Nothing Left To Want (12 page)

Milan had snatched them out of my hand. “We’ll drive places is what we’ll do with them.”

I asked her. “How, Mills, since none of us has even taken driver’s ed, let alone gotten our licenses?”

“
Oh don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Care Bear. I’ve seen a bazillion driving movies, I got this.”

Christy nodded sagely. “She really does, Carey. When we went to visit Grandpa in Boca last Christmas, Milan took the keys to his Rolls and drove all the way to Miami and back by herself. Our parents were so worried because they thought Grandpa would be furious, but he thought it was funny.”

I felt stupid then. I watched car chase movies too, and all I could boast of was driving a golf cart. That was how Milan controlled us, the ultimate Alpha girl, and the girl that nature had created to always be in the driver’s seat.

Even Milan got quiet, though, when she saw Aunt Georgia’s Aspen place. I had been there a few times on ski trips with Daddy, so I was used to it and, besides, this kind of thing was my birthright. I had been around it all my life.

The Marins, while having a famous name and living in a great hotel, well, it’s not the same, and I knew Milan was beginning to feel that difference. It made her both cruel to me, which I hated, and it bonded her closer to me, which I loved.

Aunt Georgia’s 'little ski shack' is a twenty-five thousand square foot monster chalet. Designed by a famous architect who she had been married to for about a month, it’s a weird hybrid of mountain house casual and Versailles.

This broke down in practical terms to a lot of antique French furniture placed incongruously underneath antlers, and meant that while you could sprawl onto seriously comfortable leather and down couches, you might have to put your drinks on some rickety sixteenth century table. In addition, while the house was being built, Aunt Georgia had been in this creepy self-portrait phase, so she stares down at you from oversized canvasses in nearly every room.

No doubt the house is comfortable, though. All the terrazzo floors are heated and there are three master suites and eight other bedrooms to crash in. Also, the house has this one amazing feature and it was there that I led my temporarily speechless friends. At the back of the house, overlooking the ski runs, Aunt Georgia had created a magic room. She had installed an indoor Olympic size salt water swimming pool, all in black marble so that it seemed depthless. It has its own little marble island in the center, with a bar on it and hidden speakers. The room is tiled in hand-painted Italian mosaics and the one-way glass wall of windows looks out onto a mountain paradise. High overhead is a stained-glass roof, with heating panels to keep the snow from settling.

When Milan walked into the pool room she gave a little shriek, temporarily forgetting her goddess act and reverting to a delighted kid. She stripped down to her panties and dove in, yelling for us to do the same. We spent all afternoon in the pool, blasting Madonna on the sound system, ducking each other until exhausted, and floating quietly on our backs side-by-side, looking up at the stars through the glass.

It was one of the best days of my life.

Milan asked me years later if I had been looking at her and thinking of her in that way, and I can honestly say, no, I never looked at her with anything but admiration. There were no, like, girl-on-girl fantasies going on in my head. I don’t know if she believed me, I don’t know why she should. After all, logically speaking, if I became a lesbian, which means I like girls, why wouldn’t I have wanted the most beautiful girl of all?

It’s a good question. I never admitted to her that I wasn’t too sure about the whole lesbian thing, that I tried it because I was just so fucking lonely, or that back then, when she was beside me, I was never lonely. I didn’t tell her that because admitting to being lonely and needy isn’t edgy and out there, like being a lesbian, it’s just pathetic, and if she had really known me, known what a loser I was, she only would have left me sooner.

Chapter 13

I spent the next day by myself at Castle Aunt Georgia. The girls wanted to ski, which is pretty natural at a ski resort and, besides, they hadn’t had a chance to show off their new Chanel gear yet.

Milan had raided Aunt Georgia’s in-house designer ski boutique and had kissed me goodbye, wearing a pure white Bogner suit that clung to her five foot ten inch frame like skin. She had topped off her look with an oversized, white faux-mink hat. Her long blond hair was the only bright spot of color.

She looked exactly like what she planned to be, the queen of everything, or at least a queen of ice - too beautiful to be real, almost forbidding in her white perfection. Christy looked beautiful too, wearing her own adorable Juicy Couture snow suit and, if she hadn’t been standing next to Milan who was proudly modeling her look, she would have been a perfect cover shot for Seventeen. As it was, no one would look at her, no one would be able to see anyone beyond the dazzling Milan. For the first time that morning I was glad about my ankle, glad to have an excuse to stay behind. It’s easier not to compete and I have always been so small and uncertain, I would have been eclipsed standing near her.

I told them they looked ahmazing, hugged them goodbye and settled down to wait for the nearby resort‘s on-call doctor and the housekeeper that I had asked them to send.

The housekeeper showed up first, and I could tell she and I weren’t going to be best buds when she got all dramatic and put-upon about the remains of my plaster cast floating around the pool. She huffed and puffed, telling me that she was going to have to call in a pool maintenance company because I had probably clogged up the drains.

Having to make a phone call didn’t seem all that back-breaking, but I apologized anyway and, when she seemed calmer, I asked her politely if after she made her call, and changed the sheets, would she mind heading into town and getting the stuff the girls and I needed on the list we had made? But first I asked her if she could walk over to the nearby Starbuck’s and bring me back a vanilla, sugar-free latte.

I wasn’t rude to her - I am never rude to staff - and when she showed back up with my drink, I didn’t ask her for change from the fifty dollar bill I had given her, not that she offered it. She returned in time to let in the smoking hottie who said he was the on-call doctor and, when I saw him, I was so glad I had put on one of Aunt Georgia’s cashmere t-shirts.

I did a quick mental review of my appearance and thought I’d pass. My faded Sevens weren’t bad and I was wearing make-up. One of Milan’s unbreakable rules is that girls wear make-up
always
. This rule was so set in stone that I had begun to feel ugly and naked in the shower if I wasn’t wearing make-up.

The hot doc introduced himself as Dr. Barrows - “Call me Clyde” - and I could tell that if he wasn’t blown away by me personally, he was definitely blown away by my setting. He laughed when I explained why I needed to be recast, and laughed harder, like he thought I was adorable, when I told him that I would probably use the pool again, so could he come back tomorrow, same time, same place?

He looked right into my eyes with his amazing brown ones, and said, “No problem, or I could just stay the night?”

I know I turned bright red. I mean he was old, at least like twenty-five, I’m pretty sure, because med school takes forever. But, God, he was such an improvement over Jeff that I was sort of toying with saying yes, if for no other reason than wanting to see Milan’s face.

Unfortunately, or maybe not, he changed his mind after I told him that I didn’t know about him staying the night but he was welcome to hang out with me until my friends got back. I guess he figured that an audience might raise the odds too high on the whole stupid statutory rape thing because he said he had been kidding, which was a lie, but what could I say then?

He changed the subject, asking me if I was in pain while rubbing his thumbs against the leg he was recasting. I wasn’t in pain. The truth was there were days when I could barely feel my legs or my feet, but I didn’t tell him that. I had decided after Jeff to never mention my sickening disease to another guy, even if he was a doctor. Instead I thought about the way Aunt Georgia’s pills had made me feel on the plane and I leaned forward a little and, trying out my best Marilyn impression, I said, yes, my ankle really was hurting me. “It feels bad right now, Clyde. I guess I made it worse swimming and everything. That was stupid, huh?”

He moved his hand up a little, stroking my calf gently. His hands made me shiver. I smiled at him, hoping he would continue.

He said, “No, of course not, Carey. You’re so young and how could you resist a big warm wet pool?”

I wished Milan was there to translate guy talk for me, because I knew I was missing something. When I didn’t answer him, he laid my leg back down on the Ottoman. I wanted to ask him to touch me again, but of course I didn’t, and I guess he misread my bright red face as a sign of pain because he switched to a business-like tone. “What do you want me to prescribe for you?”

I thought back to the names Aunt Georgia had said. “Uhm, Percodan and Vicodin?”

He shook his head. “I can’t prescribe both. Pick one.”

“
Well, which one is the best?”

He looked at me funny, pulled out a pad, scrawled something down, and handed it to me. “This should do it and … Carey?” It’s funny. He was the one who was looking uncomfortable now. I waited, hoping he was going to ask me if he could kiss me.

“
Yes?”

“
Well, how do you want to pay me for this visit? I don’t know if the service told you, but I don’t accept insurance on home visits, so … ”

It was hard, but I managed to look at him like that was exactly what I had expected him to say. It’s been a long time now since I have expected anyone to say anything but that, still I can’t be too harsh on my younger self. When you’re a kid, it can take a while to see things as they are, not how you wish them to be.

I forced myself to say casually. “No problem, Clyde. Hand me that bag over there.”

He moved fast to obey me, and suddenly he didn’t seem like a hot older guy, he seemed kind of icky with his little pad and his fake designer sunglasses.

I looked up at him. “Will a check be okay? If not, I have credit cards.”

“
No, no, a check is great.”

“
Great, Clyde, then I’ll just write it out, if you’ll tell me who to.”

“
Who to?”

“
Well, yeah, Clyde. I mean should I write it out to the Vail Resort where you work or do I make it out to you?”

“
Oh, yeah, well you can just make it out to me, it’s easier.”

“
Great, Clyde, no problem then, so I’ll just write it out to Dr. Barrows for … uhm, Clyde?”

He was sweating - not much, just a tiny bit. “What is it, Carey?”

I picked up the prescription. “Clyde, this prescription you wrote for me, does it have refills?”

“
No, I … I didn’t think, I mean, I didn’t think that … here, let me rewrite that.”

Clyde, Dr. Barrows, handed me a new prescription and crumpled up the old one. I spoke out loud as I wrote the check. “Dr. Clive Barrows, three thousand dollars and no cents, is that right?”

He licked his lips nervously. “Yeah … that’s ... that’s perfect.”

I couldn’t wait for him to leave. As soon as he did I called in Sulky Sue, as I had secretly named the housekeeper, and handed her my prescription.

“
I’m sorry to bother you, but before you do anything else, I need you to take this to a pharmacy here in town and fill it, if you don’t mind. This should cover it.” I handed her three hundred dollar bills.

She looked down at them and then at me contemptuously. I met her look squarely until she dropped her eyes and turned to go. I called out a thank you after her, my voice echoing in the vast room. She didn’t reply.

I don’t know why, but my morning of dealing with adults and watching them do what I said had exhausted me.

After Sulky came back, she sullenly dropped the little white paper bag onto my lap, sans change once again. She didn’t ask me if I wanted any water, and though I was thirsty, I didn’t ask her. Her dislike made me feel empty. I thought about how it was almost always like this, how since Elizando had been taken away, there were still people around who would do what I told them to, do it and hate me for making them do it.

I understand, understood, that it must suck to be on the receiving end of someone else’s orders, but it can suck too to always be looked at like you’re terrible for asking.

I hadn’t picked out my life. I’m not the one who decided I would always be the one telling and other people would be the ones doing. I was never mean. I never forgot to say please or thank you. I wasn’t my mother with her bitchy, hectoring 'I deserve it, you peasants' attitude. And yet sometimes it seemed that the nicer I tried to be, the more people resented me.