“I’m not sure, ma’am. I know that it’s a committee meeting at Mrs. Aldrich’s. Yeah, some sort of charity—”
“I’m on that committee!” said Melanie, interrupting. “I must not have gotten the message when I was ill!”
Luca didn’t quite know what to say. “Oh, ma’am.”
“This is beyond embarrassing, Luca. What floor is Leslie Aldrich?”
“Five, ma’am.”
“I should go right up.”
“Sure, ma’am.”
Melanie looked down at her clothes. She was dressed completely inappropriately for a FAD meeting, but it would be more humiliating to miss it.
“Do I look okay?” she asked Luca out of sheer desperation.
“Yes, ma’am,” sputtered Luca, surprised. “Wonderful.”
Melanie walked to the elevator and asked Fred, the elderly doorman, to press five. He complied. When the door opened into the glazed foyer, Melanie walked along the marble floor and pressed the doorbell.
Leslie Aldrich opened the floor with a beaming grin, which immediately dissipated the second she saw Melanie.
“Melanie!”
“I am so sorry, Leslie. I can’t believe I’m late. You know I pride myself on my promptness. I didn’t get the message somehow.”
“Oh, well, Melanie—you see, this is very awkward.”
Melanie felt herself redden. “Uh-oh. You mean, this isn’t a meeting for the FAD ball?”
Leslie’s eyes darted as if she was unsure whether to lie or tell the truth. Finally her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “Well, yes . . .”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, Melanie. You see . . .” Leslie looked at Melanie pleadingly, but Melanie was still confused. Leslie cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t leave you a message, Melanie.”
Melanie still didn’t get it. What was going on? “I am on the Fight Against Dysentary committee, right?”
“Well—”
“Sometimes I get all these diseases mixed up. I mean, I know they’re all very serious and important, but it gets a little confusing. Anyway . . .” Stop talking, Melanie. She hated how her mouth would run off without her. She looked at Leslie, who was silent and not amused.
“Melanie,” Leslie said, sighing dramatically. “Regarding your role on the committee. You’ve been released.”
“Released?”
“Melanie, it’s . . .” Leslie looked at her imploringly, hoping she would be discreet enough to catch on and take her leave. But Melanie stared at her. “You see, Melanie, it wasn’t my decision. But we won’t be needing your services on the committee anymore.”
“Oh,” said Melanie. Her heart dropped and she felt dizzy. She started walking backwards and pressed the elevator button with the back of her palm. She wanted out of that vestibule ASAP.
“Oh, Melanie, I am sorry. But my hands were totally tied. I really didn’t want to exclude you.”
Melanie nodded, in a daze, until Leslie’s words finally registered.
“Your hands were tied by whom? You’re chairman of the steering committee.”
“I know,” said Leslie, biting her nail nervously. “It’s all really silly, and I know it will work itself out. Don’t worry about anything. It’s just a really awkward situation . . .”
“Well, what’s the situation?”
Leslie appeared as if she’d rather jump off a cliff than continue. “It’s our corporate sponsor,” she finally offered. “I don’t know why, but they don’t want you involved with the event anymore. It’s so infantile . . .”
This was so humiliating! There were corporations who wanted to disassociate themselves with Melanie? That Observer article was getting more damaging by the minute. When the hell was it going to go away? Just as Melanie was reeling, the elevator door opened.
“Going up?” asked Fred.
“Yes, she is,” said Leslie.
Melanie felt nauseous and was about to step onto the elevator when she remembered something.
“Leslie, isn’t Frothingham’s the corporate sponsor?”
“Yes.”
“Phew! Because we’re great customers. I’m sure if they made the connection, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“No, Melanie. They know exactly who you are.”
“And they said they didn’t want me involved?”
“Something about recent . . . you know, press surrounding you. They don’t want to be . . . mired in any kind of scandal.”
“Frothingham’s doesn’t want scandal?” said Melanie, almost laughing. “Didn’t their chairman and president just do time in prison? Their company is fraught with felonious activity! And yet I, I who have appeared in one teeny, tiny disparaging article in a local weekly newspaper, am the one they don’t want to associate with? Come on, Leslie, agree with me that it’s absurd.”
“They have their standards . . .”
Melanie shook her head with shock. “I mean, I’ve literally raised my paddle at their auction house more times than Venus Williams has volleyed at Wimbledon! This seems really ridiculous.”
“It’s not an ideal situation, but as I said, Melanie, our hands are tied. They want you off the committee,” said Leslie, shifting her stance. She clutched her front door as if Melanie was going to slam it down and burst into the meeting anyway.
“It’s really sad. Because I could have done a lot of great things to help eradicate dysentary.”
“Next time,” said Leslie, closing the door.
With that, Melanie retreated back over to the elevator. Fred pressed the button without a word. On the ride up there was an awkward silence. Melanie knew that Fred had heard everything. Great, now the doormen could all laugh at her behind her back. Fred kept looking at her sideways, as if he wanted to say something. Finally, he broke down.
“You know what, Mrs. Korn? Don’t think twice about those cheapos. You and Mr. Korn are the nicest in the building. With your Christmas gift, I took my whole family to Disneyworld.”
Melanie looked up at him and smiled. Kindness always came from the most unexpected places. “Thanks, Fred,” she said as she stepped onto her floor.
It was an odd feeling to realize that she’d rather hang with the doorman than those society bitches. Odd, but kind of liberating.
chapter 41
“Hold the elevator!” shouted Drew Vance just as it was about to close. A white hand with the long, slender fingers of a musician wrapped around the door to prevent it from shutting.
“Thanks,” said Drew, stepping in.
“No problem,” said Lila Meyer.
“Sorry, I thought you were the doorman,” said Drew.
“He told me to go ahead.”
“Hey, I know you,” said Drew, cocking his head to the side. His baby blue eyes blinked twice, as if he was remembering. “You’re Jimmy Meyer’s sister.”
“Lila.”
“Right. So how’s Jimbo? He still at Georgetown?” asked Drew, pressing the button for his floor.
“No, he graduated. He’s working in the mailroom of some agency in L.A.”
“Rock on. He was always into that Hollywood stuff.”
“I know.”
“So who you are going to see?” said Drew, scanning the floor panel. “Nine. Olivia Weston?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. She’s a writer, right?”
“Yes. Well, she wrote one novel.”
“One more than me,” he said, laughing. He looked at Lila. She was definitely a hottie, even though she was, like, thirty. She was really skinny, in that “I’m rich so I’ve gotta starve myself” kind of way. And no boobs to speak of. But her face wasn’t that bad, and she had pretty long brown hair. Plus, she smelled nice.
Lila, in turn, studied Drew. He was her brother’s age, which would make him roughly twenty-two. She could totally tell that he was a player, used to getting what he wanted. He had the act down perfectly, the way he cocked his head to the side, played up his long, thick eyelashes, and how he
wore that dorky wool hat with the ball at the end. Only a really good-looking guy could wear a hat like that. He was definitely confident. And he was really tall.
The elevator stopped unexpectedly on five, and when the doors opened Mrs. Cockpurse shuffled on in her pink terrycloth bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.
“Ah, Mrs. Cockpurse, I’m not sure you want to get on the elevator,” said Drew.
“Yes, I do!” she screamed back at him. She pressed every button on the panel.
“You want to stop at every floor? Now, come on, Mrs. Cockpurse.”
Lila held the elevator door open as Drew tried to gently guide Mrs. Cockpurse back into her foyer.
“Get your greasy paws off of me!” she snapped, and grasped on to the door of the elevator as if it were a life jacket.
“Mrs. Cockpurse, where do you want to go?” asked Drew.
“I wanna get the hell out of here!”
“But you can’t . . .”
“Why the hell not?” she screamed.
“Because you’re in your bathrobe.”
“So what? I got to get away from that crazy doctor! That crazy doctor wants to give me an enema! I told him to stick it up his own ass!”
Drew couldn’t suppress his smile. He turned to Lila and raised his shoulders in a sort of “What can we do?” way. She just smiled back and shrugged.
“Now, Mrs. Cockpurse, is anyone at home?”
“Just that crazy doctor! That ass-crazy doctor!”
Drew walked into the foyer and pressed the doorbell. “I’m sure we can work something out with the doctor.”
“Tell him to get away from my ass!”
The door opened and a two-hundred-pound, white-uniformed nurse stood on the threshold. She folded her arms and shook her head.
“Now there you are, Mrs. Cockpurse. We were looking everywhere for you,” she admonished.
“She wanted to get away from the doctor,” said Drew, leading Mrs. Cockpurse by the hand to the nurse.
“The doctor has left, honey. No need to worry.”
“You tell him to stay away from me!”
The nurse rolled her eyes at Drew as he got back on the elevator. “Take care.”
When the doors shut Lila and Drew burst out laughing.
“Gosh, what a nutter,” said Lila.
“Yeah. It’s actually sad. She kind of lost it when her husband died. He was really nice, used to give out the best Halloween candy in the building. And she totally filled our UNICEF boxes.”
The floor opened on six. “I guess we’re going to be stopping on every floor now,” said Lila.
“Yeah, looks that way. The doormen are supposed to lock each floor so you can’t access them, but they’re usually too lazy.”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause. “Hope you’re not in a rush,” said Drew, looking Lila in the eye. Girls melted when he did that.
“No, no. Just going to read some of Olivia’s new manuscript.”
“That’s good,” said Drew, as the doors opened on seven.
“Yeah, I’m kind of not psyched. Just not in the mood today. But you know, she’s a friend.”
“Right,” said Drew, giving Lila a crooked smile.
They both stared at the panel and watched as each floor lit up when the elevator ascended. They looked back at each other and smiled.
“So,” Drew said, slowly moving toward his co-captive. “I know a good way to pass the time.”
“Oh yes?” she said coyly.
“Hmm,” said Drew, glancing down. He pressed the Stop button on the elevator. Lila was startled but completely exhilarated, and she could feel her heart start to pound. He leaned in for the kill, grabbing her and kissing her forcefully against the elevator wall. She was in heaven. Gosh, this guy was practically a fetus! What was she doing? Whatever it was, she kept doing it.
After they had had the first vertical sex of her life, Lila took a gulp of air, exhausted, and Drew pressed the button to restart their ascent. The next floor was his.
“Care to . . . come in?” Without saying a word, she followed him into the grand apartment to his room. It was as if the home department of Ralph Lauren had been cut and pasted into his bedroom. It was really an incredible reproduction—wintergreen walls, enormous dark wood bed, snapshots in silver frames, leather armchair, Audubon prints, tweedy throws.
“Jesus, was Ralph himself your decorator?” asked Lila.
“He had nothing to do with it. My mom did it all.”
He attacked her again, and they rolled onto his pillow-lined bed and had sex a second time. Afterward, the two were silent.
“Can I smoke in here?” asked Lila.
“Sure,” said Drew, passing over an ashtray with some cigarette butts in it. Lila took her pack of Marlboro Lights and her lighter out of her bag and lit up. When she went to tap her ash she noticed that one of the butts in the tray had lipstick on it.
“So, what do you do, Drew?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you graduate? Do you work?”
“Oh, you mean livelihood,” said Drew, smiling. He walked over to his bureau and picked up a half-eaten bag of Cheez Doodles. He started munching and stopped to stretch and let out a long yawn. He then rubbed his stomach, which was perfectly ripped. “Yes, I did graduate. And yes, I work. Part-time at a hedge fund that’s run by a family friend.”
“Where’d you go to college?”
“Middlebury.”
“So, what, you don’t plan on working full-time? Is that too much for you?”
“Yes, someday I do plan on working full-time,” he said, plopping down on the bed and offering her some Cheez Doodles.
“No, thanks,” she said, waving it away with disgust as if he had offered her an al-Qaeda dirty bomb.
“Come on, they’re good for you!”
“Please, nauseating.”
“Really? I like them,” he said, stuffing ten into his mouth.
“So, you just . . . what? Are hanging out?”
“No, I’m not just hanging out. My, aren’t we the Spanish Inquisition?” he said, smiling. He started flicking the cheese dust off of his orange-coated fingers. “I’m joining the army.”
“Ha-ha,” said Lila, putting on her bra.
“Or the Coast Guard, I’m not sure.”
“Come on, seriously—what are you planning on doing?”
“God, you sound like my mother!”
Lila gave him a dirty look.
“Okay, I’m going down to Florida in January to get my pilot’s license.”
“You want to be a pilot?”
“No, but I want to get my license. We have a plane, and I want to be able to fly it.”
“Can’t you just go somewhere on Long Island?”
“I wanna be able to fly the big ones, baby! The commercials! In case of emergency, it’ll be Drew Vance to the rescue!” he said, rising and pounding on his chest like a he-man.
Lila swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to slide on her skirt. “And then what?”
“And then . . .” said Drew, pausing dramatically. “I don’t know.”
Lila rose and buckled her belt. “Well, you should think about it.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you should.” She walked over and used his hairbrush. She wondered how many girls had done the same.
“Yes, mama.”
Lila turned and looked penetratingly into his eyes. “Well, I should get going. Olivia’s going to wonder where I am.”
“Okay,” said Drew.
Lila paused and stared at him. What now? “So, I guess, goodbye.”
“I’ll walk you out,” said Drew, opening his bedroom door.
Lila gathered her coat and bag and followed Drew—who was in just his boxers—out to the hall. He led her to the front door and opened it.
“So . . .” began Lila.
Drew leaned in and kissed her crisply on the cheek. “You’re the best.”
Lila wa
sn’t sure what to do, but at that moment the elevator door opened and Mrs. Vance got off.
“Hi, Mom!” said Drew, opening his arms wide.
“Hi, sweetie,” said Cordelia, kissing her son. Drew took the packages out of her arm. Cordelia looked at Drew in his boxers and then at Lila.
“Mom, this is Lila. She’s a friend of Olivia Weston’s.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Cordelia, sticking out her hand. Lila was mortified. She shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Vance. Gotta run,” she said, jumping on the elevator before the doors closed.
“’Bye!” said Drew.
“’Bye” was all Lila could muster.
The entire time Lila was at Olivia’s, all she could think of was Drew. Luckily, Rosemary was there as well, and with her endless yammering Lila didn’t have to say a word and could let her mind wander. So he’s only eight years younger, she thought. That’s not so much. Madonna and Guy Ritchie are ten years apart. Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell are also, like, eight years apart or something. It’s not that strange. Drew’s definitely a ladies’ man, but maybe with the right girl . . . ?
Drew, meanwhile, didn’t really think twice about Lila after she left. But he knew she was thinking about him. He was aware of his power: he had looks, money, and a charming personality. But above all, he had girls all figured out. They loved the bad boys; they wanted to tame them. It was like a game to them, and they all felt that they were special enough to be the one. And he learned this all from George Clooney and his cousin Eleanor. When George—gotta love him—announced he would never marry again, he made every girl in America fall in love with him. Eleanor was in tears for weeks (as if she could get him!). But now George gets more ass than anyone in Hollywood, because every girl thinks she’ll be the one who changes his mind. Fucking genius, man. But Drew didn’t plan on settling down until he was thirty-five or forty. What was the point? Life was good.
chapter 42
Melanie Korn was officially in exile. When she wasn’t holed up in her apartment, which felt like a prison (though most people would kill for a “cell” like that), Melanie hid out in places where she knew she’d never bump into anyone. She frequented haunts no acquaintances would be caught dead in: tourist attractions, movie theaters, Liberty Island, the Upper West Side. She decided to forgo the visible Bentley rides and opted for solo walks through the park. She wore oversize Jackie O glasses and, during occasional bouts of extreme Garbo-worthy paranoia, an Hermès scarf on her head. As the days flowed into weeks, the acute, piercing shame almost morphed into a dull, familiar pain—a pain she had grown up with, an insecurity that was sadly recognizable to her.
The Right Address Page 24