Shades of Fortune (31 page)

Then, on their last night together, he had very gently taken her in his arms, said, “May I?” and kissed her.

It was certainly a pleasant kiss, bringing with it a bright little tingle of excitement, a little thrill of grownupness that gave her happy dreams that night. But that was all.

Then, a few days after she had returned to school in Connecticut, there was a letter from him in her mailbox. “Dear Mimi,” it began.

I have just realized that I have been guilty of a very serious oversight during our recent times together. I realize that I have neglected to tell you that I love you. Let me try to correct that oversight now. I love you, Mimi. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.…

And he had gone on like that for at least twenty handwritten pages.

She had immediately picked up a pen and a sheet of embossed school stationery, with its motto,
Deum Servire
, which the girls in the Badminton Set claimed to find “fantastically hypocritical,” and wrote:

Dear Michael
—
I love you too!

That was when it happened, all at once. She could not catch her breath, her vision blurred, and that groaning ache rose from the pit of her stomach, not nausea but something much more eruptive and overpowering and debilitating, and she knew she was in love, and that it was nothing like anything she had ever read about in any book. She had blindly sealed and addressed the letter, unable to write another single word.

Today, thirty years later, Mimi Myerson Moore admits that she has never quite felt that way since.

That Michael feeling.

14

“Of course I want to meet him,” her mother said. “I am dying to meet him, and your daddy is dying to meet him, and we
will
meet him, your lovely Choate boy. But—”

“I told you, Mother, he's not from Choate.”

“Of course. I forgot. Where did you say he went to school?”

“He's just graduated from Columbia Business School.”

“Oh, yes, that's right. You did tell me that. That means he's older than you, but that's all right. Oh, this is so exciting, isn't it, Mimi? Your first beau!”

“He wants to marry me, Mother.”

“Yes, yes, you told me that. But the thing is, before we go into this any further, before your daddy and I even meet this young man and discuss all this, there is something you must do first.”

“What's that?” she asked, even though she was fairly sure she knew what the first thing was.

“You must discuss this with your grandfather, Mimi. You know how hurt he gets when he thinks anything is being planned behind his back, when he even suspects that something has been planned behind his back.”

Mimi said nothing.

“A letter, I think,” her mother said. “Yes, I think a nice letter from you on your personal stationery, asking if you can come to see him. On a matter of a personal nature. Concerning your future. Yes, I think that would be the way to put it. That you would like to see him on a matter of a personal nature, concerning your future.”

“Why does everything have to have his approval, Mother?”

“Why? Well, you know
why
, silly! Because he
controls
everything. Everything you, or I, or your father does, your grandfather controls. Surely you know that. And until he dies”—suddenly her mother's eyes went blank—“until he dies, that's the way it's going to be.”

“What does he control, exactly?”

“Why, the money, of course! Where would you or I or your father be if it weren't for his money? Where would we be? Out on the street. Beggars. He knows that, and that's why he must be a part of any family decision.”

“Then why couldn't we tell him that I went to Miss Hall's on a scholarship?”

“
What?
” her mother cried. “But that was something entirely different, Mimi. Entirely different! You must never tell your grandfather that. Never!”

“Why is that different, Mother?”

“Because it just …
is
. If your grandfather found out that we couldn't afford, well, he just wouldn't understand, that's all.”

“Why wouldn't he understand?”

“Oh, Mimi, it's all so complicated. Can't you just take my word for it that he wouldn't understand? You see, he thinks he pays your father this big salary, enough for us to live in the lap of luxury, the way
he
does. But if he knew where the money goes—”

“Where does it go, Mother?”

“If he knew where the money goes, that would be the end of everything—for all of us.”

“But where
does
the money go?”

Her mother hesitated, and her eyes withdrew. “It just … goes,” she said. “Things are expensive. Bills … bills. Shall I show you the stack of bills on my desk? Dentists' bills, doctors' bills—”

“None of us have been to the dentist or a doctor lately.”

“Other bills. Take my word for it, there are bills. I could show you the stack of bills on my desk, if you'd like.”

“I'm afraid I still don't understand, Mother.”

“Can't you just take my word for it? I'm the one who pays the bills, so I ought to know, shouldn't I? But you're not to mention a word of this to your grandfather. As I say, he wouldn't understand. Now run and fetch a pen and a sheet of your good stationery—the one with your initials on it—and we'll write a nice letter to your grandpa. That's the first thing we have to do.”

Mimi had found a sheet of letter paper in her desk drawer and returned with it to the living room.

“While you're up, freshen my drink, will you, darling? I need a bit of my medicine before I dictate this letter.”

Mimi carried her mother's glass to the drinks cart and fixed her mother's drink the way she knew she liked it: whiskey, with lots of ice, and a tiny splash of water on the top.

“Thank you, darling,” her mother said, accepting the glass, and after a quick sip, her spirits seemed to improve, as they usually did. “You see, I nurse my drinks,” her mother said. “That's the secret. I suppose you've heard your father tell me that he thinks I drink too much, but what he doesn't understand is that I always nurse my drinks. That's why I never become intoxicated. If you ever take a drink, Mimi, drink it very slowly. Nurse it, as I say. That's the ladylike way, and you'll never become intoxicated. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, your letter. Sit here beside me, darling.” She patted the sofa. “Have you got a good writing surface? Yes, the telephone book will do nicely. Is the light over your left shoulder? Good. For reading or writing, the light should always be over your left shoulder, but you knew that. All right. Let's begin. ‘Dear Old Moneybags.'” Her mother giggled. “No, don't write that; I was only teasing. ‘Dearest Grandpa—'”

“‘Sir'?”

Her mother laughed again. “No, silly! You don't call him ‘sir' in a letter! That's only to his face. Now let's begin. ‘Dearest Grandpapa. Having graduated from Miss Hall's School with honors'—that's true, isn't it?”

“I was on the Honor Roll.”

“Yes, I thought so. The school sent us your report card, but I've forgotten where I put it. Probably with all the bills! So let's change that. Let's say, ‘Having graduated from Miss Hall's School with highest honors'—that's not too much of a fib, is it? Anyway, it sounds good and it will impress your grandfather, so leave it in. ‘Having graduated from da-dee-da with highest honors, I now face the challenge of my future.' I like that, don't you? ‘The challenge of my future'? Yes. ‘But before charting the next phase of my life, dear Grandpapa, I need the kind of sound advice that only you can give me. A number of interesting possibilities present themselves, including a proposal of marriage from a splendid young man.' No, leave that part out. Don't say that, because it sounds too much as though you've already made up your mind, which you haven't. You'll wait to mention that when you see him. Just say, ‘A number of interesting possibilities present themselves. May I, at your convenience, come to see you and discuss these with you, along with … along with'—oh, I had a good phrase a minute ago, but I've forgotten it!”

“Matters of a personal nature?”

“Yes, that's it! ‘Along with certain matters of a personal nature which will affect the future course of my life. I look forward to your reply. Sincerely yours.' Oh, my God! I almost forgot the Wicked Old Witch of the West! Before ‘Sincerely yours,' add, ‘My dearest love to Grandmama.' There. Now read it back to me.”

Mimi did, and when she was finished, her mother clapped her hands and then took another swallow of her drink. “Perfect!” her mother cried. “Sign it, seal it, and send it off! Oh, I'm so happy for you, Mimi—you and your wonderful Choate boy!”

“He isn't—” she began, but decided to let it pass.

“It's a perfect letter. It's sure to win him over. Quick. Drop it in the mail.”

In Mimi's opinion, the letter seemed a little too starched and formal, but she did as she was told.

“Well, how'd it go?” he asked her when she met him. “What'd your folks say? When do I get to meet them?”

“It was just my mother. My father wasn't home. She wants me to see my grandfather first.”

“Your
grand
father?”

“Old Moneybags, she calls him.”

“Hell, we don't need his money!”

“I know, but it's sort of a family tradition, discussing everything with my grandparents first. It doesn't mean anything.” But she did not really want to talk about it. She did not really want to talk about anything. It was enough to be with him, just walking down the street with him with their shoulders touching and their fingers linked.

At the edge of the park, he motioned her to a bench and said, “Sit down a minute. I want to show you something.”

They sat, and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small blue box. “For you,” he said. “Open it.”

“From Tiffany …”

“Go ahead. Open it.”

She opened the box and inside, nested in a white velvet cushion, was a diamond solitaire.

“A diamond is forever,” he said. “I want you forever.”

“Oh, Michael!” she cried, and suddenly she burst into tears.

“Hey,” he said. “What's this? It's only a little old engagement ring. What are you crying for?”

“I can't … help it,” she sobbed.

“Come on, cut it out. You look terrible when you cry, you really do.”

“It's just the … the hypocrisy …”

“Hypocrisy? What are you talking about, kiddo?” His arm was about her shoulders now.

“Pretending … people pretending they care about people that they really wish would die.…”

“I don't understand. What's wrong?”

“I'm crying because … because it makes me sad because …” Her voice was muffled now because her face was buried in the thick folds of his jacket sleeve, and her sobs became more violent, and he sat there, helpless, letting her cry and cry.

But she could not tell him why she was crying, because it seemed she was crying for everything: for her mother and her unhappy father, for all the Sunday teas on Madison Avenue, for the scholarship girls, and even for Barbara Badminton and the Badminton Set and Old Pete, but mostly it was because she had never believed that something like this would ever really happen to her, never really believed that Michael had meant it when he said he loved her, never really believed that anyone would ever care for her enough to say “I want you forever” in just that way, and because, even with the ring box in her hand, she still could not believe it and was afraid she never would.

Finally, she sat up straight. “It's because I've never seen such a beautiful ring … it's so beautiful … too beautiful … it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen … the most beautiful in the world, I think. I'm sad because I've never seen … such a beautiful ring. Oh, Michael, I love you so.…”

15

“He wants to see you at his
office?
” her mother said to her. “My goodness, I've never
been
to his office! But that makes it much more formal, doesn't it. If it had been at the house, you could have been more casual. I think a suit, don't you? How about your beige Davidow with the piping? Or your light blue David Crystal? No, too springy, I think. I think the Davidow, with a very simple off-white blouse—high-neck, of course—and a gold circle pin, or a strand of pearls, but not both. You know how your grandpa hates women who wear too much jewelry! Small gold earrings if you wear the pin, or seed pearls with the pearls. You'll have your hair done, of course. And a hat? Yes, I think so, Mimi. I do think a little hat, a little sailor, perhaps, or—who knows?—even a little beret might be pretty. Fix me a quick drink, darling, and we'll run down to Saks and see what we can find. Thank you. Of course, you'll want to tell whoever does your hair that you're going to be wearing a hat, so he can leave your hair flatter on the top and fluffed up on the sides. Of course, not too much makeup—lipstick, and a little cream rouge. Not too much with the eyes. Needless to say, your grandpa has some pretty strong theories about makeup—after all, that's his business! But even though he makes the stuff, he hates it when a woman wears too much. And don't forget hose. He can't stand women with bare legs. And shoes with a medium heel. He hates me when I wear high heels because they make me as tall as he is! Don't you have some beigey alligator-type pumps with a medium heel? If you wear those, I have a beigey alligator Chanel-type bag with a long gold chain that would go nicely, I could let you borrow. And—oh, I almost forgot:
gloves!
Shortie white gloves, just to the wrist, and make sure they're white and clean-clean-clean. You'll remove the gloves, of course, as you enter his office. And, for God's sake, don't wear the ring! The ring will make it look as though it's official, which it isn't, and won't be until we're ready to announce it. Don't wear the ring, whatever you do. He notices
every
thing.…”