Cheap Diamonds

by Norris Church Mailer

  “I sleep in a T-shirt. It’s in the top drawer of the dresser.” My voice sounded like it was coming from far away, from somebody else’s mouth. It was so weird, I didn’t even care that he saw me naked. In fact, I felt like I was wafting away on a pink cloud. The sounds of the cars on Sixth Avenue might have been horns some angel was playing on the cloud next door.

  Aurelius helped me into my T-shirt, then he turned back the covers and put me in bed.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  “Stay. Stay with me.” I was feeling so warm and cozy, and reached up for him. He hesitated, but lay down on my small bed, on top of the covers, kind of stiffly, and put his arms around me. I melted into him and it seemed so natural. I reached over and kissed him, the biggest, softest lips I had ever kissed. He kissed me back, and it was hard to get my breath.

  “Get under the covers with me. Please?”

  He hesitated, pulled back, and looked me in the eyes.

  “I don’t think so, baby. You still a little stoned. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “I don’t care. Take advantage of me.”

  “You don’t mean it. You’re a good girl. I know bad girls, and you ain’t one.”

  It had been so long since I had even kissed a man—apart from the slurpy ambush by Lale. I felt like a big overripe peach, dripping and ready to fall from the tree. It was so unlike me. Maybe I was stoned.

  “I don’t have a whole lot of experience, but I’m no virgin. I want you to. You can’t tell me you don’t want to. I know better.” I put my face up to be kissed again.

  “Look,” he said, taking my arms from around his neck, “I never wanted anybody as bad as I did you that day in Joe Jr’s. I wanted to throw that table over and grab you and take you right on the floor in front of Tony and the dishwashers and everybody, but you know that would be nothing but trouble for you and me.”

  “It would have been something new for Tony and the dishwashers.” I started to giggle. I couldn’t stop. He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. I managed to quiet down.

  “You’re white.”

  “Right.”

  “And I’m black.”

  “I know.”

  “If we were in Alabama, how long do you think we’d last? They’ve hung men for doing less than I done tonight.”

  “They don’t hang people anymore. Not even in Alabama.”

  “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. Maybe they just make it look like an accident these days. But one thing is sure—they make it hard for them to live.”

  “Nobody cares here. Nobody knows you’re here with me tonight. It’s just you and me. And Mrs. Digby.” I giggled again. “And she’s cool. You have no idea how cooool Mrs. Digby is.”

  I put my arms around him and he leaned down and kissed me again. I thought he was going to give in, but he stood up and tucked the covers over me.

  “I can’t. Not like this.”

  “Are you scared of me?”

  “Yes. And that’s the God’s truth.”

  “Okay. Good night.” I turned my back on him and didn’t move as he let himself out. I was hurt and felt like crying.

  In a few minutes, I could hear the wail of the saxophone through the wall. Maybe he was right. I don’t know how I would tell Mama and Daddy I was dating a black man anyhow. Maybe his parents felt the same way about white girls. I knew so little about him, I didn’t even know if he had parents or brothers or sisters. I felt like a bad girl. He was much better than I was. That saxophone sure made me feel lonesome.

  I fell asleep thinking about my daddy, and how when I was a little girl and had a nightmare I would call out to him and he would come and put his arms around me and I would drift back off to sleep, believing that there was nothing in the world that could ever hurt me. I missed him so much.

  25

  * * *

  THE BIG YELLOW DUCK

  I woke up the next morning with a headache, and the whole night seemed like some kind of bad dream. Was there really a girl up on a table sticking herself in the legs with a fork in front of Andy Warhol? Had I really thrown myself at Aurelius and been turned down? I had a taste in my mouth like I’d chewed on an old inner tube, and went and scrubbed my teeth and washed my hair, which made me feel a lot better. After putting on my makeup, considering everything, I looked fairly okay, which was lucky since Mrs. Digby had slipped a note under the door saying Suzan had called early and left a message saying she needed to see me and to please come in today by ten. It was a little scary. She had never left a message for me before. What could she want? It was too early for spring-cleaning, that dreaded time I had been told about when the girls who hadn’t produced enough income were weeded out—and I had been working a fair amount. The Vanity Fair shoot with Neal Barr was coming up in a couple of days, and the ad was going to be in all the big magazines. I had seen the contact sheet from the test we did, and while you couldn’t see my face because that was the way they did all the ads, the setup was really pretty, a long white satin slip that clung to my legs, and I looked as graceful as a dancer. My hair stood out like a halo, backlit, and the Vanity Fair people apparently were happy with it or they wouldn’t have given me the job. I felt like I might get more work from Neal, who was really nice and did a lot of big stuff. Then there was the promise from Ron about the Glamour editorial scarf thing. They’d have to see my face in that! I took a couple of Bayers to chase the dregs of the headache away and vowed I would never go near a brownie or cookie or anything that was being served by a girl wearing a flag again.

  I dressed in a pair of embroidered jeans tucked into my knee-high lace-up boots and a poor-boy orange sweater and the chenille coat. I’d go look for a heavier coat today if I had the time.

  Before I left, I listened at Aurelius’s door, but he was probably still asleep. I didn’t know what I would do when I saw him again, but I’d worry about that later. It was probably just as well.

  It was so funny. Well, not ha-ha funny, but weird funny. My big romance with Tripp Barlow had started out when I had unknowingly drunk Hawaiian punch that had been mixed with cherry moonshine and I got sick and passed out. He took me back to his place and put me to bed, too, and the romance started the next morning. I was a virgin, and maybe I’d needed to get a little drunk to get the ball rolling, so to speak. I felt a little pang, thinking about it. Tripp was my first love, and I missed it all—the romance, the companionship, the fun of being with a guy. Not to mention the sex. Tripp had been great at that, and I hadn’t been with anyone since him. It had been nearly a year. I tried not to think about it, but those old human urges do have a way of springing up from time to time.

  The Cherry I was then, Tripp Barlow, and Arkansas seemed a million miles away—another lifetime. Now that I thought about it all again, from this perspective, I was actually glad his wife, Faye, had come after him and we hadn’t gotten together. I sure wouldn’t be in New York now. Who knows what would have happened? We might have gotten married and had a baby, like Tripp and Faye had, and I would be teaching school somewhere near Sweet Valley. Not the worst fate, but not for me. Sometimes the bread lands jelly-side up. Maybe it was for the best that Aurelius and I didn’t get together last night. Or maybe we still would.

  I opened the front door and almost fell over my big yellow duck. I had totally forgotten about that thing. Then Lale Hardcastle stepped up, and smiled. Oh, Lord. He was the last person I wanted to see.

  “You forgot your duck.”

  “How did you know it was my duck? How did you know where I live?”

  “Sal told me. He was worried about you and asked me to check on you this morning. Where did you go in such a hurry last night?”

  “Tell Sal I’m all right. Tell him I’ll call him later. You didn’t need to check on me, but thanks for bringing the duck. I have to go. I have an appointment.” I stuck the duck inside behind the door and started down the steps.

  “Wait a minute. You can’t just run off like that again.�
��

  “Sure I can. Watch me.” I didn’t have time to have a fight with Lale Hardcastle right then, and I hadn’t been so foggy last night that I forgot him kissing me in the bathroom. He really was a jerk, and sooner or later I would tell him just what I knew about him, but now was not the time.

  I was walking fast, but he wouldn’t let me go. He walked fast right beside me.

  “I know you’re at Suzan Hartman. Are you going to a booking?”

  “Sal tell you that, too?”

  “Well, Sal’s a friend.”

  “Apparently. Sal seems to have a lot of friends.”

  “Including you.”

  “Including me. But that doesn’t mean you’re my friend.”

  “Oh, come on. Why are you so mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you. I don’t even know you. I am just late for an appointment.”

  “Well, can I see you again?”

  “I don’t think so. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Is it Bonetti? You were out with him last night.”

  “Sal tells you a lot, doesn’t he? Tell Sal that what I do is none of his business, either. And no, it’s not Bonetti. We’re just friends.”

  A taxi with its for-hire light on came by and I leaped into the street and flagged it down. As the door slammed practically in his face, Lale put his hand on the window, fingers splayed, hoping to stop it or something, I guess. I ignored him and he had to back up so the cab wouldn’t run over his feet. He stood in the street watching after the car as I glanced back and smiled to myself. I’d bet a dollar against a doughnut hole that not many women had ever treated him like that. I had never been that rude to anybody in my life, but there are some people who deserve it.

  26

  * * *

  DIAMONDS & ERMINE

  Suzan’s office smelled like a dirty ashtray. I hardly ever went into her office if I could help it, and frankly, she hadn’t invited me in too many times, either. Once was when she decided that I finally had enough pictures for a composition card, and she had gone through my book and picked out five. On the back of the card were four smaller pictures, the one from “Fini Rouge” of me in the gauzy dress, then a hard-edged one in tight jeans and a black turtleneck sweater with my hair picked out wild and a lot of bad-girl black eye makeup on. The third one was on the street with me in a chic suit and briefcase, my hair slicked back in a bun like I was going to work, and in the last one I was wearing a silk camisole and stockings, to show off my legs. It was a pretty good array of my different looks. On the front of the card was a big one in the red-and-white scarf that should have been on the cover of Rouge. At least it was somewhere. There was a list of my height and sizes, with a small asterisk that noted GOOD LEGS. It was so great to be able to hand out a card when I went on a go-see instead of just having to apologize and hope they would remember me. I mailed some to my mother and Daddy and to Baby, and Mama handed them out to all her friends and the family. She said that Daddy wasn’t too happy with the stockings one or the sexy one, but he put it up on his dresser, so I think he was proud of me. He didn’t write much himself, but always put a sweet little note at the end of Mama’s letters. Once I got a letter from him that was just one line—“Have I told you lately that I love you?” It made me cry. It would be hard spending the holidays by myself, but it was too expensive for them to come to New York, and truth be told, I didn’t really want to leave because of work. It was too soon to go back home—almost as if I was afraid I would be sucked into that other life again and not be able to come back.

  Suzan was wearing her uniform of black turtleneck sweater and black slacks, her hair in a French twist, and, if it was possible, she looked even skinnier than usual. Her shoulder blades stuck out like wings and there was a tightness around her mouth as she dredged the smoke out of the cigarette. She was going to get those lines around her lips soon, I suspected. You could almost see them already. Despite the heavy makeup she was wearing, I could tell there were dark circles under her eyes, and they looked a little puffy. Almost bruised.

  “Hi, Suzan. Did you want to see me?”

  “Yes, sit for a minute. Did you bring your book?”

  “I always do.”

  “I got a call this morning from Nancy Marks at BYD and O. Apparently somebody mentioned you to her and she wanted to meet you for a new national campaign they’re doing for a perfume called Diamonds & Ermine. I think it is too soon, your book is by no means ready, but you might as well go over and see. Don’t count on anything.”

  She leaned over to get a piece of paper to write the address down, and couldn’t help wincing. She had to steady herself with her hand on the edge of the desk.

  “Are you all right, Suzan?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just my rib. I fell last night. Slipped on the bathroom floor.”

  “Don’t you want to go see the doctor? It might be broken. I’ll go with you.”

  She almost smiled, but not quite.

  “Thanks, but no. They wouldn’t do anything anyhow. You can’t put a broken rib in a cast. It’ll be all right. I just have to remember not to stretch and not to breathe too deeply. I’ve had these before.”

  “You have?”

  I was being nosy, but she obviously was in pain. I’d never had a broken rib, but once I got hit in the ribs by a football when I was playing with my cousins and it knocked the wind out of me. I woke up in the middle of the night in such agony I couldn’t draw a deep breath. Mama and Daddy had to take me to the emergency room to get an X-ray. The doctor said it was just cracked, and this seemed like it was much worse. I wondered if Suzan had gotten drunk and fallen down.

  “Oh, once Freddy was horsing around and accidentally kicked me. It was nothing. He was just playing. Men don’t know their own strength.”

  The idea that maybe Freddy wasn’t just horsing around but did it on purpose occurred to me, too. She wrote down the address for BYD&O.

  “Call after your meeting and let me know how it goes. I’m sure Nancy will call herself if it’s good news.”

  “Great. Okay. Wish me luck?”

  She smiled then, a ghost of a smile, and there for a minute she was the Suzan that I had been with the night we called the Hogs.

  The offices of BYD&O were on the top floor of the building, and glass double doors opened into a waiting room that was all gray and steel and glass. The receptionist took my name and I sat in a row of chairs with several other girls who also wanted the job as badly as I did. We all smiled, secretly sizing one another up. I could tell that one girl had on patty nails because her real nails were too wide and you could see the edges. They were also polished an ugly shade of frosted pink that looked cheap. I hated this part of it, the waiting, them looking at me, maybe thinking that I looked cheap, too, because of my hair or something. I felt pretty good about my new look, though, and had given away all my pastel miniskirts and matching tights that screamed mod. Fashion was so much fun now. It seemed like everyone was wearing a costume every day. Almost anything went—midis were definitely in now in a big way, as well as gaucho pants and fringed leather vests, big floppy suede hats, tweed knickers, Indian-and Persian-print long granny dresses, short jackets with long gathered skirts, and boots, boots, boots with everything. It almost didn’t matter what was in style; it was what looked good on you. Aside from scarves, belts were my new fun thing, and I scoured the flea markets for them. I found a real silver concha belt at a flea market on Canal Street for seven dollars that was crammed in the bottom of a box of junk, nearly black, until I got it home, shined it up, and saw the heavy STERLING mark on the back. I discovered you could put on a pair of tight jeans, a turtleneck, a good pair of boots, and a great belt and go anywhere. I also started collecting jackets. I got an old Eisenhower jacket at the army surplus store that went great with a pair of tweed knickers; a black velvet jacket
that had a map of Korea embroidered on the back in silk thread; and finally I found my long sheepskin coat, which was so warm even the New York City wind couldn’t get through it. I was in heaven in the antique-clothing shops and went with Lana every chance we got. My little closet was jammed. But neatly jammed. I sent boxes of stuff to Baby and Mama, which they loved. There were so many wonderful things to buy that I had to be careful to save out the rent money, especially now that I was making a little more. You never knew when it would all dry up, Daddy said, although I think he was surprised at how much I was making in such a short time. So was I.

  A middle-aged woman in a navy-blue suit came out and looked right at me. “Cherry?”

  The other girls glanced at me, trying to act cool and hide the fact they were miffed. Most of them had been there before I was.

  “Are you Nancy?” She was tiny and tilted her head up as I rose, trying not to show how shocked she was at my size.

  “I am indeed. Come with me.” We went down a long carpeted hallway past cubicles with secretaries typing away, to her office, another small, gray and glass and metal room. She ushered me into a black leather chair and took my book, flipped through it pretty fast. Too fast.

  “How long have you been modeling?”

  I inwardly sighed. Same old question. They all somehow could tell I was new. “I started back in early September. But I have some new bookings coming up—one for Vanity Fair lingerie, and one for Clairol. I’m going to be Platinum Babe Number Twenty-one.” Clairol seemed really happy to have somebody whose hair didn’t have to be bleached out, and I felt like I would get more work from them.

  “Well, we’re doing a national campaign for Diamonds & Ermine perfume—maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  “Of course. I love Diamonds & Ermine!” In fact, I had never used it at all, as I tended to not like many perfumes. But perfume was a big part of New York advertising, so once in a while I would go to Saks Fifth Avenue and hang out at the perfume counter, trying out all the ones I saw in the ads. I bought some Emeraude, which smelled good for a minute, but it was too sweet, like White Gardenia, which gave me a headache. Patchouli was beginning to be the big one now, mostly in an oil that got all over everything and smelled for days. I bought some from a guy on the street with Rasta hair and sticks of incense laid out on a table, and although it made me feel like a real cool hippie, people in elevators practically passed out from the fumes. Even after a bath, I could still smell it. I had no idea what Diamonds & Ermine smelled like, but I was sure I was going to like it.