They’d attended the opening of the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels at the Grand Palais last month (along with anyone who was Anyone), while Genevieve’s party had still been an idea-in-bud. In the Pavillon de l’Elégance, created by Armand Rateau, Lulu dimly remembered trying to dance an inebriated Charleston with one of Jeanne Paquin’s dressed mannequins. They’d caroused for many hours on one of Paul Poiret’s three exhibition barges on the Seine, decorated by Dufy and the Atelier Martine. And Genevieve had begun worrying about whether anything would ever seem truly impressive again.

“Chérie, you are throwing a party,” Lulu said now. “Not an international exposition!”

Genevieve spoke slowly, as to a small child. “Who is going to care about my little party when everyone went to the party? I’ll be lucky if anyone even bothers to turn up.”

“Vivi.” Lulu put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be fantastic.” And she drained the last grainy dregs of that potent coffee.

Lulu had her second vodka-laced coffee when Robert dropped by unexpectedly and got into an argument with the caterers over the vast quantity of caviar that had been ordered. He thought there must have been some mistake and said so. Lulu, who had been present when Genevieve had finalized the order, knew better. Robert took some placating, but Genevieve was a past master at handling him, and soon he was dispatched to the office and the caterers were expertly soothed.

The third vodka-laced coffee came after a phone call concerning the enormous abstract ice sculpture Genevieve had ordered. The call came from the sculptor’s mother.

“I felt it my duty to warn you, madame.”

“Warn me of what?” asked Genevieve.

“I was alarmed at the shape of your sculpture when I saw it there in the cooler.”

“The shape?”

“I shall ask my son to make some alterations before the evening.”

“Madame, what is wrong with the shape?”

“Well, it resembles a…a certain part of the male anatomy.”

By noon, when they arrived at the Atelier Martine for Genevieve’s dress fitting, Lulu was carrying a small bottle of vodka under her coat. After the fitting, they were due to return to Count Duvel’s place to watch the dress rehearsal of the specially choreographed Cubist dance piece. Then it was Richard Hudnot’s perfume shop on the Rue de la Paix; and finally, if Lulu could still see straight, both girls were having their hair, nails and makeup done at Lina Cavalieri’s Salon de Coiffure, Lulu’s to be paid for by Genevieve as a “thank you.”

At the Atelier Martine, Lulu reclined on a chaise longue while Genevieve was helped into her new dress.

“So, what do you think?” She emerged from behind the Chinese screen in a stunning flapper dress in flame-colored velvet; ostensibly a rich orange, but gold wherever the light fell on it.