New Money

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  “Well,” I said sheepishly, “that was me.”

  She smiled. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard … but I appreciate it. You’re really doing well.”

  I thanked her and wondered if she knew how much her praise meant. This was my second full-time job, but it was the first to make me feel like I wasn’t squandering my limited time on earth. “Kitty,” I said, “my best friend moved here from Charleston, and she needs a job. You’ve already done so much for me and I don’t mean to be pushy, but do you think there’s any way…”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Savannah. It was hard enough convincing Ned to let you in the door. I don’t think he’ll even let your friend have the mailroom position.”

  I nodded, silently cussing that man. “Oh,” was all I could say.

  Kitty broke the awkward silence by moving on. “Anyway … I’m sure you put in a lot of overtime last week, but I want you out of here at five tonight. You have somewhere to be.”

  She gave me the envelope she’d been holding. It was lined with foil and held an invitation printed in raised gold letters on thick paper.

  Please join us for Stone News Corporation’s Annual Gala at The New York Public Library, I read. 8:30 p.m. at 455 Fifth Avenue.

  I glanced at Kitty. “What should I wear?”

  “A simple black dress always works. And since I can’t help get your friend a job, the least I can do is let her be your plus one,” she said. “I suppose I should tell you that part of tonight will be devoted to honoring Ned as the company’s new Chairman and CEO.”

  I nodded, stifling all the biting and sarcastic things I wanted to blurt out.

  “I know he’s treated you badly,” Kitty said, “but try not to hate him too much. He isn’t as awful as he seems. My mother-in-law, however, is another story. She’ll be at the party … unfortunately.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Unfortunately is right. From what I’ve heard, she’ll be unhappy to see me.”

  “Well,” Kitty said, “Virginia Barlow Stone has been unhappy to see me since my first date with her son. But I do my best to ignore that frosty bitch … and you should, too.”

  I nodded and got back to work. The day went by quickly, and soon I was inside my apartment, where I plopped into a chair at my kitchen table. Tina sat beside me while I gave her a wrap-up of my conversation with Kitty.

  “I’m so sorry I can’t get you a job,” I said. “Ned is impossible.”

  A flash of disappointment crossed her face but quickly vanished. She shrugged, stood up, and walked across the kitchen to the windowsill where she’d left her new Gucci bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, staring through the window like she was far away. Then she blinked, glanced at me, and gave me a guilty smile. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said. “I’ll blow the smoke outside like I do at home. I promise not to let this beautiful apartment reek of cigarettes.”

  “You better promise,” I said, taking in the clean scent of fresh paint and new carpet.

  She crossed her heart and opened the window before she lit up. “Anyway,” she said, “don’t worry about Ned. I’ll just find another receptionist job.”

  I watched her exhale smoke through the screen until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I joined her by the window and yanked the Marlboro from between her fingers. “This is bad for you. And so is answering phones. I want you to do something better.”

  She snatched the cigarette back and let out a harsh laugh. “What exactly am I qualified for, Savannah?”

  I sighed. “Stop being so negative. You’re qualified for plenty of things … we just have to narrow them down. But let’s not worry about it right now,” I said, grabbing the cigarette again. I walked over to the counter and crushed the Marlboro on a plate. “We’re going to a party.”

  *

  There was a dress in Tina’s closet that I’d completely forgotten. Maybe I’d made myself forget because I’d borrowed it for one of Jamie’s law school events and we’d broken up the next week. I stared at it until Tina came into the room with a toothbrush in her mouth and wet hair dangling over her shoulders.

  “I remember when you wore that dress. Little did you know you’d put it on again for something more important,” she said before she spun around and left, leaving a trail of mango-scented air behind her.

  I took the dress out of the closet and brought it to my room. Then I hot-rolled my hair, put on my green eyeliner and my glittery lipstick, and slipped into the dress, which met just half of Manhattan’s fashion code. The color was right, but the style was far from simple. It was a mermaid silhouette with a high-cut, ruffled slit in front and a sweetheart bustline that hiked up my chest. And the bodice was covered with rhinestones that sparkled in the lamplight when I checked myself out in a full-length mirror.

  “Every guy at the party will want to take you home and sop you up with a biscuit,” Tina said from behind me.

  I chuckled. She was in my bedroom doorway, wearing a dress that had a halter top and was made of faux silk the color of a tangerine. A few minutes later, her hips swayed beneath the dress as she sashayed ahead of me toward the car, where Tony was holding the back door open. I didn’t correct him this time; sitting in the back felt almost okay if I wasn’t the only passenger.

  “You ladies look lovely,” he said.

  “Your mama raised such a polite boy,” Tina told him, ducking into the car.

  I sat beside her, Tony took off, and eventually he stopped at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street, where Tina and I peered through the tinted windows at formally dressed men and women holding hands while they climbed broad steps toward a grand building that had arched doorways and tall columns. At each end of the steps was a marble lion that seemed to be on guard duty.

  “Don’t they look proud,” I said.

  “You mean the lions?” Tony asked, and I nodded. “Their names are Patience and Fortitude. Mayor La Guardia named them during the 1930s because he thought those were the qualities New Yorkers would need to get through the Depression. But originally they were called Leo Astor and Leo Lenox, after John Jacob Astor and James Lenox … they donated money to build the library.”

  Tina and I stared at him. His cheeks reddened.

  “Sorry, girls. I didn’t mean to force you into a history class.”

  “No need to apologize for being interesting,” Tina said. “How’d you know all that?”

  He shrugged. “I read. There’s not much else to do while I’m waiting for people to come out of parties.”

  She ran her finger along her halter top. “That sounds awfully lonely. I wish you could come in with us.”

  “I do, too,” I said, “but he can’t. And we have to go.”

  Tony said he couldn’t park in front of the library, so he was going to grab dinner. I told him I’d call when we were ready to leave, and then he drove away while Tina and I climbed the steps toward the library, which was lit up and looked like a castle against the dark sky. We grasped our beaded clutch purses with one hand and raised our hems with the other, trying not to make idiots of ourselves by tripping over our dresses in front of the photographers who were snapping pictures of people who seemed to be big deals.

  We breezed past them and into the library, where we were stopped by a man who asked our names and gave us a table assignment in a room called Astor Hall.

  Tina nudged me. “Tony really does know his stuff.”

  We weaved through the crowd toward Astor Hall, and she kept poking my ribs and pointing and whispering well-known names into my ear. There were actors and football players and female models who were six feet tall and had legs that went on forever. The men were in black suits, and as far as I was concerned, the women’s dresses were much too plain for such a glitzy party.

  “Are these ladies going to a funeral?” I asked Tina.

  She laughed as we stepped into a massive space with a ceiling so high that I had to strain my neck to see it. The room was made of ivory marble, and a giant lantern hung
above the base of a sweeping staircase. There were flickering candles and vases bursting with white orchids, the tables were covered with silver cloth, and a band in a corner played classic jazz.

  We wandered around and took glasses of champagne from a waiter who was carrying them on a tray. I was halfway through mine and Tina had already downed hers when we passed two men who seemed to be in their late thirties and looked like they were ready to pounce on something. One of them had a video camera, and the other caught my elbow as I walked by. I lost my grip on my champagne and dribbled some on the floor.

  “You’re Savannah Stone,” he said.

  “Morgan,” I corrected him.

  He snapped his fingers at the other guy, who turned on his camera and a blinding light that made me squint. “I’m Fabian Spader,” he said, flashing a press badge. “I have a blog called Nocturnal … I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  What he seemed most sure of was himself. He had a confident air about him, eyes the color of pewter, and a pointy chin. He was what Mom would call a strawberry blond, and he paid way too much attention to his hair. It was longish and layered, and he kept touching it. I wondered if he spent an hour blow-drying like a girl. And he wasn’t dressed right. His outfit was informal and thrown together—jeans and a blazer and a shirt with the first few buttons undone.

  “I read that blog all the time,” Tina told him.

  “Never heard of it,” I said.

  He blinked. “Then I’ll bring you up to speed. I cover the social scene. Every morning, I write about what Manhattan celebs did the night before. I write about what they do during the day, too … but Nocturnal has such a snappy ring to it.”

  “O-kay,” I said slowly, “and what does this have to do with me?”

  “You’re part of the game now, Scarlett O’Hara. How does it feel to be the newest member of one of this city’s most prominent families?”

  Word travels fast at Stone News. Ainsley was right. “Who says I am?”

  “It’s the latest buzz. So it must’ve been quite a shock to learn that you’re Edward Stone’s long-lost daughter. Do you have any thoughts about his death? Such a tragedy … and everyone’s speculating that it wasn’t an accident.”

  A drop of sweat slid down the crease in my back. One minute I was anonymous, and the next I was the topic of buzz, being hounded by a pushy gossipmonger who was probably dying for a dopey quote he could spread all over the Internet and a video that would replay endlessly to make me look like a ditz. And I didn’t want to be part of a game.

  “No comment,” I said.

  We walked away and he followed us, but we managed to lose him in the crowd. Then we plucked hors d’oeuvres from trays and I finished my champagne and three glasses of wine that went right through me. I asked Tina if she needed to join me in the bathroom, but she shook her head.

  “You’ve guzzled more of the devil’s water tonight than I have,” she said.

  She strode toward the bar as I rushed to the ladies’ room, which was empty inside. I locked myself in a stall, and I was still there when I heard the door open, heels tapping against the floor, and a nasal voice with an upper-class accent.

  “Please stop tormenting me, Mother.”

  “I’m just trying to help you, Caroline.”

  It had to be Caroline Stone and her mother, Virginia Barlow Stone, who’d allegedly been goddamned furious when she found out that I existed. I pressed my ear to the stall door, straining to hear over a running faucet.

  “Help me?” Caroline said. “Am I really that pitiful?”

  Virginia had the same accent as her children. “I’m in no mood for your histrionics. All I said is that I know of a good dermatologist who can—”

  “Sand down my hideous skin so my scars won’t embarrass you?”

  Virginia sighed. “You couldn’t help that you had acne when you were a teenager … but there are things you can do to improve yourself now. I’ll be happy to pay for it.”

  “That’s all you’re happy to pay for. Daddy gave you a fortune in the divorce, and if you’d share it with me and Ned, we wouldn’t have to work at Stone News. I’d rather slit my wrists than sit at a desk all day. It’s draining the life out of me.”

  “More drama,” Virginia said tiredly. “You’re better off working there than at that useless public interest whatever-it-is you’ve wasted your time on since you graduated from Harvard. And how your father left things with you and Ned isn’t my fault. I had no control over him.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t help me financially, Mother.”

  “I might if you’d abide by my wishes, Caroline. Stop being so distant and secretive.”

  The water stopped running. The room got quiet.

  “So,” Virginia said, “should I schedule you an appointment with the doctor?”

  Caroline snorted. “Looks are all that matters to you.”

  “They should matter to you, too. How are you ever going to find a husband? Glasses and combat boots and that raccoon makeup you insist on wearing will keep you single forever. And this potato sack you’ve chosen tonight isn’t exactly fashion forward. I want grandchildren someday, you know. It seems I’ll never get them from that barren wasteland your brother married. All she cares about is her vulgar magazine.”

  Kitty hadn’t been joking. Virginia was a frosty bitch. Now I understood what Mercedes Rawlings Stark had meant when she said Virginia was different from Mom. And I didn’t want to feel sorry for Caroline, but I really did.

  There was nothing after that except footsteps and the bathroom door clicking shut. I came out of the stall, rounded a corner that led to the faucets, and stopped when I saw a woman looking in a mirror and touching up her lipstick. She moved to the edge of the counter.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t mean to be in your way.”

  It was Virginia. I crept toward her and turned on the water, watching from the corners of my eyes as she brushed her long dark wavy hair and freshened up the makeup that flattered her heart-shaped lips and her olive-green eyes.

  Her dress was made of muted-gray silk, and her necklace dripped diamonds. She had to be in her mid-fifties but could pass for much younger, with her slim figure and her skin that was as pale and sleek as the marble inside Astor Hall.

  “The magazine isn’t vulgar,” I muttered, staring at my hands while I washed them.

  Virginia turned toward me. “I beg your pardon?”

  I turned off the faucet, dried my hands, and shifted my eyes toward her. She didn’t have that phony, plastic look I’d seen all over Manhattan. Her beauty was real.

  “You were talking about Femme,” I said, “and about Kitty.”

  She took a step back. “Excuse me … do I know you?”

  I braced myself for an earthquake. “I’m Savannah Morgan.”

  She seemed to stop breathing for a second. Her eyes moved around my face and lingered on my hair. “Well,” she began after a moment, “I … I didn’t…” Her voice quivered and cracked, and I stared at her as she awkwardly adjusted her dress. Then her jaw hardened and so did her voice. “I didn’t know you were eavesdropping on my private conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean to. But like I said, the magazine isn’t vulgar … and Kitty’s a good person. We’re working together now.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said, raising her chin, “although I doubt you’ve been around her long enough to know what kind of person she really is.”

  “I know you shouldn’t judge her because she can’t give you what you want. It’s not the only thing she has to offer.”

  Virginia’s mouth fell open. “That’s your opinion, and it means nothing.”

  She spit the words at me. For a minute there, I’d felt as sorry for her as for Caroline. It couldn’t have been easy to see her husband’s betrayal in the flesh. But I didn’t pity her now, since she was looking at me like I was something she’d stepped on in the street.

  She narrowed her eyes, denting two vertical lines between th
em. I was close enough to see that Kitty had been right—Ned really did look like Virginia. They had similar features, and hers turned stern and sharp the way his had when he was at my apartment.

  “You have nerve to even speak to me,” she said in a hiss. “I can’t believe your gall to show up here tonight. But I suspect people of your class are clueless about proper decorum. And I wonder if you have any idea of how much trouble you’ve caused my family.”

  I was sweating. My knees shook. But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

  “You can blame your late husband for that,” I said. “I had no control over him, either.”

  Her cleavage heaved beneath her dress, but the rest of her didn’t flinch. She reached for her purse, slung it over her wrist, and headed for the door. Her hand was on the knob when she stopped and looked at me over her shoulder.

  “You know something, Savannah?” she said in an eerily calm voice. “Of all the places we could’ve met … it’s quite fitting that I found you beside a toilet.”

  Nine

  I stormed toward the bar. A few people were milling around it and Tina was there in her slinky dress, chatting with one of the twentysomething bartenders. He was a blond while the other one had dark hair, and they both wore black pants and matching shirts with white ties. She turned in my direction when I snagged the stool beside her and dropped my purse onto the bar.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she said. “I’m waiting for steam to shoot out of your ears.”

  I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d tell her later. I refused to let Virginia Stone ruin tonight.

  “Nothing,” I said, and then the dark-haired guy looked at me. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Alex,” he answered.

  “I’m Savannah. And I’d like a stiff drink, please.”

  He made an old-fashioned. I tossed it back and ordered a Long Island iced tea that I swallowed while Tina giggled as she talked to the blond. The cocktail hour was ending, the bar was clearing out, and everybody started to fill the tables. But Tina seemed hungrier for what was behind the bar. She stayed put and so did I, making sure she didn’t get into trouble and watching Alex polish champagne flutes.