The Dollhouse - Fiona Davis Page 0,45
Then Stella heaved a deep sigh and placed her hand just inside the doorframe.
“Darby, I know you’re angry with me,” she said. “I should probably let things lie, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Walter in the park. I feel so awful. I want to make it up to you.”
Darby didn’t want to be reminded of that evening. “If you’re worried I’ll tell Mrs. Eustis that you were sneaking boys into the hotel, I assure you I won’t.”
“No, of course I know you wouldn’t do that.” Stella gave a dismissive wave of her manicured hand. “I was just hoping you’d come with me to the afternoon tea and fashion show. Please.”
Saturday’s list of events included a showing of coats and hats in the solarium. Anyone with a bit of sense would know that fashion shows weren’t for girls like Darby. But she had no desire to speak such humiliating words to Stella.
“I have too much work to do,” she said instead. That much was true, anyway.
Stella lowered her voice. “I don’t want you to think I’m like the other Ford girls. I only hang around with them because the agency likes us to be seen together.” She paused and offered Darby a wicked smile. “Plus, they attract all the best boys. But today you can meet my dear friend Charlotte. I think you two’ll get along swimmingly.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You remind me of her. She’s in publishing, smart as a whip, speaks her mind. And though she comes from an upper-crust family in Boston, she isn’t at all a snob. She’s on the twelfth floor, with some other career girls.”
Career girls in publishing. The words enticed.
Stella jumped on her hesitation. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise. And if you don’t, you can leave anytime.”
True. It wasn’t like she’d be trapped in the dark with a groper. She nodded.
Up on the eighteenth floor, the day was sunny and clear, rendering stunning views across the city through the solarium’s glass walls. The length of the space had been made into a kind of runway, with wrought iron chairs placed along the walls, while a trio played classical music at the back. Stella waved at a striking-looking girl who had saved a couple of seats. There was only time for quick introductions before Mrs. Eustis stepped up onto the raised platform at the top of the runway.
“Thank you, girls, for coming to our fall fashion show at the Barbizon Hotel for Women. Today you’ll get a sense of the styles for the upcoming season and have a chance to add to your wardrobes without even leaving the residence. How exciting is that?”
“God forbid we venture into the real world and buy something inappropriate,” Charlotte murmured into Darby’s ear.
Mrs. Eustis continued on. “As guests of the hotel, we encourage you to take full advantage of everything New York City has to offer. Fun and fashion are at your fingertips daily.”
“Excellent use of alliteration.” Charlotte again.
“As long as we don’t get fingered by the fun,” added Stella.
Darby almost choked as she turned a gasp of laughter into a cough and drew Mrs. Eustis’s disapproving look.
“I hope you’ll enjoy the show, and if there are any items you find particularly compelling, you may put them on your account. And now, let us begin.”
The back doors opened and a dozen or so lithe women drifted down the aisle to the platform, where they each performed a slow turn. A cream felt cloche covered in matching cutout flowers garnered nods of approval, while a wide-brimmed scarlet hat, perched on the top of a model’s head like a flying saucer, drew polite applause. The show finished with a bang: a heavy black coat made of a fabric covered in tight black curls—the announcer called it poodle cloth—topped by a small-brimmed hat with a black ribbon that stiffened into a peak at the front, like a sculpture of bird wings extending to the sky.
After, as they were herded to the lounge for tea, Darby examined Charlotte and Stella more closely. Stella wore a daffodil-yellow afternoon dress that softened her figure, while Charlotte’s knit one-piece hugged her angular frame, with its sharp shoulders and long torso. To be perfectly honest, Charlotte was far from attractive, with small dark eyes and a crooked nose, but her lips were luscious and carefully drawn in with oxblood-red lipstick. A severe pageboy hairstyle framed her rather chipmunklike cheeks.
Darby had never seen anyone quite like Charlotte before. In Darby’s world, girls were either