the "Tawker" gossipeuse.
"All right." Eliza sighed, gesturing apologetically in Jeremy's direction. Given that Mitzi had strapped her baby to her chest, maybe there was no time for relationships when you were trying to
94
make a living on the New York social circuit. Was she going to have to strap Jeremy to her chest to get to spend any time with him?
Eliza pasted on her most winning smile as she prepared herself to take on the reporter's questions. She knew she had to ace the interview or else be subjected to enormous ridicule. "Tawker" was merciless in its coverage of Manhattan movers and shakers. It had even instituted a popular section called "Dumbass of the Day," wherein various players on the Manhattan social scene were relentlessly savaged. Never appearing in that column was considered a great achievement among a certain set.
"Hey, nice meeting ya." The gossip writer, a perky, twenty-something brunette quickly shook her hand before diving right in. "So, which stuff did Chauncey Raven buy? The underwear, I hope? God knows the girl needs it, huh?"
Eliza laughed and then provided all the lacy details. She knew that celebrities' shopping habits were standard fodder for the gossip press.
The "Tawker" editor followed with a few softball questions about the launch party and who had been invited, and Eliza carefully answered every query, making sure not to use the word like in every sentence or say anything that could be used to humiliate her--with one careless answer, she could be painted as another rich blond socialite trying to buy her way into a career in fashion.
Eliza was proud of her own composure, but she could tell that after only a few minutes, the reporter could barely contain her
95
boredom--she was already checking her watch. What was up with everyone tonight? Eliza thought, annoyed. First Mara bailing early, and now it was so obvious the "Tawker" writer was talking to her only because Mitzi had forced her to. Well, screw her. Eliza wasn't going to embarrass herself just to give "Tawker" something to talk about. Though she was dying to get some press--the store wouldn't survive without it.
"Well, thanks for your time," the girl said, giving Eliza a fake smile. "I'll let Mitzi know if we run an item."
"Sure." Eliza nodded, pushing her hair away from her face, knowing full well that a passing mention on Chauncey Raven's lingerie purchase would be the only coverage her store would receive. Still, she'd take any press she could get.
"Hey, is that an engagement ring?" the reporter asked suddenly.
"Oh yeah, I guess," Eliza said, looking at the ring again as if for the first time.
The writer whistled. "What is that, five carats? It's a monster!"
Eliza nodded, blushing a little. It really was huge. But then, hadn't she always insisted to whoever listened that she would never settle for anything less? "Five carats--anything less is a speck. An insult. A piece of dust!" "Five carats or don't bother!" But now, it did seem absurdly large. It looked gigantic on her finger.
"So who's the lucky guy?" the writer asked, taking a slug of champagne, her interest in Eliza apparently renewed.
96
"Jeremy Stone," Eliza said with a warm smile.
"Jeremy Stone," the girl repeated, furrowing her brow. "Why does his name sound so familiar?"
"He's a really great landscape architect," Eliza gushed, beaming. So maybe "landscape architect" was pushing it--Jeremy was just a glorified gardener when you came down to it. But whatever her ambivalence toward the ring, one thing was for sure--she was very proud of Jeremy.
"No, that's not why," the reporter said dismissively, waving her glass of champagne around as she furrowed her brow in thought. "Jeremy Stone. . . . Hey, I remember now. Isn't he the guy who just inherited the Greyson pile?"
What a way to put it. "Um, well, yes . . . ," Eliza said slowly.
"Damn, girl. You made a killing! You're marrying the Greyson heir!" The "Tawker" writer immediately lit up and brought out her iPod recorder. "So when's the wedding?"
The Greyson heir? Wedding? "Uh, we're not really sure. . . ." Eliza blanched. Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding? She wanted to explain that the ring signified more of a "promise" than an engagement--Jeremy had never even said anything more about it; he just looked happy to see the ring on her hand--but no words came out. The "Tawker" writer seemed really interested in the story, and Eliza felt the hunger for publicity start to gnaw at her.
"Um ... next ... next year?" Eliza hedged. Besides, if it was an engagement ring, which everyone seemed to think it was--
97
and what was the harm if they did?--then that would mean there would have to be a wedding at some point. . . .
"You gonna wear white? God knows you have enough white in this store. Design the dress?"