Gilt, p.31
Gilt, page 31
Jack stood at the bar talking to Manny and Lidia.
Celeste caught the eye of Clifford Henry, and he began cutting through the crowd.
“Excuse me! Make way . . . wedding officiant coming through!”
People began murmuring. Elodie, realizing what was happening, made her way over to stand by her side. Manny, already next to Jack, gave Celeste a smile. The guests, confused and hushed in anticipation, gathered in a loose crowd before them. All she heard was the gentle lapping of the water and the old Bee Gees song “How Deep Is Your Love” playing on the sound system. A breeze stirred the lace of her dress.
“What are you doing?” Jack said, glancing around uncomfortably.
“I brought you something for your birthday,” she said. “If you’ll accept it.”
She held out the two matching platinum bands Gemma made for them. He looked at the rings uncomprehendingly, then at Clifford. Then at her gown.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Jack said.
Celeste reached for his hand. “I do.”
* * *
It all happened so fast. One minute, Elodie was feeling sad and uncomfortable around Jack. The next, he was her brother-in-law.
“Well, that was something,” Tito said, handing her a flute of champagne. “Does this make us cousins-in-law?”
She laughed.
“I suppose.” She reached down to pat Pearl. Overstimulated, she’d settled by Elodie’s feet and wouldn’t budge. Bart, in contrast, roamed around the party, visiting each cluster of guests like he was the host.
“I hope that doesn’t mean we can’t also be more,” he said. “Have you given any more thought to moving in?”
Of course she had. But as tempting as it was to think of moving into Tito’s house and living a romantic life by the sea, she couldn’t. Pavlin & Co was a part of her. It was her legacy, one she’d set her claim on from the time she was a little girl. It was her first love, the one that had always been there—for better and for worse. She couldn’t walk away.
“I have a life in New York,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be my whole life, but I can’t just leave it behind. I can’t live here full-time. As much as I want to be with you.”
Tito reached for her hand.
“I was just thinking: If Celeste could change her mind about marriage after all these years, then the least I can do is visit the Big Apple.”
Elodie set her glass down on the nearest table.
“Don’t tease me.”
“Is that a yes?” he said.
Elodie threw her arms around him. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
The dock became a dance floor.
Tito was a nostalgic DJ: The music was 1970s heavy—Elton John, Tom Petty, Carly Simon. Celeste, the beaming bride, had kicked off her shoes while Jack twirled her around. Beside them, Tito and Elodie danced like they were the only two people in the universe.
Gemma watched from the sidelines as Sanjay moved around taking photos.
“Hey,” Alvie said, beaming. She handed Gemma a glass of champagne. “A toast: to the summer of love.”
Gemma held the glass by her side. “Alvie, what’s Sanjay doing here?”
Alvie shrugged. “It’s not my party. But I can say that a few days ago Maud became very interested in making sure we’d have some good photos from tonight. Unusually interested.”
The sun was starting to set, a pinkish hue casting the boatyard in an almost surreal light. The bay was at high tide, the water lapping against the dock. Somewhere nearby, a cork popped.
The song “American Girl” poured out of the speakers, and Sanjay put his camera down long enough to take a break at the bar, downing a glass of water. She walked over, her heart beating fast.
“Hey,” she said.
He poured a second glass of water and handed it to her.
“Hey. Sorry for just showing up like this. Maud reached out to me. She said they needed a photographer for a party tonight and for Carnival next week. She made me an offer I couldn’t turn down.”
The summer’s not over yet.
Gemma bit her lip.
“Did . . . Monica come with you?”
His eyes met hers searchingly, and the surge of emotion she felt took her breath away.
“No. She didn’t,” he said, his voice low. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Why not?” she said.
“Because I realized I had feelings for someone else. Feelings that made it unfair for me to be in a relationship with her.”
Gemma swallowed hard. The sky was almost dark. A firefly glowed nearby, its tiny light like a winking star. She stepped closer to him.
“So . . . what now?” she said.
He kissed her, enveloping her in his arms. The rest of the party—the rest of the world—receded. The music changed again, something slow and moody, a song she didn’t recognize but knew would stay with her. In that moment, she felt—for the first time in a very long time—like the pieces of her life had come together. Like it was whole.
74
New York City, Three Years Later
The line of eager customers and press stretched an entire city block. The sun was just beginning to set on the late spring evening, and the barricades on East Fifty-Third Street had been in place since noon. Gemma stepped out of the Lincoln Town Car and was immediately met by a security guard in a dark suit and wearing an earpiece. The entrance to Pavlin & Co was a yard away. With the swarm of photographers it seemed unreachable.
She pulled up the hem of her long white dress, keeping it from sweeping the ground. It was asymmetrical and wrapped over her left shoulder, with an embroidered butterfly above her heart. It had been designed by her intern, a current NYSD student. The dress was her award-winning final project.
“Gemma!” Elodie called, stepping out of her own car, followed by Tito. “What a spectacle,” she said. She looked flustered, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her pale blue St. John shift dress rumpled from the short drive from Park Avenue. The sight of Tito in a suit put a smile on her face despite the frenzy around her; he hadn’t even worn a suit at their beach wedding last summer.
“I’m honored you got so dressed up for the occasion,” Gemma said to him.
“It’s your big night,” he said. “Both of yours.”
Elodie gave her a wink. She was one of the few people who knew it was only the second biggest night Gemma was having that week.
Security hustled them to the front of the store, past the windows with the deep green awnings, under the limestone archway engraved with the family name.
Inside, the vast showroom had been arranged with seating for the press, where her NYSD friend Mae Yang, now an editor at New York magazine, sat in the front row. Gemma gave her a wave, thinking about the borrowed press credentials that set everything in motion.
Displays of jewelry open on tables flanked the speaker’s podium. In a break from custom, they weren’t encased in glass. Gemma wanted people to be able to touch and feel and connect with the pieces—her first for Pavlin & Co as the lead designer.
The collection was called Gilded Butterfly, a celebration of precious metals and their versatility in conveying design. Every piece could be personalized, and some necklaces could be mixed and matched. The pieces ranged from affordable (a chunky sterling silver necklace chain) to extravagant (a twenty-four-karat gold cuff bracelet). Gemma’s favorite pieces were the stacked rings, sleek and modern in brushed metals. Here, too, they had affordable single rings that could be collected over time for the dramatic look of half a dozen on a finger. On the higher end, customers could buy pave diamond versions with upcycled stones. The important thing was, there was something for everyone. A philosophy cemented by the company’s first new tagline in seventy years: “Treat Yourself Like Gold.”
Gemma’s decision to work for Pavlin & Co had, ultimately, been a simple one. It was what she wanted. And then, one night over drinks with Elodie at the Carlyle, she learned she wasn’t the only one who wanted it all along. “I finally realize why my mother made you one of the signatories on the private collection,” Elodie said.
“So you couldn’t sell?” Gemma said.
“No. She wanted you to be at Pavlin & Co. She knew it was your rightful place, even when I didn’t want to see it.”
Yes, GEMMA the brand had been her own. But Pavlin & Co was bigger than herself. And she knew she had the vision to bring it into the future and ensure that it was around for many generations to come.
The door opened again, revealing a frazzled-looking Celeste.
“Goodness. That was . . . challenging,” she said, leaning against the closed door as if warding off a tornado. “Jack’s looking for parking.”
“Are we ready, Gemma?” asked security. She glanced over at Elodie and she gave a nod.
With that, the front doors were opened and the press flooded in like weary travelers discovering a roadside all-you-can-eat buffet. She knew Sanjay would have loved to be taking photos himself. But tonight, he wasn’t a photographer. Tonight, he was her fiancé, and she needed him by her side.
He proposed just two nights earlier. She didn’t see it coming. Sure, they’d been living together for the past year, and he photographed the new ad campaign for Pavlin & Co, and they were madly in love. But that evening, she was so stressed about the impending launch, she barely mustered the enthusiasm to go along with his idea to take a walk.
They strolled the East River promenade past Carl Schurz Park. It was one of those perfect spring evenings, with the tulip beds in bloom and the sunlight hitting the river in a way that made it look as dazzling as a Swiss lake. They were almost at Gracie Mansion when Sanjay got down on the ground. She thought at first that he’d dropped something, but then he looked up at her with those deep dark eyes that had become her home.
“Gemma,” he said. At that point, the joggers, bikers, and parents pushing strollers realized what was happening and stopped to watch. Sanjay handed her a ring box. She opened it and gasped.
A pink diamond eternity band. The pink diamond eternity band.
“How is this possible? I tossed this into the ocean . . .”
Sanjay smiled. “Your aunt Celeste knew that the tide would bring it right back that night. Something about a full moon? She said she couldn’t let you throw it away just to make her feel better.”
“How long have you known she had it?” Gemma said, barely able to process the fact that he’d proposed, never mind the reappearance of the ring she thought was gone forever.
“Only since I told her I wanted to ask you to marry me. She said she’d been saving it for that very moment.”
When he slipped the ring on her finger, onlookers clapped and whistled. And when he said, “Will you marry me?” she barely managed to breathe out the word yes.
She was still on a high from it, reliving it over and over in her mind. But tonight was about work.
As the press filled in their cordoned-off seats, Gemma and her aunts discussed their positions on the podium. A familiar redhead pushed her way to the front of the crowd.
“I need a shot of the three of you,” said Regan O’Rourke. Gemma obliged, acutely aware that she was standing in the spot where she’d first stood with her mother as a child, now wearing the engagement ring that was a piece of her mother’s, flanked by Elodie and Celeste.
She smiled for Regan O’Rourke. And then it was time to address the room.
Elodie and Celeste moved to one side, leaving Gemma alone in the spotlight. She thought, briefly, of the night of her graduation, when she stood in front of the audience feeling so alone.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight to celebrate. A special thank-you to my aunt Elodie Pavlin for carrying on the family legacy all these years and now inviting me to design in this new era of Pavlin & Co.” She turned to look at her aunt standing beside her and saw the glimmer of tears in her bright eyes. Gemma swallowed hard and turned back to the crowd. “I dedicate this debut collection, Gilded Butterfly, to my mother, Paulina. She loved butterflies, and I embrace them as the perfect symbol of change . . . of metamorphosis. Pavlin & Co is now in its second century. The world is a different place, but jewelry remains a vital part of celebrating our milestones. My hope for the Gilded Butterfly collection is that a ring or necklace is the first piece of jewelry someone buys for themselves and never takes off. I hope people come back to Gilded Butterfly throughout their lives, for birthdays and graduations, for job successes, and yes, for engagements. My great-grandfather famously said that ‘a diamond says love,’ and I believe true love begins with ourselves. So, without further ado, I introduce you to Gilded Butterfly. Treat yourself like gold.”
The room erupted in applause. Sanjay, seated in the front row, gave her a thumbs-up. She was instantly brought back to the moment at college graduation when she’d looked out at the audience and he’d given her the same gesture. But now, he wasn’t the only one in the audience who cared about her.
She was surrounded by love.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my talented editor, Gabriella Mongelli, for pushing me through multiple drafts to the best possible version of this story. Gaby, thank you for your spot-on notes and patience. I love working with you! I’m grateful for the support of the entire Putnam team—my publisher, the brilliant Sally Kim; my publicist, Ashley Hewlett; Ellie Schaffer; Brennin Cummings; Nishtha Patel; Alexis Welby; Ashley McClay; the sales force; and the art department that created this dazzling cover. I know you were all responding to my emails while at home juggling children and pets and spouses, and I’m grateful.
My agent, Adam Chromy, read early drafts of this book and steered me away from a few cliffs. Thank you for being the one to always keep me on track and for believing I’ll get there no matter how far off course I wander. I feel creatively safe knowing you are always there to catch my fall.
Every story begins with a spark, and for this book, that spark was the jewelry brand Lulu Frost, designed by Lisa Salzer. Lisa, your Plaza Collection reminded me that jewelry can tell some of our best stories. Thank you for the beauty you bring into the world. I also had great fun researching estate jewelry at Pippin Vintage in New York City and A. Brandt & Son on Main Line, Philadelphia.
But writing this book wasn’t all glitter and gold: I’d always had this fantasy that somehow, if the world shut down and I had nothing to do but write, it would be easier to finish a novel. Well, be careful what you wish for. I started this novel in the summer of 2020, when the world had indeed shut down. I soon realized that it’s the balance of life and writing that makes creativity possible. I never realized how much I fed off of the normal rhythm of my days until that rhythm was disrupted. I took for granted seeing my friends—especially my author friends—at dinners out and book events where we commiserated and shared notes and supported one another. I don’t know what I would have done the past year and a half without my Thursday Zoom crew: Fiona Davis, Susie Orman Schnall, Lynda Cohen Loigman, Amy Poeppel, Nicola Harrison, and Suzanne Leopold.
To my daughters, Georgia and Bronwen, you handled a time of change and loss with grace and fortitude. I love you and I’m proud of you.
A special thank-you to the booksellers and readers who have been with me on this journey. I appreciate each and every one of you.
Finally, thank you to my husband. In the very dark days of spring 2020, you brought me to live in a bright and hopeful place so that I could write this novel: Provincetown. You turned what could have been a disaster into something beautiful. You always do. And I love you for it.
About the Author
Jamie Brenner is the author of six novels, including Blush and The Forever Summer. She grew up in suburban Philadelphia on a steady diet of Jackie Collins and Judith Krantz novels, and later moved to New York City to live like the heroines of her favorite books. Jamie now divides her time between Philadelphia and Provincetown.
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Jamie Brenner, Gilt
