Cheap Diamonds

by Norris Church Mailer

  As they got more successful, Freddy got more dissolute and the abuse got worse. She actually tried to leave him a few times, but he tracked her down. Once she went to Paris, the best two weeks of her life, but he appeared in a little café where she was having a kir and steak frites, slid into the booth next to her, and calmly picked a potato off her plate. His fists convinced her that no matter where she went he would always find her, and next time would be worse. He had spies everywhere. He had control of the company, and he had control of her.

  She knew he meant it. She was scared of him. And she was stuck.

  28

  * * *

  THE FORTUNE

  It was night in the I.C.U. at Children’s Hospital. In the waiting room, the lights had been dimmed and the pillows and blankets passed around. Cassie stretched out on the couch, luxuriating in lying down without having to stiffly hold the old chair to keep it from folding up on her. She almost relaxed. By default, Cassie had moved up to the biggest couch in the waiting room, as she had been there the longest. Every few days, another one of the mothers left with her baby wrapped in a blanket, her husband carrying her bags, both of them beaming as they said good-bye, ecstatic to be leaving, but sad for the ones left behind. The other mothers would say good-bye in return, each trying to be happy for them, each hoping it would be her turn next. Once in a while, a mother would leave without her baby, which terrified them all as they hugged her and offered what comfort they could, secretly relieved it wasn’t them, praying that their baby would be one of the lucky ones. And then they reshuffled their seats, making room for the new ones who came to join the colony.

  By now, Cassie had acquired stacks of crossword puzzle books, paperback novels, and bags tucked neatly beside her couch. But she didn’t talk much to the other women, and caught them sneaking looks at her from time to time. They thought she was strange. Maybe she was. Her clothes were so big that they were tied up by string, and even though her mother brought fresh ones every week, nothing she had fit anymore. After begging and threatening Cassie to get out and get herself some new clothes, Annie had finally taken the bull by the horns. She brought Bernadette.

  “You haven’t breathed fresh air in weeks,” Annie said after they visited for a little while with Lalea. “And you look like a refugee from some war or something. I’ll sit right here with this baby and you go shopping. Bernadette, you carry her to that elevator if you have to. Lalea will be here when you get back. I promise you that.” She handed Cassie some folded money.

  Bernadette was quite a bit stronger than Cassie at this point, and just as hardheaded, so rather than throw a fit and embarrass herself, Cassie went. The light outside hit her full in the face, as if she had been down in a coal mine for ages, and she had to put her hand over her eyes to shut out the pain. The cold air filled her lungs and almost hurt. She coughed. It had been warm when she went into the hospital. How had that happened?

  “Girl, you are the color of a fish belly,” Bernadette said, taking a good look at her in the sunlight. “Just listen to you cough. You haven’t had one good meal since you gave birth to that child. If you want to kill yourself, you’re doing a right good job of it.”

  “I’m not trying to kill myself. I tried to do that once, and now God’s making me pay for it.”

  “Well, that’s the silliest thing I ever heard. Anybody who thinks they know what God is up to just hasn’t got good sense, is what I think. Anytime I hear those preachers saying, ‘God wants you to do this,’ and ‘God wants you to do that,’ it makes me want to reach for my pistol. Of course, it’s usually God wanting you to give them money. No better than thieves. At least thieves aren’t talking you to death while they rob you.”

  Cassie just let her run on. No sense in trying to change her mind. She knew what she knew.

  The noise and the color in the mall almost made her panic, she had been in the quiet of the hospital for so long. She passed by a ragged, skinny girl and almost said, “Excuse me,” to her, and then saw that the girl was with someone who looked just like Bernadette. It was a mirror. She walked up to it and stared at the face with big eyes looking back at her. She ran her hands through her hair, which she had to shampoo in the tiny restroom sink with one hand while holding the water faucet on, so it never quite got clean. It had been so long since she’d had a real shower.

  “Didn’t you even recognize yourself, Cassie? See what I mean? We have to at least get you some clothes that fit, and maybe stop off in the beauty shop and get your hair trimmed. The ends are so split they look like hay.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, turning away from the mirror. “I don’t want to be away too long.”

  But she did get her hair trimmed, and nothing felt as good as the girl washing her hair. She really knew how to do it, digging deep and rubbing and massaging until Cassie moaned. Then they went to Casual Corner and got a couple pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, and a coat. Even her coat had gotten so big it was like wearing a tent. She first tried on a ten, then an eight, until finally size six fit. Unbelievable. She used to have to squeeze into a sixteen. She stared at herself in the mirror, like it was somebody else. The dressing-room light was horrible. She didn’t know how they ever sold a stitch of clothes in that awful fluorescent light. It made her skin look green and the circles under her eyes mud-colored.

  Bernadette shoved an armful of dresses in the door at her.

  “Here, sweetie, pick you out one of these. You can’t wear jeans all the time.”

  “You do.”

  “Yeah, but that’s me. You need at least one dress, in case you need to get fixed up to go someplace.”

  Like a funeral, Cassie thought, looking at a black knit dress. She added it to the pile without trying it on, pulled on her clothes, and got her stuff together.

  “Let’s get out of here. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

  Cassie couldn’t rest on the comfy couch. She tossed and turned for an hour or so, then got up and scrubbed to go into the nursery, where she put on the yellow suit and sat holding Lalea. She hated the feeding tube snaking down her throat. It had irritated her poor little nose until it was raw. She smeared a dab of Vaseline on it. Lalea was still the biggest baby in the pod, but she hadn’t gained weight like she should have. Her tiny fingernails were blue, and her feet were a shade of purple, laced with dark veins. No amount of rubbing seemed to warm them up.

  Cassie kissed her head, rocked her back and forth, and sang a lively little song to her.

  “Pony girl, pony girl, won’t you be my pony girl? Don’t say no, here we go, riding ’cross the plains. Marry me, carry me, far across the plains! Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, let’s go! Ooooh, my pony girl!”

  She caught movement at the nursery window and looked up to see George Hardcastle standing there. He stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her, then went to the door and spoke to the nurse. Cassie kept singing as he came over, wearing the yellow protective suit.

  “Cassie? Is that you?”

  She looked up at him and he recognized the cornflower eyes. She was so thin and fragile, not at all the robust girl he had last seen a few months before. He wanted to hug her but hesitated, afraid she would push him away. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

  “Hi, Mr. Hardcastle. What brings you here?”

  “Can we go someplace and talk?”

  “We can talk right here. Does your wife know where you are?”

  Her heart was pounding, but she couldn’t let him know. He looked so much like Lale, but without the cockiness Lale had. George was weathered by sun and wind and rain, callused from the fields, beaten down by hard work and a dissatisfied wife. He was a nicer person than his son. You could see the kindness in his eyes, but Cassie wasn’t going to be taken in by that. She had gone through too much at the hands of the Hardcastles.

  “She knows,” he said, with a bitter edge. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to talk to me, Cassie, but I have some things I need to tell you.”

  “Don’
t you want to see your granddaughter first?” She pulled back the blanket and George stepped up and looked down at the baby. Tears filled his eyes. Cassie pulled the baby closer to her.

  “Well. I’m sorry, Cassie. I’m real sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  She wasn’t going to ask him about Lale. She would cut out her tongue first.

  “I want to apologize to you for the way Janet and I have treated you. I don’t expect you to understand Janet—God knows I don’t understand her myself, and I’ve always found it easier to go along with her than fight her, but this time she’s gone too far.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I know the baby is Lale’s. There was never any question in my mind about that. And Janet knows it, too. She just doesn’t want to admit it, because then she would have to admit her son did a stupid, bad thing, and that she won’t do. Lale hung the moon for Janet.”

  “Yeah. I know the feeling. So you’ve come to apologize for Janet? Why didn’t she come herself?”

  “She won’t do that. But it doesn’t much matter. I had to come when I found these.”

  George pulled out a stack of letters.

  “These are from Lale. They don’t say much, but in every one of them is a money order, made out to you.”

  “What do you mean? Lale sent me money?”

  “Yeah. A lot of money. There must be over five thousand dollars in here.”

  “Why did he send it to Janet and not to me?”

  “You can answer that as well as I can. He was ashamed to face you, I guess, but in his way he wanted to do something for you and the baby. Why she never gave it to you is a different story. One she’s going to have to account for.”

  “I don’t want his money. Give it back to Janet.”

  “Don’t be hardheaded about this, Cassie. You’re going to need money for this hospital and a lot of other things. Lale ought to pay you. He can afford it.” He handed her the stack of envelopes. She looked at the familiar handwriting, and the return address: General Delivery, 350 Canal St., New York, NY. The stack was thick in her hand.

  “Here. Let me hold her a minute and you can go put that money up.”

  George reached for Lalea, and after a moment, Cassie gave her to him.

  “Watch her little neck. She can’t hold up her head. Be careful of that tube. She has one in her leg, too.”

  She was lighter than he expected. He looked at her, searching for something he recognized, but he didn’t need to search. His heart recognized her, even as her little finger and her hair color and the shape of her ears were familiar to him.

  Cassie put the stack of envelopes in her purse and turned back to look at them, even as the alarm started beeping on the monitors. She knew which baby had set it off. George’s startled eyes met hers in panic, and the nurse came running up and took her from his arms. Cassie started to grab at her, but another nurse held her back as a doctor materialized and they put Lalea down in her bed and started working on her.

  “Get the mother out of here! Now!”

  “My baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby….” Cassie half screamed until it became a moan.

  George carried her out of the ward and tried to get her out to the hallway, but Cassie fought him, ran back, and put her hands on the nursery glass, trying to see what they were doing to her baby in the middle of the circle of doctors and nurses. After a while, she knew Lalea was gone. She could feel it. She pounded on the glass, trying to get their attention.

  “Open the window! Open the window!”

  “You’re going to break that glass, girl!” George said, trying to pull her away.

  “Tell them to open the window. She can’t get out and go to heaven with the window shut!”

  She looked up at George, and his heart broke.

  29

  * * *

  ROOMMATES

  “You ought to be in Diamonds & Ermine.”

  “I agree. Are you giving me a present?”

  “The best present.” (He hands her a bottle of perfume.)

  “Perfume?”

  “Not simply perfume. An extraordinary elixir. Immensely complex. Like you, love.”

  “Really? Complex how?”

  “There are more elements in Diamonds & Ermine than in any other fragrance on earth. One hundred and twenty-three.”

  “One hundred and twenty-three? How do a hundred and twenty-three elements blend together? It might be too many.”

  “Just enough. They take the finest hints of jasmine blossoms, rose petals, heliotrope…”

  “That’s three.”

  “…and add the merest whiff of lavender, rosemary, nutmeg; a hint of bitter almond…”

  “It does sound like me. What else do Diamonds & Ermine and I share?”

  “Oils of pomegranate, twigs of patchouli, cedars of Lebanon, gums of myrrh.”

  “Gums of myrrh? Hm. Beautiful words, but what does it smell like?”

  “Poetry. Endlessly fascinating. You could wear it for a thousand nights and never tire of it.”

  “I like that.”

  “It only needs one more ingredient to attain perfection.”

  “And that is?”

  “You, love.”

  “I can’t say this crap!” Lale threw down the script. “I can’t even pronounce half the words, much less look like James Bond while I’m saying it! Why can’t they just do a voice-over and not make us have to say it? They’re going to get somebody else’s voices anyhow. We’re too country for these highfalutin French folks.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve been practicing. Which you ought to do, too, if you want to be an actor like you say you do. They might do a voice-over, but we have to say the words anyhow, so somebody else can time their voices to us. You know that. It’s not that hard. It’s just stupid dialogue.”

  “You can say that again.”

  We were down at the SoHo loft, with Sal’s baby-blue Mustang parked by the door. The ad had already been shot, and while it wouldn’t be out in magazines for a while, they decided they liked the way we looked together and were going to take a chance on us in the TV commercial. It would be more money than any of our parents had ever seen at one time, and it was a little scary. I had trouble at first, thinking of Lale as Zack, and almost called him Lale a time or two, but now was not the time to let him know I knew who he was. In spite of the fact I knew he was a no-good snake, I had to pretend, at least for the camera, that I was in love with him. It wasn’t hard to see how Cassie had fallen for him and why he had been voted best-looking every year in high school. He was the prettiest boy I had ever seen, like a blond Warren Beatty. Sleepy, blue, bedroom eyes, pouty mouth, strong straight nose. I wondered if Warren looked at himself in the mirror as much as Lale did. I had to stop myself from laughing at him sometimes, the way he’d stare at himself, make faces, and touch up a twig of hair that kept falling over his forehead. I guess in all fairness, I spent some time looking at myself, too. But it was our job, so we had an excuse. In front of the camera, though, we really did have something together—they all said we did. It wasn’t love for each other, so it must have been a connection to our own images reflected in the lens, a love for the idea of the two of us together that was greater than either of us alone. I can’t say it any better than that. We were kind of like actors in a movie who have to be in love, but turn it off when the cameras stop rolling. With all that pretend love, it was hard to keep on being cranky with him. I never could be mad at somebody for too long. I had to make myself keep remembering Cassie, and him running off on her like that. Then, I could be frosty. He never knew how I was going to treat him, cool or warm, which kept him on his toes.

  Sal, of course, was doing the makeup, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Sal was really in love with him, even if Lale seemed to have no clue.

  “Zack, your skin is just gushing oil in front of these lights,” he’d say, making an excuse to lovingly wipe a little powder on Lale’s cheeks.

  “What abo
ut me, Sal?” I pretended to be miffed. “My face could be shining like a gasoline slick and you’d never even notice.”

  “Oh, you. You don’t even have pores, Miss Cherry. You’re perfect, and you know it!” But he’d roll his eyes and pat a little on my face, to humor me. Then Milton Greene strolled in for the first shot, told us to stare in each other’s eyes, and started working. He did a few Polaroids, changed the lights a bit, shot a few rolls of film, did two or three different setups, and before we even got warmed up, Milton said he had it, and that was the end. It was so fast and simple. That’s a real artist for you. The makeup took way longer than the pictures did. I guess Mr. Greene was pretty sure of himself, which he had a right to be. He had photographed every big celebrity in the world, and he was probably bored to death with us, although he treated us like we were hot dogs on a stick or something. He made us feel like we would be as famous as any of them. After all, as he said, Sophia Loren and Marilyn Monroe were just pretty young girls when they started out.

  After the shoot, Lale and Sal and I went over for dinner to Elaine’s, a place on Second Avenue near Eighty-eighth that Sal said had the most celebrities in New York, although the food was not so great. The lighting was warm and golden and the walls were dark wood paneling. It was run by a big friendly woman wearing white glasses. Her name was Elaine—what else—and she came and gave Sal and Lale a hug and shook my hand with a smile when they introduced me, but I noticed she kind of ignored a lot of the regular people, like the bridge-and-tunnel crowd I’d seen at Max’s, who were standing three deep at the bar waiting for a table. The B&Ts didn’t seem to get a break anywhere. But she gave us one of the best front tables against the wall, next to the bar. Restaurants love having pretty people right where they’re the most visible, even if they aren’t famous. It was getting to the point that I kind of expected to be treated like I was famous, and was disappointed when I wasn’t. I knew I was getting the big head, but the voice whispering in my ear telling me to be modest had gotten drowned out by the bigger voice yelling, Model! People were just crazy about models, like they were about movie stars, and there was no reason to pretend I didn’t like it. We ordered a bottle of wine to celebrate. I was getting used to having a glass of wine after a day’s work, and looked forward to it. That was another way I was slipping away from my raising. Soon I’d probably have two, and then I’d be a drunk. Ah, well. One day I’d deal with it all, but not now. Sal ordered fried calamari to start, which I liked a lot until he told me it was squid. I’d never even heard of eating squid, which I pictured as octopus, thrashing around under the sea in some horror movie. It was so exotic. At least it was fried. All we had in Sweet Valley was hamburger joints and home-style catfish buffets loaded down with deep-fat-fried everything. Even the rolls were deep-fat-fried. No wonder Arkansas had the most overweight people of anyplace in the U.S.A. But truth be told, I missed it. Actually, I think pasteboard would taste good if it was battered and fried, and I ate most of the calamari.