Vanity Fare

by Megan Caldwell

  Was there no limit to what I could do? Maybe I’d try to wear makeup every single day for a week, or read Proust, or challenge my mom to a game of Scrabble that didn’t allow us to use the letter e.

  On the other hand, there were limits. I was just happy I was pushing them.

  I was still in a Helen Reddy mood when I got home. I told my mom the highlights of the evening—starting with the pastries, natch—and headed to my bedroom to peel off my fancy clothes and put on my jammies.

  The phone rang as I was kicking my shoes into the corner. “Hello?”

  At first, all I heard was muffled crying, followed by a wracking sob. I recognized that cry, I’d heard it when Alexander McQueen died. “Lissa?”

  “Oh, Molly.” She wept. I sat down on the bed and unzipped my skirt. There were a few too many treats in there to sit comfortably. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Is it Tony?”

  She gulped. “Yeeeesssssss.”

  I leaned back against the pillows. “What happened?”

  The whole sordid story poured out, interspersed with loud wails of anguish. Tony had insisted she accompany him the night before to an art gallery opening, then belittled her in front of his clients and told her she was fat. Then, when she was still standing there, he introduced another woman to his business partner and proceeded to flirt outrageously with her in front of everyone, not even sparing a glance toward Lissa.

  After a few minutes of gaping at him, Lissa slunk away with the help of Tony’s assistant, who made sure she got home safely. She was humiliated, miserable, and worse, she felt as if she deserved it.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Lissa?” I demanded. “No one deserves to have someone treat you as badly as that. No one. Not even Hugh,” I said, ignoring the memory of wanting to see him naked in Times Square while all the tourists pointed and laughed.

  “I know. But if I had just tried harder to be like he wanted me to be—”

  “—You’d be as much of an asshole as he is. Listen, do you want to come over?”

  “No. Maybe we could just talk for a while. How’s Aidan?”

  “He’s in the living room making a going-away present for Nick.” I answered the silence at the other end of the phone. I sighed. “Nick’s just someone I’m working with on this freelance project. And he’s leaving soon, obviously.”

  “And you’re upset about that.” If Lissa were any more empathic, she could sell readings for two dollars a palm.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “He’s nice. At first, I thought he was an arrogant prick, which he’s not. I mean, he’s arrogant, but he’s also really nice. And incredibly good-looking.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” She sure sounded better. She was like my mom in that way: Dangle an available man for Molly in front of her, and she’d perk right up.

  “Nothing.” I sounded as glum as I felt. “I asked him out, if you can believe it, and he said no. And he just told me he’s leaving town.”

  “So make him not want to leave.”

  “What, seduce him? Lissa, remember who you’re talking to.”

  “I didn’t say tie him down and blow him.”

  “Lissa!” I was shocked; Lissa just didn’t talk like that.

  She giggled. It seemed the tragedy had worn off to be replaced with hysteria. “Well, I didn’t say it. But you’re charming, Molly, and if Aidan likes him, and he likes Aidan, that’s more than half the battle. Remember, that British guy—”

  “Simon,” I interjected.

  “Yeah, Simon, didn’t even like Aidan. So you didn’t like him, even though you said he was gorgeous.”

  “Well, this one is gorgeouser.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “Listen to you! When did you turn into the English grammar expert?”

  She got sad again. I shouldn’t have reminded her. “I’m not. Tony used to—”

  My tone was sharp. “Fuck Tony. Tell me, how big was he?”

  “You mean—?”

  “Yeah. I’m guessing small. He was small, right?”

  She giggled again. “Yup.”

  I sighed. “Happens all the time. Dr. Lowell calls it overcompensating.”

  “You talk to your therapist about penis size?” Her tone was incredulous.

  “Well, not in so many words, but yes, we’ve discussed overcompensating.”

  “Does that mean Hugh . . . ?”

  I let out an evil chuckle. “Yup.”

  “Thanks for listening, Molly.” I heard her begin to laugh again. “Men have no idea we talk about this kind of stuff, do they? I mean, if they did, they’d be so freaked-out they’d probably undress in the dark. Instead of parading around like they’re Brad Pitt in Troy.”

  “Or giving it a name.” I waited for Lissa’s squeal. It was louder than I thought.

  “So what was it?” she said, after she finished howling. “Ouch! You’ve got a set of lungs on you. I can tell you, but you have to promise to tell everyone he knows.”

  “Promise.”

  “Hef. As in Hugh Hefner.”

  I waited for her laughter to subside. “Did he dress it up in pajamas, too? Or have you put bunny ears on or anything?”

  “No. Maybe that would’ve made it more fun. I wonder if his new girlfriend has any regrets about going out with the three-minute egg. At least she’ll never miss one of her favorite shows—they can do it in the time it takes for a commercial break.”

  “Ouch back at you! That was one good thing about Tony—it might’ve been small, but he knew what to do with it.”

  “Honey, you’ll find someone—”

  She interrupted before I could continue. “I know I will. And I promise not to be so needy when I meet someone else.” She paused. “As long as you promise, too.”

  She had me there. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Mommy!” The yell came from down the hall. Aidan did not believe in walking an extra few feet so he could get my attention without screaming.

  “Speaking of needy . . .”

  Lissa laughed. “Go take care of that boy of yours. Love you.”

  I hung up and yelled back. If he wasn’t going to walk extra, neither would I.

  “What do you want, honey?”

  “I’m hungry!”

  “Be right there.”

  If there was only going to be one man in my life, I was glad it was Aidan.

  I fed Aidan the leftover pastries I’d snagged from the party to keep him from starving in front of my eyes while I made his second dinner. He was a growing boy, he liked to remind me.

  Mom, thankfully, had gone out with her friend to see a movie—her friend’s treat—and I didn’t have to deal with her nosy questions.

  I made us some chicken stir-fry, doubling up on the rice so we would be eating authentic Chinese entrée-to-rice proportions. I would’ve been proud of myself, only I’d had to do that in order to stretch the meager amount of chicken I’d bought. At least I didn’t make rice and beans every single night.

  Aidan started to get cranky around 9:00 P.M., so I marched him to bed.

  Leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  So I called Keisha to avoid my thoughts.

  “That bastard did what?” Keisha was livid about what Tony had done to Lissa. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s really upset. She thinks it’s her fault he dumped her like that. Can you imagine someone having so little self-esteem?”

  “Hello, Ms. Pot? It’s Mr. Kettle calling.”

  “Fine, be saucy. Only I don’t think I was ever that pathetic—was I?”

  Keisha’s silence was deafening. How did she do that?

  “Okay, well, thank goodness I’m over that.” I rummaged in my bottom drawer for my pink sweatpants.

  “You are, honey. Has John paid you?”

  I wriggled out of my jeans and managed to put the sweatpants on without dropping the phone. Now how could I phrase that on my résumé?

  “Yeah, one of the checks just came. I haven’t been paid
for the big project yet, so I called to ask about it.” I couldn’t help the note of pride in my voice.

  “Go you! What are you going to do with all that money?”

  I snorted. “Oh, maybe pick up a pair of whatshisname Blahniks, a PDA to keep track of Aidan’s playdates, some caviar . . . what do you think? Rent, health insurance, maybe some cans of soup.”

  “How’s your mother doing?”

  “Oh, you will not believe this. Turns out the inspiration for her day-trading was Hugh saying we weren’t as solvent as we should be. She panicked, tried to save our sinking financial ship, and ended up broke with the chance to lose everything.” I didn’t tell her about Nick. It just felt better as a secret between us.

  “Asshole!” Keisha exclaimed. “Does Hugh know you know?”

  “You bet. I called him right after Mom told me, and chewed him out.”

  “Good for you! What did he say?”

  “Er, um, er.”

  “In other words, the usual. So next weekend Aidan’s with Hugh, right?”

  “Yeah, why? It’s not like I’m going to say anything to Aidan about it.”

  “No, of course not. Just trying to keep your schedule in mind. When’s your next scrapbooking extravaganza?”

  My natural-born defensiveness surged forward. “Soon, why, do you think it’s lame?” I sounded edgy and shrill.

  “Calm down, woman. I was just wondering.”

  “With any luck, I’ll have the Marriage Winding Sheet all sewn up by the end of it.”

  She gave an approving laugh. “All sewn up. Very clever.”

  I drew a deep breath. “And Nick told me he’s leaving soon.”

  “How ya doin’ with that?”

  “Fine, I guess. Only Aidan spent about two hours asking me why Nick had to leave, just when he had met him.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes . . .”

  “Yeah, and Nick is a babe. God, Keisha, I’m obsessed. Like, really and truly obsessed. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “I’m sorry, hon. Remember how I was about Denzel Washington?”

  “I hate to break it to you, but he’s an actor. Not someone you know. Not someone you asked out. Not someone who turned you down.” Just saying it again hurt.

  “Okay, you’re right. So what are you going to do about it, Miss Uppity?” She was more likely than Lissa to suggest I seduce him; I was just glad she hadn’t gone there already.

  “What can I do? I’ve already asked him out, he’s already said no. My son is already in love with him, for God’s sake.”

  “Maybe you can ask him to come over for dinner? Like with you and Aidan, not like a date. Just before he goes.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” My tone was not encouraging.

  “It’s worth a try, right? Maybe not something you’d do in a—” She let her voice trail off.

  “Million years. I know. Listen, I should go. My mom’s coming back soon, I’d rather be asleep—or at least pretending to be—so I don’t have to stay up with her and hear her rehash whatever geriatric thrill movie she and her ditzy friend just went to.”

  As I hung up, I wondered why I had allowed myself to get in such a state over Nick. Hm, I thought to myself, could it be because he was good-looking, smart, witty, sarcastic, honorable, confident, and had eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea? That is, if I knew how blue the Aegean Sea was.

  Another thing to put on the “million years” list: Find out how blue the Aegean Sea is. Oh, and stop finding the wrong men to like in the first place.

  Of Mousse and Men

  You don’t have to be a genius to understand this: chocolate, whipped cream, eggs, and sugar. Blended together, they can keep the simplest guy from doing wrong. Are they better than a farm full of bunny rabbits? That’s your call, but we’re thinking you might just succumb to this American Dream.

  24

  I’D AGREED TO SCRAPBOOKING AGAIN. I WAS LOOKING FORWARD to doing something for just me, for once, even if it was something involving glue and cute phrases.

  I picked up the bag of scrapbooking stuff and slung it over my shoulder. I’d worn my attempt at Saturday chic, a long black skirt, chunky black shoes, and a crazy-patterned vintage top. I put a rhinestone hairpin to hold my hair out of my face, then spent an extra five minutes making sure my eyebrows were even.

  I checked my reflection one last time in the mirror. I was clean, my teeth were brushed, as was my hair, my makeup was good, and I was ready to scrapbook.

  It was a good thing I didn’t have a beret, I thought, or I’d pull a Mary Tyler Moore and fling it up into the air. Which, since I was in the bathroom, wasn’t such a good idea.

  I heard the hubbub of many women talking even before Caroline opened the door to the apartment. Instead of the usual feeling of anxiety, however, I felt a thrill of . . . anticipation? Caroline swung the door open, giving me a sincerely warm smile when she saw me. I’d already checked; the woman who’d spilled the beans to Natalie wasn’t going to be there, so I was just happy to be among people who might become friends. Granted, friends who thought scrapbooking was a good idea, but friends nonetheless.

  “Molly, glad to see you.” She waved me into the apartment, slipping the bag off my shoulder before I even knew she had touched me. I shrugged my coat off.

  Caroline’s eyes widened a little when she saw my shirt. I guess classic mom-style didn’t usually include enormous hyacinths printed on fuchsia polyester.

  I looked down also, chuckling a little. “It is loud, isn’t it? Oh, and I was trying so hard to be invisible.”

  She gave me a disbelieving stare. “You? Invisible? I don’t think so. Come on, most everyone is here already.” Caroline led me into the dining room, the now familiar pieces of memorabilia piled on the table, even more faces than the first time looking up at me as I entered.

  “This is Molly. Molly was here last time, for those of you who weren’t able to make it. I think that was Sally”—a gray-haired woman nodded her head, her fingers never ceasing their movement—“Karla”—a fresh-faced twentysomething wiggled her fingers at me. “And Linda.” A dark-skinned black woman about my age smiled at me, every one of her accessories screaming “money.”

  “Nice to meet you, Molly,” she said, beckoning me to sit in the empty chair next to her. “Sit here, I want to hear all about you. I love your shirt—Pucci?”

  “No idea,” I replied. I sat, opened up my bag, and began laying out the photo album and the remaining items of my marriage on the table. Linda leaned over and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Let me guess. Divorce?”

  I nodded, picking up a picture of Hugh from yet another company junket. I gazed over the table and located a Sharpie marker, then drew a mustache on him. I pondered bunny ears but decided the mustache was probably ridicule enough.

  “There,” I said in satisfaction. Linda had returned to working on her own project, something that seemed to feature a lot of pictures of shoes.

  I found the first empty page and placed the photo right in the middle. I glued it down, then grabbed a piece of light pink paper and a hole punch that cut out hearts. I made four hearts, then put a heart in each of the four squares of the picture. A piece of pink plaid ribbon was lying nearby—probably one of Caroline’s leftover hair ribbons—and I bordered the photo with it.

  When I’d finished, Hugh looked ridiculous. It felt good to be vindictive, even if it was something only me and my friends would see. It felt good to be in charge.

  I heard Linda laugh as she glanced over at my work. “You are sure putting the voodoo on him, chile,” she said in an exaggeratedly Cajun accent.

  “If only it really worked,” I replied. “But it does make me feel better.”

  “And that’s all that matters,” Linda said, patting my hand. It felt as if she were my grandmother, although my grandmother would never have worn couture. Or have been black, but the couture thing was probably more of a reach. My grandmother may have been black Irish, but there’s no way in hell she even knew who Co
co Chanel was.

  “Who’s ready for snacks?” Caroline said, holding a huge silver platter and smiling broadly. I looked at my watch, surprised to see it had been an hour already. Malicious swipes at the ex took longer than I thought.

  I rose and followed Linda through the doorway to Caroline’s living room. Tamsin was already there, and she waved at me, patting the seat next to her on the couch. Linda turned to look at me and spread her hand out for me to precede her, dropping herself elegantly on the sofa beside me. She crossed her legs just so, and I wondered if the red patent-leather sandals winding their seductive way up her leg were Manolo Blahniks. I’d never seen any in person before. Did those shoes have the name printed on the sole like my fancy Kenneth Cole shoes did? I caught Linda’s eye and leaned back, embarrassed, before I could find out.

  “How you been, lady?” Tamsin asked, touching me briefly on the arm. Our lunch together had mostly been her murmuring sympathy while I poured out my tale of woe into her and Caroline’s ears. Caroline had dreamt up some creative ways of getting back at Hugh, but unfortunately I wasn’t brave enough to try any of them. I did admire her innovative uses for honey, mousetraps, and staplers, though.

  “Pretty good, thanks. Do you know each other?” I asked, gesturing between the two women. They nodded, sharing a look I didn’t understand.

  “Linda’s my mother-in-law,” Tamsin explained. “I dragged her here today. This is only her second time.”

  “Yeah, and I’m still not sure I’m not wasting my time, Tammy,” Linda said, drawling the words out a little.

  Tamsin’s voice got a bit sharp. “Because otherwise what—you’d be shopping? You wouldn’t be spending time with your grandkids, that’s for sure.”

  Ouch. I was stuck, literally, between the two of them. A rock and a hard place. And me the soft, squishy thing that hated conflict.

  “Now, Tam, you know that’s not true,” Linda replied. “I was over there just last week. Is it my fault you don’t invite me more?”

  Tamsin blew a heavy breath out from her lips. “I’ve told you. You don’t need an invitation to come see your grandchildren.”