Trading Up (22 page)

“If he was high on marijuana, Mother, he might be making the whole thing up,” Janey sighed.

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But apparently, he wasn’t.

Janey and Mimi had gone down to Patty’s apartment, and had managed to extract a garbled story of Digger’s infidelity. Then Mimi had given Patty a sleeping pill and had left her with a handful of Xanaxes to take when she woke up.

“She could have been
dead,
” Janey said grimly.

“I
know,
” Mimi replied.

And now, Janey leaned over the table to give her sister a kiss. “Hi darling,” she said brightly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Patty said dully.

“Have you been taking the pills?” Janey asked. “Don’t take more than three a day . . .”

“I won’t,” Patty said. “How come you’re wearing so much makeup?”

“I had a shoot today,” Janey said, as if speaking to a small child. “For Victoria’s Secret.”

“How was it?” Patty asked.

“Oh, you know,” Janey sighed. “Boring.”

Patty cracked the briefest smile. “Now, Patty darling,” Janey continued. “I hope you don’t mind, but Mimi’s coming to lunch as well.”

“I don’t mind,” Patty said. “I don’t mind anything.”

“Good,” Janey said, unfolding her napkin and putting it on her lap. “You know, Mimi’s very good with scandal. She’s had a lot of experience. She’s been in
Star
magazine twice . . .”

“She has?” Patty asked. “For what?”

“Oh, for dating movie stars. She was actually on the cover once, for going out with Prince Charles.”

“All lies,” Mimi said, sliding into the banquette on the other side of Patty. She leaned across the table to Janey, and, speaking over Patty as if she were a deaf old man, asked, “How’s she doing today?”

“Better, I think,” Janey said.

“Have you found out anything more about Digger?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, then I haven’t missed anything.”

The waiter arrived at their table. “I’ll have a glass of champagne and some caviar,” Janey said.

“Caviar?” Patty asked.

“You have some, too. It’ll make you feel better,” Janey said.

“Give her the caviar,” Mimi said to the waiter. “In fact, bring caviar for three . . . No, I’m hungry. Better bring caviar for five . . .”

“Caviar for five, ma’am, very good,” the waiter said.

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“And a bottle of Veuve Clicquot?” Mimi said, looking at Janey.

Janey shrugged. She’d never been crazy about champagne, but Mimi was, and in the past three months, she’d developed a taste for it. “I think Veuve’s fine during the day.”

“Who’s paying?” Patty asked.

“Digger, darling,” Mimi said, patting her hand. “That’s one of the first things you need to learn. When a man cheats, he pays. And big.” The waiter returned to the table with the bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. “Three glasses?” he asked doubtfully, looking at Patty. “I think just two,” Janey said. “Champagne might be too much for her . . .”

“Now Patty, darling,” Mimi said, “what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t do it,” Patty said, looking from Janey to Mimi.

Janey and Mimi exchanged looks. “Of course he’s going to say that,” Janey said.

“But what was his excuse?”

“He says that she came after him. There was a party in his room, but he didn’t sleep there. He took Winky’s key—that’s the drummer—and slept in his room, and Winky slept with . . . with . . .”

“The slut?” Mimi said, nodding. “And I suppose this Winky corroborates the story. God, what a scumbag, passing the buck on to someone else.”

“He says she’s doing it to get publicity. For her
career,
” Patty said, looking at Janey.

“Now listen, darling,” Janey said. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

“No,” Patty said. “I don’t know what to do. My whole world has fallen apart.”

“These kinds of things happen from time to time,” Mimi said.

“You have to leave him,” Janey said.

“But I can’t leave him,” Patty said.

“Once a man starts cheating, he usually keeps it up,” Mimi said warningly.

“Who knows how many girls he slept with
before
this one,” Janey added.

“But he says he didn’t . . . ,” Patty protested weakly.

“Come on, Patty. Of course he’s going to deny it. I’m sure he still loves you and realizes he’s made a big mistake. But the girl is pregnant!
Pregnant!
She’s having the baby you should have had,” Janey said, sitting back triumphantly.

“God, that’s harsh, Janey,” Mimi said, taking a sip of champagne.

“She’s got to face the truth,” Janey said. “It’s the only way.”

“But what if it
isn’t
his?” Patty said. Under normal circumstances, she would have been horrified that Janey was bringing up her infertility problems in front of Mimi. But ever since she’d started taking those lovely little pills Mimi had given her, these kinds of things didn’t matter . . .

“Even if it isn’t, he’s got to
go,
” Janey said. “What if he pulls this kind of stunt 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 121

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again?” It was one thing, Janey thought, if a man treated
her
badly. But it was quite another thing for her sister to have to suffer . . .

About an hour later, Patty escorted Janey and Mimi to their cars. They were both more than a little drunk, and Patty realized that once again, even though she was the one with the problem, somehow, Janey had managed to snag the spotlight.

She
should
have been angry . . . but she wasn’t. Again, it was those pills Mimi had given her . . . What did they call them?
Dolls
. Those sweet little dolls were making everything okay . . .

“Now Patty,” Janey said sternly. “I’ll go with Mimi in her car and you take my car.”

“I can take a taxi,” Patty said.

“Absolutely not, darling,” Mimi said. “One never goes commercial when one can go private.”

“Victoria’s Secret sent it, so don’t worry, it’s free,” Janey said.

She went up to the driver, who was sitting inside the car, talking on his cell phone. “Do you mind taking my sister home?” she asked. He looked put out, and she remembered her little outburst earlier. She should give him a small tip, she thought, and opening her wallet, she debated whether to give him $5 or $10.

In the end, she decided five was sufficient.

The driver looked from the bill to Janey. He shook his head ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” Janey said.

“No, thank
you,
” he said sarcastically.

“Poor thing,” Mimi said, as the car pulled away from the curb.

“She’s the last person I
ever
thought this would happen to,” Janey said. “I always thought they were really,
really
in love.” She shook her head. “It just goes to show you that you can’t trust
any
man . . .”

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Mimi said. “Muhammad,” she called to her driver, “don’t you find that the temptations of the world are stronger than true love?”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” the driver said, nodding. “It’s very, very sad.” Mimi reached over and touched Janey’s hand. “In any case, I’m so happy to see
you,
darling. We always have such a good time.”

“We do,” Janey said.

“Were we too hard on her?” Mimi asked. And then, clapping her hand over her mouth, she said, “I almost forgot to tell you. Mauve says Comstock is buying an apartment in 795 Park. For ten million dollars!”

“You’re kidding,” Janey said with the appropriate amount of astonishment.

“Darling,” Mimi said slyly, changing the subject. “Do you still have
your
apartment?”

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“The one on East Sixty-seventh Street?” Janey asked.

“Do you think Zizi could stay there?”

The name “Zizi” made Janey wince slightly, like a nerve that suddenly flares up in a tooth. Mimi rarely brought up Zizi’s name, and for a while, Janey had been hoping that the affair had fizzled. But if Mimi was trying to find him a place, it obviously hadn’t, and the knowledge set Janey’s teeth on edge. She still couldn’t understand why Zizi had chosen Mimi over her. She didn’t really want Zizi staying in her apartment—simply because she didn’t want to make it easier for Mimi to see him. But to out and out refuse would be a breach of her friendship with Mimi. “I don’t mind,” Janey said vaguely, “but I
was
thinking about renting it.”

“Oh, Zizi can pay,” Mimi said.

Janey had no choice then. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Are you going out tonight?” Mimi asked. Now that the arrangement was settled, she didn’t want to dwell on it. She still suspected that Janey had wanted Zizi for herself, and was slightly sore about it.

Janey rolled her eyes. “We have to go to Greenwich.
Connecticut
. For some Splatch Verner dinner.”

“How . . .
awful,
” Mimi said.

“I have to meet all the other Splatch Verner wives.”

“You’ll look fantastic darling, and they’ll all be jealous.” The car stopped at Sixty-third Street and Madison, and Janey got out. “Good-bye, darling,” she said.

“Good-bye,” Mimi said. “Call me tomorrow and tell me all about it.”

“I
will,
” Janey said.

The car pulled away, and Janey looked around. It was all so civilized here—

really, it was a
relief
.

As she strolled up the street to the Lowell Hotel, she passed a chic little French bistro with a green awning, under which sat a few attractive European men, dressed in the Eurotrash uniform of jeans, Italian loafers, and expensive sport coats. The proprietor, Christian, a man of medium build with a face like a movie star, was standing outside smoking; when he saw Janey his face lit up and he threw open his arms.

“Ah, here she is!” he exclaimed. “We never see you any more now that you’re married.”

He took her left hand, and with a clownish pantomime, said, “Let me see the ring! Ah, very, very nice,” he said, looking at her with respect.

“My husband is wonderful,” Janey said.

“Ah, but he is the lucky one,” Christian said, waving his cigarette in the air.

“You must never forget that!”

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Janey moved away, smiling. It was the end of September, but still warm, a perfect seventy degrees. Somehow, she had managed to do better than everyone, she thought smugly. Her situation was certainly better than Patty’s, who had a cheating husband, and Mimi’s, whose husband was so awful, she had to get sex elsewhere . . .

Meanwhile, her own husband was madly in love with her, and she didn’t mind having sex with him in the least. And entering the lobby of the Lowell Hotel with a confident step, she felt that she was finally sure of her footing . . .

But her illusion of safety was shattered nearly immediately. “Mrs. Rose,” the concierge whispered, “there’s a man here who’s been waiting to see you.” She could tell by the expression on his face that this person was not the type that was welcomed by the Lowell Hotel. Turning around, she saw a man with a lumpy, misshapen face occupying one of the two armchairs set in a small alcove; as she took a step toward him, he stood up.

“Janey Wilcox?” he asked. He was wearing a beige polyester leisure suit with stitching up the front and along the lapels; it crossed Janey’s mind that he had

“dressed up” for the occasion.

She suddenly felt afraid. “Yes?” she asked, feigning impatience.

“I have a letter for you. You need to sign for it.” She was immediately suspicious. “Who’s it from?” she demanded.

“Parador Pictures.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to think of some way to refuse the letter. “What if I won’t sign?” she demanded.

“You can do whatever you like,” the man said. “But if you don’t sign, I’ll be here tomorrow. And the next day . . .”

Janey glanced over her shoulder. The concierge and the bellboy were watching the exchange out of the corners of their eyes; if she made a fuss it would become a topic of conversation, and eventually someone would mention it to Selden. Taking the pen from the man’s hand, she quickly signed her name and grabbed the letter, shoving it into her bag.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Rose?” the concierge asked.

“It’s fine,” Janey said, smiling.

But it wasn’t fine, she thought, going up in the elevator and then walking down the hall to the suite. She turned the key in the lock and stormed into the room, throwing her bag onto a chair. Then she ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. It was just like the others, demanding that she pay Parador $30,000 . . . How dare Comstock keep demanding money from her? Especially when he was buying a $10 million apartment . . .

Technically, she supposed, she did have the money in her savings account. But that money was all the money she had in the world, and she’d opened it fifteen years 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 124

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ago, when she returned from that first summer of “modeling” in Europe. Since then, she had scrimped and saved, carefully putting money away every time she received a check—for she knew her future was uncertain, and someday, she might need every penny of that money in order to survive. It wasn’t fair that Comstock Dibble, who was rich, should take one dollar from her, and besides, hadn’t she earned that money? She had tried to write the screenplay, and Comstock had had his way sexually with her as well . . .

She paced back and forth across the living room. She had to think! She must do
something
. . . she must put an end to this once and for all. Even if she did give Comstock the $30,000, there was no guarantee that it would be over—he was perfectly capable of dreaming up some other transgression with which to persecute her.

If only she were a man,
she thought. Men like Comstock Dibble were members of their own little club; the unspoken agreement was that they never messed with anyone who had equally expensive lawyers. She sat down in the chair in front of the writing desk, drumming her fingers on the leather inlay. There were some situations in life that a woman couldn’t take care of on her own—to go up against Comstock herself would be foolish. In the past, she had used men to take care of her problems for her, and she was an old hand at the nuances involved in the manipulation; it was only a question of finding the right man for the job.