Trading Up (38 page)

The Victoria’s Secret show was on Thursday; the Tuesday before the show found Janey lunching at Dingo’s for the third time in a week: First with Selden, 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 202

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then with her sister, who had returned from Europe, full of stand-by-your-man sentiments that had nearly turned Janey’s stomach, and now, on that Tuesday afternoon, with Craig Edgers. The maître d’, a prematurely gray-haired Scotsman named Wesley, had signaled to her from the crush of fur and cashmere overcoats packed into the narrow foyer, and, holding two menus aloft, led her through the crowd to one of the five banquettes reserved for celebrities and the city’s most important power brokers. The attention never failed to gratify her, reminding her that beauty was indeed its own reward—and during these titillating moments, it crossed Janey’s mind that she hardly needed “real” accomplishments when she could command the best table at the most exclusive restaurant in Manhattan.

And the thrill was made doubly pleasurable by being seen in the company of Craig Edgers. He was now Manhattan’s indisputable literary light, living proof that a writer could once again produce a novel that was both intellectual and commercial, at last laying to rest the argument that had plagued the publishing world for the past twenty-five years: Could a literary work sell as many copies as what was commonly considered “trash”? Craig had answered the question with his success, and nearly everywhere Janey went someone mentioned his book. Most people loved the book but admitted to only a grudging respect for its author, who was said to be arrogant and full of himself, as well as mean.

“Which is exactly what you would expect,” Janey had said to him on the phone, when reporting back one of these conversations. “After all, you’ve changed the face of American publishing; naturally people are going to be jealous.” Nevertheless, jealousy had had no effect on Craig’s new status, and Janey drew satisfaction from the surprised and curious glances they elicited when they crossed the room to their table. Craig was sporting a four-day growth of beard, which had been popular among certain actors five years ago, but Janey had no doubts that he’d be recognized. The crowd at Dingo’s prided themselves not only on being news-makers, but on knowing the news and the “in” people well before this information was filtered to the general public. Craig was an elusive new star, and the fact that Janey had caught him, and that
he
—a genuine intellectual—was hanging out with
her,
conferred on her an intellectual status never accorded her before. It was, she thought with some gratification, an even exchange: Her glamour for his brains.

They slid into the banquette and Craig regarded her with a malicious gleam, which Janey had learned by now was a defense he employed whenever he felt insecure or out of his element. He clumsily unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap, looking around the room with undisguised curiosity. “So this,” he said, “is what it’s like to be Janey Wilcox. On a daily basis.”

“Or
with
Janey Wilcox,” she said. Her face held that particular intense anima-18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 203

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tion that was second nature for her when she was in a public situation—it was designed to draw glances and yet appear unaware of them. In a teasing tone, she added, “Come on, Craig. Surely you’ve been here before? After all, you’re only the most important New York writer to come along in the last twenty years.” For a man who prided himself on his intellect, Craig was ridiculously suscepti-ble to easy flattery, and he immediately relaxed, leaning forward to reveal that, actually, he had been to Dingo’s before, with his agent, but they’d been relegated to one of the small square tables in Siberia in the back room. Janey knew just what response to take: One of outraged indignation at the “false” way he’d been treated before he’d become successful. It was one of Craig’s pet peeves—along with the superficiality and frivolity of New York society. Janey wasn’t, by nature, particularly opposed to frivolity or superficiality, but she had immediately grasped that this was a topic over which they might bond, and she encouraged Craig’s vitriol, even adding some of her own: She told him about the dreadful way she’d been treated before she’d become a Victoria’s Secret model, and had even hinted at her troubles with Comstock Dibble—“things” she swore she hadn’t even told Selden.

The result was that Craig Edgers was now madly in love with her.

The seduction had been perfectly calculated on her part, and was justified by her recent and unassailable belief that men like Craig Edgers—intellectual artists who “understand” the longings of the human soul—were her true soul mates, the sort of men who should be her companions. Her seduction of Craig fell under a completely different heading than, say, the seduction of a man like George. Men like George were interesting only because they had money, while men like Craig didn’t need money to be interesting.

She’d subtly pursued a phone friendship with him at first, using as an excuse the possibility that Selden might produce his movie. That had led to lunch at a dingy Mexican restaurant on Second Avenue near his apartment, and, on another day, to an afternoon visit to the apartment itself. The apartment was a depressing two-bedroom in a white brick high-rise building, constructed for the middle classes in the late fifties; it was poorly kept up and furnished with cheap Scandinavian furniture that had probably been purchased in the eighties. Photographs of him and his wife, Lorraine, during various stages of their marriage decorated a sideboard, and one wall was filled with books. Janey examined the photographs, genuinely interested in the kind of woman Craig had married, and wasn’t disappointed: Lorraine was an athletic, plainly pretty woman of about his age, who had maintained the same hairstyle for a number of years—a frizzy, shoulder-length bob that jutted from the sides of her head like wings. Janey had remarked, in a false voice designed to subtly convey disdain, that Lorraine looked “nice.” It also amused her to see that 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 204

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most of the photographs were taken in glamorous vacation spots like Martha’s Vineyard and Aspen, indicating that while Craig and his wife may not have had money, they weren’t above befriending people who did.

The pretense for her visit was to examine Craig’s collection of classic books, which, she had explained, were one of her secret passions, and the next hour had passed in a haze of sexual tension. Janey had no intention of actually having sex with Craig, but she wasn’t going to rule it out if the moment was right and the situation worked to her gain. As she contemplated Craig’s prized copy of
The Great
Gatsby
—an early signed edition with the original cover depicting a woman’s eyes floating in a night sky—she was reminded of how heady it was to wield power over a man, and a plan formed in her head. The little time she’d spent with Craig had been a kind of awakening, and she suddenly realized that the one thing that had been missing from her life, the one thing that had prevented her from being really happy, was intellectual prestige. Her plan would not only justify her actions, it would change everyone’s opinion about her. She knew people thought she was beautiful, but now they would know she was smart, too.

The idea was simple: She would produce the movie version of
The Embarrassments.
It seemed an almost crazy idea at first, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. So far, Craig had resisted selling the book to Comstock Dibble, who was still refusing to let him write the screenplay, but Craig didn’t necessarily need Comstock Dibble, or, indeed, any movie studio at all—not with so much money floating around. And she knew plenty of rich men who might be willing to put up the money, who might enjoy thwarting a man like Comstock Dibble. Why, she could probably get George Paxton to invest—and then Craig would write the screenplay, and she would find the actors and director, perhaps playing one of the female parts herself. And wouldn’t that be a surprise for Selden!

And now, at lunch with Craig, she meant to subtly broach her plan. The waiters were hovering around their table like flies, the blasé crowd at Dingo’s was sneaking looks—and, Janey imagined, speculating madly about the unusual pairing.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Janey leaned in toward Craig, and with a little giggle, said, “No one would dare put you in Siberia now.” Craig gave her a triumphant smile, and said, “Especially not now. Did I tell you that
Time
magazine wants to do a story about me?” And with a roll of his eyes, as if he’d always expected such approbation, added, “Finally.”

“Oh, Craig!” Janey said, feeling a fresh surge of excitement. The general New York attitude was that the more famous your friends were, the better
you
looked, and she couldn’t help but imagine how Craig’s
Time
piece might impact her life.

“Will they put you on the cover?”

“There’s been talk of that. But naturally, I have concerns.” He looked at her 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 205

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meaningfully. “You know how these things work, Janey. You have no control over what they write and the kind of angle they’ll take, and I don’t want to sully my literary reputation by appearing in a magazine aimed for the common populace.”

“But you
have
to do it,” Janey said, frowning. “You must see why it’s so important.”

“Tell me,” he said. And Janey couldn’t help but marvel afresh that Craig Edgers,
the
Craig Edgers, literary star, was asking her for advice!

“Think about all the people you’ll reach,” she said passionately, as if the topic had been of the utmost concern to her for most of her life. “People who have probably never read a great book in their lives, who think that ‘literary’ means boring!” She glanced down demurely at her plate. “My God, Craig,” she said softly. “To be given the chance to affect so many people like that . . . Why, it’s nothing less than an honor. It’s the kind of thing I’d like to do someday. There’s . . . there’s real meaning in that. What’s the expression? It’s an unexamined life worth living . . .” Craig gave her a patronizing smile. “That’s not quite it, but the sentiment is right.”

“Oh, naturally it’s right,” she said, boldly. “You’ll have to give up some control over your image, but think about how much you’ll gain.” He sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re the only person I can talk to about this stuff. My wife doesn’t want to hear it . . .”

“Only because she’s threatened. By your success. Suddenly,
your
life has changed and she doesn’t know what it’s going to do to your relationship.”

“But what is the point of having a wife if she deliberately refuses to understand?” Craig asked, playing with his fork.

Janey gave him a mysterious smile but said nothing. Most women would have taken Craig’s remark about his wife as a chance to paint themselves as superior to Lorraine in understanding and sympathy. But Janey knew that more often than not, the technique failed—it made a man think you were desperate to be with him. And the way to control a man was to let him sell himself to you—not the other way around.

Indeed, within seconds, Craig leaned over and said, in what Janey imagined was an uncharacteristic revelation for him, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” she said, noting that this was now the perfect opportunity to introduce her plan.

“This is going to sound crazy. But I’ve been musing . . . I’m going to make you a character in my next book.” He sat back on the banquette and took a sip of water, regarding her thoughtfully.

“Oh, Craig,” Janey said. She was caught slightly off balance, and taking a moment to regroup her strategy, she suddenly saw him as he might appear to some-18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 206

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one who didn’t know him and wasn’t acquainted with his accomplishments. The overriding impression, besides the plaid, lumberjack shirt, was of a man who was not quite clean, who had doubtless at times gone for days without brushing his teeth, who had flecks of dandruff between his eyelashes and blackheads on his back.

And then, in a gesture that shocked her, given the environment, he sat forward and clumsily placed his hand over hers. For a moment, she froze, but quickly realized that if he thought she found him repulsive, he would retreat and she would lose him. Instead, she placed her other hand over his and said, in a voice that rang with flirtatious undertones, “I know I should be flattered, but honestly, Craig, I’m frightened. Why, the way you depict some of the people in your book . . . it’s positively Machiavellian. You can be quite the cynic, you know, and I can’t
imagine
how you’d depict
me
—probably as one of those man-eating bitches!” And Craig laughed and said, “It should be pretty obvious how I would depict
you,
Janey. You know I’m besotted with you!”

“Do I know that, Craig?” she asked—innocently enough, but with just a hint of warning in her voice.

Craig didn’t pick up on the hint. “If you weren’t married to my goddamned best friend,” he went on, “I’d ask you to go away with me for the weekend.”

“But Craig,” she cried, feigning shock. “What about your wife?”

“I’d lie and tell her I was going to Chicago. To see old friends.” He was so quaint and yet dead serious, Janey thought. It was almost . . . sweet.

“We could tell Selden you’re writing a book about me,” she said, wondering how far he would go. “We could tell him that we needed to spend time together, so you could . . . study me.”

Now he was right where she wanted him. His eyes nearly crossed with desire as he managed to gasp out, “But I could never do that to Selden.” He took a sip of his water, and added, “Besides, Selden wouldn’t believe it for a second. He’s not that stupid. He knows how I feel about you—the bastard is probably laughing behind his back at me!”

Janey pushed her lips out into a little pout. “You’re right, of course,” she said.