The Smart One and the Pretty One

by Claire Lazebnik

  “Hi, yourself,” Russell said. Once again, he was wearing a beautifully tailored suit, in black this time. He gestured toward a painting on the wall. “Where’d you get this?”

  Ava came and stood next to him, studying the painting as if she’d never seen it before. It was easier than making eye contact. The dinner at the restaurant had embarrassed her so much that she doubted she’d ever be able to look Russell Markowitz in the eye. “From my grandmother,” she said. “My mother’s mother. I always liked it, and when she moved to a smaller apartment she gave it to me. I made her put something about it in her will so no one would contest it after she died.” Russell gave her a funny look and Ava reddened. “Oh, God, that sounded really mercenary. And lawyerly. In a bad way.”

  “No, you’re right to think about those things,” he said, a little dubiously. “It’s best to be cautious.”

  “I’ve just seen so many legal battles that could have been avoided by the right kind of paperwork,” Ava said. “Better to spell things out clearly ahead of time with wills and prenuptials and all that than have a huge fight later.”

  “I don’t like the idea of prenups,” Russell said. “They start a marriage off with an assumption of failure. Completely undercuts that incredible moment when you realize the marriage is actually failing.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned.

  “Not everyone ends up divorced,” Ava said.

  He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, to be young and innocent again.”

  “Why’d you ask me about the painting?”

  “There’s one in our office that this reminded me of. I was checking to see if they were done by the same artist, and they were. This J. J. Wilers guy is really talented.”

  “Yeah,” Ava said. “He’s great. He’s also a woman.”

  “Really? I thought—” He stopped and threw his hands up in a gesture of despair. “Now I’m going to get lectured at, aren’t I? How about I just admit I’m a sexist pig and we skip the lecture?”

  “I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Ava said. “I assumed it was an honest mistake.” She turned and moved over to the sofa. “Where’s Lauren?”

  “Getting changed.” He followed her toward the sitting area. “Apparently I caught her in her ‘hanging-out clothes’ and she needed to put on her ‘dinner clothes.’ Those are her words, by the way, not mine.” He looked down at the elegant suit he was wearing and said, “I’m stuck in my work clothes, I’m afraid. No time to change.”

  Ava sat down. “What line of work are you in again?”

  “I work for a womenswear label,” he said, and she could tell from his slightly injured tone that he must have said something about it at dinner the other night, but the truth was she remembered almost nothing from that conversation except that she wasn’t really part of it and just wanted it to end so she could go home and hide.

  “He’s being modest,” Lauren said from the threshold where she had suddenly appeared, looking fresh and pretty in a low-slung flouncy skirt and a short camisole top that revealed a flash of rounded hip between the top of the one and the bottom of the other. Ava stole a quick sideways glance at Russell and could tell that he liked what he was seeing. She certainly hadn’t seen the same expression on his face when she had walked in. Of course, the gray shirt-dress she was wearing wasn’t likely to inspire a second glance. Nor should it, she added quickly to herself: she didn’t need to impress people with how she looked, just with how she thought.

  Lauren said, “It’s not just any label, Ava, it’s Evoque Knits, and Russell doesn’t just work there, he’s the managing director.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” Ava said. “Evoque’s a pretty upscale line. Even I’ve heard of it, and I’m not a fashion expert like my sister.”

  “You own any of our clothes?” Russell asked. He stuck his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys.

  “I bought a skirt once,” she said. “At Loehmann’s, I think.”

  “Next time, pay retail. A guy’s got to eat. Only one skirt, huh?”

  “But one of my senior partners wears your suits all the time. They’re more geared for older women, aren’t they?”

  “See?” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets to gesture with a sudden passion. “That’s exactly the misconception I was hired to fix. We make beautiful knit clothing for women of all ages. Our fit is very flattering—”

  “Stop right there,” Lauren said, perching on the arm of the sofa. “You might as well just say you’re going after the geriatric crowd. I’m surprised at you, Russell. You should know that women don’t want to be told to buy clothing because it will make them look less fat. They want to buy a dress because it will make them look hot.”

  “I’m well aware of how to market to the American female,” Russell said. “Which is why we hired Carson Flite to be the new face of Evoque Knits.”

  “Oh, right,” Lauren said. “I’ve seen the ads with her.”

  “She’s the one who was in the Lady Jane movies, right?” Ava said.

  “Yeah. She’s the one with the enormous—” Lauren weighed imaginary cantaloupes in both hands. “And the skinny little legs and arms.”

  “Amazing how some women can have such big breasts and still be so skinny,” Ava said. “It’s such a common body type in L.A. And yet one rarely sees it in other parts of the world.”

  “Carson Flite claims they’re real,” Russell said.

  “And what does your friend Corinne say about hers?” Lauren asked sweetly.

  “Lauren!” Ava said.

  Russell just shook his head. “I’m not going to touch that. So to speak. Anyway, our ad campaign with Carson is amazing. It’s going to reinvent the company.”

  “Did the company need reinventing?” Ava asked.

  “Companies are like people—they can grow stodgy and set in their ways if they’re not challenged.”

  “The ads have been out for a while, haven’t they?” Ava said. “How’s the response?”

  “It’s only been a couple of months.” He leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankles, then immediately uncrossed them and leaned forward again. “It’s a big change—we’re completely reinventing the company—”

  “You already said that,” Ava pointed out.

  He looked momentarily taken aback, but then he regained his confidence. “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s true. You can’t expect people to immediately accept change. It takes time.”

  “Why don’t you just wait for most of your clientele to die off?” Lauren said. “Given your demographic, that wouldn’t take all that long.”

  “See?” he said. “Jokes like that are why I’m—” He stopped.

  “Reinventing the company?” Ava suggested, and he shot her a look.

  “Getting back to Corinne,” Lauren said. “Where is she this fine evening?”

  “I have no idea,” Russell said calmly.

  “Should we be worried about the future of your relationship?”

  “Lauren!” Ava said again, even more sharply.

  Lauren shrugged. “What? I’m allowed to be curious.”

  “You guys are funny together,” Russell said, looking back and forth between them. “You have a lot of the same mannerisms and you look so much alike. But then you’re really different in a lot of ways.”

  “Yeah?” Lauren said. “How so?”

  “Put him on the spot, why don’t you?” Ava said, but she was just as curious.

  Russell pointed at Lauren. “You’re the troublemaker.” Then he pointed at Ava. “You’re the conscientious one.”

  “What do you think?” Lauren asked Ava. “Do we give him that one?”

  “I’m okay with it if you are.”

  “What else?” Lauren asked Russell.

  “You’re fearless,” he said to her, then hesitated, looking at Ava.

  “You’re saying I’m a wimp, aren’t you?” Her outrage was exaggerated but not entirely feigned.

  “No, not at all. You’re just not out there in the
same way. You’re more careful. It’s a good thing.”

  “You’re a little wimpy,” Lauren said to her. “I mean, you’re so easily embarrassed.”

  “Thanks,” Ava said. “You sure that doesn’t have anything to do with how often you’ve deliberately embarrassed me in public?”

  “Nah, you were born that way.”

  “Learn to fake confidence,” Russell said to Ava. “No one really feels secure deep down—most of us just get good at faking it.”

  “She feels secure deep down,” Ava said, pointing at her sister.

  Lauren put her hand on her stomach. “No, I think that’s hunger. Can we go eat soon?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Russell said. “You guys want to pick a place?”

  “Angela’s?” Lauren said.

  Ava shook her head. Angela’s was a small, old-fashioned Italian joint that had been around for decades, nothing like the restaurant where they’d met Russell. “That’s not going to be hip enough for him.”

  “I don’t need hip,” Russell said. “I think you guys have the wrong idea about me. I’m actually a pretty down-to-earth guy.”

  There was a beat. The two girls looked at each other and, at the exact same moment, with the same tossing back of their heads, they let out identical bleats of laughter.

  Russell flushed and fidgeted. “Wow,” he said. “You guys really are destroying me bit by bit tonight.”

  “Oh dear, are you losing your self-confidence?” Ava said. “Learn to fake it. Some people are very good at that, you know.”

  “Deep down, we’re all insecure,” Lauren added.

  “Jesus,” he said. “You girls are evil. Do you always gang up on your guests?”

  “No,” Lauren said, blowing a kiss at him. “Just you.”

  Lauren was in her element, making many lighthearted and flirtatious demands as they all studied the menu at the recently opened Indian restaurant they ultimately settled on. She declared that she didn’t like vegetables but was willing to allow Russell one serving of something green so long as it didn’t interfere with the three chicken dishes she wanted; she insisted that the others share a bottle of wine with her, even though Russell had already said he usually drank beer with Indian food; she preferred Russell’s seat, which faced out, to the one she first sat in, and made him switch places with her. And so on.

  Russell seemed amused by her demands. He teasingly told her she was spoiled and then willingly catered to her every whim with the good-natured indulgence of a weekend father taking the daughter he rarely saw on a special outing.

  “She was like this when she was little, too, wasn’t she?” he asked Ava after he and Lauren had settled into their new seats, which now put him right across from Ava rather than next to her.

  “Absolutely,” Ava said. “She always got what she wanted. Still does.”

  “Typical female,” Russell said fondly.

  “If you want something, go after it,” Lauren said. “That’s my motto.”

  “I admire that,” Russell said. “You and I will get along fine.” To Ava: “You, I’m not so sure about.”

  “Why?” she said, a little too fiercely. “Because I’m wimpy and overly conscientious?”

  “No,” he said. “Because we’re getting married. That never ends well for me.”

  Lauren laughed and stood up. “I have to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” She strode off, her flouncy skirt swirling cheerfully around her legs with each energetic step.

  Russell gestured toward her retreating back. “Don’t you want to go with her?”

  “She’s twenty-six years old,” Ava said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m fairly certain she’s mastered the more challenging aspects of going potty all by herself.”

  “Then why’d you feel the need to run after her when she went to the restroom the other night at the restaurant?” he said. “I saw you chase her down and then you both came back ready to leave. You had obviously gone there to talk—admit it.”

  “So?”

  “So you shouldn’t have gotten all sarcastic when I asked you if you wanted to go with her. Right?”

  “I guess,” she said.

  The waiter came to their table and put down a basket of naan.

  Ava said “I’m starving” and grabbed a piece, bit into it.

  “Look at you go,” Russell said, watching her. “Bet you don’t eat like that when you’re alone.”

  Ava blinked at him over the top of the naan. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just something I’ve noticed,” he said. “Women think men like it if they eat and drink like sailors on shore leave, so when you’re with us, you all act like you just love love love to eat and never count calories or think about carbs or fats or any of that—and then you starve yourselves and exercise like maniacs in private so you can pull off all that eating when we’re together and still look good.”

  “I eat the same amount no matter who I’m with.” Although, having said that, Ava felt uneasily like maybe it wasn’t entirely true. And hadn’t an older cousin once lectured her and Lauren on the importance of skipping lunch on the day of a big date?

  “My first wife got fat the second we were married,” Russell said. “She kept up with my eating, but once we were spending all our time together she stopped doing whatever she’d been doing to control her weight when she was alone—”

  “Throwing up?” Ava suggested sarcastically.

  “Exercising,” he said, not amused. “I like a girl with a hearty appetite, but she needs to balance that with some common sense.”

  “And so you divorced her? Because she gained a few pounds?”

  “She gained more than a few,” Russell said. “But that wasn’t why I divorced her.”

  “Why, then? She put her lipstick on crooked one day?”

  “She wasn’t the person she was pretending to be,” Russell said. “Same thing happened with my second wife, only worse. They both acted a certain way when we were dating and then it all changed once they felt they had landed me.” He sighed. “I’ve had some really bad luck.”

  “It’s bad luck if it happens once. Did you ever think maybe you like the wrong kind of women?”

  Lauren came back to the table and slipped into her chair. “What’d I miss?”

  “‘The wrong kind’?” Russell repeated, ignoring her. “There isn’t a right or wrong kind. There are just women. And women will do whatever they can to land a man, especially one they think is rich and successful. They’ll sell him a bill of goods—how they don’t care about material things and they love to eat a big burger and fries and drink beer and there’s nothing they’d rather do than go down to the gym and watch him work out for a while . . . and then they get that ring on their finger and suddenly they’re spending all his money on really ugly jewelry and demanding mediocre but expensive restaurants for dinner every night and refusing to let him even see his buddies because they’d much rather spend Saturday night with their friends and their weasely little husbands.” He plucked a piece of naan out of the basket and waved it at them. “It’s the way of the world, girls. Women trick guys into marrying them because you’re smarter than we are. And then we either have to give in and accept the fact we’re married to someone who’s deliberately deceived us or agree to pay her and her money-grubbing lawyers huge sums to get set free. That’s just how it is. It’s not pretty but it’s true.” He took a big, savage bite out of the bread and chewed it ferociously.

  “Geez.” Lauren turned to Ava. “Has he been like this the whole time I was in the ladies’ room?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “What?” he said, his voice thick with the bread in his mouth. “It’s true, isn’t it?” He swallowed with an audible gulp, then thumped his chest a couple of times like something was stuck there.

  “Sorry,” Lauren said. “You lost me somewhere around the ‘all women are evil liars’ argument.”

  “Well, not all women,” he said. “Present company excluded, of cou
rse.”

  The sisters shot him identical looks of disbelief. “Thanks for that,” Ava said. “Personally, I find wavy-haired, overexercised, handsome young managing directors of womenswear lines to be wildly misogynistic.” She waited a beat. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Cool,” Russell said with a weak smile. “You think I’m handsome.”

  “Food’s here!” Lauren sang out as the waitress arrived, and they all threw themselves on the curries and tandoori dishes with a relief that may have stemmed from hunger on Lauren’s part but definitely came from desperation on Ava’s.

  Lauren worked hard to keep the conversation moving along with cheerful comments about the food, the restaurant, L.A., and movies she’d seen recently. Russell responded in kind, but Ava only contributed to the conversation when Lauren directly addressed her with a question or an invitation to contribute an anecdote, and even then she answered briefly and made no effort to be amusing. It drove Lauren nuts. It was like the night they met Russell in the restaurant all over again: Ava could be so funny and sharp when they were alone together or with good friends, but she could also clam up like this in social situations and become deadweight.

  Lauren maneuvered her into the front seat for the ride back to her apartment in the hopes it would force her to be more outgoing, but Ava just stared out the windshield like she was half asleep, so Lauren leaned forward as far as her seat belt would allow, rested her elbow next to Russell’s headrest, and kept the conversation going with tales of harrowing taxicab rides she had endured back in New York.

  As they arrived at their building, Lauren asked Russell if he’d like to come up for a cup of coffee.

  “I’d love to,” Russell said. “But I have to get up early tomorrow—my trainer’s coming at seven.”

  “I had a feeling you had a trainer,” Lauren said.

  “She only comes twice a week,” he said, a little defensively. “The rest of the time, I exercise on my own.”

  “Your trainer’s a woman?”

  “Yeah.” He flashed an unashamedly lecherous grin. “She’s gorgeous too. It’s very inspirational having someone with a body like hers run ahead of you. Gives you all sorts of reasons to catch up.”