“Hello, how are you. Yes, I’ve thought about it. These bags are just so delicious I’m going to take all of them.” Judy felt a wave of relaxation from her hand on the telephone down to her toes.

“I think that’s wise. They’re one of a kind,” the salesman spoke serenely on the other end of the line.

“Oh. I can’t tell you how much happier they’re making me already. Thanks so much. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Judy hit the intercom buzzer for the housekeeper.

“Would you bring my new bags to my room, and a cup of chamomile tea.”

Judy shut her eyes. She was going through her catalogue of potential shoes for tonight and matching them with her new purse. It was simultaneously soothing and exhilarating.

“Judy! Judy!” The flashbulbs were popping on the red carpet outside the old factory building. “Who made your dress?”

“Chanel Couture.” She smiled and held on to Albert. It was as if she were Cinderella without the downside of a glass slipper.

“Over here, Judy!” The lights from the cameras continued to pop.

“And my bag is VBH,” Judy squealed, knowing that if she got those magic letters into W or Vogue, next time they wouldn’t send over just a few clutches. Next time she could get them made to order.

As Judy walked into the former factory, she stopped to take her photo with David Rockefeller and the governor’s wife. The space had been transformed into a postmodern fantasyland, with hundreds of crystal chandeliers and lavender glitter falling constantly from the ceiling onto a lavender Nycra (a combination of nylon and Lycra) floor covering.

“You look so beautiful,” Judy squealed when she saw Clarice’s Yves Saint Laurent. “I love this!” She brushed Clarice’s bare shoulder, which made her especially happy, since Clarice’s arms were in no way better toned than her own.

“Hey, Clarice.” Barry walked by them wearing his signature black sweatshirt underneath a tuxedo.

“Hey, Barry.” Clarice air-kissed his cheek. She hadn’t spoken with him since their dinner at Vico. “You know Judy Tremont?”

“Hey, Judy. Great party.” Barry moved on.

“He’s a pig!” Judy commented as he walked away. “How could he wear a sweatshirt to this kind of party?”

“Oh, that’s just Barry.” Clarice shrugged.

“I wonder where Samantha is.” Judy was secretly delighted she had the spotlight to herself. “Maybe something really is going on,” Judy conjectured.

“I wouldn’t know.” Clarice cut short the Barry conversation and waved to Pippa Rose.

“Pippa. Have you seen Jil? He’s my escort tonight.”

“He’s in the corner chatting with Frankie Weissman and Charlie Acton.” Pippa motioned toward them. “Frankie just told me the most interesting thing. Apparently, this building was her father’s old nylon factory.”

“How fascinating!” Clarice was honestly intrigued. “I didn’t know that.”