Being Audrey Hepburn by Mitchell Kriegman Read Free Book Online

up in a Givenchy and nowhere to go.

8
    I heard the murmur of martini laughter, the clinking of glasses, and champagne corks popping. I looked at the door I wasn’t supposed to wander away from and imagined the gallery downstairs and all the graceful, wealthy young things below.
    What the hell.
    Shuffling in my big shoes, I edged over to the railing and surveyed the party on the lower level.
    A battalion of black-tied waiters and waitresses armed with champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres weaved among the trust-fund babies. There were so many “familiar” faces rubbing shoulders below—all the people I knew but would never meet—glitterati, diva girls, famed and adorable. Girls size 00 with perfect tans and the latest Gucci, Louis Vuitton and Dolce & Gabbana. We grew up in Jerze reading about them, watching them on TV, and hearing about their endless parties. Jess always joked that those kids had affluenza, an enviable disease that included boredom, alcoholism, apathy, deviant behavior, and an unshakeable sense of entitlement.
    Spotting Dahlia and Mr. Underwear-Man by the bar, it hit me why he seemed so familiar. Mr. Underwear-Man was ZK Northcott, oil and gas heir, a collector of vintage motorcycles and would-be actresses. Famous for being a one-date wonder, he’d been with every heiress, hottie, party girl, and up-and-coming movie bimbo from coast to coast. His picture had been taken on the red carpet a thousand times. But he never lingered with any of them long enough to become an item, so they didn’t actually write about him much. That’s why I couldn’t place him. Dahlia seemed almost out of his league, too heavy for a one-nighter.
    “Excuse me, young lady…” The gruff voice of a museum guard snapped me out of my trance. It was Joe from Security.
    Crap. Double crap. Totally busted, I felt myself start to cry. I’m sorry I’m wearing a million-dollar dress that I stole, I wanted to say, like a schoolgirl caught shoplifting. I wanted to confess every bad thing I’ve ever done. I pondered a hundred excuses to save Jess’s job and my ass, but none of them were any good.
    “Miss, this area is restricted,” Joe said.
    He hadn’t recognized me. How could that happen? Even though we’d said hello dozens of times, he had no idea who I was.
    “You need to go back downstairs to the event,” he said curtly. Relief filled my body. Jess was right. I did blend in.
    “Oh, I’m terribly sorry … officer,” I said in my best Audrey voice. “I was just looking for the powder room. Would you mind awfully…”
    “No problem at all, miss. Down the stairs, first door on the right,” Joe replied. His gruffness was gone, and he was actually smiling. Why Audrey was so successful with people became instantly clear to me. Her whole way of talking assumed that the person she was talking to was … well, nice, and would prefer to be helpful.
    Joe watched me protectively as I stepped delicately down the grand staircase, methodically taking each step so that my giant shoes wouldn’t clomp, clomp, clomp on the marble stairs. With every move, the shoes slipped farther from my feet. I prayed I wouldn’t go down headfirst.
    “New shoes,” I said over my shoulder, smiling winsomely to Joe. He smiled back, making sure I made it down safely before he continued on his rounds. I gave him an Audrey wave stumbling for a second, then recovering, and kept going.
    Close call. I must have looked so stupid. I knew Jess had instructed me to stay put, but I couldn’t ignore Joe, and she couldn’t really blame me for peeking, could she? When would I ever get another chance? Now I would really see if I blended in. But first, I’d have to do something about the clown stilettos that were killing my feet. Then I’d rush right back upstairs—after stalking of course, just a little bit. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone at the Hole!
    Downstairs, there was a long line at the ladies’ room (it’s the same everywhere you go, isn’t