Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 65
“Really?” says Judd with interest. “My grandmother comes from Cornwall. I’ll have to ask her about it!”
“Only in some bits of Cornwall,” I explain. “Just in the pointy bits.”
Judd and Kent give each other puzzled looks — then both burst into laughter.
“Your British sense of humor!” says Kent. “It’s so refreshing.”
For a moment I’m not quite sure how to react — then I start laughing too. God, this is great. We’re getting on like a house on fire! Then Kent’s face lights up.
“Now, Rebecca, I was meaning to say. I have rather an exciting opportunity for you. I don’t know what your plans were for this afternoon. But I have a rather unique ticket… to…”
She pauses for effect, smiling widely, and I stare at her in sudden excitement. A Gucci invitation sample sale! It has to be!
“… the Association of Financiers Annual Conference!” she finishes proudly.
For a few moments I can’t speak.
“Really?” I say at last, my voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. “You’re… you’re joking!”
How on earth am I going to get out of this one?
“I know!” says Kent delightedly. “I thought you’d be pleased. So if you’re not doing anything else this afternoon…”
I am doing something! I want to wail. I’m going to Sephora to get made over!
“There are some very high-profile speakers,” puts in Judd. “Bert Frankel, for one.”
“Really?” I say. “Bert Frankel!”
I’ve never heard of bloody Bert Frankel.
“So… I have the pass right here…” says Kent, reaching for her bag.
Quick. I have to say something or I’ll find myself spending a precious afternoon in New York sitting in some dreary conference hall.
“What a shame!” I hear myself exclaiming. “Because actually…”
I can’t tell them I have to go and try on lipstick.
“Actually… I was planning to visit the Guggenheim this afternoon.”
Phew. No one can argue with culture.
“Really?” says Kent, looking disappointed. “Couldn’t it wait until another day?”
“I’m afraid not,” I say. “There’s a particular exhibit I’ve been absolutely longing to see since… since I was a child of six.”
“Really?” says Kent, eyes wide.
“Yes.” I lean forward earnestly. “Ever since I saw a photograph of it in my granny’s art book, it’s been my ambition since childhood to come to New York City and see this piece of art. And now that I’m here… I just can’t wait any longer. I hope you understand…”
“Of course!” says Kent. “Of course we do! What an inspiring story!” She exchanges impressed looks with Judd, and I smile modestly back. “So — which piece of art is it?”
I stare at her, still smiling. OK, quick, think. The Guggenheim. Modern paintings? Sculpture?
I’m fifty-fifty on modern paintings. If only I could phone a friend.
“Actually… I’d rather not say,” I say at last. “I consider artistic preference a very… private matter.”
“Oh,” says Kent, looking a little taken aback. “Well, of course, I didn’t mean to intrude in any way—”
“Kent,” says Judd, glancing at his watch again. “We really have to—”
“You’re right,” says Kent. She takes another sip of tea, and stands up. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, we have a meeting at two thirty. But it’s been such a pleasure.”
“Of course!” I say. “No problem!”
I struggle to my feet and follow them out of the restaurant. As I pass the wine bucket I realize with a slight lurch that I’ve more or less drunk the whole bottle. How embarrassing. But I don’t think anybody noticed.
We arrive outside the restaurant, and Judd has already hailed a taxi for me.
“Great to meet you, Rebecca,” he says. “We’ll report back to our vice-president of production, and we’ll… be in touch! Enjoy the Guggenheim.”
“Absolutely!” I say, shaking hands with each of them. “I will. And thank you so much!”
I get into the taxi and slam the door behind me.
“Hi,” I say to the taxi driver, watching as Judd and Kent walk away. “I’d like to go to—”
“The Guggenheim,” chips in the driver. “I heard.”
“No, actually, I’d like to go to SoHo. Sephora on Broadway.”
“Only in some bits of Cornwall,” I explain. “Just in the pointy bits.”
Judd and Kent give each other puzzled looks — then both burst into laughter.
“Your British sense of humor!” says Kent. “It’s so refreshing.”
For a moment I’m not quite sure how to react — then I start laughing too. God, this is great. We’re getting on like a house on fire! Then Kent’s face lights up.
“Now, Rebecca, I was meaning to say. I have rather an exciting opportunity for you. I don’t know what your plans were for this afternoon. But I have a rather unique ticket… to…”
She pauses for effect, smiling widely, and I stare at her in sudden excitement. A Gucci invitation sample sale! It has to be!
“… the Association of Financiers Annual Conference!” she finishes proudly.
For a few moments I can’t speak.
“Really?” I say at last, my voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. “You’re… you’re joking!”
How on earth am I going to get out of this one?
“I know!” says Kent delightedly. “I thought you’d be pleased. So if you’re not doing anything else this afternoon…”
I am doing something! I want to wail. I’m going to Sephora to get made over!
“There are some very high-profile speakers,” puts in Judd. “Bert Frankel, for one.”
“Really?” I say. “Bert Frankel!”
I’ve never heard of bloody Bert Frankel.
“So… I have the pass right here…” says Kent, reaching for her bag.
Quick. I have to say something or I’ll find myself spending a precious afternoon in New York sitting in some dreary conference hall.
“What a shame!” I hear myself exclaiming. “Because actually…”
I can’t tell them I have to go and try on lipstick.
“Actually… I was planning to visit the Guggenheim this afternoon.”
Phew. No one can argue with culture.
“Really?” says Kent, looking disappointed. “Couldn’t it wait until another day?”
“I’m afraid not,” I say. “There’s a particular exhibit I’ve been absolutely longing to see since… since I was a child of six.”
“Really?” says Kent, eyes wide.
“Yes.” I lean forward earnestly. “Ever since I saw a photograph of it in my granny’s art book, it’s been my ambition since childhood to come to New York City and see this piece of art. And now that I’m here… I just can’t wait any longer. I hope you understand…”
“Of course!” says Kent. “Of course we do! What an inspiring story!” She exchanges impressed looks with Judd, and I smile modestly back. “So — which piece of art is it?”
I stare at her, still smiling. OK, quick, think. The Guggenheim. Modern paintings? Sculpture?
I’m fifty-fifty on modern paintings. If only I could phone a friend.
“Actually… I’d rather not say,” I say at last. “I consider artistic preference a very… private matter.”
“Oh,” says Kent, looking a little taken aback. “Well, of course, I didn’t mean to intrude in any way—”
“Kent,” says Judd, glancing at his watch again. “We really have to—”
“You’re right,” says Kent. She takes another sip of tea, and stands up. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, we have a meeting at two thirty. But it’s been such a pleasure.”
“Of course!” I say. “No problem!”
I struggle to my feet and follow them out of the restaurant. As I pass the wine bucket I realize with a slight lurch that I’ve more or less drunk the whole bottle. How embarrassing. But I don’t think anybody noticed.
We arrive outside the restaurant, and Judd has already hailed a taxi for me.
“Great to meet you, Rebecca,” he says. “We’ll report back to our vice-president of production, and we’ll… be in touch! Enjoy the Guggenheim.”
“Absolutely!” I say, shaking hands with each of them. “I will. And thank you so much!”
I get into the taxi and slam the door behind me.
“Hi,” I say to the taxi driver, watching as Judd and Kent walk away. “I’d like to go to—”
“The Guggenheim,” chips in the driver. “I heard.”
“No, actually, I’d like to go to SoHo. Sephora on Broadway.”
