Page 39 of The Stolen Queen

“I’m just happy to be part of the team.”

“Wearea team. And I can tell you love clothes as much as I do. The beautiful thing about working at the Costume Institute is the reverence with which the clothes in the collection are treated. Wrapped in acid-free tissue paper, nothing stored on hangers, which after three months simplyruinthe shoulders. Drawer after drawer of soft treasures. It’s a dream, one that I did not expect after my years toiling away for the magazine world before being fired at the ripe old age of seventy. Now I’m in my element, and few can keep up with me, but I knew right away you could. Weunderstandeach other, don’t we?”

“Of course.” Annie nodded her head enthusiastically.

“The next few days, I’ll need you to check the spelling of every name, every exhibition label, and, the evening of, treat every donorwith respect and gratitude. I like to think of this exhibition as a three-dimensional fashion magazine layout, and it must be properly grouped and accessorized. I choose the music, the lighting, the perfume—”

“Perfume?”

“Oh, yes. We have it infused into the exhibition hall. This year it’s Mitsouko, by Guerlain of Paris, which was originally created for Diaghilev. Isn’t that to die?”

“Incredible.” Although Annie had to wonder what kind of damage the perfume did to the costumes.

“I say, there are days I wake up and pinch myself.” Mrs. Vreeland swung her legs around and placed her feet delicately on the floor. “I love working with beautiful things and beautiful people.”

“What I most admire is how you hire women who break the rules of what a fashion model should look like,” offered Annie. “Cher, Lauren Hutton, Anjelica Huston.”

“I’ve always appreciated women who were interesting rather than beautiful. Probably to prove my mother wrong. You don’t need beauty, but you must have style. Embrace what you have, I say. If you’re tall, wear high heels. If you have big hands, wear chunky rings. The models I’ve had the pleasure to discover and work with were never boring.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s not about the dress, it’s about the life you’re living in the dress. Now, pick up that notepad and I’ll dictate some memos.”

Annie gathered up the pen and notebook from a side table and they began, Mrs. Vreeland reeling off missives to fashion-world luminaries like Oscar de la Renta, Kenneth Jay Lane, and Richard Avedon. After the last one, Mrs. Vreeland glanced at her wristwatch. “Off you go, now. I’ll see you at the museum in an hour.”

Annie rose to her feet, still reeling from the tornado of words.

“I just had asplendididea,” said Mrs. Vreeland. “Butterflies.”

“I’m sorry?” Annie waited for an explanation, but the woman was lost in thought, one hand under her chin, the other fluttering in front of her.

“Butterflies. Hundreds of them.”

“When? For the exhibition?”

“Of course for the exhibition! This year I’m inviting a group of VIPs to a special walk-through, conducted by me, while the rest of the guests are off dancing. And there simplymustbe butterflies for the VIP tour! I imagine a dizzying kaleidoscope of shape, pattern, and color. The room must feel as if it’s taking off in flight, just like the dancers once did on the stage of the Théâtre du Châtelet. I know you will come up with something marvelous.”

The phone rang, and Mrs. Vreeland pounced on it with glee, motioning Annie to let herself out.

“Misha, my darling. How are you getting along with Mr. B? Now tell meeverything.”

The day before the “Party of the Year,” as the Met Gala was often called, Mrs. Vreeland went into overdrive, which meant Annie did as well. Annie loved the feeling of taking ownership of the Metropolitan Museum, stomping after Mrs. Vreeland through the restaurant behind the Greek and Roman wing where dinner would be held after guests had streamed through the exhibition, followed by dancing in front of the Temple of Dendur. She made checklists and did her best to translate Mrs. Vreeland’s off-the-cuff, enigmatic commands into English. And then there was the exhibition itself, which Mrs. Vreeland fussed with until poor Marta looked like she was about to scream. Mrs. Vreeland had no qualms about climbing onto the platformswhere the mannequins were displayed, adjusting the way the dresses fell, or objecting to the lighting. (“Shine it on thecostumes, not the mannequin’s face; this isn’t some razzmatazz Broadway show!”)

That afternoon, Annie and Mona were sent off to the Temple of Dendur to oversee the placement of the bars and tall cocktail tables. The men setting up knew what they were doing, so she and Mona stood along the far wall and kept an eye on things as the gallery was transformed into a disco, replete with a neon dance floor.

“I stopped by the restaurant earlier, it looks very festive,” said Annie. She’d been pleased to see that the yellow feather fans at each place setting worked wonderfully with the floral centerpieces.

“There’s not much you can do with the Dorotheum,” sniffed Mona.

“Is that the name of the restaurant?”

“It was designed by a woman named Dorothy Draper, and no one likes it, hence the nickname. Those awful coral banquettes and the birdcage chandeliers? Even worse, the frolicking sprites that rise out of the fountain. Just terrible.”

There appeared to be a fine line between stylish and garish, thought Annie. A week ago, if asked, she would’ve deemed the restaurant to be elegant and Mrs. Vreeland’s apartment garish. But it was actually the opposite.

“I can’t believe the temple came all the way from Egypt,” said Annie.

“Did you know there’s graffiti on it?” asked Mona. She was skinny, but her voice was deep, a startling incongruity. Priscilla, meanwhile, spoke in a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice, which annoyed Mona but Annie found sweet. The two docent trainees were so different from each other, but both deeply devoted to the Met. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Mona led Annie around to the far side of the temple’s gate, where “Leonardo 1820” was carved into the sandstone.

Annie sighed. “I guess some things never change. Like spray paint on the subway cars, people love to leave their mark.”

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