Page 33 of Lorenzo

A smiling middle-aged woman stands at the entrance holding a silver tray with two flutes of champagne.

“This is Bertha. I’ve asked her to find and reserve items that would be appropriate for Mrs. Ricci.”

“You speak as if she’s a separate person. A person outside of myself.”

“You are correct.”

I frown. “Correct in what?”

“Mrs. Ricci’ had an established persona before you even entered the picture.”

“Lorenzo had been married before?”

“No. Yet the idea of ‘Mrs. Ricci’s’ style, personality, and how she would be viewed in society was long established.”

“So I’m stepping into a prescribed role,” I say slowly. “Funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“Usually it’s the woman who has to live up to the saint-like traits of a late wife. Now I’m expected to match a fantasy.”

Antoine smiles. “Either way, you’ll see that clothes make the woman. You must dress in a way that complements his stature.”

“Stature!”

This Antoine speaks as if Lorenzo’s a famous Bostonian statesman, not a nightclub owner. Then I realize that in Manhattan society, a man whose family owns the trendiest club in the city is probably more important.

“We won’t change the ‘you’ you,” says Antoine. “We’ll just modify your background.”

“You’ve googled me?”

“Of course. And what an illustrious background! Quite worthy of a Netflix multi-generational saga.”

I bite my lower lip. Just how much does he know?

“What part of my life will I see on the big screen?”

Antoine puts his finger to his smoothly shaved jaw. “That’s an excellent question. I see us going in two different directions.”

“For the Netflix series, or for my life as Mrs. Ricci?”

“If you know the entertainment business,” he says, like he’s some hot shot producer instead of an overinflated fashion consultant to the stars. “You’ll know you can’t pack too much in at once. And your life has quite a bit of ups and downs.”

Mostly downs, but I don’t tell him that.

“Tell me what you consider the ‘ups’ to be. The element that would make my life story binge-worthy?”

“Easy, my dear. Not every young woman is an active member of the Massachusetts Society of Mayflower Descendants.”

I grimace. “I wouldn’t call myself an ‘active’ member. The organization is elitist. And rather boring. Viewers would fall asleep.”

“Right,” he says, making a note in a leather-bound notebook with his initials etched in gold. “So let’s use that for the Mrs. Ricci character instead.”

Now he’s talking about me like I’m a character!

“We’ll use your family’s Fisher House restaurant and the popular Fisher House rolls for the show. Everyone knows them. There’s probably a frozen package of them in every freezer. Your family must be rolling in dough. Excuse the pun,” he says with a little laugh.

“Not quite,” I say stiffly. “A recipe can’t be trademarked. Our family lost the restaurant when my parents were killed and nobody stepped up to run it.”