A man in black tails and white gloves who I had never seen before appeared by the front door, holding it open as Myrna approached, and she walked straight outside without breaking stride.
‘You’ve got a butler?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘Where was he when I arrived?’
‘Calling the driver,’ she replied as a huge silver Rolls-Royce drove around the side of the house and stopped right in front of us.
‘You’ve got a driver?’
‘Darling, don’t be so gauche,’ she warned as the driver opened the passenger door in his grey uniform and matching peaked cap. ‘One does not need help whenone has money. If Myrna Moore throws a party, it will be the party of the century. Wally wouldn’t want me to go out with a whimper when I deserve a bang.’
Again, I wasn’t sure what kind of bang she meant but was certain that if she wanted it, no human on earth would dare say no.
‘I’ve hired the best event planner in town and given him a blank cheque. I expect I’ll be bankrupt by morning but what am I saving for? I could be dead before we get the next rainy day in LA. So you see, there is nothing for us to “do” for the party, other than attend.’
I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. The last party I went to was a colleague’s daughter’s first birthday and it ended when the baby’s dad (who had one job) bought a knockoff Colin the Caterpillar cake instead of a proper M&S one and the last I’d heard, they were getting divorced.
‘Can I ask where we’re going?’
She tossed her cane across the back seat and gave me a filthy look while the driver moved swiftly around the back of the car to open the other door for me. I entered head first like Alice down the rabbit hole only to find it wasn’t a car at all, it was a hotel room on wheels. Myrna relaxed against the supple cream leather and turned to me with one perfectly arched eyebrow.
‘We’re going shopping,’ she said, not bothering with a seatbelt even as we started off down the driveway. ‘If you’re going to attend one of my soirees, I’d like to know you will be properly attired.’
‘Just so you know,’ I replied, hoping to strike the balance between tact and panic, ‘I am on a limited budget.’
Myrna pressed a button and a crystal-clear glass screen rose between us and the driver. ‘Just so you know, I am not.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And I loathe penny pinchers,’ she added, glowering at me from across the car.
‘How do you feel about shoplifters?’
She peered down at the strappy leather sandals I’d liberated from Suzanne’s wardrobe and I felt my toes turn in towards each other like an anxious pigeon. ‘I don’t hate your shoes today,’ she said. ‘Congratulations.’
Basking in the warm glow of her compliment, I nodded my thanks, mentally apologizing to my credit card and preparing us both for whatever she had in store.
‘Myrna, I look like a Minion.’
The sales assistant raised a hand to hide a snigger, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. Displayed on a raised dais in the private dressing room of a Beverly Hills boutique, I lifted my arms and an explosion of blue tulle sprang to life, floating up around the canary-yellow bodice and threatening to swallow me whole.
‘I saw that movie,’ Myrna sniffed. ‘Those horrible little things, running around, up to no good. It reminded me of Congress. But I agree this is not the dress for you.’ She turned to the assistant with a smile as sweet as honey. ‘Do you have anything a little less formal?’ she purred. ‘She can’t carry something this, shall we say, avant garde? Simple and sophisticated, I think, is what we’re going for.’
The woman disappeared through a soft-closing door, leaving us alone with a magnum of champagne,a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, three different kinds of bottled water and a platter of expensive-looking meat, cheese and fruit that I fully intended to wrap in napkins and stick in my handbag for later when Myrna wasn’t looking.
I flopped to the floor and the tulle mushroom cloud masquerading as a dress puffed up around me. ‘We must have been to every shop in the city – you didn’t like any of the dresses?’
‘Nonsense, we’ve been to three,’ she replied. ‘And no, I did not. Off the rack has only gotten worse over the years, I should have known better than to expect to find something this easily.’
Straining, I reached for a grape and only a grape and popped it in my mouth. I didn’t dare eat anything else until I was out of this extremely restrictive corset. ‘I buy most of my clothes online. Shopping gives me anxiety.’
‘You don’t like shopping; it does not give you anxiety,’ she clucked. ‘If anything was to trouble your mental well-being, it should be those dungarees you insist on wearing. We ought to set them on fire and bury the remains to ensure no one else has to suffer them.’
‘But then I’d have to walk around in my underwear,’ I replied. ‘Hardly very ladylike.’
‘It may be preferable,’ Myrna commented. ‘And from what I see people wearing these days, entirely de rigueur.’
The plush dressing room smelled like expensive candles and money, and there were racks and racks of gowns Myrna had selected, considered and found wanting, lining the stark white walls, a magpie’s nestof gold and silver beading, iridescent sequins and shimmering, liquid fabrics.
‘How fancy is your party going to be?’ I asked as Myrna reached for her mimosa. Technically, it was a mimosa in that she showed her champagne the jug of orange juice, even if very little made it into the actual glass. ‘Shouldn’t we be looking for something for you to wear?’
