Trading Up (29 page)

“I think she could be dangerous,” Janey said stubbornly, but Mimi laughed.

“Pippi? She’s too dumb to be dangerous, although I wouldn’t leave her alone with those pearls you just bought. She has a tendency to get mixed up over what belongs to her and what belongs to other people.”

Janey laughed and instinctively touched the choker of black pearls that in the thrill of ownership she had decided to wear home, wondering again why Mimi would choose to be friends with someone like Pippi. As if reading the question in her eyes, Mimi said quickly, “Oh, I know Pippi’s a pain and on the very edge of crazy, but I grew up with her and she’s like a little sister to me. Her godmother was my 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 156

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mother’s best friend, and since little Pippi and her sister never really had a family, she spent practically every holiday with us. And besides, it’s not like we don’t all have our
own
flaws—I know I do, and at my age, I’d rather be forgiven for them. Something happens when you turn forty. You actually see the benefit in being kind to people.” Janey gave a little titter that she used to mask her embarrassment at being caught out, and said, “I didn’t mean . . .”

“Oh no. Of course not,” Mimi said. “It’s just that we can be nice to Pippi because we understand where she’s coming from. She’s tired, desperate, and scared, and on top of it, she has no money and no man to take care of her; no wonder she feels mean.”

“You’re right, of course,” Janey said. Mimi smiled and squeezed Janey’s arm.

“I’ve got to fly—I promised to pick up George’s children at the airport. But I’ll see you later?”

Janey nodded, watching Mimi as she hurried to her car. She had so many small, elegant movements, like the way she tapped once with a finger on the window of the car to signal the driver and the way she tilted her head as she waited for him to open the door. As she was about to slide onto the seat, she paused, gathering up the folds of her fur coat. “If Selden gives you any trouble about the pearls,” she called out, “tell him I
forced
you to buy them!”

“I will,” Janey called back. For a moment, she watched the car disappear into the traffic, and then she turned up Madison Avenue. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her white mink coat, she was blissfully aware of the frosty December air and the quiet gray sky above, and of that particular expectant hush in the air, signaling snow. An easy joyousness marked the faces of the people passing on the sidewalk, as if, with the prospect of snow, the holiday season had truly begun.

Janey had always considered the first snowfall of the season a special day, when anything could happen, and she again touched the pearls at her neck. It was good luck, she thought, to have bought the pearls on the same day as the first snowfall, but in a moment, her good mood was marred by what was sure to be Selden’s inevitable reaction. He had plenty of money—by means of subtle questioning she’d gathered that he
had
to be worth at least $30 million—but when it came to spending it, he had a decidedly middle-class attitude. His favorite expression was “Are you sure you
really
need that?,” which he employed every time he discovered one of her new purchases. Finally, in frustration, she’d responded, “Are you sure you
really
need a five-hundred-thousand-dollar vintage car?” To which he’d replied coldly: “If you’re talking about the Jag, it’s a work of art. And I’d never sell it.” Well, that was exactly what she would tell him about the pearls, she decided: They were a work of art, too! But still, it was all so unfair, she thought, pushing her way through the holiday crowds. Especially considering the fact that Mimi had 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 157

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spent so much more money than she had: In addition to a $20,000 gold watch for Zizi, she’d bought a $150,000 diamond necklace for herself, which she had declared she must have as soon as they’d walked in and spotted it dangling against blue velvet in a locked glass case.

How Janey had
wished
she were married to George instead then, as she stood next to Mimi agonizing over the pearls. How wonderful it must be to be able to buy whatever you wanted, to never have to feel like you had to go without . . .

“You never see pearls like this anymore,” Mimi had said, motioning to the attendant to take them out of the case. The pearls were a creamy pewter, and eleven millimeters in diameter—just large enough to be impressive without looking like they must be fake. “Not new ones, anyway,” Mimi continued, holding the pearls up to her neck. “These are completely natural—it would have taken years and years to collect them, especially as they’re all the same size. I’ve always thought that black pearls were so elegant. You can wear them with anything . . . My grandmother had a strand that she wore when she was presented in court to Queen Elizabeth . . .” For a moment, Janey had been afraid that Mimi was going to buy the pearls as well as the diamond necklace, and she suddenly decided that she
had
to have them.

“They
are
beautiful,” she said, holding out her hand to take the pearls from Mimi. She put them around her own neck, admiring the way the gray pearls were set off against her creamy skin, and thinking how much better they looked against her youthful neck as opposed to Mimi’s . . . They weren’t nearly as nice as Mimi’s necklace, of course, but they would do, and aloud she declared, “I’m going to take them.”

“Good,” Mimi said. “If you can get them for less than fifty thousand dollars, they’re a real bargain . . .”

And so, sitting in the third row of the stuffy auction room, and cutting a sharp figure in a lace-and-velvet blouse paired with a fine, tight tweed skirt and suede boots, Janey had raised her paddle again and again, bidding against a nattily dressed gay man, whom Mimi insisted was probably bidding for the wife of some new billionaire, because new money wouldn’t have had the taste to realize the value of the pearls. Caught up in the fearful excitement of bidding, as the price grew closer and closer to $50,000, Janey didn’t sense the irony of being new money herself and reck-lessly spending her new husband’s new money; all she thought about was how refined she would look with the black pearls clasped about her neck, and how she would make love to Selden wearing only the pearls if she had to . . .

“Sold! To the beautiful blond lady,” the auctioneer had finally called out—and Janey had nearly collapsed with the thrill of victory. A gleeful voice in her head told her that she’d struggled for so long, she deserved to spend money like this, and she had no reason to feel guilty—after all, there were women like Mimi who did it all the time . . .

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And now, as she strolled up Fiftieth Street, the triumph of securing those pearls for herself was like a rich, metallic taste in her mouth, the taste of money . . . and there was poor Pippi, unable to buy a thing. Admiring the wire reindeer strung with small white lights that decorated the mall on Park Avenue, she suddenly felt ashamed at her attempt to flay Pippi Maus. She
must
try to be more like Mimi, she thought: If she could be more like Mimi, with her calmness, her warmth, and her ability to stand off from other people and assess their motives without getting them all mixed up with her own insecurities, she might be able to handle people better. In a second, though, her admiration for Mimi was touched by the old jealousy: On the other hand, if
she’d
grown up with all of Mimi’s advantages in a life where nothing bad had ever happened, it would be easy to be kinder, but she brushed it away. She had no reason to be envious of Mimi now, and besides, Mimi was the only friend she’d ever had whom she’d truly admired.

She reached the corner of Fifty-seventh Street. Looking down the block, she spotted the comforting Burberry plaid on an awning and decided to nip into the store. She’d pick Selden up a little something—maybe a wallet or a key chain. If she came home bearing a small gift, it might divert him from her purchase of the pearls, especially since she never bought him anything.

This reminded her of Zizi, and what Mimi had bought for him, and walking down the block, she thought smugly: Poor Mimi! Janey could never imagine “keeping” a man in any guise—even the thought of having to pay for a man’s dinner made her queasy. A few years back, when she was in her late twenties, she’d stupidly allowed herself to go on a “date” with an extremely good-looking aspiring actor, whose biggest claim to fame was that he had appeared in the latest Woody Allen movie. It was a Saturday night, and he had taken her to one of those awful ham-burger restaurants on Third Avenue, where they’d had to wait in line for forty-five minutes for a table; then, when the bill came, he’d opened his wallet and embarrass-edly declared that he had no money—if she paid, he had said, he promised to pay her back tomorrow. Janey was broke then herself—she had $40 in her wallet meant to last for the next two days—and as she paid the check, she felt like she’d never sunk so low: Not only was
she
a loser, she was dating one as well.

But the story got worse: In an attempt to be gentlemanly (perhaps to “make up” for his lack of cash), he had insisted on walking her home, and then on escorting her up the stairs and into her apartment. Once inside, his personality changed. He tried to kiss her, and when she pushed him away, he shouted at her, calling her a

“rich bitch” who thought she was better than other people. That much was true, she remembered thinking at the time—she certainly did think she was better than him.

And then, in a sort of pathetic cliché, he tried to date rape her, but his penis was small and he never managed to get a hard-on, and finally, in a fit of rage, he left—

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but not before giving her a slap across the face that was so hard it knocked her to the floor.

For the next couple of hours, Janey had stayed in bed with an ice pack on her cheek—she would have been freaked out about her face, but she hadn’t had a modeling job in weeks, and didn’t have another one scheduled for another two weeks. It was too pitiful, really, to bother to call the police; being a single girl without a regular job, without anyone in her life to even notice her comings and goings, she knew these kinds of things could happen at any time, and that she was responsible for her own protection. But mostly, she was mad about the $40. Paying for his dinner meant that if she wanted to eat the next day, she would have to call up one of her male “friends” and ask to be taken to dinner; if she was really lucky, she might be able to get out of sex by begging off that she was tired . . .

She reached Burberry, where a smiling uniformed guard held open the heavy glass door with a “Good afternoon, miss.” As soon as she entered the store, she was reminded of how much she loved shopping in designer stores, where everyone was so cheery and helpful . . . The interior of the store was warm and beige, somehow managing to convey the comfy feeling of being wrapped up in a soft blanket, and looking around for the accessories counter, her eye was caught by a pair of high-heeled, knee-high boots in the Burberry plaid. She was suddenly overcome by a pleasurable excitement that was nearly sexual, and striding over to the boots and picking one up in her hand, she declared out loud: “I
have
to have these!” A handsome young salesman was immediately at her side; in a voice that contained a wink, he said, “Can I help you, Ms. Wilcox?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her excitement rising at being recognized. “I’m praying that you have these in my size—size nine. If you don’t have them, I don’t know what I’ll do . . .”

The salesman disappeared in search of the boots, and Janey sat down on a beige leather couch, having completely forgotten about Selden. In a few minutes, she was relieved to see the salesman returning with a box, but then she was nearly crushed when he said, “This is the last pair, and I’m afraid they’re size eight and a half . . .”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll make them fit,” she said, removing her shoes.

“I could call around to our other stores,” the salesman said. “I think the Los Angeles store might still have a nine . . .”

“But I want them
now,
” Janey said decisively. “If I have to wait to get them, it’ll spoil the fun.”

“I completely agree,” the salesman said, nodding.

She unzipped the back of the boot and forced her foot in—there was a little bit of a pinch that she would probably regret after an hour of wearing them—but they might stretch, and she was determined to have them. Wedging her foot into the 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 160

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other boot, she stood up, sashaying across the carpet to a mirror, aware that other people in the store were admiring her and perhaps even coveting her boots . . .

As always when she stood before a mirror wearing something new, she had a fantasy about herself. She imagined she was wearing the boots in some exotic locale (perhaps with palm trees and stark white buildings), crossing the street with an expression of determination and fear on her face . . . She was in danger and alone . . . with a gun in her handbag . . .

And suddenly, in her left ear, she heard a male voice purr, “There is nothing sexier than a woman in boots that are too small.” And spinning around, she was annoyed to find that the speaker was Zizi, wearing an expensive chocolate-brown suede coat, and looking just as gorgeous as she’d remembered him from the summer before. What the hell was he doing in Burberry, she thought. But of course—he was obviously buying himself things on Mimi’s credit card. With a toss of her head, she snapped, “They’re not too small. They fit perfectly . . .”

“I thought I saw an expression of pain in your eyes,” he said, giving her an amused smirk.

“That’s only because . . .” she said, thinking about her fantasy. Why did he always seem to catch her out in an embarrassing situation?

“Congratulations,” he said. “I hear you’re married now.”