Chapter 12 premiere

ONE

Friday ─ the first fashion show. Tonight, I would see Yvonne in her element, doing her “thing”. As usual, she slipped away from me, leaving me to sleep while she got up at her ridiculous hour, the middle of the night, although she said it wasn’t the middle of the night. Four thirty on the first morning. Now it was six thirty and she left home at eight. I was fast asleep. I hardly ever became conscious before at least nine. Then I dozed in a dreamy sort of existence till my body decided it was alert enough for full consciousness and I could then consider getting up, if I wanted to.

The fitting for my dress was due at eleven thirty. I’d postponed it till the last minute. Yvonne said she would pick it up on her way home after any necessary alterations had been made. She was planning to have a nap before going back to the main event. My underarms were still very sore and looked awful. I was a nervous wreck. Me, wearing a dress for the first time in years, plus stockings and proper shoes. I wanted to be a fly on the wall, observe, not be seen, not be one of the beautiful people. Hair and make-up were all organized. Yvonne wrote it down, where I was to go, the time, the address, in a list of my day’s events. Yvonne had picked out a jacket. She said it was very small, came to about my waist, was dark-grey with short sleeves and no collar, and would look good.

Yvonne knew I was nervous. For two hours last night, she had helped me forget about tonight. Two wonderful hours of making love. Then she slept. I lay awake for a while, thinking of tonight, looking at Yvonne. I could look at her forever, the way she slept, the way she moved in her sleep. Yvonne had the most incredible body. No matter whether she lay on her back, on her stomach, on her side, it was all wonderful. The only thing missing when Yvonne slept were her eyes. I couldn’t see her laughing, sexy eyes. She was perfect, absolutely perfect, and I was a skinny, flat-chested, nervous wreck, with red, sore underarms.

My hair was still brown. It looked better now and had more life to it, but the new blonde shampoo and conditioner had only arrived on Wednesday, with bottles of vitamins, anti-thrush pills and pessaries. I took the vitamins, used the shampoo and conditioner, and waited for a sudden burst of energy and my blonde hair to return.

TWO

Luckily, despite my late night, my body decided on a pre-ten a.m. rather than post-ten, fully-conscious state, allowing me to get up at an easy pace and not have to dash to keep my early appointment. I arrived on time for the fitting of my dress and new jacket, appearing calmer on the outside than I really was.

I was embarrassed. I told the English girl, Nancy from Lancashire, all about my horrible experiences at the hands of the beautician. She said she’d seen it all, worse than mine. Why does everyone always have a worse-than-yours story to tell? Are they trying to make you feel as if things could be worse?

My dress was fine, the jacket was fine; a few alterations and they would be ready for Yvonne to pick up. I checked my list. My hair and make-up were scheduled for five thirty. I was being picked up at seven fifteen by Claude. Part of me wanted to go alone; just slip in, check Yvonne out and leave; but the other part of me was glad I would have someone who knew which door to go in, where I could find a drink, where the ladies was and where I would sit to watch the show. I wasn’t even sure if Claude liked me or not, but I had a guide. se him, I told myself.

THREE

I went home after my visit to the park and a thirty-minute stint in the sun. Yvonne arrived home around two. She was exhausted and hungry, headed straight for the bathroom to remove her make-up, and then to bed. I went downstairs and was quickly given Yvonne’s lunch by an angry Simone. Her friendly expression had a way of changing into a nasty scowl if I was in her kitchen. She really hated me in there, especially when she was cooking. Yvonne ate her lunch naked, sitting up in bed and trying to calm me down. She wasn’t nervous at all.

Yvonne slept while I lay beside her and dozed. I was too excited and nervous to sleep. Using my index finger, I felt my newly plucked eyebrows and my hairless upper lip. I knew I went on and on, in my mind, about my body hair, but I couldn’t help it. If we all lived in jungles, it wouldn’t have bothered me, but we didn’t and it did.

After a few hours’ sleep, Yvonne left for the show. I wouldn’t see her again till much later. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, neither did I. Just another working day. Ten minutes later, I headed off in another taxi for my hair and make-up. What they would do, I had no idea. I had never had my hair and make-up done professionally before. The money spent on taxis was ridiculous.

My hair was washed, blow-dried and slightly hair sprayed. I said “No” to nail polish and “Yes” to a very small amount of make-up. Yvonne must have told them I was new to it all. They were kind, helpful, didn’t talk too much, just did it. When I walked out, I smelled of chemicals and couldn’t touch my hair or my face. My hair looked like long brown hair should: it flowed and it shone. My made-up face made me look sexy. But I was still me.

FOUR

I was dressed and ready by 7.10 p.m. My nerves were on the moderate side. I didn’t look like a freak. I looked like a woman in her early thirties, wearing a simple dress and a small jacket, clutching a stupid handbag. And I was wearing (God, I hated them already) pantyhose and a pair of very stylish shoes, which crushed my toes and burned my heels. I took them off until the last second.

I never saw any bills for all this. I never signed anything. It was all handled. Money doesn’t exist in that world, except for taxis and lots of money was spent on taxis. I wasn’t sure if Yvonne ever saw the bills. I imagined some poor accountant or secretary in a small office somewhere receiving all my bills and paying them from Yvonne’s account.

Stockings. I hadn’t seen Yvonne wear anything on her legs. She’d always worn dresses or skirts or just a shirt, but I saw stockings and garter belts (suspender belts, I would have called them) in her drawers. In America, suspenders are used to keep people’s pants up. In England and Australia, they say braces. But I thought braces were what you wore on your teeth to straighten them. Culturally, I was very mixed up. Growing up in Australia meant watching American, British and Australian TV shows and movies; reading American, British and Australian novels, and they all used different words for different things ─ hence the Aussie slang. Then, in the late seventies, we got a new television channel, which showed foreign films that were either dubbed or subtitled. It wasn’t until the late eighties that Australia took over and ended the horrendous process of dubbing and began to subtitle practically every movie shown on that channel in the Australian vernacular. By then the damage was done. My vocabulary was half Australian, that is, a combination of English and Aussie slang, and half American, with foreign input thrown in now and then. And now I was living in France with a woman who spoke in many tongues, and whose English was based on time spent in America.

Getting back to Yvonne’s stockings and garter belts, she had underwear that could fill a normal person’s wardrobe. God that woman loved clothes. She had drawers for everything, which were filled with everything, in all colors, styles, shapes and looks. The list could go on and on.

FIVE

At 7.20 p.m., there was a loud knock on the front door. Simone reached it before me. I walked slowly down the stairs and Simone smiled and nodded her head approvingly. I gave her my best “Bonsoir”. Then I was out with Claude, who was not the best companion or the friendliest person at all. He was lofty in both height and attitude. Claude did say hello to me and he opened the car door for me, a totally stupid thing to do. If it had been any other night, I would have objected. I do not need a car door opened for me unless it’s stuck or I’m carrying something awkward or heavy.

Claude had the radio on, it was all in French, of course, and he sang along mindless of the fact that he sounded like a partially strangled canary. I sat back and imagined the night to come. I had seen movies about fashion shows, read about them in books, and now I was going to see one. A very prestigious, absolutely invitation-only Paris fashion show. And I was going to see my girlfriend, who happened to be one of the main attractions, aside from the clothes. It was unbelievable and yet it was happening. My excitement factor was increasing rapidly.

I was sort of used to Yvonne and her Vogue look, but not really. I was much more comfortable and turned on by the natural Yvonne. The other one, she scared me a little. I didn’t know her, the Ice Princess. Up with the excitement and up with the nerves. I smiled at it all. There was a funny side, me having a famous girlfriend. Jane would have said … I wasn’t sure what Jane would have said. This was so bizarre. Go along and enjoy, I told myself. I was going to see the most beautiful women and men in the world strut their stuff. I had to stamp my feet on the floor. I received a look from Claude. Stuff him. I knew one of the models, intimately. God did I know her. I was not going as one of the many. I was involved, part of it somehow. I was involved in the secretive side of it, the loving, caring, not-really-interested-in-the-clothes-at-all side, the side that was only really interested in one very special, unique woman and if it wasn’t for her, there would have been no reason for me to have been going to this thing. I was going to see Yvonne, my Yvonne, and only a handful of people in the world knew who I was and why I would be there. I felt like I was having the best affair in the world, ever! We didn’t have to hide in hotels or meet secretively. We were having an open affair. It was that just no-one knew about it.

What did people think at the party? Or when we kissed outside the restaurant? Or gazed into each other’s eyes at restaurant tables or across crowded rooms?

I didn’t care. I was in love and very heavily in lust.

SIX

There were people everywhere, cameras everywhere. Claude’s car was taken away to be parked. We walked to the main entrance. It was like a Hollywood premiere except that I wasn’t watching it on TV. I was there! Once we were inside, Claude placed a drink in my hand and promptly left me. That was fine. I wandered around feeling totally out of place, but really loving it. I could see people glancing at me and whispering to the person beside them to find out if I was anyone; deciding in an instant I wasn’t and their eyes automatically shifting across the top of their champagne glasses to another prospect and another, until they found someone worthy. No-one spoke to me. I wasn’t worth it.

Claude tapped me on the arm; we had to find our seats. We sat down and waited and watched, me smiling like an idiot. I was excited and nervous. I was scared Yvonne would trip, catch her heel in her dress and fall. I couldn’t stop myself laughing at the thought of Yvonne landing in the crowd of people, arse over tit as some would say. Luckily, the place was so noisy no-one heard me laughing. Claude saw me laugh and smiled. He didn’t know what I was laughing at, but he smiled and took my hand in his. It was comforting to have a friend. I took my shoes off, which were killing me, and we settled back in our seats to watch the parade. Every time a model appeared, Claude glanced at me. This bugged me. Why was he watching me and not them? After a few seconds, he would turn back and watch the show.

After about fifteen minutes of hoopla, music and whatever, I saw a huge smile spread across his face. I immediately went cold, then hot, my stomach flipped over and my heart, which had stopped, now pounded away. I snapped my attention back to the runway. I could just hear Claude laughing. I stared at Yvonne. She strode down the catwalk. I didn’t recognize her. I hadn’t recognized her. She did all the things the others did, stride, swivel, turn. People were talking, and looking at her. She was on show. My mouth went dry, my heart raced, I could hardly breathe. I sweated. God, I felt peculiar. Yvonne was so tall, so unreachable. She looked over the crowd, her eyes cold. Everything about her was cold. Then she was gone.

I couldn’t remember what she was wearing. Her outfit was completely gone from my memory, if I ever really noticed it in the first place. I knew she would be different, but this was totally unexpected. I never imagined for a second that I wouldn’t recognize her.

Three more models came and went before I was functioning again. I was in severe shock. I had seen the Ice Princess and I felt as if I had seen a goddess. Yvonne deserved her name. God, she looked cold. But it worked. There was so much noise when she came out and did her thing. She was so good at this. To me it seemed totally unnatural, but Yvonne had done it. Had I thought she wouldn’t?

I felt absolutely stunned every time she came out. She never looked at me, never looked at anyone. She was above everyone, she was the best. She knew it, the crowd knew it. She looked fantastic. The clothes were… well, I defy anyone outside the fashion industry to accurately describe clothes like this. They were incredible, but only suitable for fashion shows. Yvonne was so confident up there. I wasn’t laughing now. She owned that catwalk. I was totally in awe of her. If I hadn’t put her up on a pedestal before, I certainly had her up on one now.

SEVEN

Claude wanted to stay. I wanted to leave. Yvonne and I hadn’t discussed what would happen after the show. We were up, walking around. I drank white wine and ate caviar on a biscuit and I wanted to go home. The show was over, people talked in French and English, but I didn’t know what they were talking about. It was too noisy, too crowded and too hot.

I asked a woman, if I could give Yvonne a message. She seemed to be attached to the show rather than belonging to it, and she didn’t look particularly comfortable in her fancy clothes. I’d seen her hanging around what looked like the backstage department.

“What’s the message?” she said.

It was so noisy I had to lean closer. “Could you ask her if she’s going home or what she’s doing? I’m a relative. My name is Lyn.”

She nodded to me, then beckoned to a young man, who dashed to her side. She whispered in his ear and the young man dashed off behind her.

I smiled and waited and sipped my drink. Maybe she’s security. She was checking everyone out very carefully. The young man dashed back, out of breath. She nodded at me and I went over. “Ms. Shuman said to meet her outside, just to the right of the main entrance.” I thanked her, then found Claude and said good night. I went outside and found a low stone wall to sit on, to the right of the main entrance, as instructed. People were still jammed inside amidst all the action. It was great to be outside, but who was I waiting for? I had butterflies about seeing the Ice Princess. I shouldn’t have. Within five minutes, she was there. I stood up and we hugged each other, then kissed. She was normal, wearing, for Yvonne, a simple dress, no stockings and flat shoes, a minimum of make-up and her hair brushed out.

“Let’s go,” she said, gently pulling me away.

“Wait,” I said. “Don’t you want to stay for the party?” I assumed there would be a party.

She gave me a very serious look, then said, “No, I want to go home with you. We can get a ride down here. You okay?”

I hugged her. “I didn’t recognize you,” I breathed.

She kissed my neck. “It’s over, you can relax,” she said.

We weren’t going anywhere. We stood in the darkness and cuddled and kissed for ages, my lipstick messing with hers, my arms wrapped around her gorgeous body, my hands feeling her gorgeous body. I even kissed her made-up face.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” she laughed.

“Worse,” I said.

“Why? What was so terrible about it?” she asked, me still safely in her arms. We sat down on the wall.

“I didn’t recognize you,” I said again. Yvonne studied my face. She looked normal, (I hated to think what I looked like), but her eyes were troubled. “I’m not that bad,” I said. We hugged some more. “I was so nervous for you,” I said. “Claude had to tell me it was you. Yvonne, you were fantastic!”

She shrugged. “It’s my work, I’m used to it.”

“Weren’t you nervous at all?” I asked.

“No!” she laughed.

We kissed again, her mouth warm and tasty.

“Maybe I’m getting used to lipstick,” I said as Yvonne pulled me to my feet. The way I was feeling, I would have gone anywhere with her.

“You are probably drunk. Did I turn you on?”

“No. And I am probably drunk. I haven’t had any dinner. Was I supposed to get turned on?” I asked. We walked slowly together as lovers off to somewhere.

“It was supposed to be sexual, yes,” she said.

It was too dark to see her face. I tightened my hold around her waist a little, squeezing. “Are you sure you want to leave your friends? I’ll be fine.”

“No. I can see them… well, actually, I can’t see them any time. Weren’t you turned on at all?” she said, sounding amazed.

“I was in shock!” I said. “This is my first fashion show, and you were amazing! I am still in shock. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” I stopped. “Hang on a sec.” I took off my shoes and pantyhose and put my shoes back on, sighing with relief. It started to sprinkle, a summer shower. The night was warm, it was raining and Yvonne was happy and normal. Everything perfect.

We got into the first taxi at the taxi rank.

“What do you think about up there?” I asked. The rain pelted down. It was very romantic cuddled up together in the back of the taxi, in darkness.

“I was thinking about doing the job, listening to the music.” She looked at me closely. “I was not thinking of you!” Emphatically. “I didn’t want to know you. I have to concentrate. This is my job. Nothing matters while I am working.”

“Your accent is really coming and going tonight,” I said.

“You are drunk. You are changing the subject. Where are your earrings?” My hand flew up to my right ear. “Got you,” she joked.

“Bitch,” I said quietly, her probably-very-expensive stud earrings in place.

We had survived the first test. Yvonne doing her thing, me beating my nerves with a lot of help from Yvonne.