25

Madame ‘A’ approached Mags with a knowing smile. She was dressed in black and was known as Minneapolis’ fashion Grande dame of couture.

“You are a beautiful specimen Mrs. Nelson. Have you ever considered modeling our creations in our next show? Your height and weight are impeccable to go with those cheek bones that could cut paper…”

Mags thought she was describing a freakish zombie hidden in the basement, and not very complimentary. But Mags listened.

“Tomorrow night. You can have the Parisian garments that you show,” Jeanne Aurerbacher deadpanned.

New clothes were always a positive in Mag’s world. She considered it and agreed without hesitation.

“Wonderful. I will personally pick out your treasures. So, the word that is circulating that your husband is considering a run for President. If so, and once he is elected, which is a guarantee, I would love to continue being your fashion advisor. There are some atrocious cloth cutters out there, that Mary Quant is embarrassing. Mini skirts,” she said with a well-timed eye roll.

Mags laughed at the Madame’s critique and realized that politics wasn’t the only profession that brought out the fangs.

“The woman is thinking that a short skirt is fashionable, I swear the industry is becoming gauche. That’s not fashion-but a towel wrapped around the waist after a swim!”

*Mary Quant made a journey to the Oval Room in 1967, bringing her mini-skirts model Twiggy with her.

Mags thought about the psychology of a new decade, and this seemed natural, the seasons were changing.

“You tell me Mrs. Nelson. Isn’t that the craziest thing you have ever heard? Above the knee?”

“I really don’t know,” Mags replied honestly.

Apparently getting free clothing was reason enough to use Mags as a therapist pro tem, quid pro quo.

“I want you here about four- tomorrow, I have some juicy ideas, and you will be fabulous. Get enough sleep, no partying,” and Jeanne Auerbacher disappeared.

Mags noticed a well-dressed man in his early thirties taking quick glances and then going back to his newspaper. Mags was nursing her ‘complimentary’ champagne and felt a tinge of excitement. Who was he, and what did he want? So, she timed his regular glance with a smile. Instead of going back to the daily news, the handsome man held her gaze and returned her smile. He made a gesture to join her, and Mags acquiesced. He stood and he appeared to be about six foot two as her excitement grew.

“May I?” he asked pointing the empty chair next to her.

“Please.”

He looked at her and smiled again.

“Madame is correct, you are stunning. I couldn’t help-sorry about eves dropping. I must confess I try to camp out here as often as possible. The madame allows it-for a fee of course.”

Her momentary adrenaline rush subsided as the snappily dressed film star handed her his card.

‘Modern Models by Jeffrey’. Mags looked at the card while taking another sip of the carbonated drink.

“Well, I must say I am speechless. The madame, now you, it seems like the surprises keep coming. I don’t know what to say, but what I can say is my dance…” Mags stopped.

She felt embarrassed by the word ‘dance’ turning into something more suggestive and focused on her drink instead.

“If I can be blunt, another part of your aura is the footprint you have-your connections. I read the story about the memorial service for your father, and I give my condolences. So, seeing you at the Oval Room confirmed my idea that you have style- too. I love that, and to be brutally frank, you can’t teach that.”

His words soothed her ego, and the previous electrical current came back with vengeance.

“I am sorry if I put you in a category, but that is my honest take. I saw your photo in the Star newspaper, and I had a momentary lapse of…”

Since she didn’t know his full name, she took a gamble-

“It’s okay Jeffrey.”

It was an obvious strain to say that while her heart galloped.  The madame of the Oval Room reappeared.

“Now don’t forget, tomorrow at four. I have work to do, now go you two!”

Rami returned and found Mags gone. He dropped the piece of chocolate into the waste basket he bought for her at the candy counter.

“Your fault Rami. She is beautiful and Jeffrey is always lurking in the shallow waters, you know that!” the madame said without expression.

He looked at her while waiting for encouragement. None came. The madame was the encouraging type. He turned and walked out without saying a word. Taking the escalator down floor after floor, Rami was hoping to see Mags, but knowing Jeffrey Graves was her escort dimmed his hopes.

“Shit. What was I thinking?” Rami mumbled.

“Rami!”

He came alive and searched for the familiar voice.

“Rami! Down here!”

There she was! No sign of Graves. Rami ran excitedly down the moving stairs and reached her standing at the perfume counter. She smiled.

“If you ever want to find a woman, check this counter,” she chided.

He smiled and felt something that was foreign to him-love. It was exhilarating, but frightening. How was she immune to the charms of Graves? He had a vampirish reputation, and once he mesmerized women, or men with his eyes…

“What happened?” he asked with surprise.

She looked at him with a grin.

“I have a damn law degree for Christ’s sake. I am not a little squealing tart. What do you take me for Rami? I have a husband!”

Of course she was married. He knew that, did Graves? Rami thought it might be weird to ask her, but it was gnawing at him. He kept quiet and then laughed at this being the place where Mags would wait for his eventual return.

“Why, what happened?” Rami couldn’t contain himself.

She seemed confused by his question. Mags asked him to be more specific.

“Graves. What happened to Graves?”

Mags took his card out of her purse and showed it to him. His smile disappeared.