They did go everywhere.
Two days after they met at the cafe, they journeyed across seven centuries to the vast plains of China in the summer. There they found a caravan led by three Italian merchants, who marvelled at their sudden appearance of two fellow Europeans, dressed in the finest travelling gear, from out of the grasslands.
“Whence come you, dear lady?” said the youngest Italian, a youth who could be no older than Sophia.
“England.”
“England? Daverro? How can a lady so charming come from so barbaric a land?”
“What is it with England and barbarians?” muttered Sophia. “Maybe you should visit my country some day, Signor Polo.”
“Si, signora. I should like that very much.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Sophia looked at Alexander and put on her most girlish face. He returned a good-humoured pout.
A great wall loomed ahead, and the travellers were inducted into the summer palace of the great Khan, Kublai, at Shangdu. As they passed through the gardens, Sophia gazed at flowers in every colour of the rainbow, fountains of exquisite design and sweet-smelling meadows with the brightest green grass, all shaded by plum and peach trees laden with fruit. They came across the hunting party of the Khan himself. Sophia tensed at the sight of a full-grown leopard on a leash beside the Emperor, but it appeared tamed, and she watched the master of China and Mongolia loose the great predator on those animals in the park it was his pleasure to hunt.
They crossed a high bridge over a watercourse that tumbled down the rocks below. Alexander turned to her as they walked behind the Khan’s party.
“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A Stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.”
“Oh, who wrote that? I should know,” said Sophia.
“Coleridge, five hundred years from now. He dreamt of this place. I think he caught something of it, don’t you think?”
“God, yes.”
“Though the opium might have helped. He was, as you might say, off his face on the stuff.”
“Stick that in your book.”
“I have done.”
Later that evening, after they had eaten with the Khan, the Polos and all the great people of China and Mongolia, Sophia let Alexander lead her away from the audience chamber. They came to the royal stables.
“The great Khan appreciates your gift,” said a groom, approaching them, “And has ordered that his horses be made ready for you.”
Sophia stared at the two noble animals, fabulously caparisoned, and her jaw dropped. Alexander’s smile was tremendous.
“I’ve never ridden before,” she whispered. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”
“You’ll get it,” said Alexander, swinging himself into the saddle.
She did, after a while. As the dusk sun set fire to the last clouds of the day, the two of them galloped across the plains, dust in their wake, laughter on their lips. The wind flew through Sophia’s hair, and it didn’t stop for seven hundred years.
*
As the weeks passed, Sophia journeyed onward in her two lives. In one, she partied at Mardi Gras in 1830s New Orleans, shopped in the bustling markets of the medieval Horn of Africa, and swam in the Pacific off Hawai’i as the ships of Captain Cook appeared on the horizon.
In the other, she worked towards her degree, helped with production design at the theatre, and watched her friends living their lives.
“So you won’t tell me who he is?” she asked Julie one night, as they sat drinking tea at the table. Her housemate was dressed to impress in a plunging black number with heels so tall they made Sophia’s eyes water.
“Nope,” Julie replied, smiling wickedly. “I’ll just say that he’s thought about me for a while, and I’m finally giving him a chance.”
“Lucky boy.”
“I know.” Julie sipped her tea. “Besides, I never hear anything about yours, so you’re not hearing anything about mine.”
“What?”
“Your man Alexander. Bring him back here, Soph. I want to interrogate him about what you’ve been up to for the last few months.”
“Well,” said Sophia, “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”
Once Julie had gone, Sophia changed, waited for the clock to strike eight, and walked through her bedroom door into Alexander’s hall. He was waiting in a smart checked suit, and his hair was slicked back.
“Where to?” she asked.
“You mentioned something about Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Alexander put on a pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses. “Fancy it?”
Sophia tingled with excitement, cocked her head, and did her best Audrey Hepburn impression. “It should take you exactly four seconds to cross from here to that door. I’ll give you two.”
As she and Alexander rushed through the doors, Sophia realised that she wasn’t quite dressed for the 60s. As luck would have it, the doors led straight to the costume department. Rack upon rack of outfits stretched away into the strip-lit distance.
“This is nearly as good as your wardrobe,” she said, scanning the racks.
“Oh, I think it’s better,” he replied. “You should dress for a party, by the way.”
Sophia did, taking a sky-blue sleeveless cocktail dress. As she hurriedly changed, she heard the door open.
“Hey, are you guys for the scene?” said a Californian voice. “Come on, cameras are rolling in five!”
Sophia, safely hidden in a changing room, silently punched the air. The party scene! She rushed out, got Alexander to zip up her dress at the back, seized a matching handbag from a huge box of accessories, and they sailed from the room arm in arm. They walked through the white corridors towards the sound of chattering and found themselves on a soundstage ready for filming. Cameramen stood ready, two men held booms on either side from the tops of ladders, and a man who could only be the director was speaking to a group of extras dressed for a classy 1961 shindig.
“Just party, people! You know the drill for this scene. Keep enough space for Mr. Peppard and Ms. Hepburn to do their magic, but aside from that, have fun! The drinks are drinks, the food is food. Not everything is plastic in this town.”
Sophia gawped at the set. She recognised every facet of it. She was about to walk into Holly Golightly’s apartment from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
“Come on!” whispered Alexander.
They sneaked into the back of the scene and seized two cups of cola. Sophia was eyeing up the crisps, hot dogs and dips on the tables when she stood stock still. Audrey Hepburn had just walked past her.
“Action!”
Two dizzying hours later, the day’s filming finished, but the party carried on. Sophia gawped every time she saw Hepburn. She was as outrageously beautiful in the flesh as she was on screen. If anything, her doe-eyes seemed even bigger. At one point, she became aware that she was stood back-to-back with her, this all-time screen icon, as they stood in separate conversations. It was all she could do to concentrate on the smooth Hollywood talk around her.
She caught Alexander eyeing them both up. She escaped from the circle she was in and stood by him.
“Like what you see?” she said.
“In both cases.”
“Hey! It’s only me you’re meant to look at. Naughty.”
“Yes ma’am,” said Alexander in his worst Californian accent.
Sophia giggled. “I forgive you. She is the most beautiful woman of all time.”
“I was admiring the similarities between you.”
“Oh, here we go,” said Sophia, trying not to blush.
“Two fine actresses, two natural beauties, two women who...”
“Yes?”
Alexander seemed to think something over, then he shook his head and carried on. “You’re more beautiful, you know.”
There was no stopping the blush this time. “Stop it. She’s Audrey bloody Hepburn.”
“I mean it.”
Alexander was laughing, but not too much. Sophia looked at him in disbelief. A nervous feeling wriggled through her stomach. Every so often over the last few weeks, she had remembered that Alexander still had his secrets. She was content to let him keep them, but sometimes it still made her shiver – especially when she thought of one secret in particular.
All was made well again, though, when they left the party. Sophia went to have a last look at the costume department, several times larger than the entire theatre she acted in back home. Alexander waited to one side as she skipped through the racks, only occasionally checking his watch and tapping his foot.
The door opened. Sophia looked up.
“...worried about the role,” said an unmistakable voice. “But you know, I think it’s working out.”
“It sure is.”
Sophia had instinctively backed into a shadow. The first voice had belonged to Hepburn, who now stood looking at dresses with another woman. Part of her wanted to rush forward and gush like a fangirl, but instinct kept her back.
“Where is it,” said the other woman, who had to be a costume designer. “Ah, there we are. You sure you’re OK with us getting rid of these, darling?”
“I’ve got Mr. Givenchy’s original. If you want to lose them, that’s fine.”
At the sound of the famous name, Sophia stiffened. No way. ‘Lose them’? No way. This could not be what she thought it was.
Sophia stepped quietly to a better vantage spot, pretending to be idly interested in the dresses. She glanced over to see what the woman was holding, and found that it was exactly what she thought it was.
The dress. The dress. The queen of all LBDs.
Two of them!
“Okay then,” said the designer. “I’ll take them over to Western Costume, see if they can’t make use of the material.”
“I’ll come with you. I need a ride back to the hotel.”
Sophia saw the moment of destiny approaching. Hepburn and the designer were about to leave the room. The dresses were about to leave the room.
“Excuse me. Excuse me, Ms. Hepburn?”
She stepped out from behind the racks and approached the two women, trying to stop herself from shaking with excitement.
“Hi, darling,” said Hepburn. “You were in the shoot, weren’t you? Nice to meet you.”
“Hello. You too. Hello, hello.”
Thoughts drifted across Sophia’s mind. Those eyes. They were enormous. How could they fit inside that head?
Ooh, and now a raised eyebrow. They looked even better under that. Wow.
“You wanted to say something?” said Hepburn.
Sophia snapped out of her trance. “I just wanted to ask about the dress. If, if you’re going to get rid of it, then maybe...if you don’t need it that is...could I have one?”
She bit her lip. Her heart thundered in her chest. She felt almightily embarrassed and on the cusp of immortality at the same time.
“I suppose so,” said Hepburn. “What do you think, Edith?”
“I don’t see why not.”
So close!
“Do you like it, then?” said Hepburn.
“Like it?” said Sophia. “It’s fabulous. You were fabulous in it, just...phew. It’s amazing. People are going to love you in this movie.”
Hepburn smiled. It was a dazzling look. “Golly, aren’t you sweet? Let me guess: first time on a big picture, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Then sure, take it. Something to remember it by.” Hepburn held out one of the dresses, neatly folded.
Sophia moved her hands slowly toward it, as if it were the Holy Grail. Then she stopped. “Is this the actual one? The one you wore on the first day’s filming outside Tiffany’s?”
“Let me see,” said Hepburn. “Oh no, that’s the other one. There’s the tiniest loose thread on the inside of the shoulder, it tickled between takes! Do you want that one?”
“Yes!” said Sophia, a bit too loudly. Hepburn handed it over. The Italian satin settled on Sophia’s arms like the breath of Venus.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“No problem, darling.”
With a last, glorious smile, Hepburn left the room with the designer.
Sophia stared at the dress in her hands for a solid minute. The dress. The dress. The dress. Slowly, she became aware of a stifled chuckling in the corner of the room. She turned to see Alexander, giggling like a schoolboy.
“My God,” he said, “You are such a swooning fan.”
“Yes,” said Sophia. “True. I can’t argue with you on that. And guess what?”
“What?”
“I don’t care, because I have the Breakfast at Tiffany’s dress. I don’t normally squee, but...”
Sophia squeed, and hugged Alexander.
“Though I’m never going to get into it,” she said. “This thing is tiny.”
They left the dressing room, hugging and kissing, and the journey went on.
*
This chapter was so much fun to write. I've been wanting to do a delicious montage of historical adventures ever since I started the story, and I finally got around to it - even if the Breakfast at Tiffany's adventure hogs the limelight a little. I couldn't help myself! But can this life continue for the two of them?
The video is the party scene from Breakfast at Tiffany's. It apparently took six days to film, and all the (other) extras were friends of director, Blake Edwards. Apparently they got through lots of real champagne and party food, 120 gallons of soft drink and 60 cartons of cigarettes. That must have been a great film to work on...
I have to elaborate on the story of the iconic dress, too, which Hepburn is wearing in the image. According to Wikipedia (not the best source, I know), Givenchy designed and made the originals for the movie, but they showed too much leg. Edith Head, who cameos in this chapter and is herself a cinema legend (Edna Mode in The Incredibles is a kind-hearted pastiche of her), redesigned the dress for the film. As I understand it, the three original Givenchy's are in 1) the company's private archive, 2) the Museum of Film in Madrid and 3) the ownership of an anonymous buyer who paid £467,200 for it in a 2006 auction. None of these, however, were actually used in the film or its promotional photography. Instead, these were supposedly destroyed by Hepburn and Head after shooting at Western Costume in California. Or maybe one of them was destroyed, and a mysterious unknown extra from the party scene snagged the other...
Phew. I never thought I'd enjoy researching dresses so much!