living. But today, the woman looked sadly charming, if rather lost, in a flowing black dress with a fitted bodice that laced up into a modified corset. It had a romantic handkerchief hem and long, dipped sleeves. She wore her tangle of red curls loose, restrained only by a black silk orchid behind one ear. The full effect of Analiza’s outfit, Lacey thought, was rather like a slightly deranged Ophelia attending Hamlet’s funeral; that is, if Shakespeare had seen fit to let her live to the end of the play.
Looking like she was channeling a Breakfast at Tiffany’s vibe, Natalija Krumina turned heads in a sleek sleeveless black dress.
She rushed toward Analiza and embraced her like a sister. Lacey noticed both women’s eyes were dry. She sat down to listen to the service.
The first speaker was a very grand local actress of a certain age, wearing one of Magda’s elaborate Victorian gowns from her role as Lady Bracknell in a Washington production of The Importance of Being Earnest. She gathered up her voluminous skirts and de-claimed for the mourners a selection of famous theatrical quotes and comments on costume, clothing, and fashion, concluding with several epigrams from Oscar Wilde. “Fashion,” she quoted the great Irish playwright, “is what one wears oneself. What is un-fashionable is what other people wear.” Furthermore, as Wilde said, “One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art,”
and she noted to general laughter that “while many of Magda’s clients might not be themselves great works of art, at least they could wear them, courtesy of dear Magda.”
The other mourners included a woman Stella introduced to Lacey as Jolene Franklin, a strikingly well-tended blond beauty.
Stella had described Jolene privately to Lacey as a very high-priced Washington call girl who thought nothing of special-ordering five-hundred-dollar corsets from Magda, sometimes three or four at a time. She looked as regal as an expensive trophy wife. In her mid-thirties, Jolene Franklin was studying to be a stockbroker under her real name, whatever that was. Even Stella, the gossip bureau for the Dupont Circle hairstyling world, didn’t know. She also had some Latvian connection, Stella said, but she couldn’t recall what it was. Lacey admired the warmth and solidarity of Magda’s ethnic community. The Latvians, it seemed, had hung together after emigrating to America. Although Magda grew up in France, had spoken French from birth, and considered herself a Frenchwoman, her Latvian ties seemed stronger.
The stunning black woman who went by the name Sylvania
was another top-drawer call girl. She and Jolene often worked together, Stella said, entertaining lobbyists, diplomats, and politicians. Sitting together cozily, they presented an elegant salt and pepper set, the blond Jolene dressed all in black, and Sylvania, her chromatic opposite, wearing a tailored suit as white as the driven snow. Lacey wondered whether this appearance fell under the heading of advertising, or perhaps they were off to a joint assigna-tion after the service.
Lacey also recognized several other actors, including two young women who had each been nominees for the Helen Hayes Award, Washington’s version of the Tony Award. Magda had fitted them for costumes while Lacey watched, marveling once again at how some actresses could transform themselves into fabulous creatures on stage and yet be content to look like an unmade bed offstage. They wore no makeup and shambled into the shop in black jeans and Doc Martens, T-shirts and flip-flops. Even though it was November and the temperature a scant 60 degrees, they apparently weren’t giving up their offstage casual wear for a mere memorial service. No doubt that was fine with Magda, Lacey reflected, who often saw her clients at their most vulnerable. She worked her costumer’s magic to cover up their inadequacies with just the right undergarment, just the right perfectly turned-out gown or
Looking like she was channeling a Breakfast at Tiffany’s vibe, Natalija Krumina turned heads in a sleek sleeveless black dress.
She rushed toward Analiza and embraced her like a sister. Lacey noticed both women’s eyes were dry. She sat down to listen to the service.
The first speaker was a very grand local actress of a certain age, wearing one of Magda’s elaborate Victorian gowns from her role as Lady Bracknell in a Washington production of The Importance of Being Earnest. She gathered up her voluminous skirts and de-claimed for the mourners a selection of famous theatrical quotes and comments on costume, clothing, and fashion, concluding with several epigrams from Oscar Wilde. “Fashion,” she quoted the great Irish playwright, “is what one wears oneself. What is un-fashionable is what other people wear.” Furthermore, as Wilde said, “One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art,”
and she noted to general laughter that “while many of Magda’s clients might not be themselves great works of art, at least they could wear them, courtesy of dear Magda.”
The other mourners included a woman Stella introduced to Lacey as Jolene Franklin, a strikingly well-tended blond beauty.
Stella had described Jolene privately to Lacey as a very high-priced Washington call girl who thought nothing of special-ordering five-hundred-dollar corsets from Magda, sometimes three or four at a time. She looked as regal as an expensive trophy wife. In her mid-thirties, Jolene Franklin was studying to be a stockbroker under her real name, whatever that was. Even Stella, the gossip bureau for the Dupont Circle hairstyling world, didn’t know. She also had some Latvian connection, Stella said, but she couldn’t recall what it was. Lacey admired the warmth and solidarity of Magda’s ethnic community. The Latvians, it seemed, had hung together after emigrating to America. Although Magda grew up in France, had spoken French from birth, and considered herself a Frenchwoman, her Latvian ties seemed stronger.
The stunning black woman who went by the name Sylvania
was another top-drawer call girl. She and Jolene often worked together, Stella said, entertaining lobbyists, diplomats, and politicians. Sitting together cozily, they presented an elegant salt and pepper set, the blond Jolene dressed all in black, and Sylvania, her chromatic opposite, wearing a tailored suit as white as the driven snow. Lacey wondered whether this appearance fell under the heading of advertising, or perhaps they were off to a joint assigna-tion after the service.
Lacey also recognized several other actors, including two young women who had each been nominees for the Helen Hayes Award, Washington’s version of the Tony Award. Magda had fitted them for costumes while Lacey watched, marveling once again at how some actresses could transform themselves into fabulous creatures on stage and yet be content to look like an unmade bed offstage. They wore no makeup and shambled into the shop in black jeans and Doc Martens, T-shirts and flip-flops. Even though it was November and the temperature a scant 60 degrees, they apparently weren’t giving up their offstage casual wear for a mere memorial service. No doubt that was fine with Magda, Lacey reflected, who often saw her clients at their most vulnerable. She worked her costumer’s magic to cover up their inadequacies with just the right undergarment, just the right perfectly turned-out gown or
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