Some like it hot: an A-list novel Page 16

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  Maddy smiled wanly. "I'd love that, Anna, but I can only afford about maybe ... fifty dollars?"

  Cammie was aghast. "For what, a lipstick?"

  Anna looked pointedly at Sam; Sam picked up on the glance immediately. "Know what, everyone? I have an idea: definitive makeover for this girl. Makeup, hair, nails. And for God's sake, a new gown. On us. What do you say?"

  Dee nodded. "Great idea. I'm feeling it."

  Anna took in Maddy's uncertain face. "You deserve it, Maddy. You've earned it. Let us do this for you."

  She meant every word. For a while there, insecurity about Ben had stupidly gotten in the way of her usual belief in the power of kindness. She was not going to let that happen again. Every once in a while, a situation came along where she could use the advantages life had given her to make someone else's life a bit better. This was definitely one of those situations.

  Maddy gulped hard. "Wow. You must be the four nicest girls on the whole planet."

  "Not exactly," Dee observed. "One of us is too nice, two of us are rarely nice, and one of us--that would be me--has neuropsychological issues."

  This truth went over Maddy's head completely. "But what about appointments for hair and stuff?" she asked. "My prom is tonight ."

  Sam dug her BlackBerry cell phone out of her limited-edition gold Fendi spy bag and pressed Kiki's speed dial. "If you're rich enough and famous enough, you don't need an appointment. Maddy McGee, welcome to the City of Angels."

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  Perfect Little Waist"It's good to be the queen," Sam remarked with -L exaggerated hauteur, as she watched Suki, an expert in the patented Japanese thermal reconditioning hair process called the Yuko System, go to town on Maddy. The Yuko System would transform her long frizzy mess into glossy, pin-straight, perfect hair. That is, until the new frizz began to grow in; then the process would have to be redone. The Yuko System was five hundred dollars a pop, exclusive of washing, styling, and blow dry.

  No one ever said beauty came cheap.

  It was an hour and a half since they'd left the sushi restaurant, and the girls were gathered in Sam's twelve-hundred-square-foot bedroom suite; Maddy sat before a dresser mirror on a hard-back chair that Roger, the butler, had brought up from the den and positioned on top of an artist's dropcloth. Suki had cheerfully explained during the early part of Maddy's process that she'd been born at Encino-Tarzana Medical Center and been christened Krissy Atkinson. Once she'd embraced Japanese thermal reconditioning as her professional

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  calling--eschewing a gig at the Supercuts in Sherman Oaks--Krissy/Suki had given herself an appropriate Japanese-sounding name. She claimed it had increased her business by a factor of five.

  While Maddy was being reconditioned, Sam lolled on her California king bed with the clean, silver-poled, roofless canopy. Her notion had been, since time was of the essence, to bring the mountain to Maddy--hair, makeup artist, etc. In a matter of a couple of hours, the makeover project had turned her room into prom central for all of them.

  Across the room from Maddy, Cammie was sitting at a nail tech's portable table. Meanwhile, Dee was in the bathroom, getting a seaweed wrap from Katarina from Spa 310. Her escort, Marshall, had been content to wait downstairs in Jackson's library, though Sam had graciously offered him a thermal reconditioning process too.

  All this activity meant that Sam and Anna would start with the personal attention of Gillian Garrett, a professional shopper and stylist on retainer for two of the major movie studios. It would be Gillian's job to help them peruse the various prom dresses she'd brought over in a panel truck--they currently hung on the costume rack in Sam's five-hundred-square-foot closet.

  Tall, thin, heavily tattooed, and multiply pierced, raven-haired Gillian was known for her own quirky couture, such as creating dresses from shower curtains, glitter, and a glue gun. Where she really shone, though, was shopping for others. Based on a quick description

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  of the client and his or her tastes, she had a sixth sense for the styles and designers that would be a perfect match.

  "Remember when we got dressed her for your dad's wedding, Sam?" Dee called through the open stained-mahogany bathroom door. "I found that great gown for you but you didn't want to wear it because it was size ..." Her voice trailed off. "Never mind. Your dress size is not important. Real beauty comes from within."

  "Quoth the size nothing," Sam quipped, drawing her legs up and crossing them. "Okay, Gillian, show us what you got. Start with her." She hitched her thumb toward Anna, who sat on a pale pink leather desk chair.

  Gillian checked her notes. "You're the ... five-foot-eight size four who likes clean lines and classics. Right?"

  "Yes, exactly."

  Sam could see Anna was impressed. Good. She was about to prove that she knew Anna better than Anna knew herself. She'd been very careful with Gillian, very specific, in describing what kind of gown should be brought for each of her friends and Maddy. She was a director, dammit, and a director had to have an eye for that kind of thing.

  There were six possibilities for each of them. Anna eyeballed the dresses and narrowed the choice down to two: a sleeveless black silk Oscar de la Renta that fell in a chic narrow column almost to the floor and a strapless Chanel haute couture gown of the palest silver, pleated over the bust and very fitted, which dipped in the back to the waist.

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  "Try the Chanel," Gillian instructed. She stood off to the side with her arms crossed, as if she could divine the proper dress for Anna just by observing her.

  Anna did, and then stepped in front of Sam's 270-degree full-length mirror.

  "That dress looks as if it were made for you." The stylist was pleased. "Have you ever considered modeling?"

  "I'm only five-eight," Anna demurred. She turned her back to the gold-gilded mirror that had been imported from Germany and looked over her shoulder.

  "I know you're not worried about the butt view," Sam opined. "You look perfect coming and going, for which you should die a slow and painful death."

  Maddy, whose head was now bathed in chemicals and covered in a robin's-egg blue Gore-Tex wrap, admired Anna from across the room. "Wow. I would kill to be as skinny as you are."

  Gillian took a small pad of paper from her back pocket, scribbled the gown's price on the top sheet, and passed it to Anna, who nodded at the four-figure price tag. Like her mother always said, you got what you paid for.

  "Lovely. I'll take it."

  "Excellent." Gillian pocketed the paper. "Well, you were easy. Who's next?"

  "Let's get it over with," Sam muttered as she stood up and started to pull off her clothes. What the hell. All her friends knew what she looked like in her pink silk La Perla underwear--a prizewinning pear that not even stomach stapling could improve.

  Sam had insisted on black. Gillian had followed her

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  instructions ... partly. Four of the dresses were indeed black. Another was midnight blue, and the sixth was forest green. The green Monique Lhuillier was out on principle--in sixth grade Sam had worn a green skirt and her so-called friend Blu had chortled that her ass looked like the Jolly Green Giant on steroids. It had taken a full year of psychotherapy with Dr. Fred to get past that one. She worked her way through the hip-hiding black dresses: an off-the-shoulder drop-waisted Lanvin and a John Galliano bias-cut chiffon number with pleats that began at various places between her waist and her thighs. Neither of them was right. Nor were the Bill Blass and the Stella McCartney that followed.

  Shit ."You're not happy," Gillian surmised. "Try the midnight blue one for me."

  Sam dubiously fingered the soft, blue textured silk gown.

  Gillian nodded. "I know what you're thinking. It'll make your hips show. Trust my instincts, Sam. It's why you hired me. That's the very first one that I pulled for you. The cut is amazing, designed to show off your manubrium."

  "The upper part of your sternum," Anna translated
.

  "From which your clavicle and your first two ribs articulate," Sam added. "I didn't sleep through biology, thank you very much. Fine. I'll try it. Although I don't know what's so fucking hot about exposing your manubrium."

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  Gillian helped her slip the blue Emanuel Ungaro over her head. A layer of braided chiffon encircled her neck and continued down the center of her chest to the tops of her breasts. The three inches of chiffon across the bust were skintight, but then the dress fell into floaty folds of material, disguising Sam's lower body and emphasizing her upper body.

  "Get it made for you in every color," Cammie decreed, as Gillian zipped Sam up.

  Sam admired her reflection.

  Damn . She looked good. Possibly even ... really good.

  "That is an amazing dress," Anna agreed warmly.

  Huh . Sam checked out the always-dangerous rear view. Her butt and hips were hidden. Her crappy-ass fat legs were hidden. If only Eduardo could see her in it tonight.

  "Sold," Sam declared. "You're a genius, Gillian."

  "The price." Gillian scribbled on another piece of paper.

  "Screw the prices Gillian," Sam declared. "Since when do we care about price?"

  "How nice." Gillian smiled. "And Sam, that dress is a size--"

  "Don't tell me!" Sam interrupted, clapping her hands over her ears. "Don't ruin the moment! I don't want to know."

  Gillian held up eight fingers.

  Sam lowered her hands. "You're shitting me."

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  The stylist shook her head. "The only place the dress is fitted is where you're small."

  "I should get this made in every color," Sam chortled. "We so need champagne to celebrate."

  Gillian unzipped her; Sam stepped out of her dress and picked up the portable phone on her 1930s antique French Art Deco nightstand. A moment later, she'd called the kitchen and arranged for refreshments. Meanwhile, Maddy returned from the shower in Sam's floral cashmere robe, having just washed the Yuko chemicals out of her hair.

  "I wish I was you," she sighed.

  Huh . What a strange comment. Sam considered all the times she'd looked at other girls who were prettier or thinner or who had hotter boyfriends and had thought exactly the same thing. Then she realized what Maddy had meant--to live in a place like this, with stylists and manicurists who came to your house, where money was no object and anything you wanted was at your beck and call.

  She shrugged inwardly. Life was weird. Sometimes you were the windshield of the Jensen Interceptor, sometime you were the bug. This was her world. She hadn't asked for it, hadn't done anything to merit it. It was just the way it was. That she could welcome Maddy into it for an afternoon made her genuinely happy.

  When Anna went into the bathroom for her facial from Katarina, Sam took the manicure seat to watch Cammie choose her prom dress. Cammie's selection

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  was instantaneous--a draped white satin Versace so tight that it would be impossible to wear underwear, not even a thong. Casually, she stripped down to the buff, careful not to smudge her fresh manicure, and then let Gillian do the dozens of tiny hooks hidden by a row of pearls that fastened the dress.

  One glance in the mirror was all Cammie needed to approve.

  Christ . Cammie looked like every guy's fantasy: luminous, pouty-lipped face; strawberry blond Boticelli curls down her back; high, full breasts; tiny waist; curvy hips; and no underwear. Sam was tempted to call the kitchen and cancel the food order, vowing never to eat again.

  As Cammie took another moment to admire herself, Suki flat-ironed Maddy's hair--the second-to-last step in the process before the chemical neutralizes Meanwhile, Dee stepped forward to choose her gown. Gillian had intuited that tiny Dee would be easily overwhelmed by too much fabric, so she suggested a simple but fitted strapless pastel pink Roland Mouret gown with a white overlay.

  Sam's BlackBerry rang. "Yeah?" she answered, eyes on Cammie prancing around in that damn gorgeous dress. If it was the kitchen, she would cancel the food order.

  It wasn't. Instead, it was Monty, out in Palmdale, giving her an update on the filming. Everything was going according to schedule. He'd interviewed the caterer, the

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  band's manager, the florists, the parking attendants, and the security people, just as Sam had directed.

  "You asked them all the questions I gave you?" Sam queried, now all business.

  "Check," Monty replied. "Do I get an AD credit?"

  "We'll see. How about Fee and Jazz?"

  "I just talked to them," Monty reported. "They're having a blast with their handhelds."

  Sam smiled. Everything was covered. She was so busy that she wasn't even obsessing about Eduardo. She had a dress that fit her. It didn't get any better than this. Well, it did. She could be going to prom with Eduardo. But this was a very, very nice second best.

  The food--caviar and hand-cracked sesame wafers, melted Brie with slivered almonds, a fruit platter of sliced kiwi, passion fruit, tangerines, and peaches and Taittinger compte de champagne rosé--had been delivered and consumed, and Maddy's hair was finally done. Sam had the stylists and her friends remove or cover all the mirrors, decreeing that Maddy could not see herself until the makeover was complete. Sam knew that what they were doing was goddamn archetypal.

  "I can't fucking believe that we're doing Clueless " she told her friends.

  "Ten Things I Hate About You," Cammie chimed in.

  "She's All That," Dee commented.

  "Drive Me Crazy" Cammie added.

  "Never Been Kissed."

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  "Pretty in Pink."

  Anna spoke up. "I get it. Like Pygmalion ."

  Cammie shot her a withering look. " Pygmalion ? No, Anna. Pygmalion is not the topper to that list. The topper to that list is Not Another Teen Movie."

  "How does my hair look?" Maddy asked nervously.

  "Sensational," Dee assured her, nodding her head vigorously. "When my hair grows out I'm going to do it too. I swear."

  "Remember, you must keep it absolutely dry for the next forty-eight hours," Suki reminded her, as she pumped her own vanity-brand glossing spray over Maddy's new-look straight 'do. "Don't even sweat around your hairline. I'm serious."

  "I promise." Maddy gave Sam an uncertain look. "I'm sure this costs a fortune."

  Sam waved her off. "I told you. Money is no object today. It feels good to do something nice for a change."

  "Don't worry," Cammie immediately chimed in. "Her inner shrew is still alive and well. And for what it's worth ... I'm glad we did this for you, too."

  Sam laughed. "Geez, I hope someone recorded that comment for posterity."

  Gillian moved to the clothes rack. "Maddy, Sam described your style as Anna Nicole Smith with taste."

  "I wish." Maddy gazed anxiously at the selection of prom dresses. "They all look too small."

  "You think you're bigger than you are, probably," Anna assured her. She poured a small glass of

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  champagne and offered it to the girl, thinking it might calm her a bit. "Why don't you just pick your favorite?"

  Maddy waved off the champagne and surveyed the dresses. "I just... I have no idea."

  "Mind?" Cammie stepped in front of Maddy and held up a jewel-toned floral print silk gown by Tashia. "Out--it will make you look like fat walking wallpaper." She tossed the dress onto Sam's bed and moved on to the next, an Asian-inspired aqua-and-black cashmere gown with a wide satin sash just below the bust. "Also out. You'll look pregnant. Let's see ... the red Ya-Ya is definitely out." She shot Gillian a disdainful look. "No one over a size six should wear red, for God's sake. The purple Emanuel Ungaro just all around sucks, which leaves us with ..."

  Cammie lifted a two-piece lavender silk top-and-ballgown combination by Marc Jacobs. "Ah. This."

  "I like it," Anna declared.

  Maddy hesitated. "Lavender? Won't I look bigger in lavender?"

  Cammie thrust the padded, scented
hanger toward Maddy. "Rarely do I say anything remotely supportive, but if this doesn't look hot on you, I'll go to prom naked."

  "Cammie, you're an exhibitionist. You'd like to go to prom naked."

  Sam stifled a snort and grinned at Dee, who was sitting on the floor by the food, nibbling on a piece of passion fruit. Since when was Dee Young funny on purpose?

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  Maddy shyly took the hanger. "Can I change in the bathroom?"

  "Be my guest," Sam told her.

  While Maddy was changing, Gillian opened a large steamer trunk that contained dozens of pairs of shoes in various sizes. With her excellent taste, she'd brought Manolos, Jimmy Choos, Gravatis, and Baldinis that perfectly complimented all of their gowns, in sizes from five to ten. "When you're done with everything else, knock yourselves out."

  "Here goes nothing!" Maddy called from the bathroom.

  "Hold on!" Sam instructed. She quickly double-checked the mirrors. They were still all covered. "Okay, come out."

  Maddy stepped into a room rendered speechless.

  The lavender bustier top showed off her impressive cleavage and creamy shoulders. It ended an inch above where the full-cut floor-length skirt began. The combination was a miracle. There was skin, but no adipose tissue.

  "Well?" Maddy asked anxiously, as she stood just outside the bathroom door.

  "Wait until you see." Anna grinned, motioning Maddy toward the mirrors. "You look like a princess."

  "A big, fat princess?" Maddy worried. "When can I see?"

  "Soon," Sam assured her. "After Valerie is done with you."

  "Who's Valerie?"

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  Sam clicked open her BlackBerry and pressed speed dial. "Roger? Send Valerie up, please."

  Two minutes later, the renowned eyebrow queen of Los Angeles stepped into Sam's room. Slim, blond, and in better shape than most women ten years younger, Valerie had done the brows of anyone who was anyone in Hollywood. And she was about to do Maddy's.

  "I don't do house calls; this is a favor to your father," Valerie told Sam disinterestedly, gazing around at the group. Her eyes landed on Maddy. "You, with the uni-brow. You're the one, right?"

  Maddy, who still stood by the bathroom door in her prom dress, nodded and rubbed the faint pelt between her brows self-consciously. "I tried waxing. It hurt."