Chapter Two

Wolves in Chic Clothing
by Carrie Doyle Karasyov, Jill Kargman

(Page 2 of 2)

Gene Pelham studied his stunning daughter as the makeup artist caressed the final dollop of blush onto her cherry cheeks. He was as emotional as he'd ever been. Which was not very.

"The bottom line is this, sweetie. 'To whom much has been given, much will be expected.' That's what Rose Kennedy used to say to her kids all the time, and let me tell you, it's good to remember. Teddy used to tell me constantly. God, Teddy and I had some fun times back in the day — you'll see him tonight. The Schlossbergs can't make it, but they want to take you to dinner as soon as you're back from your honeymoon. They were really apologetic. Did I tell you about the time Teddy, Frank Sinatra, and I are were all on the boat in the Riviera? That Angie Dickinson! Yeah, well, I probably shouldn't tell you that, seeing as you're my daughter. And don't believe what you hear about me and Teddy on the Vineyard — "

"Father," Lell said, rolling her eyes, "I've heard these stories a million times. Could you give them a rest? It is my wedding day."

"You're right, you're right, sweetie. Of course. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that now that you're getting married you have a responsibility to properly represent the Pelham family. You're a crucial part of the business, and that's why I made you creative director. Let's face it, the future of the company's going to be up to you, kiddo. Your brothers are useless."

Lell's brother Augustus, twenty-three, was completing his fifth year at the University of Colorado at Boulder, with a major in Women's Studies, aka studying women (up close). His minor was Botany. (Translation: pot smoking.) Twenty-year-old Duke, a sophomore who was keg-standing his way through Lake Forest, had expressed little interest in the family biz. Lell's father had been the same way at their age. Once quite dashing and known as a wild playboy who threw famous parties with celebrities and beautiful people at exotic locales, he had only ever planned on living off of the fruits of the business that his Russian great-grandfather, Eugene Pelham (nee Evgeny Perhelman), had built up from a small counter in the diamond district to a world-famous New York institution. Until fate intervened. His older brother Martin, the heir apparent with a head for business, who was in fact all business, was killed in a plane crash on his way to the opening of a Pelham's in Dubai. Gene had no choice but to settle down and take the reins at Pelham's.

Twenty-eight-year-old Eleanor (Lell) Pelham was the oldest child of Gene and his wife, Emily Wainguard Pelham, a Philadelphia Main Line WASP who was dropped from the Social Register when she married jet-setting Gene. Though her parents nearly had coronaries when their daughter become engaged, she didn't care; Emily was drawn to Gene's blush-inducing, loud, animated stories and his suave confidence. But that was then, in her youth.

Now she had regressed toward a temperament more approaching her mother's icy reserve. While Gene loved the limelight and the glitzy aspects that his job as CEO of Pelham's allowed him, Emily had become his polar opposite. Taciturn, uptight, and disapproving, she refused almost all social engagements, and spent most of her time gardening at their mansion in Washington, Connecticut. The result was that Lell possessed a combination of her mother's aloofness and reserve as well as her father's insatiable appetite for mixing with glamorous folk. It made for an interesting dichotomy.

"Gene, Lell has to get ready," said Emily, entering the dressing room of Lell's suite and shooting Gene an annoyed look.

"I know, I know. We're just having a little father-daughter chat, before I give my baby away to that rascal."

"Dad," said Lell reprovingly.

"Just kidding, just kidding, hon. You know we love Willoughby."

"He's perfect for you," said her mother, then added, "and us." She gave Lell a sideways look as she straightened a small silk bow on the bottom of her daughter's custom-made Carolina Herrera gown.

"He is the best." Lell's feelings for her mother vacillated between hero worship and hatred, but she was consistently elated to have made a match with a suitor that her mother approved of so heartily — and vocally.

"He better be is what I'm saying, 'cause I just moved fifty million into his hedge fund," Gene teased.

"Must we discuss money now?" Emily's tone was full of irritation.

"Well, I want Lell to know about money and these things. Look, you're protected by the pre-nup. I had a serious talk with Willoughby last week and let him know there will be no nonsense. It's iron clad. The money is in your name, and it's a premarital asset. Of course he'll have access to it now. I figured you kids needed more money to get started."

"Thanks, Daddy."

"And I want you to close on an apartment as soon as you get back. Now that you'll be Mrs. Willoughby Banks, you need to live at a serious address. Park Avenue."

"You're preaching to the choir. It's totally claustro. But Dad, can we talk about this later? I need to get ready."

"Certainly, sweetie."

"Gene, why don't you go find Gus and Duke?" said Emily. "Make sure they're dressed and don't let them be late."

"Right-o."

When Lell's father left, the bride stood up to take a look at herself in the mirror. She took a deep breath with a slow, paced exhale. So this was it. She was a striking young woman, five-foot-seven, with long dark hair and crystal blue eyes. Her skin was that creamy color that looks wonderful with a tan, and Lell and her four bridesmaids had just spent a week lying by the pool at her house in Jamaica in order to look perfectly bronzed for the big day. She would have been smashing walking down the aisle in just the ivory slip that she was wearing, or even a burlap sack for that matter. But she'd look spectacular in the gown that a dozen seamstresses had spent hours on. Carolina herself was scheduled to make the final adjustments before Lell sported it down the aisle.

"You will be a beautiful bride, Eleanor."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Willoughby is a catch."

"I know."

The women shared a contented smile before Emily went to check in with the event planners.

Part of Lell's attraction to Will had been her mother's early enthusiasm for the match. While she was more like her father in her status as a social butterfly, she always coveted her mother's approval, since it was so much harder to attain. All of Lell's previous suitors had been greeted with disdain, but her mother had brightened at the mere sight of Will when Lell had him come to a dinner with her parents at Elio's two years ago. At first she loved to rebel by parading her suitors — disheveled artists in dire need of good haircuts or Brooklyn-based musicians with ear piercings — before her horrified mother. It had been great to see her squirm. She'd gone so far as to taunt her mother by mentioning marriage or out-of-wedlock babies and a life in the East Village. But deep down beneath the mother-daughter catfight, Lell wanted her mother to worship her choice. She wanted to choose the kind of man Emily would wish she had chosen instead of her scene-loving husband.

That was Will to a T. When Lell met him on a sunny day in August on a friend's yacht in the Vineyard, she was immediately impressed by the ease with which he carried himself and the way everyone in their crowd gravitated toward him. She had looked with disdain at her current squeeze, a greasy-haired bassist from Williamsburg, whose pasty butt she had dragged kicking and screaming out of the city, and decided that life didn't have to be so difficult. Why should she suffer through moody artistes who would only end up living off of her money? Will was a much better option.

The unanimous word used to describe Will was charming. He was also very socially comfortable; Lell could chuck him in any crowd and he'd swim. That was a relief compared to all the babysitting that so many of her previous beaux had required. And best of all, Will knew at once how to endear himself to Mrs. Pelham, and that was to be the slightest bit snobby and to treat Mr. Pelham with the smallest hint of patronization and derision. Mrs. Pelham thus felt that he was her brethren. The fact that the Banks family was very similar to the Wainguards was just the icing on the cake. Sometimes Lell felt that it was her mother who should be marrying Will. Too bad.

Excerpted from Wolves in Chic Clothing by Carrie Karasyov and Jill Kargman Copyright © 2005 by Carrie Karasyov. Excerpted by permission of Broadway, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

Carrie Karasyov was born and raised in New York City. After graduating from Barnard College with a degree in Russian Language and Literature in 1994 she worked at Harper's Bazaar Magazine in both New York and Moscow. At age 24, she became the founding Editor-in-Chief of the Russian edition of Marie Claire Magazine. Karasyov lives in Santa Monica, California with her husband Vasily and her two-year old son James.

Jill Kargman is a New York-based screenwriter with two current features at Paramount Pictures bought by the studio in 2002. Jill's freelance work includes over ten shows for MTV. She has written over 100 articles that have appeared in magazines including Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Interview, Town & Country, British GQ, Elle, Teen Vogue and Travel + Leisure, in addition to her weekly column for W Magazine online, EyeSpy at Style.com. She is deathly afraid of clowns.