Searching for Grace Kelly by Michael Callahan Page A

of
Vogue
. She’d taken off her fitted jacket and tossed it on the arm of the adjacent sofa, and her legs were crossed, as if she were waiting to be called into a doctor’s office.
    â€œHey there,” Laura said as Dolly approached. “Out early today?”
    â€œOnly a half-hour,” Dolly said, plopping down onto the sofa. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you still be at
Mademoiselle
? Don’t tell me they’re tired of you after only three days.”
    â€œI had to return a bunch of dresses they used in a shoot all over town, and they told me I didn’t have to come back after I was done. So I had a little snack at Isle of Capri and then came home. But it’s too stuffy to sit in the room.” She closed the magazine. “I was going to treat myself to a milk shake in the coffee shop. Wanna come?”
    Dolly took in Laura’s figure, the way her bosom tapered to her narrow waist. She would love a milk shake. “No, I ate late.”
    â€œYou seem distracted. What’s going on?”
    Plenty
, Dolly wanted to say. This morning Bertrand Shaw had walked up to her desk as she was typing, perched himself on the edge, looked down at her, and said, “Well, I took your advice.”
    She’d almost lost her breath. “What . . . Really? How so?”
    â€œWell,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “let’s just say someone is going to be getting a very nice bouquet of white gardenias very soon.”
    Dolly had silently thanked God she was sitting. She might have fainted right there on the spot if she’d been caught in the hallway having this conversation. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
    â€œI’m hopeful,” he said, sliding off and heading to his office.
    Laura was looking at her expectantly, but Dolly couldn’t risk jinxing it. No, better to wait. “Nothing much,” she replied. “Any news from Box? Are you guys still going to El Morocco Saturday night?”
    It had been two days since the luncheon at Barnes & Foster, and Laura hadn’t heard a word. She’d succumbed to love-story hysteria and come back and told Dolly and Vivian everything that had happened the first day at
Mademoiselle
, breezing past the intimidating welcome from Cat Eyes before settling into a blow-by-blow recitation of the next chapter in the Box Barnes saga, right up to its cinematic staircase crescendo. Their disparate reactions had been predictable: Vivian warned her that he was a cad who would never follow through and who was probably at that very moment in bed with a Broadway dancer; Dolly already had Laura shopping for a trousseau at B. Altman. Laura hated being thrown off balance like this, of having her level of happiness so quickly altered by the affections of a man with whom she was barely acquainted and who she strongly suspected had the propensity to behave badly.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I mean, he hasn’t officially canceled. But he hasn’t confirmed, either. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I still have nothing to wear.”
    A clipped British voice behind her interrupted. “I suspect, in fact, you do.”
    Vivian circled around and took a seat in the chair next to Laura’s, setting down a huge cardboard box onto the floor. A huge black B&F stared up at them in script, partially obscured by a wide green satin ribbon tied in a bow across the lid. “This was at the front desk. Special delivery,” Vivian said.
    Laura slid the card out from under the ribbon. FOR THE PRETTIEST GIRL AT THE BALL. I HAD TO GUESS THE SIZE, BUT THINK I GOT IT RIGHT. UNTIL SATURDAY—B .
    Dolly practically ripped the card from her hands. “I think it’s safe to say your date is still on.”
    A few of the other girls walking by had slowed down to glance over, and Laura suddenly felt self-conscious. “Let’s go upstairs. I feel like a