𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

3. | A MESSAGE FROM THE MAN IN THE MOON

❝...Love will be 'round to call.❞

●

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK.
DECEMBER 1979.

Saks Fifth Avenue bustled with the spirit of holiday cheer.

Posh and preened from head to toe, children toddled and ran from aisle to aisle, racing the length of Christmas displays. They slipped letters and well-organized wish lists into two, large Santa Mail boxes in the center of the floor. Mothers with shopping lists as long as their arms darted between stores. Fathers without the slightest idea of where to start, loitered on every corner, flipping through their own itineraries with clenched jaws and heavy-set brows. Employees, from the chipper perfume concierge to the exuberant shoe salesman in Macy's, haunted counters and archways, waiting to make their next big holiday sale.

Normally, Diana would have been caught in the same Christmas hullabaloo, spending her last, free waking hours into the eve of the holiday perusing stores in and around Manhattan, rooting through yards of red and black plaid, heavy wool, and emerald silk. The holidays tended to sneak up on her, and more often than not, she paid for it dearly, trudging among the unlucky few forced to suffer the last-minute, wild rush of gift-hunting.

This year she had been prepared.

With all her shopping completed as early as late November, she could enjoy the rest of the season at her own leisure. Ringing in the New Year at a photographer's study wasn't exactly her idea of a party (especially compared to last year's celebration at Studio 54), but at least she would be doing it minus the aftermath of weeks of toil in malls and boutiques around New York City.

And yet, instead of lounging about in her living room enjoying a glass of egg nog, she was out on the town, standing within a long row of rose-speckled midi dresses in search of one, final gift.

"She would love this."

Diana held out the dress. This version, solid turquoise with a dark red rose motif, would fit Cher perfectly. She could see it now: Cher strutting down Sunset Boulevard in a pair of red or turquoise heels to match, her long, inky hair swinging as low as the small of her back.

"You think so?"

A dark cloud of wiry hair maneuvered between the racks. Diana walked to the other side.

"Cher would look absolutely perfect in it," she said. "What's your verdict?"

Gene paused, face scrunched in thought.

"I have no idea. That's why I've got you."

Bemused, she lowered the dress. "You weren't kiddin' about being lost, huh?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Well..." Diana bit her lip. "Let's just throw it in the pile."

"Along with the other dresses? And blouses? And pantsuits?" He held up his hand. "And the jewelry? How could I forget the jewelry?"

"You came to me, remember?" She appraised him. "I'm here to help you and make sure Cher has a wonderful Christmas."

He eyed the collection of clothing that had accumulated on the portable clothing rack. Then, he laughed. "You are a woman of your word."

When her rockstar man, Gene Simmons, had complained about not knowing what to get her for Christmas, Cher hadn't thought to go to one of her close-knit girlfriends in California. No, she had thought of Diana. Diana, who had packed her things two years before, moved to New York City and never looked back. Diana, who she only saw and talked to from time to time, occasionally over the phone or at some arbitrary industry event.