Beauty

by Louise Mensch

  ‘Bullshit! You’re going to throw away twenty years together for a gold-digger?’

  ‘Susan, look me in the eyes. Are you in love with me? Do you love me?’

  For a few seconds, he held his breath. If she said yes, she loved him, he couldn’t really go through with it. Not yet. Not after twenty years. There would have to be counselling, and trying again, and what his sons deserved. He was afraid, fearful she would say yes. He loved Dina Kane, and he had finally done this, and now he wanted to pursue her, openly, and desperately. But if Susan said she loved him . . .

  The moment hung in the air, and time seemed to slow down, to freeze.

  Susan lifted her head and stared at him. There was a long, long pause, and then she crumpled, folding on the couch.

  Joel felt the wave of relief crash over him, merciful obliteration.

  ‘You think you’ll get away with this?’ She was flushed with anger now. ‘Humiliating me like this, with some slut?’

  ‘Dina’s not a slut.’

  ‘This is my house. She’s never setting foot in here. I’ve been married to you for twenty years; don’t think you’re just going to give my home to her!’

  ‘Be reasonable, Susan. We can work all that stuff out.’

  But she was lost in her rage now, and nothing he said could change it.

  ‘I want the money, you goddamned bastard! You owe me.’

  ‘You’ll get half of everything, Susan.’ That much was easy. ‘Including this house. I’m not going to cheat you.’

  ‘You should give me more than half. You should give me all of it.’

  He shook his head. ‘The lawyers will do their thing. But I wanted you to know that you will get half of everything. I’m sorry, Susan.’

  ‘I hate you!’ she shrieked. ‘Get out of my goddamned house!’

  And Joel Gaines got up, left the study and walked out of the house, and out of his old life.

  A day later, Joel Gaines was sitting on a weather-beaten green bench in JFK park in Cambridge, Massachusetts, gazing out at the river and trying not to look at the mutinous face of his son.

  ‘So that’s it, Dad? You can’t be persuaded?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Noah. We fell out of love. It happens.’

  ‘When it happens, you guys are meant to work on it. Twenty years – that should mean something.’

  ‘It does. I just . . . I can’t be unhappy for the rest of my life, Noah. I’m sorry.’

  ‘And you think this girl really loves you? You’re a very rich man.’

  ‘I know. She’s different.’

  ‘Family is supposed to be forever,’ his son said. ‘I don’t want to meet her. I don’t want to know.’

  Joel breathed in. ‘Noah, I love you and your brother very much. I always will. But you can’t sentence me to a life of misery. You’re an adult now, making your own decisions. I can’t say if it’ll work out between me and Dina, but I can say that, when I asked your mom if she loved me, she didn’t say yes.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Seth?’

  ‘This morning.’ His older son had shouted at him, railed, called him a moron; it was preferable to this quiet disappointment. ‘He was mad, too. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not sorry enough.’

  Joel squared his shoulders. ‘Noah, I’m not yet fifty. You can’t seriously think I owe it to my adult kids to continue in a loveless marriage.’

  His son kicked at the gravel on the path, his head bowed.

  ‘Maybe it’s not loveless, Dad. Maybe she was hurt and that’s why she didn’t say it. It might be you needed to work things out.’

  ‘That would just prolong the pain.’ He blew out air, like he was lifting a heavy weight. ‘I’ll always be your father, and I’ll always love you.’

  There was a silence, a heavy beat that hit him in the gut like a fist.

  ‘We love you too, Dad. But we have to be there for Mom right now.’

  Noah reached across and gave him an awkward hug. Joel patted his son on the back, running his hands up and down his spine as he’d done when Noah was a baby.

  ‘That’s fine, buddy. You do everything you have to. I’m still going to be around.’

  And he breathed out because, in the end, after this was all done, and the anger was spent, when Susan had her settlement and maybe another man, Joel believed it would be OK.

  It was done; it was over.

  He was in the car, driving mindlessly, glad of the monotony, back to the city, trying to let the task clear his mind. The pain was real, but so was the relief; those iron chains, the ones that had locked him down for the last ten years, were shattered, broken. He was a free man.

  There was no question of what he would do next: go to his apartment; dump the car; call his business partner; call a lawyer. That was the housekeeping taken care of.

  And then . . . Joel Gaines was going to find Dina Kane, wherever the hell she was, and tell her he loved her, and take her to bed. That was the only certain thing in his life, and the one thing he was holding on to.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dina sat with Natalya in the bar of the Victrix. It was late. She never usually drank, but tonight they had a bottle of champagne between them: Cristal, the house brand of Manhattan’s most luxurious hotel. They were drinking from cut-glass flutes, and she was finally relaxing.

  It was over. Win or lose, she couldn’t do any more. The money was mostly spent; there was just enough left for a month’s expenses. She had a handful of staff: make-up artists she trusted; girls who could stand at a register and also socialise; there were the geeks running the website, and, now the store was built in record time, there was Natalya – a friend.

  They had seen each other daily for weeks as the underground club transformed from sweat-soaked strip joint to an architectural jewel. Even the city inspectors had been impressed. Dina had spent real money on an immigration lawyer, and got Natalya into the system as an applicant for a professional visa; she quit nannying for the family that treated her like a slave. Piotr was right: she was a star. She jumped at Dina’s vision for the space, working and reworking everything, directing plumbing, engineering, everything perfectly. And something else: she was as hard a worker as Dina was, herself. Each night, she left at eight p.m. for a night class in English and, when Dina visited the site, if Natalya was alone, she found her plugged into her earbuds, talking to herself aloud, doing English on her phone, teaching herself around the clock.

  By the third week, she was arguing with the suppliers – in broken English. By the fourth, she was talking haltingly to Dina. Natalya applied herself not just a few nights a week, but day in, day out. She plunged into the language like Dina flung herself at the business. And now her English was passable.

  Dina admired it. She loved Natalya’s work ethic and the clear way that she understood and executed Dina’s own creative vision. The space was light-filled, just as Dina dreamed, temperate and warm, with water cascading down the rock sculpture, daylight pouring in and the beauty products mounted on the shelves like jewels. The limited space was maximised with light and mirrors, and everything said luxury and simplicity. In addition to her clear architectural skills – bringing that sense of space, light and peace to a small underground room – Natalya had a flair for design, interpreting what Dina wanted to do and sourcing the exact pieces that could make it happen; she took her time, but the perfect modern stools showed up, the right blond woods, the clean, pale-grey tiles, mirrors to reflect the piped-in sunshine . . .

  The space was transformed. First, the cleanup, then the wires, the plumbing, the light-well and the glass. Next, the interior element: neutral colours, recessed lighting, the LED displays, a waterfall and bright, open shelving for customer space and comfort, designed so nobody would have to jostle to see the stock.

  There were stools, brush bars, testers and pots of wipes. There were alcoves for the make-up artists to work on clients. The web address of the store was everywhere, scrolled on the walls, on the sides of shelving, on their newly
printed stiff paper bags with the pale green and gold ribbon. And the men’s corner was a gorgeous contrast in slate greys and black marble, with dark green leather and old-fashioned grooming products; a Manhattan Wall Street shark could come in here and pick up solid gold cufflinks, some Floris aftershave, or Hermès Eau d’Orange Verte shower gel, and feel himself well groomed in the capitals of Europe – feel himself a gentleman. Natalya had down-lit the old world into the new, so that they melded beautifully together. And Dina’s web designers, kid geeks that they were, loved it, too; they took photographs, blogged it and styled it right into the site; DinaKane.com carried through that seamless look.

  Another bonus: Natalya was good with money. Dina found that out early on, when she heard her screeching at the contractors in Russian.

  ‘I talk them budget,’ she haltingly explained. ‘I tell, they not pay at end if spend too much now. Waste wood if not planks cut right.’

  Dina looked at the floor, and saw what she meant – the wide Swedish blond planks were not fitting right at the end of the room.

  ‘Waste money,’ Natalya said, frowning. ‘Stupid fault.’

  Dina laughed.

  ‘What wrong?’

  ‘Sorry – no – you’re absolutely right. It’s just the English.’

  ‘Working on that,’ Natalya said.

  ‘I know. It’s fantastic. I’ll leave you to it.’

  As they progressed, Natalya brought her budget breakdowns, every day, on a spreadsheet – everything from wages to MetroCard expenses. She listened avidly as Dina outlined her vision for the store, for new stock, for the uniforms of the staff.

  ‘Plain beige dresses. Short sleeves; fitted waist; knee length. Any designer they like, prêt-à-porter, and we pay. Dina Kane says chic, not straightjacket.’

  ‘I like this. Everything must say style.’

  ‘Creams, golds, beige, neutral: that’s the design of the wrapping paper, the tissue, the ribbons and the gift boxes. Kane Men is dark grey and burnt gold.’

  ‘Also very good.’ Natalya nodded. ‘Russian men like very much, the oligarchs who want London style. Your taste very beautiful.’

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

  Natalya’s shoulders hunched up defensively. ‘No time; I work here all day, English all night, and everyone here is married. Or maybe stupid.’

  Dina laughed. ‘Piotr’s friends, you mean?’

  Natalya shrugged. ‘It’s the community. When you want to be ambitious, you cannot take off time for – what you say? – Frivolous . . . Messing round.’

  ‘You need a private life, otherwise you’ll burn out.’ Dina looked round the store; the last of the workmen was heading out. ‘Mikhail, it’s OK – I’ll lock up.’

  ‘Fine, miss.’ He nodded his head, just glad to be getting back home.

  Dina walked up the stairs and shut the door from the inside. Now they could not be disturbed. ‘Natalya, do you have five minutes?’

  The older girl immediately hunched. ‘Why? What is wrong?’

  She’s used to being attacked, Dina thought. She thinks I’m going to pack her up and ship her back to the spoiled kids and the slave-driving parents. Or stiff her on her wages with an immigration threat.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Your work is incredible. I would just like to practise on you.’

  ‘Practise?’ Natalya shook her head. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘The make-up booths; the styling – would you consider being a guinea pig for this process? I’d like to make you up, and maybe also do your hair. And dress you. No charge,’ she said, hastily. ‘All on the company.’

  Natalya winced. ‘You must need me do this?’

  ‘No, not at all. Not a job requirement. You don’t have to, not in any way.’ Dina ventured a smile. ‘I just think . . . you might enjoy it.’

  ‘Enjoy it,’ said Natalya, as if this were a foreign concept. ‘You think?’

  ‘I do. And I was hoping that, when we are through here, you might consider working for me. Not as an architect. I’d like you to help me run the company. If –’ she corrected herself – ‘when we get new stores, bigger ones, you can design them, but mostly I just want your business input. I have plans – across America, and then into Europe. Why not?’

  Natalya gasped with pleasure.

  When her face lights up like that, Dina thought, she can be truly beautiful. She understood better than she could speak, and the hope in her eyes was something to see.

  ‘Yes. Wonderful. Thank you.’ She struggled for the right words. ‘I very alike you. Not so imagination, but working hard. And your business good one. I understand American women; they love all this things.’

  ‘Well . . . if you want to be number two at Dina Kane,’ Dina said, slowly, ‘maybe you really do need to let me at you, after all. My first management hire has to be well made up, beautifully dressed. They will take photographs when we launch.’

  Natalya considered this. ‘Yes, OK. I understand this.’ Then she frowned. ‘But now is time for my English class.’

  ‘Fine. Tomorrow, no architecture. Meet me at Daniel Gibbons, the hairdresser. Here’s the address. See you there at nine.’

  Daniel didn’t open his doors till half ten, but he loved Dina, and she knew he would fit her in. Besides, once she explained, he’d see that this was going to be fun.

  The next morning, she met a nervous Natalya at the salon.

  ‘You just lie back,’ Dina said. ‘Daniel will do all the work.’

  Natalya’s Russian face tightened; the shutters in her eyes came down. ‘Fine,’ she said.

  Dina fed her magazines, but her face was impassive. Daniel washed, and cut, and shaped her hair, exactly as Dina told him; her style was legendary, and he was happy to be the instrument in her hands.

  ‘Shape it into a flame. It’s fine and thin, so it should hold that shape. Cut the edges diagonally across the face, and end it just below the collarbone. And I want it lightened. Highlights, till she’s a good caramel blonde, with just a couple of truly fair streaks, OK? Not framing the face – scattered, not symmetrical. This has to be an easy cut she can just blow-dry and go. Are you with me?’

  ‘That’s going to look fabulous. Leave it with me.’

  After they were done, Dina didn’t let Natalya look in the mirror. She put her in a cab and took her straight to Saks.

  ‘You’re a size four.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I can tell. Come with me.’

  They visited DKNY, Hervé Léger, Prada and Ralph Lauren. Then she crossed the street to Uniqlo and picked up jeans and puffer jackets in a rainbow of colours, with soft cashmere sweaters. Lastly, at Columbus Circle, they stopped at Cole Haan, and Dina took out her credit card.

  ‘You’re a seven. You need more shoes, but this will do for summer – heels, courts and flats. I love these, they have the same air cushioning they put in the Nike shoes.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will.’ The girls were laden down with shopping bags. Dina hailed a cab for her apartment. ‘Just come with me.’

  Once there, she pulled out a fitted dress in red, some hose and a pair of platform pumps, and sent Natalya into the spare bedroom to change.

  ‘Yes. Wonderful,’ Dina said when she reappeared. The red dress woke her up, clinging beautifully to the slim curves of her body, and the pumps made her look model thin. There was no bag, but Dina figured she could pick up one of those tomorrow. She caught Natalya glancing around, trying to see a mirror. ‘Not yet. The reveal is the whole fun of it.’

  The older girl looked doubtful.

  ‘Just sit on the chair. We’re nearly done, and then I’ll get you a cab back to Brooklyn, OK? And you can take the afternoon off.’

  Natalya sighed. ‘Yes, Dina, OK. You not be too long.’

  It was quick work. She applied BB cream, two shades mixed together, and highlighted Natalya’s slim cheekbones with a dusting of Bobbi Brown’s Pink Quartz Brick in gold and rose. There was no
point going heavy; Natalya was a dark blonde with a fair skin, and natural would always suit her. Dina used the most basic cosmetics: light brown eye shadow from Mac, a single coat of lash-separating Maybelline mascara – drug-store cheap – and a Revlon glittering lip gloss in clear, to give a wet look to her lips.

  ‘OK. Stand. Come to the mirror,’ she said, taking the girl into her own bedroom, to the full-length French antique that stood there by the bed. ‘This is how you should look.’

  Natalya stared at the mirror, as if spellbound. She reached her hands up to her new hair and touched it, gingerly. Then she smoothed down the dress and turned. She walked closer, examining her face.

  Then she said something in Russian. And then she burst into tears.

  That was the start of their friendship. Natalya became even more confident, stronger. She looked wonderful, and the men on the crew propositioned her, but she said no. Each day, she attended work in a casual, chic outfit, fitted to her body, and experimented with make-up the way Dina instructed her to.

  Within a month, she had a boyfriend: a doctor. He was from Texas, working paediatric oncology at Mount Sinai.

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘At the theatre. I go for my English. He had the next seat. His friend is not coming; she gets called into hospital. I was wearing the red dress,’ Natalya said, happily. ‘He asked me out the next day. And so I like him, very much.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘It’s you, Dina. It’s this.’ She gestured at herself. ‘Maybe I’m not so beautiful, like you, but I feel beautiful – for me. It gives me confidence to know I can look this way.’

  Dina grinned. ‘Great. That’s exactly what we’re going for.’

  ‘Confidence makes me happy. And he tells me all the time I am beautiful, but not just this, also brave and clever. He loves my story.’ She giggled, and it was strange to hear that light laughter from Natalya. ‘He even likes the accent. Isn’t that crazy?’

  ‘Not crazy. I’m glad for you.’

  ‘I can’t know if we are to get married yet.’ She smiled. ‘But I like being with him, getting to understand him.’