Read The Celebutantes for Free Online Page B

Elijah liked feeling as though they were being ignored.
    â€œIt’s very stuffy in here,” Tallula said. “You know how I hate the heat—it makes me feel icky. Would you be a kitten and fix that?”
    â€œI’ll see that it gets cooler,” Ina replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the air-conditioning wasn’t turned up as high as you like it.”
    â€œI already feel out of sorts because of it.” Tallula sighed again. “Anyway, I don’t know what to wear, and I assume these Society of the Americas people will talk if I don’t meet their approval.” The thought annoyed her. She had never looked for anyone’s approval when it came to her fashion tastes. She had a wild sense of style, and on more than one occasion she’d appeared in public wearing completely over-the-top outfits: torn and tattered dresses with paint-splattered cowboy boots; skirts with mismatched blouses; men’s oversized suits that made her look ten pounds thinner. At a gallery opening in Santa Barbara last month, she had showed up in a black dress to which she had sloppily pinned several brightly colored bows. At an event before that, she’d worn a huge pink velvet top hat that made her look like a character from a Dr. Seuss book. Once, at a private gala at the Guggenheim, she’d dressed in a gold kimono and slipped a paintbrush through her hair. She hadn’t paid attention to what the tabloids said about her. She hadn’t given mind to the shocked stares either. She was an artist, and sometimes she felt the need to express herself beyond the canvas. And besides, her outfits always got attention, and Tallula liked attention.
    â€œThe society is very conservative,” Ina said, having done her research. “Mostly older people. I think you should probably wear something professional, maybe a little understated.”
    â€œOh, how fun.”
    Ina frowned. She put down the small notepad she’d been holding. “Should I look through your closet?”
    â€œYes. And let’s do it quickly. I’m so tired. I swear, if I sit down on that bed, I’ll fall asleep.”
    â€œWe don’t want that to happen,” Ina said gravely. “Everyone is waiting to see your newest painting. Lots of press downstairs.”
    â€œAnyone interesting?” Tallula asked.
    Ina was standing in the closet, shuffling through the few outfits she had packed for her boss. “Well, editors from
Vogue
and
Cosmo
will be present. The
New York Times
will be covering the event for the Sunday Styles section. Oh, yes—and the Hamilton triplets are here. They’ll be introducing you and unveiling the painting.”
    Tallula perked right up and smiled. “Really? Ha! That’s great! I didn’t know I’d be meeting the Hamiltons today.” But the smile faded quickly from her lips and was replaced by a look of worry. “Ina, why didn’t you tell me they were coming? I would have asked you to buy me a few Triple Threat pieces. You
know
how I like to be prepared, and those girls practically eat and breathe fashion!”
    Ina came scurrying out of the closet, a pensive expression on her face. “It’s all on your itinerary. I left it on your desk at home weeks ago.”
    â€œHow often do I sit at that desk?” Tallula snapped. “When I’m going to be in the company of special guests, I
need
to know beforehand, Ina. You should have just told me in person.”
    â€œBut you were working in your studio—you’ve been in there for weeks,” Ina replied quietly. “And I’m not allowed into your studio. I’m sorry, Tallula. Truly, I am. It won’t happen again.”
    With a theatrical toss of her head, Tallula stared up at the ceiling. “As an artist, I have a tendency to lose myself in my work. Next time, just find me when I walk out of my studio.”
    â€œI’ll do that.” Ina