New Money

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  She stormed out of the ballroom and into the lobby, and Ned and I just stood there, watching the door slowly close and click into place.

  He turned toward me. I detected something sad in his eyes that I’d never seen there before. It surprised me, and maybe it did the same to him. I wondered if he’d just figured out that he wasn’t as cold as we’d both thought. Maybe he knew the brownstone on East 70th wasn’t the only thing that had just slipped away. And I would’ve rubbed that in his face if he didn’t suddenly look like a wounded little boy who’d lost what mattered most.

  He caught me staring at him. He drew in his cheeks and lifted his chin.

  “Satisfied?” he said from between clenched teeth.

  I shook my head, seeing Fabian from the corners of my eyes. He was out of his seat and picking Kitty’s necklace from the trash, wiping the dressing off with a tissue. “If you think I enjoyed what just happened, you’re dead wrong. I’ve lost something, too.”

  Ned disregarded that and headed toward the door with Fabian following after him, holding the necklace in one hand and Kitty’s wedding ring in the other.

  “Don’t you want these?” Fabian asked.

  Ned ignored him and kicked the door open on his way out. Fabian stuffed the jewelry into his jacket as the door closed, and then he turned around and looked at me.

  He wasn’t the only one. I realized I was being watched, like I was alone onstage without a script. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable and I wanted to escape, so I headed for the door but didn’t get far. As soon as I touched the knob, nails dug into my shoulders and hands spun me around, and I was inches from Virginia. The ivory skin on her forehead was bulging with ropy veins.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she screeched. “Is it your goal to ruin my family?”

  Her voice was shaking and so was everything else—her chin, her fingers, the sapphires around her throat. I couldn’t help but understand why she hated me, and even though none of this was my fault, she’d never believe it, so there was no point in trying to explain.

  “Mrs. Stone,” I said calmly, feeling eyes on me from every direction, “this hasn’t been a pleasant night for either of us. So I’m going to say good night to you and walk out that door.”

  “Where are you planning to go?” she asked, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “Back to that trailer-park trollop you call your mother?”

  She was trying to get at me, to hit a spot that would set me off, and it was working, but I refused to give her what she wanted—public evidence that I was ill-bred and bad mannered and all the money in the world can’t change white trash.

  “I’m sure you don’t mean to say such cruel things,” I said.

  “It’s merely the truth. You know … recently I’ve been wondering why Edward would stray to a low-rent beautician like your mother. The only reason I can come up with is that women of her class are appealing to powerful men merely because they agree to do things that are typically reserved for paying customers.”

  My chest tightened like it was about to cut off my blood supply. “Well,” I said in a steady voice, “if that’s what he was looking for … then how can you explain the Senator?”

  Virginia’s jaw clenched. “Excuse me?” she said after a moment.

  I knew she’d heard every syllable. I hated to be so awful—even to her—but she’d given me no choice. “I mean,” I continued, “if he was only after what you’re implying, he could have just paid for it. But I think he was looking for something else … something more valuable that he wasn’t getting from you.”

  She looked like I’d just socked her in the stomach and I felt sort of bad about that, but only until she opened her mouth again. “Do you know what you are?” she said after a moment of thought. “You’re a hustler. You’re nothing but a crafty little hustler who thinks carrying a designer bag and accepting invitations to exclusive parties and sleeping with a rich man like Jackson Lucas will get you into my world. But trust me … no matter how hard you try, or what you buy, or who you get on your knees for … you’ll never fit in here.”

  She gave me a contented smile. I shook my head and held it high.

  “You’ve got your facts all wrong, Virginia. But you are right about one thing: If I live to be a hundred, there’s no way I’d ever fit in with people like you.”

  I turned around and headed for the door, but she grabbed my arm to stop me.

  “I’m not finished. Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” she said in a caustic whisper, pressing her nails into my flesh and nearly wrenching my arm out of its socket.

  I grabbed her hand and pried it off of me, and when we separated she slipped in her high heels and landed on her back, skidding across the floor.

  I hadn’t meant for that to happen. Everything was spiraling out of control. “I’m sorry,” I said, but nobody seemed to hear. The photographer snapped pictures and Fabian rushed toward us with a crowd of people who helped Virginia up while she put on a big I’m-the-victim act. She limped between two men as they led her back to her table, and everybody else glared at me, shaking their heads and whispering while I struggled to see through colored splotches that the photographer’s flashes had burned into my eyes. Then there was Fabian’s zebra tie—dizzying, zigzagging stripes of black and white that he straightened as he gave me a smug smile.

  “You should go now, Savannah,” he said. “I think you’ve lost your place here.”

  Twenty-three

  I dialed Tony’s number as I raced down The Plaza’s front steps, catching my heel in my skirt and ripping the hem. It dragged behind me while I paced Fifth Avenue, pretending I didn’t see the reproachful glances of guests leaving the party. They all stared at me like I was something to be picked up by the Department of Sanitation in the morning.

  I dove into the back of the car when Tony arrived, slammed the door, and was grateful for the tinted windows that shielded me from scowls and stares. “Please get me out of here,” I said, and Tony took off, glancing at me over his shoulder when we were halfway down the street.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “What didn’t?” I said. “I told Kitty that Ned’s been cheating on her, she hates me for not telling her sooner, I accidentally knocked Virginia Stone on her ass, but everybody thinks I did it on purpose, and unless you’ve forgiven me for all the idiotic things I said to you, I don’t have a single friend in this entire city.”

  Tony stopped for a red light and twisted in his seat to face me. “Nobody’s immune from being a jerk once in a while … including me. So let’s forgive each other and stop all this backseat crap. I can’t stand it anymore.”

  He started driving again, and I gathered up my skirt and squeezed through the space between the two front seats. The skirt filled up my entire side and looked like an explosion of chiffon. I tried to push it down, and when I was shifting around I felt something underneath me that turned out to be Tony’s iPhone.

  “Can I use this?” I asked, fearing what might be inside.

  Tony nodded. I knew better than to look, but curiosity beat common sense and soon I was staring at a high-resolution shot that Fabian had already posted on Nocturnal—Virginia in mid-fall, openmouthed guests halfway out of their chairs, Kitty’s wedding band glimmering beneath a table leg. Then there was me, caught in a blend of grimace and sneer. The gentle lighting that had looked magical in person turned menacing in its digitized form, and I resembled a comically clad party crasher in the midst of an attempted mugging.

  I should have listened to Kitty’s advice about simple and black. My dress looked awful, and each of the constantly multiplying comments stung as if they were scratching off my skin, one little nick at a time. I read things like

  Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have taste; She’s nothing but trailer trash with cash; The last time I saw that shade of pink I was puking it up; Bitch needs somebody to fix her makeup; That hair is pure southern ghetto; I’m not surprised the daughter of Edward Stone would lay
out somebody’s mom; Hasn’t Virginia Stone suffered enough?

  and

  Savannah Morgan, do us a favor and disappear.

  Tony yanked the iPhone from my hand, tossed it into the glove compartment, and slammed the door shut. “What happened to the good old days when it was impossible to find out what people thought about you unless you heard it directly from their mouths?”

  A lump popped into my throat; I tried to swallow it as I spotted my building in the distance and slumped in my seat. “I don’t remember those days,” I said.

  Tony parked at 15 Central Park West. “Savannah,” he said, “what people think about you isn’t your business … and it isn’t your problem. Don’t waste time worrying about it.”

  He was right, but it was hard not to worry. The meanest words always stuck for so much longer than the sweetest ones. I nodded and said good night, and then I went to my apartment, where I sat on the couch in my dress with its wayward hem, picked up the phone to call Mom, and told her everything as tears welled in my eyes.

  “Oh, darlin’,” she said when I was done. “Just come home.”

  I looked around at the expensive furniture and the shiny floors and Central Park outside my window, thinking about how hard I’d fought and how much I’d lose if I surrendered. I have no plans to leave Stone News, I’d told Ned, and the thought of eating my words sickened me. But there just didn’t seem to be another choice.

  “What about the money?” I asked.

  “Savannah,” Mom said, “I’m sure now you see how little it means.”

  *

  Monday morning was soaked in a gray haze that hovered over the Manhattan skyline when Tony drove past. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  We were on a bridge heading to JFK. The car rattled over the same grates as the day I arrived, when Tony was driving me in the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure about anything, so I shrugged as I reached into my purse for the itinerary I’d printed from the computer at my apartment—a one-way flight to Charleston International. “You’ll tell that lawyer I’ve left?”

  “Ms. Stark will get the message,” he said. “Should I pass along any others?”

  I was sure he was asking if I had any last words for Alex. I did, but they were in such a confusing jumble that they couldn’t be untangled. In the stark light of day, I knew fixing what had happened to us wasn’t simple and even if it could be fixed it didn’t make any difference, because I was going home.

  “No,” I said.

  A few minutes later, Tony and I were at JFK, where he took my bags out of the trunk and lined them up at the curbside checkin. People were getting out of cars and kissing each other good-bye, and Tony stood beside my luggage, staring at me as he jammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess this is it.”

  I could tell he wasn’t the type who’d say all the gooey things I was feeling, but I couldn’t leave with a handshake. He’d been too important for that. So I took a step forward, put my arms around him, and hugged his slender frame.

  “I’ll miss you,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything, but he held on for longer than I’d expected. He waited on the curb until my bags had been checked and I was inside JFK, and then he got into his shiny black car and drove away.

  *

  After Mom met me at the airport, we sat inside her old Toyota, watching our neighborhood whiz by as we neared home—the one-story houses, the carports, the Buicks on blocks. Everything seemed so much smaller and dingier than it used to, like it had all faded and shrunk since I’d left.

  It was the same at our place, where I couldn’t even look at my rusted old bike when I headed toward the front door. The slats on the porch creaked more loudly than usual, the furniture seemed to have aged years, and the smell of fried chicken didn’t make my mouth water like it once did. Still, Mom had worked hard on my welcome-home lunch and I was happy to eat it while I sat across from her in our kitchen and a breeze rustled our gingham curtains.

  “I forgot the best part,” Mom said, popping up from her chair. Her auburn curls bounced around her head and her hips swayed beneath her jeans as she walked to the refrigerator and returned carrying a plate of Ritz crackers smeared with pimento cheese. “I made it with chopped pecans … just the way you and Tina always loved it.”

  My eyes fell to the linoleum floor, remembering all the things Tina and I used to love.

  Mom reached across the table to give my wrist a squeeze. “You two will make up the way you always do … you girls have never been able to stay apart for long. Everything will be fine … just like it was before.”

  “Mom,” I said after thinking for a while, “was everything really fine before?”

  She leaned back into her chair and sighed. We finished lunch, and afterward I went to my room with plans to unpack, but instead I wandered around looking at Charleston High pom-poms, a ninth-grade fiction award, and stacks of college papers marked with A or B+.

  I plopped down on my bed, remembering what I’d dreamed about in this room while staring at a water stain on the ceiling. I’d wanted to use my talents and live somewhere exciting and be with a man who cared about me so much that he wouldn’t stand in the way of those things. I’d found all that in New York, but it had gotten messed up enough to make me run back here. Now I felt like I was caught someplace in the middle and didn’t belong anywhere at all.

  *

  Two weeks later, I sat in the living room and searched classified ads online while Mom did a blow-out in her salon at the other side of the house. The dryer hummed and the customer gossiped, and I scratched a rash that had popped up on the inside of my wrist the day after I came home. I was still scratching when Mom mentioned needing more conditioner for her next appointment.

  I sprang off the couch, eager for a break from the drudgery of reading job descriptions and sending out résumés. I’d saved enough money that we’d be fine for a while—so I didn’t have to rush into a minimum-wage mall job—but the cash wouldn’t last forever, and I couldn’t spend the rest of my life watching reality TV and helping to sweep up hair.

  I left the house and jumped into my old car, which Mom had picked up from the shop while I was gone. I drove it through a scorching day to a strip mall and went into Sally Beauty Supply, where I lingered in the aisles, browsing for so long that the salesgirl got suspicious and started following me around. I went to the cashier and paid for the conditioner, and then I stepped outside into the blazing sunshine where I put on my Chanel sunglasses and walked toward the car, thinking about what I’d be doing if I were in New York. It was Monday and just after two, so I’d be at Femme, scheduling and researching and maybe chatting with Kitty. But I’d ruined things with her just like I’d trashed everything else.

  “Savannah?”

  I nearly plowed over Raylene Brandt. She was standing outside a store with a Back to School banner in its front window, chewing a gumball that had turned her tongue green. Her blond hair was tied into braids and she flashed her gap-toothed smile, and before I could say a word she wrapped her arms around my waist the way she always did to Tina.

  That really did feel nice. I hugged her back as a bell jingled and a door opened, and then Tina was there, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and holding a stack of notebooks and folders.

  “Raylene,” she said, pulling her keys from her pocket, “go wait in the car … and make sure you blast the air. It has to be a hundred degrees out here.”

  Raylene took the keys and everything else from Tina’s hands and skipped toward the BMW in the parking lot, and Tina and I stared at each other. She looked different, better, more natural without extensions and heaps of eyeliner. Her brown hair was straight and it fell to her shoulders, and her face was prettier than ever with just a dab of dewy makeup on her tan skin.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Visiting your mama?”

  I couldn’t explain that I’d been defeated and
I’d crawled back here to hide. “What are you doing here?” I asked, noticing that her lips were back to their natural size and she’d switched perfumes. She smelled like freesia instead of mango. “At the mall, I mean.”

  “We were shopping for school supplies. Summer’s almost over.”

  I nodded, thinking about how painful it was to make small talk with someone who’d once shared the big things, the important things, the secret things I’d never tell anyone else. “You aren’t working at the firm today?”

  Her face glistened with perspiration that had seeped from her skin since she left the air-conditioned store, and a tiny pool of sweat was forming inside the chicken-pox scar at the edge of her left eye. “I don’t work there anymore. I got a job at a homeless shelter downtown.”

  I hung somewhere between not surprised and totally shocked. “That’s great, Tina. I mean, it’s … it’s fantastic. But your father—”

  She held up her hand. “He wants the best for me … but I’ve figured out that what he thinks is best isn’t always. I worked at his office when I came back and I felt like I was suffocating, sitting there answering phones. It was even worse at home with Crystal. I quit the firm.… and Daddy wasn’t happy about that, but he’s getting used to it. He’s also dealing with my moving into an apartment next month. I’ll be roommates with a co-worker … a girl I met at the shelter.”

  My smile broadened with every word. “That’s great news,” I said. “I mean it, Tina.”

  She nodded. “I’m also thinking about applying to college part-time next year. Being away from here helped me figure out that I can do more than I was before. I’m thinking about majoring in social work … I know I’m old to be a freshman again and I might be thirty by the time I graduate … but it’s better late than never.”

  “You’ll be thirty anyway. And I’ve always said you could do more.”

  She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it off her face. “Yeah, you did. I want to thank you for that … and for the time we spent in New York. It wasn’t exactly good … but it turned out to be good for me.”