The Best Laid Plans (35 page)

“Tiffany’s not so bad.” Although what I probably mean is that I’m finally secure enough about Peter—and myself—that I don’t see her as a threat. Especially now that Tiffany’s made Peter head of all U.S. operations.
And
she’s moving to Hong Kong to develop BUBB’s Asian markets.

The overhead lights blink on and off and a sonorous voice over the loudspeaker summons the former Miss Subways. “It’s tiara time, ladies. Please join us in the backstage area to don your sashes and for hair and makeup touch-ups.” Naomi sweeps past us in her glittery dress and Sienna asks if she needs any help.

“I’m pretty good with a hot roller,” my best friend volunteers.

“No, stay here!” I say, pulling Sienna back to my side. “Paige and Molly should go with their grandmother. It’s important for the girls to see how much work it is to be a beauty queen.”

“So they give up their dreams of becoming Miss America and decide to go to college and become brain surgeons?”

“Something like that. I pause. And because Bill is going to be here any moment and I want you two to make up.”

“Whoa,” says Paige, who’s finally come back with those chocolate-covered strawberries. “Good one, Mom. Can’t we stick around and see what happens?” I raise an eyebrow and reluctantly the girls go backstage. Sienna smoothes her hands across the bodice of her ruched dress.

“I suppose if Bill’s finally decided to apologize, I’ll let him.” Sienna sniffs. “After I make him grovel.”

“Bill doesn’t exactly know that you’ll be here,” I admit. “He thinks he’s meeting me at the diner for a cup of coffee and to go
over the Veronica Agency’s dissolution agreement. You’re both so pigheaded. I figured the only way I could get you two back together was if I ambushed you.”

Peter laughs. “My wife, the matchmaker.”

“Your wife the crazy woman! Listen, you two. I’m willing to buy wildly expensive perfume, hobble myself in five-inch heels, and freeze my ass off in a backless dress and bare legs at some fancy over-air-conditioned restaurant. But I draw the line at ambushing Bill—or any man—into falling in love with me.”

“He’s already in love,” Peter says.

“And you are, too. It’s just that one of you has to be willing to make the first move.” I look up and spot Bill at the entrance to the diner. “Be nice when you see him. Remember the Javan Rhino.”

“The what?” Peter asks.

“Tru has some idea that you and Bill are the last two good men left on earth.”

“Two of the last fifty,” I chirp.

“Is that better than one in a million?” Peter asks.

“Meet me in bed in a couple of hours and we’ll do the math,” I say with a wink.

Minutes later, I’ve explained the situation and literally had to drag Bill across the room. He stands stiffly in front of Sienna and pretends to look past her. “I want to state for the record that I had no idea you were going to be here.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t have been here either if I knew you were coming,” Sienna snaps. Her eyes narrow and Bill mimics her
High Noon
stance.

“Good. Important to get the dialogue going,” I say perkily. Then, before I can coax another word out of either one of them, a buzz ricochets through the room like a small jolt of electricity. I look around to see what’s causing the commotion.

“I heard that the blond mom from
Gossip Girl
might stop by,” a woman in front of me squeals.

The woman next to her stands up on her tiptoes to get a better look. “No, this woman’s got dark hair. Lots of it.… Oh-my-god, it’s Cher!”

“Cher? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure it’s Cher,” the woman, who’s now jumping up and down for a premium view, reports. “She’s wearing skintight leather jeans and a bitchin’ leather jacket that has no right to look so good on her!”

“I thought that after forty we were supposed to stop dressing like our daughters,” a woman next to her nitpicks.

“Hell, if you look like that you can dress like a kindergartner!” the first woman cries.

As people repeat the superstar’s name a chant goes through the diner that could be straight out of a socialist rally: “Cher, Cher, Cher,
share
!” the audience sings. The orchestra plays “I Got You Babe” and people pull out their cellphones to snap photos. Cher smiles and graciously signs a few autographs. She makes her way through the throng and hesitates, before climbing onto a platform at the front of the restaurant. “I nearly didn’t make it up here in these boots!” Cher whoops, tapping the tops of her thigh-high stilettos. “But ladies and gentlemen, tonight isn’t about me. I’m here, like all of you, to celebrate a national treasure. The superlative Miss Subways! So please join me in welcoming them now!” Cher punches her fist in the air and the crowd roars. As she walks toward the edge of the stage to make her exit, a man steps out of the shadows and extends his arm to help her down.

“Jeff Whitman!” Peter hoots, pulling me in for a hug. “Honey, I have to hand it to you. First you get Bill to show up. Now Naomi’s old boyfriend. With Cher, no less! How in the world did you get them here?”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

Sienna looks at me skeptically.

“What, you think I wouldn’t take credit for this if I could? I’m as much in the dark about this as all of you.”

I’m just starting to push through the crowd toward Jeff Whitman to find out what the heck is going on, when the overhead lights dim—and we’re really in the dark. A spotlight beams on to follow a suave-looking man in top hat and tails onto the stage, and there’s a clamor of plates as the waitstaff—all aspiring actors and actresses—abandon their trays to join the emcee. The audience is stilled as the orchestra leader raises his baton. Then the band starts playing and the singers break into a chorus of
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
—adding an “s” after the noun so that none of the women feel excluded. With a follow spot guiding their way, the beauty queens in their tiaras and blue satin sashes swan gracefully around the restaurant. Friends and relatives shout out enthusiastic congratulations.

Molly, who’s devouring a last bite of chocolate-covered strawberry, comes over to stand next to me. “Look, they’re doing the Miss America wave! You know, where they just turn their wrist back and forth in a single motion so they don’t exert too much pressure on their elbows.”

“Love the tiaras,” says Paige, clapping. “I wonder if Grandma will lend me hers to wear with her
amaazing
harem pants.”

As Naomi sashays by I pat her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Mom,” I say.

“Me too,” says a man coming up behind her. Despite the roar of the music and applause and the general din of excitement, I know that my mother heard the clear baritone greeting. And I know that because she ducks down, huddles toward the glamour girl in front of her, and tries to keep walking.

“Mom, it’s Jeff,” I say as I gently guide her out of line. “Jeff Whitman, the man who fell in love with you when the two of you were just teenagers. The man you arranged to have help me in Hawaii. The man who’s been waiting for five decades to hear your voice again.”

“I know who it is, damn it! I’m not senile,” my mother snips.

“That’s the Naomi I remember!” Jeff laughs. “The dulcet vocal tones, the gorgeous face! I’ve been watching you from across the room, my darling. You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

“And you’re still as charming! How are you doing?” Peter says, patting Jeff on the back.

“I’m good, I’m good. And everyone, this is Cher,” Jeff says, as if the beauteous Oscar, Grammy, and every other kind of award winner—who’s got her arm draped arm around Jeff’s shoulder—needs introducing.

“Nice to see you again,” Naomi says politely to Cher.

“Mom, you
know
Cher?”

“Of course, who doesn’t know Cher? I enjoyed that
Moonstruck
, good work. And I liked how you cast a spell on Jack Nicholson in
The Witches of Eastwick.
”

Out of an oeuvre that includes dozens of roles as independent, headstrong women, my mother managed to pick the one Cher movie where she uses magic to get what she wants. I guess I come by my superstitions honestly.

“Thanks. That movie was fun, but I don’t really believe in all that hocus-pocus. We make our own luck,” Cher purrs, casting a lascivious gaze on Jeff and fingering his collar. “And I hear you and Jeff were … childhood friends?”

“Yes, something like that,” my mother says, evasively.

Molly leans her head toward mine. “I have to hand it to you, Mom,” she whispers. “Getting Grandma’s old boyfriend
and
a celebrity to show up at the reunion. Wow!”

“But I told you, I had nothing to do with it!”

“Tru’s right. I invited Jeff to come,” Naomi says, straightening her sash. “But now I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry you had to drive from the airport through all that horrible Midtown tunnel traffic. But I’m glad you have another woman friend to keep you company,” Naomi says as if the iconic pop star is just “another woman friend.” And Naomi didn’t have something more in mind than a three-minute hello when she hauled Jeff here from Hawaii.

“Naomi?” Jeff pleads.

“The man flew five thousand miles, Mom. The least you can do is say a civil hello.”

“A civil hello,” Naomi parrots.

“Mom, turn around.”

“No,” Naomi barks. She straightens her shoulders and turns around. Then she follows the spotlight through the darkened room as if it’s the North Star to make her way back to the line of Miss Subways.

“I’m sorry, Jeff. You know how stubborn my mother is,” I apologize.

“Me too, Jeff. Do you think I laid it on a little too thick?” Cher asks. She turns toward us. “Jeff used to be my manager, back in the day. He’s the one who convinced me to record my comeback record,
Believe
. I’d do
anything
for him! Although I told him all along I didn’t think this was a very good plan. Send a woman a Ferrari and tell her you love her. That’s what always works with me.”

“Jeff, you have to stop trying to make people jealous!” Peter chuckles.

“But it worked for you and Tru. Look at how happy the two of you are! I’d like to think I can take just a little credit for your reconciliation.” And I’d like to think I can take just a little credit for world peace. Which I suppose I can since Peter and I
have stopped fighting. Though our détente was despite Jeff, not because of him.

“This isn’t about Grandma being jealous,” Paige says. She cranes her head to spot her grandmother in the pageant line and as the Miss Subways make another circle around the room past us, Paige pulls Naomi out of the procession. For the second time in practically as many minutes.

“What is it with you people?” Naomi yelps.

“Sorry, Grandma.
Glam-ma
. It’s just that this is so romantic.” Paige tries tugging Naomi’s hand toward Jeff’s, but Naomi wiggles free of her clutches.

“Paige, stop it, everybody stop it! This man is a stranger, I don’t know what I was thinking telling him he could come here! I haven’t seen him in a hundred years. I don’t know anything about him!”

A Cheshire cat smile crosses Paige’s face, as if she’s the older, wiser family member, instead of Naomi. “But Grandma, you know
everything
about him. You said that men tell women all we need to know about them in the first hour. It’s just that we women have to listen,” Paige says smugly. “Listen to your heart, Grandma. Don’t be like Newland Archer.”

“Newland Archer?” I say bumping into Peter and nearly spilling my drink.

“Don’t be so shocked, Mom, I watch old movies. Newland Archer, from
The Age of Innocence
? He was in love with Michelle Pfeiffer for his whole life. But when they were old and he had a chance to see her, he didn’t. He was afraid the reality wouldn’t be as good as their memories. Don’t be afraid, Grandma.”

“You have a smart granddaughter,” says Jeff.

Naomi smiles. “You’re a chip off the old block,
bubbala,
” she says, leaning in to give Paige a hug. Then she beckons for Molly and me to join them. “I have two gorgeous, smart
granddaughters. And a very gorgeous smart daughter,” she says squeezing my shoulder. Then my mother steps forward and plants a kiss on Jeff Whitman’s cheek. “The Finklestein women aren’t afraid of anything!” Naomi says boldly. “Now, does anybody mind if I enjoy the next few minutes parading around this damned restaurant?”

Jeff taps his finger on the spot of the kiss that he’s been waiting for for fifty years. “But Naomi, does this mean …”

“It means that we’ll talk, I’m not promising anything,” Naomi says with a grin. A grin that despite her words seems to be
filled
with promise.

“Your mother’s a spitfire.” Jeff laughs. “And she’s still a stunning woman.”

“That she is,” I agree. But she’s also a great deal more. So much of not only Naomi’s life but mine was shaped by the fact that she was beautiful. It’s ironic that at an age when her natural beauty is fading, Naomi’s inner beauty is taking root. Maybe the Bikram yoga sweat away all of her demons. Or maybe my mother’s heart attack is responsible for her change of heart—if something like that can’t shake you into letting go of past disappointments and making the most of the years ahead, what can? And from the looks of it, Naomi’s going to make the very most of these upcoming years.

Peter comes over to stand behind me with his hands resting comfortably on my shoulders. He juts his chin in the direction of Sienna and Bill. Bill, who’s standing awkwardly with hands stuffed in his pockets, is stealing glances at Sienna. And Sienna, who’s fiddling with the neckline of her off-the-shoulder dress, is looking back. It’s just that their eyes never meet. “One down, two to go. Think you can sprinkle some fairy dust over them?” my husband asks.

Determinedly, I walk over to face my two best friends.
“Okay, now what about you two?” I scold. “I know that neither one of you has ever been in a long-term relationship before so you’re fairly lame about what you need to do to get back together. But let’s do this, people!” I say in a take-charge tone. One of the things about running the agency is that it taught me that you can get a lot more accomplished if you tell people exactly what you want them to do. “On the count of one, two, three …”