their ice buckets for over an hour since the waiter had delivered them at eight o’clock. The ice had turned to water, but the wine was still cold as Didi eased out the corks and poured.
“The first one’s for you,” he said, handing Paris a glass. She took his hand, smiling fondly at him.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yes, you could,” said Didi, “but thank you anyway.