Trading Up (54 page)

“So you’re from the midwest?” Paul asked.

“No, Massachusetts,” Janey said.

“I’m from Indianapolis myself. My fiancée insisted that we had to take a trip to France, said it was the thing to do,” he said, nodding toward an aerobicized woman in her late thirties, who was sitting stiffly with a dark-haired young woman and Justin Marinelli—the same man she’d met at Rasheed’s suite. He laughed. “I figured it was a good way to kill two birds with one stone,” he said. “She gets in her socializing and I do some business with Mr. Al . . .” Janey nodded, longing to move away. She had only been in Europe for six months, but she was shocked at the subtle change it must have wrought in her, for she suddenly understood the European penchant for viewing Americans as loud and boorish. She took a step to the side, but Paul stepped in front of her.

“So what are you doing here?” he demanded with a grin, exposing large, yellow teeth that reminded Janey of a golden retriever.

“I’m a . . . model.”

He leaned toward her, and with a leering grin said, “Well, seeing as you’re American and all and obviously gainfully employed, maybe you can explain what the deal is here.”

“The deal?” Janey asked in alarm.

“Sure,” Paul whispered. “These girls here,” he said, glancing at three beautiful bored-looking young women who were grouped together on a banquette, silently drinking champagne. “Are they . . . you know . . . ?” he asked, making a gesture with his hand.

Janey took a step back. “I have no idea,” she replied primly. “I’ve only met Rasheed once, and then he asked me to lunch . . .”

“Well, you hear rumors and all. And damned if not one of those girls speaks English, or if they can they can’t be bothered . . .”

“And what’s your business?” Janey asked quickly.

“Munitions,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Rasheed and I are 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 289

t r a d i n g u p

289

going to do a little business. I own a company that makes the casings on bullets.

And Rasheed here, well, for all his fancy yachts and stuff, he’s nothing more than a glorified gunrunner . . .”

Inwardly Janey gasped, but luckily Paul’s attention was suddenly diverted by the arrival of a famous movie star in his sixties, accompanied by his famously elegant wife, who was wearing a blue silk turban. Rasheed suddenly materialized and greeted them with a reserved enthusiasm, as Paul leaned in to say, “Well, the man’s got pull, you’ve got to give him that much. Although I know Kim was hoping to meet some kind of European royalty . . .”

Janey gave him a brief smile and slipped away to the other side of the deck. She leaned out over the railing, taking in the now familiar sight of the Saint-Tropez harbor, with its decorative yellow buildings and the row of blue awnings that shaded the cheap cafés. Although the exotic spectacle never failed to thrill her, reminding her that despite the trials of the past two weeks she’d still managed to get somewhere, this time gazing at the bustling harbor was merely a pretense to secretly study the other guests.

The three “models” were obviously Rasheed’s girls and, despite their apparent charms, were of little interest to anyone. Janey immediately summed them up as no competition; and yet they also served as a warning as to how one might be treated.

While she was willing to take money from Rasheed—as a gift, she reminded herself—she had no intention of becoming one of these faceless bodies that filled in spaces at a luncheon table and performed sexual acts on demand, and for the first time she took comfort in the fact that she was an American girl and all that might imply. Her eyes slid toward Kim, Paul’s fiancée; the two were now engaged in conversation with the movie star and his wife, their facial expressions and gestures revealing the heightened animation that ordinary people take on when suddenly confronted with the famous. Janey had disliked Kim on sight, for everything about her was graceless—from her highlighted hair that showed dark chunks at the roots to her clothing, which was expensive but badly chosen—but now, watching Kim enmesh the movie star with the presumptive intimacy that comes so easily to Americans, Janey felt an outpouring of affection for her. Kim, who was in her midto late-thirties, was nothing more or less than she appeared to be: a woman trying to better herself in life, and if that meant putting up with Paul, so be it, especially as she probably genuinely loved him as well.

No, she needn’t fear anything from Kim, but the same could not be said of the dark-haired beauty who, Janey presumed, was Justin’s wife. Janey recognized her disdainful demeanor as the mark of someone from a good, respectable French family that was most likely in possession of an ancient aristocratic title . . . And Janey couldn’t help being amused by the fact that she looked like she could barely tolerate 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 290

290

c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l

being on a yacht with what she undoubtedly considered questionable company. Her black hair was drawn back into a tight bun, as if the severity of her hairstyle might shield her from any disreputable undercurrents, while Justin stood over her engaged in a hushed conference. His closed expression revealed the frustration of a man who has grown used to the fact that he’ll never be able to please his wife and yet is still in love with her, and watching them Janey was suddenly filled with a nagging anxi-ety about her own situation.

She turned away for a moment, and down the long, hundred-foot teak walkway saw two white-coated figures slip into a sliding doorway as invisibly as if they were ghosts, but her eyes were drawn back to Justin and his wife. Her head was turned away from him as she delicately took a bite of toast smeared with tiny black eggs; although the company might not have been up to her standards, she wasn’t above eating her host’s caviar. Justin gave his wife a warning frown, and then, in obvious exasperation, looked away and his eye caught Janey’s. For some reason, she blushed but held his gaze. Her eyes were as curious as his, and with a guilty look he turned back to his wife as Janey pretended to be very interested in a crewman who was scrubbing the deck of the boat next door.

When she turned back to the group, she saw Justin making his way over to Kim and the movie star and his wife. His manner was easy and confident; he possessed the unapologetic American air of a young man who is going places, coupled with a European passion for life. Janey saw immediately that he was just the sort of man a girl should marry. But she also saw, with a touch of anger, that he was just the sort of man who would
not
marry a girl like her. The same ambitions that had brought her to Rasheed’s yacht drove him as well; the difference was that hers came out of desperation while his were piloted by entitlement. She was, she realized, far too common and ordinary to interest a man like Justin in marriage. And while he had obviously aspired to a match that could elevate him socially, however much one might criticize him for it, he had managed to pull it off. With a flash of dishearten-ing insight she saw that no matter what anybody said, it was a man’s world and the rules were designed to allow men to take what they wanted, while women were left to hope and wait, or to make their way as best they could . . .

In desperation she looked around for Rasheed and saw that he was talking quietly to Paul and two of the Arab men, who were obviously his henchmen. She didn’t understand why she’d been invited to this lunch, which was apparently some kind of business affair disguised as a social event, unless it was to even out the numbers of men and women. Rasheed was taking small notice of her, and doubting he would have sex with her after all, she suddenly found herself desperately missing the $2,000 or $3,000 she would have collected. Looking around at the rest of the party, she felt more alone than she had in weeks. Her loneliness was like a gauzy white 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 291

t r a d i n g u p

291

shroud separating her from the world, and for a moment she felt as if she had become invisible, while at the same time conscious that every small movement she made was being magnified and thrown into glaring relief. She jerkily brushed her hair over her shoulder, wishing that she’d taken Estella’s advice and started smoking—at least that way she would have something to do with her hands.

And then, with overwhelming relief, she looked up and found the handsome young man standing by her side.

“You look as though you need a drink, mate,” he said with an easy jocularity that was in direct contrast to her unease. His accent was not quite English as he said, “Didn’t anyone offer you champagne?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she faltered, instantly aware of how stupid her remark sounded.

But he appeared to take it at face value. “As you don’t have a glass in your hand, I assume they haven’t,” he said, and with a sharp look summoned one of the white-coated waiters to their side. In a few moments, Janey was gratefully sipping a glass of champagne and staring up at him with large blue eyes. “Aren’t you having any?” she asked.

“Can’t,” he said. “I’m on duty.”

“On duty?” she asked.

“Believe it or not, I’m the captain of this ship,” he said, leaning in with a playful wink. “Ian Carmichael,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Janey Wilcox,” she said.

“And what brings you, Janey Wilcox, an obviously nice American girl, onto the
Mamouda
?” he asked. He was smiling, but there was a serious look in his eyes that hinted at kindly depths, and with desperate honesty Janey cried out, “I have no idea!”

He regarded her quizzically, as if judging the reality of her despair. Leaning toward her, he said conspiratorially, “No one knows why they’re on this boat, with the exception of Mr. Rasheed. He knows all, and they”—he gestured at the guests—“know nothing. But I suppose they find it interesting enough to play along.” He paused for a second, and then, reverting to his lighthearted tone, asked,

“Do you know Robert Russell?”

“The movie star?” Janey asked, shaking her head. “No. I don’t know anyone famous.”

“He’s a nice man, and so is his wife. You ought to go introduce yourself.”

“I couldn’t!”

“Ah, but you have to,” he said. “You can’t spend all afternoon talking to me, much as I’d like to.”

She looked into his eyes. Was he warning her or merely giving her friendly 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 292

292

c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l

advice? She felt a frisson of sexual attraction and wondered if he felt attracted to her as well, but his eyes were as calm as the blue waters in the harbor. And as she moved away from him toward the other guests, she had the disconcerting feeling that she was leaving reality and entering a movie set.

Observing her progress, Robert Russell called out, “Hello there, young lady,” which, Janey thought, might have been motivated by his desire to relieve himself of Kim’s company, but within seconds she was ensconced in the little group. And several minutes later, Robert’s wife, Zara, who was as charming as her reputation implied, was promising to write down the name of the shop where she’d bought her turban . . .

The luncheon itself seemed to consist of two separate parties. There was Rasheed’s end of the table, populated by his henchmen, the models, and Paul, and Janey’s end of the table, which consisted of Russell and Zara, Kim, Justin, and his wife, who was called Chantal. The meal consisted of five courses with a prodigious amount of wine and silverware, and as soon as Janey sat down at the table, she remembered that although she’d been raised with no thought to the development of her brain or any marketable skills, she
had
been brought up with manners—at least to the extent that she knew which fork to use. This tiny bit of knowledge coupled with the champagne she’d drunk gave her the confidence to proceed in a situation for which she was socially ill-equipped, and she began to relax when she saw Kim use her salad fork for the first course of smoked trout, and caught Chantal’s disgusted expression.

But Chantal and Kim and Zara were united by the fact that they all had children, and Chantal, although she was but twenty-three, had just had a baby. It seemed to Janey that in polite society, there must be only two types of women, those who had children and those who did not, and no woman could hate another woman who had experienced the mysteries of childbirth.

Indeed, when asked about the birth (by Kim, before the first course was even finished), Chantal shook her head and glowered at her plate. “No man can understand, no matter what they say,” she said, with a sharp look at Justin. Janey wondered if this was the cause of Chantal’s hatred of her husband, or if it was merely one of a litany of complaints. And then the conversation mysteriously moved on to curtains—specifically $20,000 drapes Kim was considering buying for her and Paul’s New York apartment.

Throughout this, Janey made appropriate facial gestures and little murmurs of assent, but her head was spinning. How was it possible that there was this much money in the world—enough to spend $20,000 on one window treatment? In the town where she’d grown up, everyone had played tennis and golf, but they’d also clipped coupons and bought steak when it was $1.50 a pound instead of $3. She 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:24 PM Page 293

t r a d i n g u p

293

was an interloper in this world, and yet, at the same time, it didn’t feel impossible that she should be here. Studying Chantal, she decided that she was certainly as attractive as she was, although she had to admit that she lacked Chantal’s elegance.

But surely, elegance could be learned, and, almost unconsciously, she began to mimic the way Chantal held her fork and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

Justin was seated to her right. She felt that there was something between them, and yet he seemed to be making a studious effort to ignore her. The fact that he was married to Chantal piqued her interest, and she wondered how difficult it would be to get him to sleep with her. She was driven not by malice but by the simple desires of youth to spread its wings and see how far it could go, and with a little smile, she turned to Justin and asked, “Do you have a yacht as well?” Justin gave her a startled look, as if he couldn’t tell whether she was joking, and said, “No. Chantal’s family has a villa in Mougins.” He glanced at the other end of the table where Rasheed was deep in conversation with Paul and one of the Arab men, and Janey, watching his eyes, said, “Do you work for Rasheed?”