The Jewels of Tessa Kent by Judith Krantz Page A

plain crazy to expect her to be herself—whoever that was, anyway?—when
they
knew that
she
knew that the camera was capturing every move she made and the interviewer was recording every remark she made, no matter how silly?
    Feeling more put upon by the minute, Tessa reminded herself that tomorrow, Sunday, when she’d finally have a few free hours after mass followed by the obligatory family lunch, all the stores in Beverly Hills would be closed.
    Yet this past March, on Oscar night, when she’d won the Best Supporting Actress award for
Little Women
, Tessa had promised herself a present. She’d had to postpone buying it because of the demands on her time, and the longer she waited, the more alluring it became. She craved it, this gift from herself to herself, the Oscar present and the major nineteenth-birthday present she wouldn’t be anywhere near Tiffany & Co. to buy on her actual birthday. Tessa came to a decision. She was going to play hooky. She was going to Tiffany’s this morning and that was that.
    She picked up the phone that had been recently installed in her bedroom and called Fiona Bridges, herjust-as-recent personal assistant, and told her that she thought she might be coming down with a cold and that her riding lesson had better be canceled. She hated to lie, but she didn’t want even Fiona to go with her when she bought her present. It should be a private moment, a secret delight, with nobody looking on and giving advice. She didn’t need advice, Tessa assured herself. She’d know it as soon as she saw it—it would leap out at her.
    Tessa carefully considered what to wear. She wanted to look like someone who had every right to expect service at Tiffany’s and at the same time she didn’t want to risk being recognized, something that was happening to her more and more often whenever she went out in public. Hastily she went through all the new clothes that Fiona had helped her to buy and realized that none of them would do. They had been purchased for special events and were all meant for the late afternoon or evening. Like every other California kid, her normal wear consisted of jeans, sweatshirts, T-shirts, and shorts.
    Finally, in desperation, Tessa decided to wear her best green linen suit, with her best white silk shirt, both of which were strictly reserved for Sunday mass. She poked and pulled at her hair until it fell untidily around her face, concealing her features as much as possible. She decided not to put on any makeup.
    The general effect, she thought, as she glanced with concern into her mirror, was that of someone with the money for good clothes, someone who was too hip to care what she looked like—a casual, old-money look she’d noticed was a favorite with the mothers of her former schoolmates in Greenwich, a look that she hoped would inspire a certain amount of respect in a jewelry salesman.
    She phoned the local taxi company. As soon as she saw the cab stop at the front door, she was out in a flash, calling “Bye, Mother, have to meet Fiona,” before her mother could stop her to ask why she wasn’t havingbreakfast, what had happened to her riding lesson, and why on earth she was wearing her good suit.
    “Tiffany’s in Beverly Hills,” Tessa told the driver, feeling a sudden surge of freedom as the cab pulled away quickly. She hadn’t been this excited since the audition that had won her the part of Jo. And what if she hadn’t talked Steve Miller, her business manager, into letting her open a little checking account of her own, Tessa asked herself delightedly. What if every last penny of the money she’d made were tied up in those safe investments that Steve told her would give her financial security when she was too old to work?
    “I’m young, for heaven’s sake, Steve,” she’d told him, amazed. “I can play ingenues and leading ladies for another twenty years and I’ll still only be thirty-eight. Wow, imagine, thirty-eight! That’s practically middle-aged!