Mairi’s not her real name, of course. The same way Sumner Field isn’t really Sumner Field.
She was one of the first generation of supermodels, and Sumner’s second wife. Face of Lancôme to wed Minor Rock Royalty, was how the L. A. Tiimes put it. I loved that ‘minor.’ By then, even Sumner’s star was on the wane.
So there they were, Mairi done up in some sheer silk number that showed off her bony frame, and Sumner, for some reason, in tartan trews. And all of L.A.’s beautiful people. It was the big hair era, and shoulder pads, and all that jazz. I felt like someone’s frumpy aunt. Chilled champagne in the function suite, and bowls of cocaine in the rest rooms. Bad combination.
Why I was even invited, for goodness’ sake, is a mystery.
“You look great, Linda,” Sumner said when I congratulated him. Then, as he kissed my cheek, he whispered, “It could have been you, y’know.”
Still, I got a song out of it. I still have the napkin monogrammed with their initials that I wrote the first couple of verses on.