she had; she only remembered seeing her sleeping. Maybe she’d given a message to Phyllis, while she was helping her get settled on the bus, and she’d made the arrangements from her office. It all seemed less than entirely square to Lucy, who was used to following Ted’s strict rules at the Pennysaver about keeping advertisements separate from editorial policy. She shrugged mentally. Maybe TV had different standards from newspapers; she really didn’t know.
Then Beyoncé was singing, and then the show was suddenly over; everybody was on their feet, applauding madly. Even Lurleen and Faith had forgotten their earlier disappointment and were smiling and clapping.
The high spirits engendered by the show continued as they all boarded the waiting bus for the ride to the hotel, where they would have an hour to rest and change for dinner and a promised Broadway show. Petty jealousies and rivalries were forgotten as Maria treated everyone to a medley of songs about New York, finally getting them all to join in for a rousing chorus of “New York, New York.”
A wave of tiredness overcame Lucy as she disembarked from the bus and crossed the hotel lobby, but she was surprised when Elizabeth’s steps dragged, too. She was beginning to wonder if she was coming down with the flu when the desk clerk called her name.
The others, who were gathered by the elevator, watched curiously as he presented her with a couple of square, white envelopes. Lurleen, whose eyes were practically popping out of her head, couldn’t restrain herself. “What’s that?” she demanded. “How come we didn’t all get them?”
Lucy examined the envelopes, which were addressed to her and Elizabeth in calligraphic script. “I don’t know,” she said, turning them over. Seeing the name and address of the sender, she smiled. “It’s nothing to do with the magazine,” she said. “It’s from my friend who lives in New York.”
“They look like invitations,” said Cathy. “A wedding, maybe?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anything about a wedding.” Lucy was wondering what was keeping the elevator. She wanted to open the envelopes in private, in her room.
“Goodness, we’re all forgetting our manners,” said Ginny. “Lucy doesn’t need to share her private mail with us.”
“I think it’s some sort of joke,” said Lucy. “Probably one of those funny greeting cards.”
The arrow next to the elevator was alight, signaling it was on its way down.
“I could use a joke,” said Cathy.
“Oh, all right,” said Lucy, slipping her finger under the envelope flap and pulling out an engraved cardboard square. The others were clustered around, craning their necks and reading over her shoulder.
“Oh my,” she said, breaking into a big smile. “It is an invitation. To a ball at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Tomorrow night.”
“The AIDS gala,” said Cathy, as the doors slid open.
The women crowded aboard, surging ahead of Lucy and Elizabeth, who found themselves outside, looking in at a full car.
“Sorry, no room,” chirped Lurleen, as the doors closed.
Lucy and Elizabeth stood in place, looking at each other, then they burst into giggles. “A ball!” exclaimed Elizabeth, jumping up and down with excitement. “There’ll be famous people, fabulous dresses…”
“Oh dear,” said Lucy, her heart sinking as they stepped into an empty elevator. “We don’t have a thing to wear!”
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