Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian Page 5

“If I can’t wear this to the restaurant, then maybe we should go someplace else.”

  He looked at her, his eyes serious and posing what she was beginning to recognize as their usual challenge. “Really? I thought someone with your intellectual curiosity might like to see another side to life.”

  She thought of the feeling that had plagued her for as long as she could remember: fear. Fear of what would happen if she didn’t do the right thing, if she didn’t play it safe, if she didn’t excel. And then, conversely, the fear of things passing her by—of always being on the outside looking in.

  She took the key card.

  CHAPTER 10

  The twentieth floor was silent. She crept down the carpeted hallway, certain that someone would stop her to ask what she was doing there. No one did.

  She found Room 2020 and stuck her card in the slot, half expecting it not to open. But she pressed the brass door handle, and it moved easily under her palm.

  Inside, Regina found herself surrounded by tones of beige and rose, blond wood and pale marble. The decor was conservative but modern. She had expected it to be more opulent, given the lobby, but she was surprisingly comfortable with the quiet tastefulness of the decor. The south-facing windows offered a stunning view of the city, from the highest point she’d ever been.

  “Regina?”

  A woman appeared out of nowhere, causing Regina nearly to jump out of her skin.

  “You scared me!” she gasped when she could breathe again.

  “I’m sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,” said the woman in her clipped British accent. She wore white jeans and a turquoise tunic. Her copper-colored hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and she was accessorized with chic platinum jewelry. “I’m Jess. Sebastian asked for me to be here in case you needed any help.”

  “Do you . . . work for him?”

  “I’ve worked with him,” Jess said. “I’m a stylist and makeup artist. But I’m just here as a favor. He thought you might need me.”

  Regina nodded, as if this all made perfect sense.

  “Your evening clothes are in the bedroom,” said Jess, pointing to her right. “Just call if you need anything. And wear everything Sebastian left in there for you. He was really adamant about that. Sebastian is very detail-oriented, as you probably know.”

  No, she didn’t know. But she was beginning to get an idea.

  Regina followed Jess’s directions to the bedroom. Two shopping bags and a garment bag were on the king-size bed. The garment bag had the words MIU MIU on it. One of the shopping bags was pink with a black bow and read AGENT PROVOCATEUR. The other was orange, from Prada. She knew the name Prada, but not the other two.

  Going for the familiar, she reached for the Prada bag first. Inside, she found three shoe boxes. She opened the first to find black, closed-toe high heels that were almost conservative enough to be something she would have picked out for herself. But the heel itself was four inches high, and metal. It looked more like a spoke or a nail than the heel of a shoe.

  “This isn’t a shoe, it’s a torture device,” she said, pushing it aside. She opened the second box and found the same shoe in a half size larger. The third box held the same.

  The first shoes she had pulled out were her exact size. This irritated her more than it surprised her.

  Regina turned to the garment bag, holding it by the velvet-covered hanger with one hand while unzipping it with the other, wondering what Jess was doing in the other room and whether or not she was annoyed that Sebastian had asked her to babysit. Ugh, it was so embarrassing.

  She pulled the garment bag off the hanger to reveal a simple black dress. It was sleeveless but had a high neckline and fell just above her knee. It looked like something Audrey Hepburn would wear. Anything that reminded her of Hepburn—Audrey or Katharine—was fine by her. This was a positive development after the shoes that could double as weaponry.

  Next, the pink bag. She had to dig through bunches of pink tissue paper to find flat bundles wrapped in black paper. Carefully, she unwrapped the top bundle to find a delicate black-lace bra. It was beautiful, but a far cry from the plain cotton Gap bras she had been wearing her entire life. With its intricate lacing and system of tiny, elaborate hooks, the garment seemed entirely impractical to her. She set it aside and unwrapped the next item. She pulled more black lace loose from the tissue paper, but this garment was unidentifiable to her. It was shaped like an upside-down bra and had four straps with hooks dangling from it. The thing was so off-putting, she shoved it back in the bag.

  Next, she found black thigh-high stockings so sheer and silky, they were like gossamer wings.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Is everything okay in there?” asked Jess. Regina remembered that Sebastian was waiting for her in the lobby. She had better get moving.

  “Fine, thanks,” Regina called.

  “Remember to wear everything.”

  Regina looked at the array of items on the bed. The spidery lace thing filled her with anxiety. She thought, I can just leave.

  She could just walk right out the door—tell the English redhead that, sorry, her help wouldn’t be needed. She could drop the key card at the front desk. And she could tell Sebastian thanks but no thanks: she wasn’t interested in playing Eliza Doolittle to his Henry Higgins. And then she could go home, to her little bedroom and . . . what? Wonder what they might have talked about over dinner? Imagine what it might have felt like to dress as someone out of the pages of Vogue? And then, six months or a year or two years from now, she could sit alone in that same room and remember the time when the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen had told her she was beautiful.

  Why did you move to New York?

  Regina pulled the black-lace mystery garment out of the bag and walked to the bedroom door, peeking out gingerly. “Jess, I hate to bother you. . . .”

  “It’s what I’m here for,” Jess said, with good humor.

  “I don’t know what this is.” Regina dangled the black lace as if it were a potentially rabid animal.

  “That’s a garter. They can be tricky. Let me help you. No offense, but you’re sort of taking forever.”

  Jess probably had more important things to do than to dress a grown woman as if she was a helpless preschooler. No wonder she wanted to move things along.

  “Okay, thanks,” Regina said, stepping aside so Jess could join her in the bedroom.

  Jess put her hands on her hips and surveyed the things on the bed.

  “Gorgeous dress. And perfect for you. He has such a good eye.”

  “But the shoes,” Regina said, eyeing the Prada like they were the enemy. “I won’t be able to walk in those things. I’ll just wear my own.”

  Jess glanced at Regina’s footwear and shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Regina nodded. “Okay, then I guess I’ll just walk extremely slowly.”

  Jess was visibly relieved. “Good idea. Now put on the bra and panties and then I’ll help you with the garter and stockings.”

  Regina waited for Jess to leave the room, but she showed no signs of giving her any privacy.

  “I’m not really used to changing in front of other people,” Regina said bashfully.

  “Regina,” said Jess, “I’m a stylist. I’ve seen some of the most famous women in the world undress. And Sebastian is waiting for you in the lobby. I’d keep things moving if I were you.”

  Regina felt silly. The woman was just trying to help, and there she was making a fuss about her being in the room.

  Trying not to feel self-conscious, she shrugged off her jacket. Jess took it from her and folded it. Then she unbuttoned her blouse and unzipped her skirt, handing both to Jess. She was suddenly aware of the chill in the air, her skin breaking into goose bumps. She felt her nipples harden in her bra. She didn’t want to take it off, but
the black lace was waiting for her.

  Regina reached her arms behind her back to unhook her bra, but her fingers fumbled with the clasp she had done and undone a thousand times.

  “Let me help you,” Jess said, and before Regina could protest, the woman’s strange fingertips brushed between her shoulder blades and undid the bra.

  Regina allowed the plain cotton bra to fall to the floor and covered her breasts by crossing her arms in front of her chest. Jess straightened the black-lace bra and slipped the straps over Regina’s shoulders, then fastened it behind her back.

  “I don’t understand how he got the right size,” Regina said, feeling immediately that it was the best-fitting bra she’d ever worn.

  “He has a good eye,” Jess repeated, her own green eyes twinkling. And something about the tone of her voice made Regina wonder if the charismatic woman knew Sebastian in ways other than professionally. “Now these,” Jess said, handing her the panties.

  Regina took hers off and pulled them on as quickly as possible, looking up only once to make sure Jess wasn’t watching her.

  She was.

  “The garter,” Jess said, holding out the baffling item.

  Regina took it and dangled it from two fingers.

  “I have no idea. . . .”

  Jess took the garter and stood in front of her. She fastened it around Regina’s waist, then pulled it down so that it rested on her hips. The straps dangled around her thighs like tentacles.

  “Put on the stockings, and I’ll fasten them for you.”

  Regina sat on the bed, too focused on the task at hand to be self-conscious any longer, and gently pulled on the stockings, easing them up slowly to her thighs. When both were on, she stood, and Jess got down on her knees and fastened the four straps to the stockings, one in front and one in back on each thigh.

  “Unbelievable,” Jess said, almost under her breath. Then, “Why don’t you look in the mirror?”

  “No, that’s okay,” Regina demurred—though she was secretly curious.

  Jess held out the black dress for Regina to step into.

  “Turn around.” Jess zipped it.

  “Finally—done,” Regina said.

  “Almost.” Jess put the heels side by side in front of her, and Regina gingerly stepped into them. She felt like a bizarro-world Cinderella.

  She looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize anything she saw from the neck down.

  “May I recommend one more thing?” Jess asked.

  “Um, sure,” said Regina. Jess handed her a lipstick. The casing was black and had an almost rubbery finish; it was decorated with white letters that read NARS. Regina pulled off the top to reveal a fresh tube of deep, matte crimson.

  “Did he leave this for me, too?” Regina asked. Jess did not answer her, but waited for her to apply it. It had been a long time since Regina had worn lipstick—since her senior prom. She’d gone with Robert Wellers, her coeditor on the newspaper’s op-ed page. Later, at the after-party at Samantha Sinclair’s shore house, she’d waited for Robert to kiss her on the dark, moonlit beach. Instead, he’d told her that he was gay.

  Regina’s hand shook, and it took her a minute to steady herself enough to apply the rich color to her lips. Once she did, she was amazed at how the red on her lips made her blue eyes stand out.

  Smiling, she stepped back from the mirror and handed the lipstick to Jess.

  “Keep it,” said Jess. “You look hot. Now go. Sebastian is not a patient man.”

  •

  Regina walked through the Four Seasons’ lobby, teetering on the heels. For the first time in her life, she was aware of people staring at her when she walked past them. At first, she thought it was because she was walking like a gazelle taking her first steps out of the womb. But then she caught the expression on a businessman’s face, and she saw something she’d never seen reflected at her before: desire.

  Disoriented by the attention of strangers, the unfamiliar lobby, and the completely alien clothing, Regina almost bumped right into Sebastian.

  “Oh, I almost didn’t see you,” she said, stopping short.

  His eyes swept over her from head to toe. She realized that he knew what she was wearing underneath the dress, and she felt a wave of embarrassment. She waited for him to comment on her outfit, but he said nothing, just appraised her with an intense and unwavering gaze.

  He reached for the Old Navy bag she was still carrying and slid it off her shoulder.

  “This is hideous, you know.”

  “Well, that’s a matter of opinion. And it does its job.”

  Now that she was bag-free, he looked at her again and, appearing satisfied, offered her his arm. She looked up at him, and then linked her arm through his, as if she were being escorted into a debutante cotillion. She expected to head into the hotel restaurant, but instead he led her back outside.

  “We aren’t eating here?”

  “No,” he said. “My favorite restaurant here closed earlier this year—L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon,” he said, smiling at her. “But no worries—this city has no shortage of great restaurants.”

  He held the door open for her and she climbed back into the Mercedes, gingerly this time, to accommodate her heels and the dress.

  The Mercedes whisked them up Park Avenue. Just as she was settling in, the car stopped at Sixty-fifth Street.

  The driver walked around to open the door for her, and she stepped out in front of a beautiful neoclassic building. Above the front door in wide lettering read DANIEL.

  Inside, Regina found herself surrounded by eighteen-foot coffered ceilings, balustrades, arches, and carved pilasters. The classic architecture was balanced by modern furnishings and treatments in rich, neutral colors—walnuts and creams offset by the red dining room chairs. The space was bathed in warm light emanating from chandeliers and wall sconces, and she knew her mother would be impressed by the paintings. Every inch screamed elegance, and Regina was thankful that she had humored Sebastian’s request that she change her clothes.

  The maître d’ greeted Sebastian effusively.

  “The Bellecour Room, Mr. Barnes,” said the maître d’. Sebastian gestured for her to follow, and she trailed the maître d’ through the dining room. Again, she felt eyes on her, and it was all she could do to focus on not tripping in her shoes. She felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, all glammed up in the red dress, on Richard Gere’s arm.

  She felt a sort of nervous energy in her gut, a giddy happiness.

  The maître d’ opened the door to a private room that could have seated a hundred people but was set with only one table. He held Regina’s chair out for her, and she sat stiffly while Sebastian took his place across from her.

  “We could just eat in the other room,” she said, with an uncomfortable laugh. “This is a lot of space.”

  The sommelier brought the wine list, but Sebastian barely glanced at it.

  “We’re having the tasting menu, so whatever you’re pairing with that tonight,” he said. Then, to Regina, “The tasting menu is eight courses. I hope you’re not in a hurry.”

  Regina just shook her head, trying not to panic. What would they talk about for eight courses? And how good could the food be that anyone would want to sit through that many servings of it?

  “You look very beautiful,” he said. “That dress suits you.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, looking at her water glass. “You really guessed right with the sizes.”

  “I spend a lot of time looking at women,” he said. She flushed at the statement, then realized he must be talking about the photography.

  The waiter appeared with their amuse-bouche. He set three small white plates in front of each of them and announced: “Mosaic of poularde and daikon radish, wild mushroom gelée, and young vegetable salad.”

  “Thank you,” she said, despera
tely wishing she recognized something that had been placed in front of her. And then Sebastian winked at her, and her stomach did such a flip she realized she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.

  CHAPTER 11

  Regina pushed the food around a little on her plate, and looked up to find Sebastian staring at her.

  “I’m disappointed, Regina,” he said. “I didn’t take you for a noneater.”

  She felt her face color, and the discomfort and absurdity of the situation finally outweighed the thrill of it. “Forgive me for not diving right in, but since I’ve been ordered around for the past hour and feel more like I’m in some bizarre play than out for an actual meal, I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Sebastian laughed.

  “Hmm. An unsatisfied customer. That’s a first for me,” he teased, rankling her all the more.

  “And how am I going to get my own clothes back? I’m not going to that hotel room after dinner.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, clearly amused, which only irritated her all the more.

  “I’m just telling you ahead of time so we’re on the same page.”

  “On the same page, eh? Spoken like a true librarian,” he said.

  Not knowing how to respond to that comment, she tasted the wine. It was delicious, and the sip spread warmth down her throat. “Now that you mention it, aren’t we going to talk about the books? I thought that’s what this whole dinner was about.”

  “Anxious to get down to business.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking one more sip. That’s it, now I stop, she told herself.

  “Why don’t you have a cell phone?” he asked.

  She was surprised by the question, which seemed to come out of nowhere. “Um, I don’t know,” she said. She would never admit her frugality to someone who drove around in a chauffeured car and used one of the world’s most expensive hotels as a glorified dressing room.

  “It’s inconvenient,” he said.

  “Not for me.”

  “Have you ever worn garters before?” he asked.

  She almost spit out the wine. “Excuse me?”