by Ritz, David
Lee had that same longing. He was good-looking—tall, engaging dark eyes, a well-groomed crew cut that gave him the appearance of an earlier era, the fifties. He was pleasant. He liked science fiction novels and loved the movies. Like Soo, he was devoted to his parents and, after undergraduate school, had plans to become an engineer. There was no reason in the world for Beauty not to like Lee, and she did. But it stopped there. She lacked even the slightest sense of romantic love for him. And beyond that, although she’d told Noah that she did not want to be a girlfriend, she also did not want to hurt Noah by dating his roommate. At the same time, she did not want to hurt Soo’s feelings by rejecting her brother. After all, it was Soo who was allowing her to live in L.A. rent-free and apprentice in her company. In short, at every turn Beauty was navigating tricky and even treacherous waters.
Every day there were text messages from either Lee or Noah. Mostly she ignored them, hoping they’d get the message. But neither guy gave up. Lee and Noah’s relationship suffered and one day during basketball practice they went after each other. The coach didn’t know they were, in fact, fighting over a woman. That happened in June. Then in July, two months after graduating from high school, Beauty learned that Soo was flying to Seoul the next day on business. The day after Soo’s departure, Primo turned up at the apartment. This had never happened before. Beauty was somewhat alarmed, but Primo was reassuring. He told her that he was leaving for China in a few hours and asked if she would like to join him for dinner at the Palm, directly across from L.A. Live. She agreed. She had never before been alone with Primo and was curious to see what that was like. She also felt safe knowing that he would not be spending the night in the apartment.
At the restaurant, Beauty ordered pasta and Primo ordered steak. He began talking about his business exploits. He said it was unfortunate that his interests kept him from being in L.A. more often, but his international dealings kept him on the move.
“I haven’t told Soo that we’re having dinner,” he said. “In fact, she doesn’t know I’m in L.A. This has all happened quite suddenly. You see, I’m on the verge of buying Bloom’s. As you know, they have stores in San Francisco, Chicago, and Dallas as well as the flagship store in New York. You’ve been living out here how long? Seven months?”
“Ten months.”
“And you’re seventeen?”
“About to turn eighteen.”
“I see,” said Primo as his phone buzzed. He reached into his Oxford three-piece blue pinstriped suit for his Vertu Signature M Design eighteen-karat-gold cell phone, which he’d purchased the week before in Berlin for $35,000. “Yes,” he told his caller, “I arrive in Beijing tomorrow, and then I’m off to a private meeting with the Chinese minister of finance. Immediately afterward, he’s honoring me at a state dinner. So this will have to wait till Saturday when I arrive at the Mandarin Oriental in Tokyo. I’ll call you when I get to Japan.” Primo clicked off and apologized to Beauty. “This schedule of mine gets crazier every day.”
“It sounds exciting.”
“It’s exhausting. A treadmill without an ‘off’ button. But we were talking about you, not me.”
“You said you wanted to buy Bloom’s.”
“I am buying Bloom’s. The deal should be done by month’s end.”
“And I’m not sure what all this has to do with me.”
“I think you’re incredibly talented, Beauty. Anita has said so. And looking over Soo’s shoulder, I’ve seen some of your designs. Fabulous. Daring. I think you have the potential to be a star in this industry. But I also think that Soo—a perfectly wonderful woman—is like so many other women when it comes to other talented females. She’s competitive. Of course that’s good. Without the competitive spirit, she wouldn’t be where she is. But that can be bad when it comes to supporting younger talent. When it comes to you, I’m afraid that she feels threatened. To be candid, I see her holding you back. And in that regard, I think you’d be better off in New York. Once the deal goes through, my plan is to make Anita executive vice president and merchandise manager of the entire chain. You’ll be working directly under her. My plan is to eventually have you develop your own line of casual wear. I recently bought a large apartment in the Plaza Hotel where you’ll be quite comfortable. And of course you’ll have a generous monthly check for your living expenditures. You’ll have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Beauty was astounded. She felt repelled, excited, afraid, eager, cautious, and confused by this offer. Clearly, the man was setting her up to be his mistress.
“What would I possibly tell Soo?”
“I have all that worked out. You see, Soo hasn’t been all that comfortable with you living with us, and she too has suggested that you might be better off back in New York with Anita.”
“But I won’t be with Anita. I’ll be in your apartment in the Plaza.”
“A detail that’s of no concern to Soo.”
“And what about Anita?”
“Anita and I are coarchitects of the plan.”
“The plan to buy Bloom’s or the plan to move me to New York?”
“Both.”
“I’m not sure,” said Beauty.
“I am,” said Primo. “I am quite positive that there is no downside to this arrangement—for you or me. I can change your life. You will require a couple of years of training, and to that end Anita and I will put you with the most brilliant designers in New York. The future is all yours, Beauty, and nothing can stand in the way.”
“I need time to think . . .”
“Of course. You’ll want to call Anita.”
“I will.”
“And you’ll want to keep this between yourself and Anita—no one else.”
“I understand.”
The next evening, when Beauty reached Anita at home, she realized that Anita had been drinking. That wasn’t unusual, of course. On most nights by ten P.M. Anita had polished off a bottle of expensive wine. When she drank, she spoke in great torrents of words. She gushed.
“Oh, Beauty,” she said, “I’m so glad you called, my dear. I’d been expecting to hear from you. Primo called me. He’s something, isn’t he?”
“He told me that you know the plan.”
“I’ve been working on the plan for ten years. That man is exceedingly more cautious than he appears. Dear God, how I have worked on that plan!”
“He’s talking about buying Bloom’s.”
“Of course. It’s the perfect marriage. Finally he sees that. Finally! For a shrewd man, he can be a slow man.”
“He doesn’t seem slow to me at all.”
“You mustn’t look at it that way, my dear. You see, he’s a European, and European men have a different outlook on women.”
“I feel like he wants to buy me.”
“No, no, no . . . you misunderstand, Beauty. He wants to help you. He wants to nurture you, train you, prepare you—the same as I do.”
“He wants me to be his mistress.”
“An old-fashioned term,” said Anita.
“What would you call it?”
“He wants you to be his friend.”
“Please, Anita . . .”
“You told me you have been with several boys. Well, now it’s time for you to be with a man.”
“A married man three times my age?”
“An unconventional man for whom marriage might have been an impulsive mistake. But a good man nonetheless. And the perfect man to get you what you want. A perfect opportunity. I see no downside.”
“That’s just what he said.”
“We think the same.”
“I don’t think of myself as a prostitute, Anita.”
“Let me be blunt, Beauty. Primo Dalla Torre is a man not unaccustomed to patronizing prostitutes. He has had the most expensive and discreet prostitutes the world over. Prostitutes who charge tens of thousands of dollars. Prostitutes who make Halle Berry look ordinary. Prostitutes who have been with sheikhs, princes, and kings. If he wanted a p
rostitute, he would flip open his phone, hit a button, and buy a prostitute. But this man, my dear, this extraordinary man does not see you as a prostitute. He sees you as a talent, as a flower he wishes to grow. He wishes to place you in a garden where you are protected, cultivated, and cared for. He sees deep into your soul. He has endless appreciation for your talent. Don’t you see that?”
“I see he wants to sleep with me,” said Beauty. “I’ve seen that ever since I met him.”
Beauty heard Anita slurping a large quantity of wine. “Who you sleep with, my dear,” said the older woman, “is strictly your own affair. In that regard, I have seen you make mistakes. Your judgment is not infallible. You chose to sleep with the seamstress’s son, and you yourself have told me that it led nowhere. When he followed you to California, all that did was cause you further agitation. Am I right? Speak your mind, dear Beauty, am I describing the situation accurately?”
“One thing doesn’t have to do with the other. What does Noah have to do with Primo?”
“Both men desire you. Both men seek to impact your life. The contrast is telling. The choices we make are critical. You are at a critical juncture.”
“And if I tell both to go away?” asked Beauty.
“Then that too is a choice. In my estimation, it would be a catastrophic choice. But one that is entirely up to you. Excuse me while I look for that other bottle of wine. It was around here somewhere.”
“I don’t know what else to say,” said Beauty.
“You don’t have to say a thing. You’ll either come back here with Primo or you won’t. I trust you to make the right decision, my dear. You’re too clever a girl to undermine your life over some notion of conventional morality.”
Anita’s last comment stung. Beauty took it to mean: Don’t be stupid; let this man buy you if he wants to buy you; it’s the shortest way to success. Beauty put down the phone and looked out the window of her bedroom in Soo’s Ritz-Carlton apartment. The lights from L.A. Live were blazing. Lady Gaga was giving a sold-out concert at the Staples Center that very night. Lee Kim had bought tickets and invited Beauty. Beauty liked Lady Gaga. She admired her originality and style. She considered her audacious and cunning. She admired how Lady Gaga had made an impact on the crowded field of pop music and pop fashion. Beauty liked how the entertainer had the courage of her ambition. She liked her drive. Beauty considered her own drive. She thought about the crowded field of design. She thought about a phrase that Wanda Washington had used in justifying her working for Slim Simmons. “Opportunity,” she had said, “only knocks once.”
When Lee arrived to pick up Beauty, she thought he was dressed all wrong. He was preppy in every detail. You don’t dress preppy for a Lady Gaga concert. Beauty was dressed vintage. Her flowered dress was from the forties and her hat, an enormous violet affair adorned with white feathers, looked like it came out of an MGM musical of an earlier era. Lee was stunned and delighted by her look. He loved Beauty and wanted to please her in every way possible. He indulged her with flattery as they walked across the plaza to the Staples Center. She accepted the flattery and also the fact that this perfectly nice guy bored her to tears. Lady Gaga did not bore her for a second. The show was a marvel of invention and imagination. Lady Gaga came out as Marie Antoinette, then an Aztec princess, then a creature from outer space. Her outfits were brilliant. Beams of red light exploded from her breasts. Fireworks shot off the top of her cotton-candy-shaped pink wig. She sang her heart out. She danced on stilts. She flew over the audience, harnessed by invisible ropes. She did it all.
Beauty thought that she too wanted to do it all. What did it take to do it all? Her birth mother, Isabel Long, was a hardworking woman with whom the world had dealt cruelly. The man she loved had left her. Breaking all his promises, he had gone back to Tokyo to his wife and family. Isabel’s dreams were dashed. She died of ovarian cancer a week after turning thirty-one. Beauty’s guardian, Power’s mother, Charlotte Clay, was another hardworking, good-hearted woman. But look what happened to her. Life was cruel. Life was unpredictable. Life was cold. And in the light of this knowledge, what was a young lady to do?
Lady Gaga knew what to do. Go for it! Sitting next to Lee Kim, Beauty could see that he was not overwhelmed by the show. He liked the spectacle but didn’t get the audaciousness of this performer. Beauty wanted to be audacious. Beauty wanted to be bold. If Lee had made a sexual move that night, she might have respected him more. But she could feel that he had been intimidated by the sexual spell that Lady Gaga had cast over the evening. Afterward they went for drinks at an L.A. Live bar, jam-packed with an after-show crowd. Everyone was talking about Lady Gaga.
“She’s great,” said Lee, trying to convince Beauty that he was on her wavelength.
“Why do you think she’s great?” she asked, challenging him.
“She doesn’t care what people think.”
“I believe she does care,” said Beauty. “I believe she thinks about what people might think—and then she does whatever it takes to scandalize them.”
“Well, isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. If you don’t care what people think, you aren’t calculating. She is calculating. She’s calculating what it will take to make a scandal onstage.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Lee. “You know more about these things than I do.”
When they walked back to the Ritz-Carlton, the entry was filled with paparazzi and fans waiting for Lady Gaga. It was a mob scene.
“Let’s hang around for a while,” said Beauty, “and see if she shows up. I want to see what she looks like up close.”
“I better get going, Beauty,” said Lee. “Big exam tomorrow. I still have studying.”
“Thanks for taking me,” said Beauty.
“No problem,” said Lee as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll call you soon.”
When he did call the next day, all he got was voice mail. A week later, Soo told Lee—who in turn told Noah—that Beauty had packed up and moved back to New York.
The Plaza
When Beauty arrived in New York in August, she was greatly relieved that Primo was not there. Traveling in Australia, he would not be arriving for another three weeks. His absence meant that Beauty did not have to worry—at least for now—about what were or were not her obligations to him.
Directly across from Central Park, the Plaza was filled with restaurants and banquet halls decorated in the style of Louis XV. If L.A. Live was something like a dream of the future, the Plaza felt like a dream of the past. Compared to the Los Angeles apartment at the Ritz-Carlton, Primo’s residence at the Plaza Hotel was Old World. Soo had done up her place with tubular steel furniture sculpted in a modern mode. Primo had furnished his New York digs with antiques and tapestries, European still-life paintings of fruits, portraits of duchesses, and landscapes of softly lit cities built on the side of Italian hills. Beauty couldn’t help but be charmed. It was like living in a small museum. She liked the formality. It made her feel safe. There were two bedrooms—a large master suite and a smaller room that held a single bed. She chose the smaller room.
When she left Los Angeles, she did so in a hurry. Soo seemed relieved and asked few questions, presuming that Beauty was going back to live and work with Anita. Few words were spoken between Soo and Beauty. Beauty sensed that Soo just wanted her out of there. She also knew that Soo did not have the slightest idea that Beauty was living in Primo’s apartment. The intrigue of it all bothered Beauty, but not enough to keep her from going ahead with the plan. Meanwhile, Anita encouraged her every step of the way. She came to the Plaza the very night Beauty arrived, and over a great deal of wine at the hotel’s famous Oak Room, she kept saying how proud she was of her protégée.
“At first I wasn’t sure, my dear,” Anita was quick to say, “that you understood the uniqueness of this opportunity. I was afraid that your conventional background might hold you back.”
“I don’t think my background is at all c
onventional,” Beauty replied.
“Well, by ‘conventional’ I mean the provincial attitude that one acquires by growing up in the South. You were raised, after all, by two women who were products of the South.”
“I don’t think that’s bad,” said Beauty.
“Not bad, my dear, just restrictive. In life we must learn to go beyond the province in which we were born. We must expand. Your mother and adopted mother never left the borders of Georgia. You have. You understand what it means to explore and fulfill potential. You have courage.”
Beauty listened as Anita went on with her words of praise. The words felt good, but what had happened to Anita’s attitude of independence? Wasn’t she the woman who spoke proudly of using her brain—and not sex—to advance in the world of fashion?
“You will use your brain,” said Anita when Beauty questioned her. “No doubt about it. If Primo didn’t see you as a brilliant and talented woman, he’d have no interest.”
“But he’s interested in more than my intelligence.”
“That’s only natural.”
“I don’t say this to hurt you, Anita, but you also have interests here.”
“You don’t hurt me in the least, my dear. Of course I have interests of my own. We all do. We’re all practical people. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It feels so messy.”
“On the contrary,” said Anita. “Primo is a man of discretion whose ability to compartmentalize his life is absolutely flawless. He will care for you; he will guide you; he will treat you like the precious jewel that you are.”
It was difficult for Beauty to challenge Anita, especially when her mentor was tipsy.
After dinner, when Beauty showed Anita the lavish apartment bought and furnished by Primo, the older woman exclaimed, “It’s the work of Dietrich Strom.”
“Who’s he?”
“A German interior decorator who lives in Milan. The greatest decorator of the day. He recently redid the Pope’s summer home. How’s that for a plum client? He does everyone who’s anyone.”