The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Read online

  “You didn’t seriously just say that?!” she squealed in her signature voice.

  Stefano buried his head in his hands, while mumbling, “Vegas . . . Vegas . . . Vegas.”

  “Say yes! It will be a whirlwind trip! Let’s jump on my plane right now and just go!” Stefano scratched his head, looking at the megastar. Had anyone ever said no to this woman? I wondered.

  Shutting the car door he said, “Fuck it. I’m in.”

  Isabella gleefully jumped up and down, skipping to her waiting limo. “Come on! Vegas, baby!”

  “Lush!” Stefano ran to Liz and the two conversed. I blissfully thought of everything that I could do with four entire days of freedom. Even if he was only gone for two, I had requested the weekend off. There was laundry, sleep, finally unpacking the last of my moving boxes and most important, spending time with my friends who I had neglected to see for longer than I could calculate. Although Sebastian and Julie pretended like they didn’t care when I told them I was moving, even going as far to say that they saw it coming, I could tell that they were miffed. What really pissed them off was my missing Julie’s birthday party, and I didn’t blame them. This weekend I would make it up to them both by having them over to my place for dinner! We could catch up on everything and really reconnect. These heavenly thoughts were interrupted as Stefano snatched the car keys from my hand and threw them to Liz. “I can’t go without an assistant!”

  I checked my reflection in the BMW’s blackened window. Had I known there was the possibility of a trip to Vegas I would have packed things to wear besides the tank top, cutoff shorts and flip-flops that I had on.

  “But I don’t have anything, just what I’m wearing . . .”

  “I told you, Ugly! Always be prepared for the unexpected!”

  I shot Liz a quizzical look. He did?

  “Honey, it’s Vegas, not Siberia,” she chuckled. “Besides, this might be your chance to mention what we were talking about! Take advantage of the opportunity!”

  Roman walked between us and inconspicuously passed something from his hand to mine exactly like I’d seen him do to others before. I could feel right away that it was a container of pills about half full. He whispered, “For him—trust me.”

  I opted for the front of the limo, next to the driver, who put on his chauffeur’s cap as the car sped away. The prescription label had been torn off the pills, so I couldn’t tell what they were for exactly. I flipped the container over and over on my knee, watching the capsules spill back and forth.

  I was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I’d never been to Vegas before, and to get to go—well, that on it’s own is a thrill! But to go on a private plane! With Isabella Blackstone! I wished that I had a friend around; we’d throw our hands up and scream, “I can’t believe this is happening!” But there wasn’t anybody. What would I do for clothes? Toiletries? A phone charger? Where are we staying? For how long?

  I took a deep breath and told myself to stop overthinking everything. It would all work out somehow. I figured, what’s the worst that can happen? Besides, I had other things to worry about: My parents were visiting in three days.

  chapter thirteen

  What Happens in Vainness

  “Miss?” A gorgeous flight attendant presented me with a tray of tightly rolled-up washcloths. She was not dressed in any typical airline attire. Instead she reminded me more of a member of Charlie’s Angels in high-waisted slacks paired with a flowing silk blouse that tied into a giant bow at her neck. The tiny towel was ice cold and smelled like eucalyptus. It was so refreshing on just my hands that I wished I could take a few into the bathroom and wash the day off my entire body.

  Although the plane could have sat eight, it was only the three of us flying. My seat was one of two in the front facing the cockpit, while Stefano and Isabella faced each other behind me where it looked like a small den with couches and a desk instead of an ordinary cabin. The cushy seats were a light beige leather and the details were all a dark, glossy walnut. The flight attendant handed us each a glass of champagne. Without further ado or any of those pesky in-case-of emergency demonstrations, we were off.

  The instant the wheels of the Learjet touched down on the steaming Nevada tarmac, I exhaled. I released the pressure of my white knuckles gripping the armrest. I wasn’t afraid of the flight. In fact, for some reason I felt safer on what I decided was a Mercedes with wings than I would on a commercial flight. I figured that Isabella only flew with the finest of pilots, but still, the prospect of crashing into eternity with Stefano was a terrifying fate. A pink stretch limo waited steps away from the jet. Magically, wherever Isabella went, there was always someone waiting to take care of her every need or want. On the flight neither the star nor the photographer had said a word to me, the invisible assistant. Welcoming the solitude, I was still a little uneasy in regard to what to expect on our arrival.

  Arriving at the Bellagio Hotel with Isabella Blackstone was the equivalent of entering Buckingham Palace with the Queen. Crowds parted as staff hastily attended to Miss Blackstone’s luggage. Security measures were implemented with the precision of a military exercise as Isabella, Stefano and I were quickly escorted to a private elevator. Stefano and I were shown to our shared suite just down the hall from Isabella’s penthouse. Once inside, Stefano lit a cigarette and reclined on the luxurious bed.

  “I’m going to have dinner downstairs with Bella. I need you to go buy me something to wear for when we go out later. If you order room service, be sure that it doesn’t smell like fish . . . or meat . . . eeew . . . or cheese. Nothing worse than a stinky hotel room.” Stefano rolled out of bed and stamped out his cigarette in the bathroom sink and swaggered across the room.

  So far, not so bad, I thought to myself. In the living room, Stefano glamorously parted the delicate floor-to-ceiling curtains à la Joan Crawford before immediately slamming them shut. “Oh no . . . No! Not again!” He clutched his chest and stepped away from the wall of windows. I instinctively jumped up to investigate. Had there been a murder on the sill of our suite? Was there a mob boss’s body in the final stages of rigor mortis dangling from the balcony? Not exactly. “Those damn fountains! I can’t deal with those fucking fountains! Oh Lucy, you have to have them turned off immediately! They give me anxiety like you would not believe. I just can’t deal!”

  I peered down at the beautifully orchestrated water spectacle below. The stunning light show was world famous and attracted crowds of millions from all over the globe. Although I well remembered that Stefano was “always right,” I decided to test him on this one. “What if we just switched to a suite on the other side of the hotel?”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. Do your fucking job! Ebony was able to do it. I don’t know why you have a problem with everything I say.”

  I wanted to yell back, “Because everything that you say is insane!” But I knew better. I sat on the half-moon couch on the opposite side of the suite, hoping to get far enough away so that Stefano wouldn’t be able to hear me when I made a phone call.

  “Bellagio VIP Services. This is Jennifer. How can I assist you today?” My inner voice pleaded, Switch places with me?

  “I am wondering if I could speak to a supervisor regarding a . . . special request.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Gulp.

  “Possibly.” I struggled with the words. “We were wondering if there was any way that the fountains outside could be turned down . . . if anything, just a notch.”

  Stefano plopped down beside me and urged, “Tell her who it is for.”

  “Actually, I am calling on behalf of Stefano Lepres. He has a very important meeting tonight in your hotel with Isabella Blackstone . . .” He poked my elbow, giving a thumbs-up. “I know they would both appreciate anything you can do to accommodate them.” I imagined the concierge waving down her coworkers as if to say, You are never going to believe this one. Me neither, girl. Me neither.

  “Who?” she inquired.
>
  “Stefano Lepres, the photographer and director, and Isa—”

  “I am not familiar with Mr. Lepres. Besides, it’s impossible. I’m sorry.”

  Stefano pulled on my sleeve and gave me hopeful eyes. Covering the mouthpiece, I lied. “She’s a huge fan of your work.”

  “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?” I could hear her containing a snarky giggle.

  “No. Thank you very much, Jennifer. I will let him know.” I hung up the phone, turned to my deluded boss. “Done.”

  Satisfied he had successfully addressed the issue, Stefano grabbed his wallet and room key. “I’m off to dinner! See you in an hour!” I gave him a military salute that turned into slapping my forehead after he had left the room.

  I raced to Barneys, where a stylist familiar with Lepres’ style—thank God!—advised me to purchase an attractive Ann Demeulemeester ensemble. Luckily, the clerk thought nothing of letting me charge it to Stefano’s credit card because in no way could I have covered the $3,600 (GASP!) total. It had occurred to me that I might be asked to tag along. Without hesitation I purchased a simple black DVF dress and charged it to my parents’ “emergency only” Visa, rationalizing that technically I was avoiding a fashion emergency. With twenty minutes to spare, I laid out Stefano’s new outfit and jumped into the shower. Room service arrived just in time. I couldn’t shove the delicious turkey sandwich (sans the stinky cheese) into my mouth fast enough. It was the first time I had eaten all day. Realizing that Stefano could return at any minute, I took the sandwich into the bathroom, cramming large bites into my mouth as I blew my hair dry. Slipping into the new dress, I admired my last-minute attempt to look presentable. Not bad!

  Soon after I prepared myself for a night on the town, Stefano entered the suite. Whistling at my transformation, he picked up the spotted sport jacket and skinny trousers that I had purchased on his behalf, nodded his head in approval, and said, “Fucking sick.” After he swung the outfit over his arm, he searched through his leather backpack. “Where’s my . . .”

  “Your toiletries are in the bathroom. Ready to go!”

  “Thanks, Ugly! You look nice. Pretty dress.”

  I wondered if he meant pretty as in ugly or pretty as in pretty. “Thanks. See, I’m getting better. Always be prepared!” I felt proud of myself for finally doing something right.

  He shot me a puzzled look. “What are you prepared for?”

  Stunned, I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he messing with me again?

  “Oooh, you thought you were coming out with us tonight!” He covered his mouth and chuckled. “You’re funny.” Walking into the bathroom, he added, “No offense but . . . you’re no Edie Sedgwick,” before closing the door.

  I quietly snapped, “You’re no Andy Warhol either.”

  The door swung open. “What?”

  “I said, I’d better get this food out of here.” The door closed.

  By 2:00 a.m. I was exhausted and back in my denim shorts, curled up dozing on the couch. I had long since returned my emergency purchase, knowing full well that my parents would not understand the urgency of fashion. Like a train off its tracks, a frantic Stefano burst through the door, flipping on all the lights. Forcefully shaking me awake, he shrieked, “My wallet! I lost it downstairs!! I was walking the casino with Bella and I know I had it . . . We were rushed by a crowd and . . . it’s gone! You have to find it!!!” I sat up, confused after being roused from a deep slumber. I attempted to get the gist of what he was saying.

  “Okay . . . I will find it. Give me a minute.” I picked up the phone and dialed VIP services. “Hello, this is Mr. Lepres’ assistant. He lost his wallet and . . . Oh, perfect. Thank you!” Hanging up the phone, I turned to Stefano, yawning out, “They have it downstairs. You left it at the craps table. They’ll release it only to you—it’s a security measure.”

  “No. I can’t get it. You have to . . .”

  “But . . .”

  “No! Lucy, listen. I have a gram of coke in my wallet. They must have seen it when they pulled out my ID. The cops are probably down there now waiting for me and I can’t . . . Oh my God! Fuck!” Stefano began pacing back and forth as he sweated profusely and wrung his hands. I got up from the couch, flinging off the blanket and tossing it aside.

  He turned to me. “You have to say it’s yours!”

  “What? Are you . . . Why?”

  “Because it’s your job! Because I’m a public figure and I pay you to take care of things like this!” Grabbing my hands in desperation, he promised, “I’ll bail you out, I swear.” Realizing that my boss was paranoid due to his substance abuse and there was little likelihood the police were waiting downstairs to arrest him, I picked up the room key and rushed out of the suite. Thirty minutes later, I returned to find Stefano standing at the window, entranced by the fountains below. Without a word, I handed him his wallet. He took it into his arms, cradling it like a baby. Stefano roared with glee, believing he had foiled the police. It was the first time that I had grasped the degree of Stefano’s pathetic state and how truly egocentric and clueless he really was. Without so much as a thank-you, Stefano exited the suite.

  Two hours later, Stefano returned. “Lucy, Lucy! Wake up!” I opened my eyes and stared at my crazed boss. “You have to pack my stuff . . . I have to go to New York right away. Vegas is too much. I have to leave. Now.” He walked into the bathroom and splashed his face with water. “And the fountains are back on! Turn off the fucking fountains! My God, they get bigger and louder by the minute! Fucking fountains!” Once again, he exited the suite. I got up and gathered Stefano’s belongings. I was so exhausted that I could hardly stand up straight. Sitting on the bed, I thought, “I’ll just rest for a few . . .”

  * * *

  Hours later, I woke up to a room drenched in sunshine. Startled, I realized I’d slept through the night and it was early morning! A chipper Stefano was eating breakfast in the living room.

  “Morning, sleepyhead! There’s toast and orange juice and muffins.”

  “I thought you wanted to leave? Was I dreaming?” I was so exhausted at this point that I felt delusional.

  “Ha . . . you’re so funny.” He chewed a mouthful of pancakes and said, “I’m going to New York for a few days. Catch up with some friends. The car will be here in ten minutes. Get ready.”

  I secluded myself in the bathroom and washed my face with hotel soap. I then used my finger to brush my teeth. Leaning against the sink, I stared in the mirror at my puffy eyes. Studying my reflection, I shook my head. “What am I doing here?” I whispered to what used to resemble my likeness. The label-less pill container peeked out from the wastebasket. I picked it up to find it had been emptied. I couldn’t help but look back at my poor eyes, which looked so haggard and sad. How much longer could I take this? He seems to be getting crazier by the minute, and the constant ups and downs were throwing me. I wasn’t sure at this point whether I’d ever get to work on the set. I was starting to feel like a horse following the carrot. Yet, I kept on hoofing along.

  “Ugly! Let’s roll!” Stefano and I took the elevator down to the lobby and exited the air-conditioned hotel. The steamy Vegas air hit us like a sauna. Stefano climbed into the back of the limo and naturally I started to climb in behind him. “Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” He held up his arm like a barricade.

  “What?”

  “I’m getting sick of you always questioning me! Don’t act like I’m fucking insane!” I stepped back as Stefano slammed the door shut. Rolling the car window down only a few inches, he said, “We can’t just leave Isabella here alone. Help her. Assist her. I don’t need you right now.” I watched in disbelief as the limo rolled away.

  Confused and dejected, I went back into the hotel and headed to the private elevator. I put my key card in the slot and pressed the button, but nothing happened. Great! Now the elevator is out of order? I waited in a long line at check-in only to be informed that my key no longer worked because we were checke
d out. The polished woman behind the counter smiled vapidly and said, “I’m sorry. It says on the system that Mr. Lepres closed out the account this morning, and the suite you were staying in has already been reserved by someone else.”

  I was too exhausted to be shocked. “I’ll take any room. It doesn’t have to be a suite or anything special. In fact, I would appreciate the least expensive room that you have.” Would I even be able to expense this to the studio?

  “I understand, but unfortunately the hotel is entirely booked for the weekend.”

  Completely bewildered, I walked like a zombie back to the VIP elevator. Luckily, the bellhop who checked us in remembered me and smiled. Desperate and unsure what else to do, I lied. “Excuse me. I forgot my key upstairs. My boss is upstairs in the suite. I just need to get to the floor.” He used his pass to grant me access to the top level. The ride seemed to take forever. My eyes welled up with tears. The extreme fatigue combined with confusion and loneliness had taken its toll. Why had Stefano deserted me here? Why did he close out his room knowing that I would be staying? Did I have enough money to get back home? If I had to borrow money from my parents, how could I possibly explain this situation to them? My choices were limited. I stood in front of the penthouse suite and paused. I could just go home right now and quit my job. Julie could probably get me a hostess job at GiGi’s. Where was this gig going anyway? I didn’t see it going anywhere, anytime soon. But then again, nobody really thought I’d get the job in the first place. And I’d come this far; maybe I just needed to hang tight a little longer. I timidly knocked on the door. To my surprise, Isabella herself opened the door. She looked like a teen boy’s dream, dressed in a sheer white Natori kimono robe. Underneath she wore the most minute white Malia Mills bikini. Nobody else in existence could have pulled off that outfit.

  “Hi, Lucy! I thought you two were gone by now!”