Trading Up (14 page)

“I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of my friend Selden,” he said. George always tried to bring the conversation around to sex, as if talking about it would somehow result in its action.

“You probably see him as much as I do,” Janey countered.

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“So he hasn’t hooked you yet,” George said knowingly.

“I don’t know why you think he ever will.”

“Oh, Selden’s an old hound dog,” George said, taking a sip of his scotch and crossing a thick ankle over the opposite knee, as if to display his penis. “He usually gets what he wants.” He leaned back on the couch, peering across the room at a painting of Harlequins by the artist David Salle. “It’s pretty funny if you knew what he was like before. Hell, all he did in high school was drop acid and play tennis.

Can’t believe he’s gotten to where he is today. He must have spent half of his life stoned.”

Janey laughed unbelievingly. “Selden Rose dropped acid?”

“In between screwing cheerleaders,” George said, lifting his glass to his lips.

“The big joke was . . . how’d
he
ever get into Harvard?” Janey didn’t bother to answer. She began to rise, murmuring, “I think I’ll go find Mimi . . .”

“Hold on,” George said, suddenly reaching out and grabbing her wrist. Janey gave him a sharp look and he quickly tried to cover up his gesture with a hearty laugh. “You know there’s no point in that—it won’t make her get off the phone any faster,” he said. “Besides, I hardly ever get to talk to you . . . alone,” he added, his eyes inevitably straying to her chest.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I want to hear about your work.”

“My work?” Janey scoffed. “George, I’m a model. And besides, I have the summer off.” Her tone was sarcastic, but George’s line of questioning suddenly made her feel guilty. She hadn’t meant to fritter half the summer away. She had intended to read the great books, maybe to have even finished that screenplay (thank God she hadn’t heard from Comstock about that again); in any case, she’d been planning to somehow advance her career. But, once again, time had gotten away from her, and she’d become caught up in the superficialities of life . . .

As if reading her thoughts, George said, “I’ve been studying that TV commercial of yours, and I’ve decided you’ve got talent. Real talent. And I’m someone who’s made money on that kind of horse sense.”

“Really George?” she said, giving him a disdainful laugh. She looked at him, trying to assess whether he was serious or simply engaging in a ploy to get her into bed. But still, she couldn’t help being flattered—as she always was, whenever someone recognized her for something other than her beauty.

“Well,” she said slowly, dangling her fingers over the arm of the chair, “I’ve been thinking that I might make a good producer.” In reality, she’d never thought about it before, but the idea suddenly popped into her head and she liked the way it sounded—it gave her weight.

“Like Selden,” George said, rubbing his thigh.

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“Not
exactly
like Selden,” Janey said. She had no idea what she was talking about, but she was beginning to enjoy herself. “I’d produce small movies that I really cared about, that
said
something to the American public . . .”

“And you think there could be money in that?” George asked. His face had lost its dull quality—Janey was convinced his eyes were gleaming with interest.

“Why not?” she said. “After all, the only guarantee of making money is if you do something that’s good—that the American public thinks it needs.”

“I’ve been thinking about getting into the movie business myself . . . ,” George began, but was suddenly interrupted by the brisk staccato of Mimi’s heels on the marble floor.

“Well, you wouldn’t believe who that was,” she said, bursting into the room.

“Roditzy Deardrum. She wants someone to give her money to replace her shoe!” The name Roditzy Deardrum brought back the events of the afternoon, and Janey frowned, more determined than ever to talk to Mimi about Zizi. “I really should
go,
” she said, thinking that this was the only way to get Mimi alone.

“You’ll say good-bye to the children, won’t you?” Mimi said, becoming the concerned stepmother.

“Of course,” Janey said. She stood up, leaning over George to give him the requisite kiss on the cheek. “Don’t forget about our little talk,” he whispered. “If you have any ideas, call me.”

Mimi appeared to be in a state of high excitement as she led Janey up the wide, front stairs. “Let’s not go in to the children yet,” she said. “I have to tell you something.” Janey followed her down the long corridor to the master bedroom suite, and as they passed a series of framed, hand-painted Currier & Ives prints of racehorses, she was convinced that that “something” had to do with Zizi. The air hung heavy with his unspoken name; with girlish imagination she irrationally imagined that Zizi had told Mimi he was secretly in love with her and had asked Mimi to act as his messenger . . .

From a large inner chamber containing the great canopied bed that Mimi shared with George, French doors led out to a deck with a green striped awning. A white wicker table was laid with preparations for tea—a blue and white china teapot and a plate containing cucumber and salmon tea sandwiches—for it was one of Mimi’s edicts as a world-renowned hostess that guests should always find something delightful to eat at any time of the day. Mimi sat down at the table, and with long, slim fingers, picked up the teapot and began pouring hot water over a silver tea holder into a cup, but her actions seemed more driven by habit than out of any desire for sustenance. Her eyes shone with a kind of evil delight, as if she’d done something wicked and was proud of it, and in a particularly intimate voice, as if 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 75

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Janey were the dearest person in the world to her, she said, “Darling, I’m afraid I’ve done something
terrible
. . .”

Janey strolled to the railing and looked out to the sea. It was that hushed, tender time of day when evening has begun to fall and yet the beach is still alluringly warm, and with a quickly beating heart, she turned back to Mimi. She meant to finally be straightforward about her feelings for Zizi, and without preamble, she began, “I know you’re really good friends with Zizi . . . ,” but then the startled, guilty expression on Mimi’s face caught her off guard.

“Oh Janey, promise you won’t be angry,” Mimi cried. “I meant to tell you before, but I had no idea what was going to happen, and I didn’t want to get you involved. But you, of all people, should understand . . .” Janey suddenly felt the same acute queasiness she’d experienced earlier in the afternoon, and sensing the answer, nevertheless found herself asking the question,

“Understand what?”

Mimi looked at her in confusion. “But I thought you had guessed . . . I figured you had to know . . . Zizi and I are having an affair. We have been, for the past three weeks.”

The confirmation of this fact hit Janey like a blow, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. But then she heard the crashing of the waves on the beach below, and saw Mimi sitting before her, glowing with excitement and fear. A response was expected of her, and tossing her hair over her shoulder, she emitted a cold laugh and said, “Of course I knew. After all, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Is it?” Mimi asked in horror.

“It is to me, anyway,” Janey said. And again, she laughed coldly. “But then, I know you so
well,
” she said, gladly allowing a note of irony to creep into her voice.

The fact was, she didn’t know Mimi
at all
—and certainly had no idea she could be so treacherous.

“Janey!” Mimi said with astonishment. “You’re angry.” She
was
angry—indeed, she was furious—but she would rot in hell before she would let Mimi get another thing over on her. “Don’t be silly,” she said evenly. And to further cover up her feelings, she asked, “When did it start? At the polo?” Thinking what a fool she’d been to ask Mimi to that game. And Mimi, who was completely caught up in the drama of her romance, gave her a look of relief.

“I thought he was gorgeous, just like everyone else,” she said. “But I had no idea he was interested until you left that afternoon with Selden . . . to ride in his car.

And then Zizi and I arranged to go horseback riding the next day . . . that’s why I never asked
you
. . . and then he followed me into the stall and we kissed . . .” Janey leaned over the railing. For a moment, she thought she was going to be 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 76

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sick! Why, oh why, had she allowed Selden to talk her into going for a spin in his car after the match? With that one stupid decision, she had inadvertently thrown Mimi and Zizi together, but how could she ever have guessed that Zizi would be interested in
Mimi
? And with the viciousness of the romantically wounded, she blamed Zizi. He was a gigolo . . . the very worst sort of opportunist who preyed on rich, married women . . . He was probably already asking her for money . . . Really, she was lucky she’d had nothing to do with him. Somehow, she managed to rearrange her face into a look of piteous concern. “But Mimi,” she said. “Do you really think it’s a good idea . . .”

“Oh no,” Mimi cried. “It’s a very bad idea. But it’s too late. You see how wonderful he is . . . Of course, I’m crazy in love with him . . .” Her hands tore unconsciously at the tea sandwiches. “And the worst thing about it is that he
says
he’s in love with me, too.”

This was another blow. Janey could entertain the idea that Zizi was sleeping with Mimi for ulterior motives, but never that he was in love with her. “What about George?” she hissed.

The question seemed to bring Mimi back to earth. She swept the pieces of crumbled sandwich into a napkin, and said, “What
about
George?”

“You
are
married to him.”

Mimi turned on her. There was a challenging expression in her eyes, as if Janey had suddenly become the enemy. “So what?” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re being so provincial. I never expected you, of all people, to be bourgeois about an affair.” There was a sudden chill in the air. Neither woman spoke; their friendship had come to a crossroads. Janey could either endorse the affair and remain friends, or she could disapprove and lose everything.

In the deadly silence, Mimi dropped two cubes of sugar into her teacup, and for a moment, Janey hated her. When it came to sexual conquests, she had never lost a man to another woman before, and yet, Mimi wasn’t “just another woman.” She would always take whatever she wanted, because she was rich and she always had done so; she wore her birthright as easily as fashionable women wear designer dresses. She would continue with Zizi either way, and she wouldn’t care what Janey thought—she would simply drop her. And once again, there would be whispers, and Janey would be back to feeling like she was on the outside, struggling to get in . . .

No,
she thought with cold calculation. She had worked too hard at this friendship with Mimi to let a stupid man ruin it. Mimi’s affair would work to her advantage—it would bind them together. And so, taking a few steps forward, she said, “I was only thinking about you, Mimi. I just don’t want you to get caught.” 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 77

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The atmosphere suddenly cleared. In the nature of female friendship, it is customary to avoid confrontation, and once a conciliatory gesture is made, the rules dictate that it must be returned. “Oh no, Janey. I didn’t mean that at all,” Mimi said.

“It was just that, for a moment, I thought maybe
you
were interested in Zizi . . .” Both women laughed, and as the maid, Gerda, appeared in the doorway to clear away the tea, she was struck by the seeming perfection of the scene. The green-and-white striped awning flapped gently in the breeze, and underneath, the two fine ladies—blond and tan and pretty—were posed in sharp relief against the background of the blue sea. They were leaning toward each other, sharing a private joke; Gerda thought that they must be talking about men . . .

And in the next second, she was proven correct, as she overheard Janey saying:

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. As a matter of fact, I’ve decided to start seeing Selden Rose.”

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s i x

on sep tember 10, 2000, the
New York Times
announced that Jane (known as Janey) Wilcox, thirty-three, a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model, was married four days before to Selden Rose, forty-five, the CEO of MovieTime, in a small, private ceremony in Montradonia, Italy.

It also made mention of the fact that Peter Cannon had gone to jail, with a companion piece about how white-collar jails were not the country clubs they used to be, and how tax evaders, financial swindlers, and insider traders were in for a surprise, the least of which was the bad food.

Meanwhile, the business section trumpeted the failure of three dot-com start-ups, while a young financial journalist named Melvin Metzer wrote, “If you listen carefully, you can hear the faint beat of tom-toms coming from Wall Street warning of economic disaster”—a line that somehow slipped past three editors and resulted in several letters complaining about the Indian reference, as Indians had once lived on Wall Street until the early Dutch settlers built a wall to keep them out.

But for most New Yorkers it was just another brilliant Monday morning in the second week of September. That day, Comstock Dibble was thinking about buying a $10 million apartment on Park Avenue, thereby ratcheting himself up another rung on the social ladder, but as usual, it was a sweaty process. Standing in the lobby of 795 Park Avenue, a building that, he had been assured over and over again by both the real estate agent, Brenda Lish, and his fiancée, Mauve, was one of the best in New York, his face glistened and beads of perspiration formed in his sparse hair-line. Nevertheless, his eyes darted around the lobby with pleasure. Over the weekend, his accountants had warned him that for the first time in three years, Parador 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 82