Beautiful(44)
The article said that the funeral mass would be in four days at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and was open to the public. Burial would be private for family only. A rosary was to be said at the cathedral the night before.
She sat for hours, staring into space, thinking of him, shocked that he had slipped away so quickly, and she hadn’t seen him again. She cherished the short time they had shared, and their exchanges. She cried every time she thought of him and their conversation the day before. She wondered if he had sensed it was the end. He had been so clear and so insistent when he said he loved her.
She was still sitting on the couch with the newspaper in her hand when Doug called her. He had just seen it in the paper.
“Oh my God, Véro, I’m so sorry. He has such an impressive background. When did you last see him?”
“Not since the last time I was here, when I came to meet him. But we’ve talked a lot on the phone, I talked to him yesterday and he told me he loved me.” She was crying. “I’m an orphan now, for real.” She sobbed as she said it, and he felt terrible for her. “He told me he was sorry he didn’t stay with my mother, but maybe they were right. It would have been a huge scandal. I don’t know if they should have braved it or not,” but they hadn’t, for whatever reason. “My mother didn’t want to hurt his political future. I guess he had his eye on the presidency, but he never ran for president, just vice president, and lost anyway.”
“He did an awful lot of great stuff, if you read the article in the Times. He championed all the anti-poverty programs, and was a huge philanthropist personally. You really have to admire him for who he was. That’s quite a legacy to have someone like him as your father.”
“I know. I just wish I’d had more time with him, even now as an adult. I was fine with just my mom growing up, although it would have been nice to have him with us. But with my mom gone, he’s been very attentive and engaged, and now he’s gone too.” She’d really had a terrible year, losing both her parents, and her father so soon after he came into her life. “It’s probably stupid, but I’m going to go to the funeral. It’s open to the public, so I won’t embarrass anyone. No one will even know I’m there, but I want to be there for him. I won’t bother anyone, or approach his kids. I think my mother would have wanted me to go. He is my father after all, even if no one knows.”
“It’s going to be mobbed. Everyone admired and loved him. But I think you should go, if it’s not too hard for you.” She’d been through enough without adding more unnecessary trauma, but maybe it would give her some kind of comfort and closure to be there.
“I wish I could go with you,” he said. “I have a big shoot on Friday for Harper’s Bazaar.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said, calming down a little. The funeral gave her something to focus on. “The nurse took some of the bandages off my face today, and I just have gauze and tape now, so I won’t look like a mummy in a horror movie if I go, but I would have gone that way anyway, if I had to.” He knew she would have. She had shown nothing but guts and courage in the past ten months. He didn’t doubt that for a moment.
They talked for a few more minutes after that, and she left the apartment immediately after, bundled up against the cold. She wanted to find something appropriate to wear to her father’s funeral. They had buried her mother quietly with a private service that only she and her mother’s law partner had attended. This time, she wanted to do her father proud, even if no one in the crowd knew who she was, and she was a secret from everyone who knew him. She was his daughter to her core, and she was going to look it, and represent herself and her mother.
She took a cab to Bergdorf, and began a serious search for something appropriate to wear. She knew all the designers well, and who was most likely to have what she needed, and by six o’clock she had found all of it. She was going to be the most quietly elegant woman at the funeral, lost among thousands of strangers and members of the public. She found a beautiful black wool Balenciaga coat from their couture collection, reminiscent of the clothes Audrey Hepburn had worn, and Jacqueline Kennedy. She hadn’t brought anything appropriate with her, and didn’t own anything quite that grown up, but this was going to be one of the most adult events in her life, and she wanted him to be proud of her, wherever he was now. She found a simple black wool Dior dress to go under it. She was going to wear opaque black stockings so the gauze bandages on her legs didn’t show, and very high-heeled black suede Manolo Blahnik pumps, and a plain black alligator handbag her mother would have loved. And a pair of short black kid gloves.
The last piece she needed she knew would be more difficult, but she didn’t want to go bareheaded with a large square of gauze on her cheek as the first thing one noticed about her. She wasn’t going to wear a surgical mask again. And after trying on every black hat in the store, she found the perfect one by Gucci. It was black felt with a very large brim and a small crown, that fit her perfectly. The brim was large but not ridiculously so. It was very glamorous in a quiet way, and you had to be as tall as she was to pull it off. She tilted it just slightly, as she would have for a cover shoot. It gave it an extra something, and by tilting it infinitesimally, it almost concealed the bandage on her face, though not entirely, just enough, and drew attention to the left side of her face. The injured right side was slightly in shadow, and somewhat concealed by the hat, and made her look elegant and mysterious. It was perfect with the coat and what she’d bought. It all fit perfectly, and she tried it on again when she got home, and was satisfied. She knew what suited her and how to wear it. She would be noticeable in the best possible way, as an elegant young woman, impeccably and appropriately dressed for the occasion. She sensed that both of her parents would have been proud of her if they could see her, and she hoped they could. She looked like a model again, worthy of the cover of Vogue.