Nancy A Collins-Vamps 02 Read Free

refreshment table, laden with fresh fruit and cheese trays, trying to hide her revulsion. The sight of what clots called “food” was enough to make her stomach turn. She wondered how they could bring themselves to eat such slop.
    The store’s fashion director held up her hands for silence. “Ladies, we here at Bergdorf Goodman are pleased to introduce a new designer to our collection this coming spring. Here to speak to you about their upcoming ready-to-wear line is Maison d’Ombres’
    North American executive representative.” Carmen nudged Lilith as a tall, well-built man in his mid-twenties stepped forward. “He makes Ollie look like a waiter at Applebee’s.”
    “He’s cute”—Lilith shrugged—“but Jules is hotter.”
    “Jules is smoking hot,” Carmen agreed.
    “What do you mean by that?” Lilith said suspiciously.
    “Nothing, Lili,” Carmen replied quickly. “I was just saying, you know.”
    Seemingly oblivious to the discussion of his relative hotness, the young exec smiled at the women assembled 13

    before him. “Ladies, allow me to introduce to you the bright young face of Maison d’Ombres—the incompa-rable Gala!”
    From behind one of the racks stepped a stunningly beautiful girl with high, rounded cheekbones, pouty bee-stung lips, sparkling aquamarine eyes, and long hair that spilled down about her shoulders like warm butterscotch. With her long, shapely legs and surfer-girl tan, she looked fresh off the beach at Malibu.
    As the model sashayed out into the audience dressed in a ruff-collar blouse paired with a bow-belted dark skirt and a houndstooth trench with rolled sleeves, a photographer with broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed Van Dyck beard swung a 35-mm Nikon digital camera into action. The preferred customers “oohed” and “aahed” appreciatively.
    On seeing the camera, Lilith and her entourage shifted about uneasily. Although they still had a few years before they would totally lose the ability to reflect and be photographed, they had been raised to be cautious in the presence of photographic equipment.
    The photographer circled Gala like a satellite, his back to the other women in the room. As she watched the photographer click away, Lilith recognized him as the man who had approached her at D&G a couple of weeks earlier.
    “Who’s the paparazzo?” Lula asked.
    “That’s no pap, that’s Kristof,” Carmen explained.
    14

    “You know him?” Lilith asked, trying not to let her interest show.
    “Not personally. He’s this hotshot photographer who’s done spreads with Iman, Kate Moss, and Kurkova. He’s been signed to work on the Maison d’Ombres launch. Speaking of which—what do you think of the clothes?”
    Lilith glanced over at the racks full of sample clothing. The garments all seemed to be very well made, but they weren’t anything special. “I could vomit something more interesting,” she said with a shrug. “Did I mention that I’m to be the last debutante presented at the Grand Ball?”
    “Several times,” Armida replied.
    “I’m looking for something that will rivet every eye in that ballroom. After all, being the final presentation of the evening is very important. The Grand Ball can’t begin before I start the first dance of the night. I want a gown that signifies that importance.” As she spoke, Lilith watched some girls come up to the model with paper and pen in hand, seeking auto-graphs. The model scribbled her name, and her admirers eagerly bore the signatures away as if they were as precious as gold.
    “I hear Gala signed a million-dollar contract with Maison d’Ombres to be their official model for the next year,” Lula whispered. “Spreads in ELLE , Vanity Fair , and Vogue . . . that kind of thing.” 15

    “A million?” Lilith tapped her chin with a pearl-pink nail. “How old would you say she is?”
    “Seventeen, I guess; maybe eighteen.”
    “Would you say she’s prettier than me?”
    “Uhhh . . .” Lula glanced