Amelia telephoned me from a restaurant in Germany so ridiculous a person had to have known the owning family for generations to request a table. She implored me to charter a plane so I too might sample the proffered delicacies, but I, knowing Amelia’s temperament, anticipated she would tire of exquisite dining before the meal had concluded, and suggested we meet in Paris for street crepes that weekend. She was horrified to decline, her apology was so sincerely effusive I almost felt as if I were bringing a great tragedy upon her, explaining she had already committed to meet Taylor, Margot, and Lily in Seoul on Friday.
Taylor, of course, was Taylor Swift. Lily, the great Lily Gladstone, and Margot none other than Margot Robbie.
I asked when she had made the acquaintance of so many film stars, but she could not remember.
“You know Taylor and I have been friends for years,” she said, and I replied that yes, of this fact I was aware.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked. “Lily is just hilarious, and you’ve never seen a woman have such a delightful time as Margot.”
“What about Taylor?” I asked.
“Taylor is just Taylor,” she said simply, then laughed. “She had a secret dinner party last week in New York and introduced me to Travis. He’s just as lovely as he seems.”
“Is he?” I wondered.
“Yes. Beyonce and I couldn’t stop laughing, you should see the way he follows her around.”
“Beyonce was there too?”
“Of course.”
“Fun.”
“It was. Are you sure you can’t come to South Korea?”
I looked at my watch and rolled my eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
“Boo. August in Monaco, then?”
“August? That’s far.”
“Meet me in Egypt, then. April.”
“I’m working in April.”
“Working?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “Would you like me to make a call?”
“No, no. August is wonderful.”
“August is so far though.”
She mumbled something away from the receiver. The sound of sparkles rained through the phone, and I imagined the diamonds in her ears were jangling as she spoke.
“They’ve brought the next course.”
“What is it?”
“Roe, I think. You know Annamaria eats roe in champagne?”
“She eats it?”
“Yes, dumps it all in her flute. Vile, but so eccentric.”
“That’s a waste of roe, don’t you think?”
Amelia laughed heartily. I had forgotten waste was not a familiar concept to her. Tens of thousands of dollars on fish eggs drowned in decades-old alcohol was a passing amusement.
“Annamaria’s waiting. Come to Korea.”
“Amelia, I can’t.”
“Oh, I bet you can,” she said loftily. “A’ will kill me if I keep her waiting any longer. Call me from the plane?”
“I’m not getting on a plane.”
“You’re too much. Love.”
I sighed. “Love.”
The line clicked. I suddenly felt very lonely in my little apartment, the sound of the television was irritating, and my glass of wine sour. I clicked off the programme I’d been watching and opened my phone.
Already there were pictures of Amelia across every screen in the world. She beamed at the cameras, despite hardly noticing them, her dress a vintage Poiret gown belonging to her grandmother. It was stunningly preserved, as if crafted from spun gold, with dramatic sleeves and an asymmetrical train. A cigarette burned between her fingers.
I awoke the next morning having fallen asleep on my couch, the knot in my robe digging into my side, uncleared wine glass perfuming the air with the scent of vinegar. A knock at the door startled me.
“Thank you,” I said, and took the packages from the porter. He bowed. I took the boxes inside.
For Carnaval said the note attached. Inside the card was a ticket to Rio de Janeiro.
The brown paper of the first package broke to reveal a pink box beneath. Inside was the Maticevski gown I’d been coveting. There was another note attached to the tag.
If you won’t wear white, although you should, I’ll send a tailor to fit this one.
I felt the tinsel before I saw the dress. It was fabulous, dramatic and festive. There was another note.
I couldn’t resist, mother’s man at Harrods had too much fun. Taylor sends the Hohan gown with love.
In the third box were four magnificent ensembles – a romantic red Maria Lucia Hohan, another Matecevski, a floral festive number, and a gorgeous Zuhair Murad.
The final box was all Zimmermann, an unreleased collection.
Don’t tell anyone where you got this! x
I put the gowns safely away.
Amelia –
Mon Dieu! I love. Merci! See you in Rio!
Love,
Lettie Anne