She clutched once again at her pearls, which had belonged to Vivian’s grandmother. “A woman going out to El Morocco must wear either diamonds or pearls,” Vivian had insisted, and personally hooked the strand around Laura’s throat. Laura had worried that pearls were a bit much in warm weather; Marmy would have been aghast. How much time this week had she wasted thinking how aghast Marmy would be at something she was doing or not doing? But the gesture was too sweet, too un-Vivian, to refuse. Besides, she had already ditched the opera gloves. Too much costume for a date that already had more than enough theatricality. Vivian had already left for her shift at the Stork, delivering some ridiculous goodbye (“Cracking, darling! Best of British!”) before scurrying out, but Dolly was now a floor below her in the lobby, awaiting Box Barnes. Laura had begged off the whole Shakespearean “waiting on the balcony” scene, but Dolly had insisted, convincing her that if she waited in the actual lobby in her ball gown, she’d only attract more attention from the girls drifting in and out, and if she waited in their stuffy room, she’d wilt like a week-old violet.
What do You think about Searching For Grace Kelly?
