Retail Therapy (18 page)
33
Hailey
A
ntonio caught me as I was heading into my dressing room.
ntonio caught me as I was heading into my dressing room.
“Hey, you! What's going on with you, honey? Alana was so excited about meeting you, but I could tell you weren't interested.”
“May we step inside?” He pointed to my dressing room. We stepped inside and he closed the door behind him.
“You can sit in Susan's chair,” I offered, since there were only two places to sit in the cramped space. “She's off today, and she won't mind.” As I sank down in my own chair a heaviness overwhelmed me.
“Hilly? Are you all right?”
“I've been better. Look, Antonio, I heard some things today that didn't sit well with me. About you and Deanna.”
“Aah.” He glanced down, nodding.
“And then, when you acted so weird with Alana. And in the month that we've been together you've never come out to meet my friends. And come to think of it, we don't go out as a couple much.” And when we did, it was to obscure little placesâAntonio's favorite Argentinian restaurant on East Thirty-sixth Street or a dark hole-in-the-wall spaghetti place in Hell's Kitchen. “Antonio ...” It hurt me to voice the question, but I had to ask. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“No, Hilly. No! Don't think that. It's just that I work hard all week, and when the work is done, I'm not much in the mood for going out on parade.” He kneeled down before me and rested his head on my knees. “Don't you know I love to be with you?”
“But why do you hold back? Why don't you want to be seen with me? And, I'll be honest with you, it was very upsetting to hear about you and Deanna.”
He lifted his head, chin on my thighs. “I know. Sorry. It was a long time ago.”
“But she was married. And she has kids.”
“I know. It happens. But it's over with her. At least, I have no feelings for her. Deanna, what can I say? She likes to keep a grudge. Which is one of the reasons I want to keep you a secret. She might be terribly mean to you just to get back at me. I have seen her do these nasty things, and I can't let that happen to you, Hilly.”
His hand cupped my knee, then slid up along the inside of my bare thigh, his fingers fond and hungry at the same time.
I fell back against the chair and sighed, wishing I understood Antonio. So open and communicative when we were together, he became an indecipherable enigma when I stepped awayâlike the stranger who had greeted Alana in the hall this morning. Did I know him at all, or was I simply seduced by fingertips working their way up my thigh, eager to give me pleasure?
“I love to pleasure you, Hilly. And it's my job to protect you.”
“But she can't hurt us,” I said, rubbing my hands along his arms. “Don't you see? If we're together, if we're strong, she doesn't have a chance against us.”
His dark brows lifted, his eyes sad. “I don't want you to be in danger. Even if it's only danger of harming your career.” He reached forward and ran his fingers over the scalloped edge of my panties, down along the g-string to the most erotic zones.
“Antonio ...” I closed my eyes and fell into the fantasy of danger and escape and passion, allowing him to coax me to sweet satisfaction.
34
Alana
D
isappointment is not good for my soul. Some people seem to wallow in it as if it's a warm fuzzy blanket on a winter night. But me, I have no patience for bad feelings, and as soon as something like that hits me, I run fast till the stink of it wears off.
isappointment is not good for my soul. Some people seem to wallow in it as if it's a warm fuzzy blanket on a winter night. But me, I have no patience for bad feelings, and as soon as something like that hits me, I run fast till the stink of it wears off.
Of course, if you're running through the cosmetics section at Saks, the stink wears off that much faster.
That was where I started my therapy after the bad auditionâfirst floor Saks, accessories and cosmetics. A girl can't have too much face cream.
Then, I did a big naughty. I strolled right down Fifth Avenue in the bright July light, turned right at Fusion's holographic door, and rode the elevator up to three, where I stepped into the very chic, close-your-eyes expensive, appointment-only Fusion boutique that featured clothes from the newest, craziest designers.
“Alana!” Vespa has a shrill, nasal voice that she cracks like a whip. “I didn't know you were coming in today. Welcome! Sit! Let me get you a coffee. Sumatra or Black Sultan's Roast?”
“No coffee, no, thanks. I need a ...” I dropped my shopping bags down beside the green-velvet couch and sought to put words to the longing in my soul. “I need ... something special.”
“Aah, but you don't know how to describe this elusive object of your shopping quest.” Vespa's violet eyes glittered under her pouffy auburn bangs. “You need that je ne sais quoi.”
“Yes!” I clapped my hands together as that tiny bit of college French came back to me. “That I-can't-say-what.” I sat down and crossed my legs with a feeling of accomplishment. “Can you show me something like that in a size six?”
Sitting back on the couch, I began to feel human again as Vespa shimmered out with a high-waisted Chanel skirt, tiered ruffles covered in silver and gold spangles. Not me. The second Chanel radiated my paletteâantique satin in blanched stripes of copper, gray, and gold. The skirt was looped with beaded cords and black and copper spangles, but the drop waist was a problem. Never put a drop waist on a big-butt girl. Next!
That was when it appearedâa black cashmere skirt and jacket that took my breath away. The skirt was a delicate full swirl screened with glittery gold feathers that fanned out over the hipsâan exquisite design, a perfect cut for my body.
All the familiar symptoms arose within me, the accelerated pulse, slight warming of the face, slight tickle at the nape of my neck. I had to have it.
“Ah, this is the one, is it not?” Vespa laid the garment in my lap and my hands savored the rich folds of cashmere. “It's a Giles Deacon. Do you know him? A new designer from the UK who had his first show just this year. He fancies his designs âmisplaced chic.' ”
“I like it!” I said.
In the fitting room, I discretely stole a look at the price list. The skirt was only $970! The jacket, a tad more at $1500, and I wasn't as crazy about itâa double-breasted design with gold buttons and gold epaulets that hung down to my knees. Unusual, yes, but really not me. Still, did I dare break up the set?
Vespa and I were debating the merits of black Chanel heels or nude Manolo Blahniks when my cell chimed “Celebrate.” I checked the caller IDâDad. Oh, blast it. Did he have a camera hidden in my Louis Vuitton bag? Or maybe he was calling to invite me to the beach. Wouldn't that be a relief? In the thick of July's heat and humidity, nothing was better than the cool nights in the Hamptons.
I flipped it open. “Hi, Daddy.”
“What on earth do you think you're doing?” he growled.
I smiled over at Vespa, trying to think of an honest answer. “Therapy. Some serious therapy.”
“You talk on your cell phone during therapy?”
“I miss you, too.”
“Don't get cute with me!” Daddy had gone ballistic. I tried to think of what I'd done to set him off. “We've intercepted a letter for you here and I'm calling to learn the meaning of this correspondence.”
The man was a federal judge, and he still did not know the language of the people. “What was that, sir?”
“You know,” he went on in one of his familiar ranting tones, “I thought we taught you respect and responsibility, but from what I see here, you ... your ... oh, damn it all! You talk to her!”
“Alana, we just got to the Hamptons house and there's a bill here from the National Bank of Integrity. Looks like a Viva card. Have you any idea what this is in reference to?”
“Oh, let me think ...” But I had changed the address on the account! I'd been receiving mail from them at my apartment. They'd sent me my shiny new card. Why were they ruining my life? “Of course, I remember. Do you want to pop that in the mail for me?”
“What's this about, Alana?”
“Mama, I will take care of it.” Silence. “It's my own account, OK? I'm trying to demonstrate my new sense of responsibility.” A scuffling sound over the phone line. “Mama? Don't you open my mail, Mama ...”
“Seven thousand dollars?” she screeched.
Seven grand? And that was without my new Giles Deacon suit, which would add another twenty-five hundred. And what else had I purchased recently? I was usually on top of inventory, but the phone call from my irate parents had thrown me.
“Alana, when did you get this credit card?”
“Now didn't I just tell you I would take care of it? But no, you have to go and open my mail without permission when ... That's not fair, Mama. I said I'll take care of it.”
“You're damn right you will. You will take care of this bill, and you will see a counselor.” Her voice held an unusual edgeâMama Godzilla.
“A counselor, Mama? I've tried those people. Wanting to blame all my problems on you and Daddy, that's what they do.”
“I'm talking about a financial planner. You're a big girl now, Alana, and it's time you learned how the financial world operates.”
I rolled my eyes. I wouldn't mind ringing that bell to open the stock exchange one day, but otherwise, the financial world bored me. Oh, and the jackets those traders wear on the floor? Please!
“I'm going to call right now and make an appointment for you. Carol recommended someone, says he's excellent.”
“Carol recommended her? Carol Graystone? Then she must be expensive. Does the counselor have an office in Bergdorf's? Or maybe a suite at the Stanhope.”
“The name is Lee Leventhal, a downtown address.”
“Mama, this is crazy! Don't you want me to stop spending money? You do, and I hear these financial wizards are pricey. Very expensive.”
Silence. Had I won?
“You can put the fee on your new Viva card.”
And then, for the first time in my life, my mother hung up on me.
35
Hailey
T
hat night I was sort of glad to head off to dinner with my friends without Antonio, who had to work late. Rory had scored a table at Mosquito, where we were all sure that Jackie Chan was dining in the booth behind us with a woman who might or might not be Tina Fey, and it was fun to be with just the gang, celeb-spotting and speculating.
hat night I was sort of glad to head off to dinner with my friends without Antonio, who had to work late. Rory had scored a table at Mosquito, where we were all sure that Jackie Chan was dining in the booth behind us with a woman who might or might not be Tina Fey, and it was fun to be with just the gang, celeb-spotting and speculating.
“It's her, honey,” Marcella said, reaching for the olives. “It is most definitely her. How many beautiful women do you know who wear those fugly glasses?”
“Who cares about her?” Alana turned casually to her side to adjust a bracelet and spy. “Oh, he's so cute,” she hissed, “in that Chan kind of way. I hear he has joints like putty.”
“And that would be good for what reason?” Rory inquired. “Feel free to illustrate your example with a sketch or diagram.”
“See, now you're teasing me, and after the hellacious day I had.” Alana eyed Rory coyly behind her sour apple martini. “First I get snubbed by Hailey's boyfriend. Then I blow an audition. Then my parents call to tell me they're doing some freaky kind of financial intervention. I'm being sent to the Betty Ford Clinic for shopaholics, and now I have to face verbal abuse from a soap-opera star?”
“We in the biz like to call it daytime drama.” Rory placed a coaster under his highball glass of Dewar's. “Say it with me, children. Day-time dra-ma ...”
I still felt bad about Antonio's uncoolness when I'd introduced him to Alana, and despite his satisfying attempt at an apology, I still had lots of questions for him.
Especially after an odd occurrence on the set that afternoon.
“It was really quite bizarre,” I told my friends. “I stood at the door, watching Antonio leave. He had a scene to do, which was one of the reasons he needed to, you know, save his energy.”
“What a man!” Rory lifted the cherry from his Dewar's and popped it into his mouth with zeal. “Saving it for later, like a prizefighter before the big match.”
“Anyway, there I am, thinking about my next costume change, when I see something move in the shadows. I called out, âWho's there?' And a figure emerges. Deanna. She was hiding out there, waiting and watching.”
My three friends looked at each other open-mouthed and gasped, “Stalker!”
Sipping my cosmo, I nodded. “I think maybe. The way she scuttled out, like the wicked witch of the west, and with none of her munchkins around ... It was all very weird.”
Choking on his Dewar's, Rory pressed a napkin to his face. “Love the casting! We'll have to get Jodi to whip up a black hat for Deanna next week.”
“It's funny, yes, but also a matter of some concern.” Marcella squinted at me. “Did she threaten you, honey?”
“She told me to leave him alone. That's what she said, and she was referring to Antonio. But he already told me that it was over with Deanna a long time ago.”
“This is one juicy story.” Alana tore her eyes away from Jackie Chan. “What else did she say? What did you do? Did anyone break a nail?”
“I stood my ground,” I said proudly. “I looked Deanna in the eye and told her, âYou're a married woman, remember that?' ”
Rory and Alana groaned.
“What's wrong with that?”
Marcella patted my hand. “Nothing wrong with what you said, honey.”
“If you're Mother Teresa,” Rory said. “Think about it, Hailey. Does Deanna care what you think about her moral standards? Do men like Antonio lie to women to balance romance and personal freedom?” He shot a glance at the booth. “And do you think Jackie Chan might show us some of those joints of putty?”
“So then what happened?” Alana asked. “How did it end?”
I thought of the twisted contortion of Deanna's face. “Her eyes shot fire at me as she backed away. And she hissed at me like a cat. Said I was foolish. âYou foolish, foolish girl!' ”
“Nasty bitch,” Marcella said.
“And that was it. After that she disappeared.”
“Melted into the floor, right?” Rory teased. “Would that be when you threw a bucket of water on her?”
“Joke all you want, but I'm a little concerned about my friend Hailey.” Alana patted my back. “If this Deanna woman is going to throw her muscle behind some sort of harassment campaign, Hailey could get hurt. Certainly, it could be damaging for your career, right?”
I shrugged. “She's got a lot of clout.”
“And she had you shit-canned before,” Rory pointed out, “over what? Did you spill her Diet Coke or something?”
“Oh, that woman is a nightmare,” Marcella popped a maraschino cherry in her mouth and shook her head. “I've been taping the show and watching it while I feed my nephew, and let me tell you, I don't like that Meredith Van Allen. Saying all those nice things about Skip when you know she killed him. That woman is definitely up to no good, and if you ask me, so is the bitch who plays her.”
“I wish the rest of the viewers saw it that way,” I said. “Deanna is always the soap actress featured on the cover of women's magazines, on the morning talk shows, on Oprah. Somehow people don't see that inside that perfect size-two Barbie-doll bod lurks a spoiled monster.”
“Well, I see it,” Alana said, “and I am here to tell you I won't let her railroad you. My father isn't a federal judge for nothing. If she so much as wags a finger at you or breaks wind in your general direction, we'll be all over her. Nobody is going to mess with my friend. If you need me, you know I'm here for you, Hailey.”
“We'll break her ass.” Marcella cracked a breadstick. “We're all here for you, honey.”
I looked at Rory, who squirmed in his chair. “Some of us do have careers to look after,” he said, hiding behind his glass of scotch, “but if the need arises, I know you'll give me a jingle. And don't forget, you've got el buffo, macho Antonio on your side. I'm sure he can play matador to Deanna's bull.”
“Uh, he's from Argentina, not Spain.”
Rory waved me off. “I always sucked at geography.”
As our salads were served, Alana recounted her day in detail. She had been surprised by the phone call from her parents, doubly surprised to hear of her seven-thousand-dollar balance.
“I'm only surprised they didn't whop your ass,” Marcella said. “How are you going to pay that balance off?”
“From my hand-modeling money,” Alana said defensively.
“Um, excuse me? Have you seen one cent from any jobs yet?”
Alana stabbed at a sliver of apple, suddenly fascinated by her salad. “I'm not panicking. Money always works out for me.”
“Because your old man bails you out,” Marcella chanted in a whiny tone. “Not for nothing, honey, but you can get in serious debt with those credit cards. Way over your head. The only way to use credit cards is to know you have the money in the bank when you make the purchase. You pay your balance each month, end of story. No interest to pay, no annual fee. That's the way to go.”
“I'm planning to do it that way,” Alana said. “Just as soon as my earnings catch up with my expenditures.”
“And what if they don't?” Marcella asked. “What if you never get a modeling gig?”
“Marcella!” I blinked at her. “That's brutal.”
“Please!” Alana held up a hand, today manicured with tiny rhinestones. “If all that bad stuff happened, I'd eventually have to make some changes. I'd give up my gym membership. And low-fat muffins. The carbs are too high, anyway. And manicures.”
I rested my fork on my plate. “Alana is really trying hard.” I turned toward her. “We know you are, honey. And no matter what, no matter how much I'm making, I will not let you go without a manicure.”
“Oh!” Tears in her eyes, Alana threw open her arms and we hugged. “You're so sweet.”
“I think this is what Hallmark would call a bonding moment,” Rory said dryly.
“I'm glad you love each other,” Marcella said. “But you two are the worst money managers I've ever met. You spend way too much on clothes, some of which you don't even have the time or the desire to wear. What the fuck is that about?”
I peeked over at Alana, and suddenly we began to laugh.
As Alana dabbed at her tears with a napkin, Rory tried to explain. “Sometimes, my dear Marrrrrchella, it's not about the merchandise. Sometimes, the shopping is everything.”
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