when she and Joelen spent hours in Bunny’s dressing room, sampling her skin creams and applying her lipstick—a strawberry red called Fraises des Bois—and trying on gowns and costumes. Chiffon and satin, feathers and sequins, leather and metallic lamé. Then adorning themselves with pounds of costume jewelry.
But the last thing Deirdre needed right now was a getup that drew attention to herself. “Even with a paper bag over my head I’ll still be recognizable. I can’t get around without this,” she said, indicating her crutch.
“When I’m done with you, you’ll be able to bump right into them, crutch and all, and they won’t so much as blink. You’ll see.”
“Bunny used to be a magician’s assistant,” Joelen said. “She once performed with the legendary John Jasper.”
“Deirdre’s probably never heard of him, have you, dear?” Bunny said. “He wasn’t a celebrity so much as a magician’s magician. Brilliant guy. He could do anything. Make anything disappear, including the teeth right out of your mouth. He was injured doing the bullet catch onstage in Piccadilly. Died a day later. Death by misadventure. If the police had understood how the trick was done, they’d have done more investigating.” She shook her head, then gave a wicked smile and a wave of her hand. “In John’s early days, I was the eye candy. That’s the whole point of having an assistant. To distract. Though he didn’t need me. He was that damned good. But here we have the opposite problem.” She pursed her lips. “We don’t want you to disappear. We just want to make you appear invisible.”
Invisibility. Now there was a goal worth aspiring to.
The facing walls of the dressing room were mirrored, reflecting back an infinitely repeating version of Deirdre’s frazzled self. Deirdre dropped her gaze to Bunny’s makeup table. It was also mirrored, and sitting on top was a gilt-framed ink-and-watercolor portrait of Bunny. She addressed the viewer with a direct gaze, a knowing gleam in her eyes, her chin resting on her curled fingers. Tendrils of silky black hair framed her face. She looked like a grown-up, worldly, and slightly naughty version of a Breck girl.
Outside the border framing Bunny’s face, the illustrator had drawn a heart-shaped bottle filled with brilliant blue liquid. The word CERULEAN was lettered in gold on the bottle, and beneath it in script were the words Fragrance for women. The liquid in the bottle matched the brilliant blue the artist had used to color Bunny’s eyes.
Bunny grabbed the framed picture and laid it facedown on the dressing table. “No one’s supposed to see that,” she said. “It’s all very hush-hush, so you must promise me you won’t tell a soul. They’re not launching the product for a while yet, and I don’t want to jinx it. But isn’t it exciting?”
Joelen caught Deirdre’s attention in the mirror and rubbed her fingers and thumb together. “Mom will be the official spokesperson.”
“A little old-style Hollywood glamour,” Bunny said. “Still sells. If Sophia Loren can do it, why not Elenor Nichol? I’ve still got it.” She stood for a moment, chin up, hip cocked, admiring herself in the mirror.
“Yes, Mother dear.” Joelen rolled her eyes. “Remember the last time Deirdre was here? You let her borrow that yellow dress.”
“Did I?” Bunny said.
“Lace with a high neck,” Deirdre said. “It was the most gorgeous dress I’d ever worn, before or since.”
“Oh dear, that is a sad story.” Bunny gave Deirdre a sharp, appraising look. “You could probably still get into that dress. I’m sure I could not.”
Deirdre shivered at the thought of actually stepping into the torn, soiled dress. How different it would be from when she’d first put her arms through the sleeves on the night of her last sleepover.
That night, while the caterers were busy downstairs setting up for the party, Joelen and Deirdre sat and watched from the floor of this
But the last thing Deirdre needed right now was a getup that drew attention to herself. “Even with a paper bag over my head I’ll still be recognizable. I can’t get around without this,” she said, indicating her crutch.
“When I’m done with you, you’ll be able to bump right into them, crutch and all, and they won’t so much as blink. You’ll see.”
“Bunny used to be a magician’s assistant,” Joelen said. “She once performed with the legendary John Jasper.”
“Deirdre’s probably never heard of him, have you, dear?” Bunny said. “He wasn’t a celebrity so much as a magician’s magician. Brilliant guy. He could do anything. Make anything disappear, including the teeth right out of your mouth. He was injured doing the bullet catch onstage in Piccadilly. Died a day later. Death by misadventure. If the police had understood how the trick was done, they’d have done more investigating.” She shook her head, then gave a wicked smile and a wave of her hand. “In John’s early days, I was the eye candy. That’s the whole point of having an assistant. To distract. Though he didn’t need me. He was that damned good. But here we have the opposite problem.” She pursed her lips. “We don’t want you to disappear. We just want to make you appear invisible.”
Invisibility. Now there was a goal worth aspiring to.
The facing walls of the dressing room were mirrored, reflecting back an infinitely repeating version of Deirdre’s frazzled self. Deirdre dropped her gaze to Bunny’s makeup table. It was also mirrored, and sitting on top was a gilt-framed ink-and-watercolor portrait of Bunny. She addressed the viewer with a direct gaze, a knowing gleam in her eyes, her chin resting on her curled fingers. Tendrils of silky black hair framed her face. She looked like a grown-up, worldly, and slightly naughty version of a Breck girl.
Outside the border framing Bunny’s face, the illustrator had drawn a heart-shaped bottle filled with brilliant blue liquid. The word CERULEAN was lettered in gold on the bottle, and beneath it in script were the words Fragrance for women. The liquid in the bottle matched the brilliant blue the artist had used to color Bunny’s eyes.
Bunny grabbed the framed picture and laid it facedown on the dressing table. “No one’s supposed to see that,” she said. “It’s all very hush-hush, so you must promise me you won’t tell a soul. They’re not launching the product for a while yet, and I don’t want to jinx it. But isn’t it exciting?”
Joelen caught Deirdre’s attention in the mirror and rubbed her fingers and thumb together. “Mom will be the official spokesperson.”
“A little old-style Hollywood glamour,” Bunny said. “Still sells. If Sophia Loren can do it, why not Elenor Nichol? I’ve still got it.” She stood for a moment, chin up, hip cocked, admiring herself in the mirror.
“Yes, Mother dear.” Joelen rolled her eyes. “Remember the last time Deirdre was here? You let her borrow that yellow dress.”
“Did I?” Bunny said.
“Lace with a high neck,” Deirdre said. “It was the most gorgeous dress I’d ever worn, before or since.”
“Oh dear, that is a sad story.” Bunny gave Deirdre a sharp, appraising look. “You could probably still get into that dress. I’m sure I could not.”
Deirdre shivered at the thought of actually stepping into the torn, soiled dress. How different it would be from when she’d first put her arms through the sleeves on the night of her last sleepover.
That night, while the caterers were busy downstairs setting up for the party, Joelen and Deirdre sat and watched from the floor of this
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