“Want to know a secret?” she asked. Jennifer nodded. “I’m going to get married. And I’m going to have a really big wedding. It’s going to be in a castle, and Justin Timberlake is coming.” Jennifer’s eyes opened wide. “He’s going to bring *NSYNC, but my sister is really angry because she invited the Backstreet Boys, and you can just imagine what would happen if they came, too.”
Jennifer’s eyes were popping, and she nodded. “I bet they hate each other,” she said.
“They do. And they all hate my husband-to-be. Do you know who I’m marrying?”
Jennifer shook her head back and forth, her mouth opened slightly.
“Dr. McKay,” Kate said.
Jennifer’s face froze. Then Kate watched as doubt, then disbelief, then relief, and even, perhaps, understanding bloomed on it like one of those flowers opening in time-lapse photography. “No way!” Jennifer said.
“Way,” Kate insisted, and nodded. “Know what else? We’re both going to ride white horses down the aisle of the church.”
“No way!” Jennifer repeated more vehemently. Then she started to giggle. “Dr. McKay on a horse!”
Kate laughed, too. Then she paused. “I really like you, Jennifer. You know why?” Jennifer shook her head. “Because you are smart and cute and funny. And you have a great imagination. You have a gift for fiction.”
Jennifer frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I think you could write really good stories. Or maybe books. Or maybe movies.”
“I could write down a movie?”
“Sure.” Kate nodded. “Movies all start from someone writing down a story.” She didn’t want to start another round of lying. “Not every story is good enough to be a movie, but once you write one down you never know what could happen.” She paused, letting the compliments and the idea sink in. “Of course, it isn’t easy. Do you think you would like to have some special time with Mrs. Reese?” Joyce Reese was the creative writing teacher for the sixth grade and a friend of Kate’s.
“I’m only in fourth,” Jennifer said, but that, of course, added to her enthusiasm.
“That’s true,” Kate agreed, “but I would say that you could probably write sixth-grade stories. Maybe even eighth-grade stories. If one was in the school magazine, everyone would read it.”
Jennifer stared at her. The two of them sat like that for a few moments in silence. Kate could see the child’s mind working behind her gray eyes. “Britney Spears didn’t come to my house,” Jennifer said.
“But it was a good story,” Kate told her, keeping her tone neutral. “If you tell it like a story or write it down like one, people would want to hear the next part. They’ll think you’re special because you can make up really good stories.”
“But then they get mad,” Jennifer said. “They get mad when it isn’t true.”
“Did you feel angry at me when I told you about my wedding?”
Jennifer sat for a moment, looking down at her nails. “First I liked it. I thought it was a secret. But then when I knew you were . . . lying . . . I got a little mad,” she admitted.
Kate nodded. “That happens when you fool people. They get mad.”
Out in the hall, the bell rang. In a moment, they could hear the sound of doors being thrown open and the noise of classes getting out.
“Why don’t you come in and visit with me next week? And in the meantime I’ll talk to Mrs. Reese.”
Jennifer nodded.
“But now, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go or you’ll be late for the bus.”
Reluctantly Jennifer stood up. “You told a lie,” she said.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Kate whispered. “And especially don’t tell Dr. McKay.”
Jennifer laughed. “Nobody would want to marry him,” she said, and marched out of Kate’s office.
Kate had just gotten home, thrown her purse onto the sofa, and kicked off her shoes. She hadn’t even had a chance to sit down before there was a knock at the door. God, she wasn’t in the mood for a visitor! She turned around and opened it. Max stood there, still dressed in his suit and tie, clearly just back from work, though he was not usually home until after dark. He was leaning against her doorway, one arm raised, his head resting on his inner elbow. He must have been away during the last weekend because he had a bit of a tan. It made his blue eyes bluer. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he returned. “Is Bina here?” he asked, his voice low.
Kate felt a stab of irritation. Since Jack had flown the coop, she’d felt like Bina Central. “No,” she snapped. “You can call her at home.”
“No, that’s a good thing,” Max told her in a normal tone. “See, I want to show you something, and . . . well, I don’t know if she should see it or not.” Kate rolled her eyes, but she let Max take her hand to lead her up the stairs.
His apartment door was open. Inside was the usual requisite bachelor setup: black leather couch, workout equipment, an expensive stereo, and the pile of newspapers that seemed a requirement for all male apartments. Max also, of course, had the latest titanium laptop, and it was that toward which he led her.
“I want you to look at this and tell me what to do,” he said. He loosened his tie before he hit a few keys. For one crazy moment, Kate thought he might be asking her opinion about some stock meltdown, but she had never had a share of anything in her life except a dorm room. But instead of charts, graphs, or analysis, the screen filled with a photo. It was Jack, bare-chested, standing on a balcony with a view of a beautiful harbor behind him and an equally beautiful woman next to him.
“Oh, my God,” Kate said. “Where did you get this?”
“He e-mailed it to me today,” Max said. “Do you think I should show it to Bina?”
“Do you think I should set fire to your hair gel?” Kate asked. The thought of Bina seeing this grinning ass literally made her sick to her stomach. When she’d found out Steven had been cheating on her, she’d been so distraught that she couldn’t get out of bed for three days. Bina would just collapse.
Unconsciously, Max smoothed down his wavy hair. “I didn’t think so, either,” he said. “But, you know, I feel responsible for this. I introduced them and all. . . .”
Kate felt her irritation melt away. She had always thought of him as a stereotype, a kind of Wall Street/jock/yuppie clone. When he’d had girlfriends for any length of time, he hadn’t seemed particularly committed or passionate. Now, however, his concern seemed genuine and moving. She began to feel a new warmth toward him and a little guilt over how she may have misjudged him.
“I know Jack, and he is a one-woman guy.” He shook his head. “I saw Bina. I know what this has done to her, and I told her that he was just talk. I mean, who would think Jack . . .” Max stared at the picture displayed on the screen. Kate could feel him getting lost in it for a moment. “She is very pretty,” he murmured.
“Well, I hope they’re very happy together,” Kate said tartly. “I’m sure they share common goals and interests.”
“Hey, he isn’t married!” Max protested. “Even Jack isn’t that stupid.”
“How do you know?” Kate asked.
“Read the e-mail,” Max said, and displayed the message from Jack.
What a place! The views are incredible, electronics are cheap, and the women are incredible and cheap. You gotta come! Money is king here, and the dollar rules.
Kate didn’t bother to read any more. “He is disgusting,” she said. She turned away and started to walk out of the apartment.
“So you don’t think I should show this to Bina? Right?”
“Right, Einstein,” Kate said, and ran down the stairs to her own place. As she walked in her door, the phone began to ring. She grabbed it and saw Elliot’s number on the caller ID. “Shoot me in the head,” she said into the receiver.
“And a good evening to you, too,” Elliot said. “I didn’t catch you during dinner, I hope, but Brice and I are getting together with Bina on Saturday morning for the b
ig renovation. Are you in?”
Kate hesitated for a moment, torn between the news from upstairs and her disapproval of the whole scheme. Wasn’t a makeover a kind of lie not much different from little Jennifer’s stories? It was a visual way of saying you were someone different. But Jack’s e-mail had shocked her. “I’m in,” she said.
It was only after she hung up that she realized her commitment would mean canceling Michael. They spent every Friday night together and each Saturday. After Steven’s unreliability, Kate appreciated the fact that Michael saw her every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night. During the week, they usually went to a movie and stayed at her house afterward. They alternated places on the weekends.
Perhaps Michael was a little too routinized, because he always seemed upset when she had to change their schedule and apologetic when he—rare though it was—had to do the same. Well, Kate would regret the pleasant, leisurely Saturday they would lose, but perhaps she could persuade him to work while she was off with her friends instead of on his usual Sunday night. She picked up the phone again and, feeling uneasy, dialed Michael’s number.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days later, the Bitches, accompanied by Brice and Elliot, were walking down Fifth Avenue. They had all insisted on being a part of Bina’s makeover.
“All I can say is it’s about time,” Barbie said. “You’re starting to look like an Orthodox Jew.”
“It’s the hair,” Brice agreed. “It looks like a bad wig.”
“Brice!” Elliot warned before Kate could.
“The truth hurts,” Bev said, patting Bina’s arm and then her own tummy.
“I think I need to, uh, go to the bathroom,” Bina said. “I’m so nervous. Jack liked my hair.”
“Not enough,” Barbie said.
“Don’t worry. They have a ladies’ room at Louis,” Brice told her, and took her into a marble lobby. Kate shook her head. The whole crew knew she disapproved, but they ignored her except Brice, who turned to her and said, “You know, while we’re here Pierre can cut your hair, too.”
“I don’t think so,” Kate snapped. She loved her hair long. So had Steven, and so did Michael. It was sexy and easy to put up if she had to. Now, completely offended, she joined the party as they got onto the elevator to go up to the fourteenth-floor salon overlooking St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
“Wow!” Bina said as she stared out at the skyline. “It looks almost as good as Epcot.” Kate rolled her eyes.
Brice didn’t bother with the view. “Pierre, please,” he told the woman at the desk. “Tell him it’s Brice and we have a cut with him and a consultation with Louis.” Bev, Barbie, and Bunny looked at one another, obviously impressed. All those years of reading Allure magazine had familiarized them with Louis Licari, the god of hair color. And Brice had just called him by his first name. “Now c’mon. I think we can do everything your head needs here,” he instructed Bina as he clutched her hand and escorted her to the stylist’s chair.
“Except get it examined,” Kate muttered. She looked over to Elliot, but he just shrugged. Barbie, Bunny, and Bev were right behind them. Kate was delighted that Bina was getting so much help and attention. It was just what she needed at a time like this. But, oddly, she also felt a bit of envy. She had never asked for help when her crisis with Steven had taken place, not that the Bitches would have been much help.
Bina spent four hours at the salon. While they were there, Barbie got a good cut, Bev had a facial, and Bunny got a massage—as a belated wedding present from Brice and Elliot. Kate merely had a manicure and didn’t even care for the color she’d selected. But it was Bina who was transformed. Her hair had been lightened a bit around her face, and then streaks of ash blond made the dark brown of her natural color glow. Kate was stunned by the subtle artistry of it. The style, a chin-length, undercut masterpiece, made it seem as if Bina had a head of moving light, a kind of nimbus of hair. Even Kate had to admit the transformation was remarkable.
“Holy haircut, Batman,” was all Elliot said as he looked up from the papers he was marking. Bina giggled and shook her head from side to side. The nimbus moved like a saintly glow in a chapel. The receptionist and two cashiers oohed and aahed, as they were paid to do. Barbie, Bev, and Bunny kept cooing like demented pigeons. For an insane moment, Kate wondered if she should get her own head shorn. Maybe a haircut, a few highlights, and a makeup makeover would . . . She took a deep breath. Then she got a grip.
“Okay,” Brice said. “We did the drapes. Now on to the upholstery.” He looked at Bina’s outfit, an old Gap blouse and a charity skirt. “First stop, Prada!” he called, and the entire group headed outside and into two taxis.
Before Bina even had a chance to take note of the ambience or the price tags, she was standing in front of a three-way mirror while a saleslady pinned up the hemline on a skirt that, in Kate’s opinion, was already far too short and far too tight. It draped to one side, exposing a thigh. “Do you really think this is me?” Bina asked the admiring group.
Barbie backed away from Bina and gave her an approving once-over. Kate remembered squirming under those looks back in tenth grade. Barbie liked what she saw. “Isn’t it nice to wear something red? It’s the new beige, you know,” she confided.
Kate didn’t have a clue as to what that meant, but she thought that Bina looked ridiculous. But that didn’t stop them from buying the skirt and moving on to Victoria’s Secret. Brice picked up a Wonderbra and then handed it to Bina.
“Here you go, honey,” he said. “Every girl needs a little support.”
“Don’t forget this.” Bunny handed her a lacy black thong.
Bina looked down at the bra and dental floss in her hand. “I’m not wearing these.” She lifted up the thong and held it two ways. “I . . . I don’t even know how to wear this,” she admitted. “Besides, I’m not sleeping with him. My underwear isn’t relevant.” She looked at Elliot. “The charts didn’t say I had to have sex with him, did they? Because I’m not doing that.”
“Honey, it’s not about having sex, it’s about feeling sexy,” Brice said. “And if you feel sexy, you’ll look sexy to others. Right, Elliot?”
“I plead the Fifth,” Elliot responded.
“Bina, you’re a Capricorn,” said Bev, “and trust me, they need all the help they can get when it comes to attracting men. See what it does for you.”
Bina disappeared into the dressing room and came out with her eyes and breasts bulging. She’d put her blouse on to step out of the dressing room, but she hadn’t buttoned the top two buttons. Barbie leaned forward and unbuttoned the third. “Now, that’s a nice rack,” she said.
Bina stared at herself in the mirror. Then she turned to Kate. “I wish Jack could see me now,” she said. Kate’s breasts, unexposed, felt a stab of sympathy for her friend. Cheerful little Bina, a cupcake of a girl, now looked more like a Pop-Tarts pastry and still she thought only of Jack. She was doing all of this because of him, and Kate honestly couldn’t decide if it was an act of self-mutilation or love. She doubted that any of this would make a man like Billy Nolan want Bina. After all, she was still “Bina, the good girl from Ocean Avenue.” At least, she decided, it gave Bina something else to concentrate on, and who knew? Looking like a hot tamale, she might meet someone else. One thing Kate did know was that while she could go on without Michael and even without marriage to anyone, Bina always had only one goal: marriage and children, preferably to and by Jack.
“Hey. Turn around,” Bev said. “Let’s see if there’s a panty line.”
“How can there be?” Bina asked. “There’s hardly any panty.” She turned as directed. “This is so uncomfortable,” she said.
“Beauty has to hurt,” Bunny told her.
At Tootsie Plohound, Bina once again followed Barbie’s directives and bought her first pair of serious “fuck me” sandals.
“You need a low-cut top,” Bev said, taking inventory of their progress to date. “I mean, you’ve got ’em, and you’ve lifted �
�em, might as well show ’em. And you’ve always had a small waist, so we should find something tight.” She looked down at her own stomach. The Lycra she was wearing couldn’t be any tighter without crushing the fetus, Kate thought.
“Yes, that would complete the outfit,” Brice agreed.
As the seven of them walked down the busy West Broadway sidewalk, Kate had to marvel at how seamlessly Elliot and Brice seemed to join in with her Brooklyn friends. She’d avoided this for years and never introduced Bina and the others to Rita, her friend from graduate school, or Maggie, a choreographer she’d met in her exercise class. Somehow she hadn’t thought a mix like that would work as smoothly, and she suspected it was because Brice and Elliot were observing all this as they participated.
But while everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, Kate was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She had worked diligently for as long as she could remember to change her style, her look, her vocabulary . . . well, almost everything that she had believed didn’t reflect who she was or wanted to be. She thought she had succeeded in creating a unique persona. Hers, she felt was valid. Now, watching Bina’s instant transformation, she wondered if it wasn’t valid as well, even if it had been overseen by others. After all, Kate had made all of the changes to herself based, in part, on what others—even if they were people in magazines or strangers she’d observed in Manhattan—had shown her.
As Elliot led the way to hail yet another pair of cabs, Brice took stock. “Give me half an hour in Make Up For Ever and I’ll have you looking like a queen,” he promised.
A look of horror came over Bina’s face. “I’m not changing my makeup,” she protested as the cab pulled out into the traffic.
“You have to wear makeup if you want to change makeup,” Bunny said sharply. She reached into her purse and pulled out a lipstick tube. “Just try a little of this.”
“Oh, leave her alone!” Kate begged. She wondered what all the criticism and change was doing to Bina’s self-esteem. But Bina took the tube and applied it. It was awful—it made her look like Mrs. Horowitz at a funeral.
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