Surface (26 page)

“Ms. Harrold, it’s so
wonderful
to see you. You’re here for the trunk show, I presume?” She turned in the direction of a small group of women sipping champagne and nibbling on tea sandwiches near the Chanel department. “I’m so glad you got my message, and I see you’ve brought some guests. I’m just
thrilled
you’re all here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Sid,” Gail replied. “How’re sales holding up? I imagine it’s been tough getting the crowds in.”

She sighed and leaned in close to Gail. “It’s certainly a blessing to have my regular clients.”

“Hello, Sidney,” Claire said in a measured voice.

The woman had been so busy fawning over Gail that she had failed to really take in Claire and Jackie. “Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, is that you? I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect you, but I’m just
thrilled.
”

“It’s nice to see you, too. This is my sister, Jackie Morgan.”

“Yes, welcome, welcome. Are you visiting from out of state?”

“Nearly,” Jackie replied. “Just outside of Boulder.”

“Well, it’s
thrilling
you’re all here.”

“If we have any more thrills here, Sid, we just might faint. What we really need is some bubbly and the large fitting room. And could you bring in the usual staples, the best of the trunk show, and an evening gown or three? But in the next size,” she whispered. “And for my friend here,” she added, indicating Jackie, “we’ll need something fabulously slinky in Cavalli, and”—she paused again to size Jackie up—“also some Stella and Etro.”

“Certainly. And for Mrs. Montgomery? Is there anything I can bring you?”

“Oh, I’m just browsing today, Sidney,” Claire said with a noncommittal smile.

“Ah, yes, of course.” She lowered her voice. “If you’d like, I could bring in pieces from some of the Bridge collections?”

The implication stung Claire, though she pretended not to hear the comment. She imagined Sidney had gotten wind of her marital “situation” from one of her clients and surmised a downturn in her financial wherewithal, among other things.

“That won’t be necessary, Sidney,” Gail broke in. “Bring her something fabulous. And don’t skimp on the champagne.”

The three women headed to the trunk show to browse the full collection, Claire’s already weak enthusiasm for the outing on a rapid wane. When they made their way back to the fitting room, they found a small table set with flutes of champagne, mini cupcakes, and truffles. Checking out the finery arrayed on the rolling rack, Gail picked up a flute and commanded Claire to take off her clothes and put on the Escada evening gown that grazed the floor in a puddle of dazzling velvet and crystals. “The red will be divine on you,” she said with Wintour-ian authority.

“Yes, it’ll go beautifully with the red in my eyes.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Jackie urged. “Let’s have a fashion show. We did come here for some fun.”

“Fine,” Claire relented between sips of champagne. “Why don’t
you
start with this crazy Cavalli number?” She held a scarf-print slip dress in front of her sister.

“Absolutely,” Gail added. “I see that inner wild child just dying to step out of her minivan and say
ciao.
”

Jackie licked her lips wickedly until she noticed the label. “Size six? Are you kidding me? That’s not going to work. I keep walking around feeling like someone’s following me, but it’s just my behind.”

“You look amazing,” Gail said, refilling her champagne glass with one hand, and biting into a red velvet cupcake with her other. “But I swear,
I’m
just one more cupcake away from a ‘before’ picture. Would you look at this bra fat?” She slipped off her tunic and examined her back in the mirror. “I was at the Children’s Hospital Ball in this garnet Dolce number that I hadn’t worn for a while. It was sort of a last-minute effort, and I just squeezed into as best I could. But it was like a tube of toothpaste, and I had to keep my wrap draped around me all night like the Dalai Lama so my tits wouldn’t fall out.”

Claire erupted into laughter, a deep frantic laughter that devolved after several gasps into the crying jag she had badly wanted to avoid. But there was no containing the tears. A failed marriage, Nicky’s encumbered potential, a future of lawyers and forensic accountants and uncertainty, a saleswoman’s careless barb—they were all there, embellished with wild flourishes like the Etro and Cavalli pieces on the rack, and taunting her with their siren call to abandon hope. Gail handed her a wad of tissues and eased her into the love seat in the corner. “I’m sorry,” Claire sniffled. “It’s all just hitting me, AGAIN. And I’m ... I’m kind of at a loss here.” She imagined Michael’s father assessing Nick’s limitations over their lunch together, and being unable to suppress his disappointment.

“It’s
okay,
” Jackie soothed, “you’re entitled. You’ve had a lot to deal with, and it’s probably going to get harder before it gets better.”

“It’s karma, is what it is, Jax. I fucked up, and I deserve all this, I know.
I’ll
get through it. But Nicky doesn’t deserve any of this, the damn injustice of it all.”

The uncharacteristic rawness of Claire’s speech stunned everyone into momentary silence, until Jackie knelt down and looked Claire right in her third eye. “You did
not
consign Nick to some fate. Bad things can sometimes happen to open our eyes to possibility. Try looking at it that way, okay?”

Claire blinked the tears from her lashes. “I just lost sight of so much.”

“Honey, you couldn’t be the person you want or need to be the way things were. That’s pretty apparent. And I’d venture the same is true for Michael, and Nicky, too,” Jackie continued. “Of course, no one’s saying this had to happen in order for things to change. But it did happen, and something good can come of it. The quicker you can accept that, the quicker you’ll be able to heal and realize whatever possibilities are out there for all of you.”

Staring up at the ceiling, Claire wanted with all her heart to believe the uplifting adage.

“What about you, Dalai,” Jackie said, turning to Gail who was biting into another cupcake. “What’s your take?”

“I ate a bad piece of karma once. Broke a tooth.”

“Okay, okay.” Claire stood, trying to shake off the embers of her flare-up. “I get it. You’ve both had to put up with enough of my hysteria, so let me just apologize and thank you for keeping me in check and cheering me up. And now I’ll shut up.”

“Any time, any place,” Gail said, kissing her cheek. “You just remember what your sister said when there’s some crappy development with the lawyers, and especially when Nicky takes more steps forward. Because he will. There
is
goodness around the corner, my dear. But for now,” she said, handing the Cavalli dress to Jackie along with a pair of four-inch Louboutins, “let’s get back to business.”

Claire nodded, and Jackie took off her clothes, eased the dress up and the shoes on, and gazed into the mirror with an enormous grin. “Boy, would Steve love to see me in this.” She winked at Claire.

“Bet it wouldn’t stay on long, hon. That dress just oozes sex.”

As Gail slipped in and out of lacy pencils skirts and graphic floral silk caban coats, her black hair electrified and standing on end, and Jackie moved on to a Dolce & Gabbana corset dress, Claire observed the colorful show from the comfort of the love seat. Gail’s “yes” pile grew more substantial by the moment, while Jackie got lost in the sheer joy of playing dress-up.

“Oh my God, Claire, we haven’t done this together in ages. I’d forgotten how much fun we used to have tormenting Mother with my less-than-modest prom dress choices,” Jackie said, standing only in her cotton bikini underwear and looking slightly tipsy.

Seeing her sister’s amused face filled Claire with a blissful sort of satisfaction. She recalled earlier days in that same fitting room when her selections nearly rivaled those of Gail’s. When she needed something for an event, she simply bought it. Just like groceries or towels or soap—stocking her closets like her pantry, with what had over the years become essentials. In her post-college days as a working girl in New York, she’d favored Macy’s and Bloomies, plucking her classics from the sale racks. But with her marriage to Michael, bargains were something for which she no longer needed to hunt, though they still did inspire satisfaction. She knew what she liked and what suited her, and she knew where to find it. And Michael always took great pride in her taste. It had been such a quick transition to the life of moneyed ease, and as she sat there calculating the outrageous values assigned to the sublime articles strewn about, she wondered how the financial piece would play out with Michael. While Gail had guaranteed Jack’s ability to assure Michael’s “fairness,” Claire knew there were no guarantees when it came to her husband’s astute financial provisions and shelters. And the possible return to more moderate circumstances, while poetic—even prophetic in her karmic thinking—still left her feeling slightly anxious. She considered how marketable her skills as a fundraiser or a gallerist might be back in the real world. Because it was always easier to live in oblivion to the fineries of life, than to have enjoyed their six-ply lusciousness and be left with a lingering desire for what many would find absurd.

Sidney tapped on the door to inquire how everything was going, and Gail informed her they were just about finished and asked if she would she ring up her items and take her order from the trunk show. Claire excused herself while the damage was being assessed. As she approached the Ladies Lounge she noticed a young man outside the business office, small in stature, with a mop and bucket in one hand. His other arm dangled just above his waist and ended in a rounded stump with only a thumb and two tiny fingers. The warm, open expression on his face moved Claire. She smiled at him, a larger, more determined smile than she normally would have given a stranger, and said hello, averting her eyes from his disfigurement. She heard him humming as she turned into the ladies room, and it dawned on her that this might be the way people would look at Nicholas now: uncertain what to do except to force a smile and pretend nothing was wrong with him. But then she thought again of the man’s demeanor, and something about his dignity encouraged her.

When she returned to the dressing room, she found Jackie putting on her jeans and staring at the pieces that remained.

“You got the bug, didn’t you?” Claire said with a grin.

“I had a ball. It’s never a bad idea to walk for a while in someone else’s shoes—designer or otherwise,” she kidded. “Gail’s a hoot, and I can see how much she adores you.”

At that moment the door flew open and Gail walked in with Carolyn. “All right, ladies, hand over the chocolate, and no one gets hurt.” Gail grabbed two truffles from the tray and passed one to Carolyn, who declined it. “Look who I found in the handbag boutique.”

“Double points today,” Carolyn replied, indicating her bulging shopping bag. “But it’s like high school out there, with money and fake boobs. I swear to God, that Shelly Garrison and her platinum helmet pals are a bunch of all hat and no cattle.”

“Couldn’t sell them a table at the Heart Ball?” Claire asked, recalling Carolyn’s single-mindedness when it came to charity benefits.

“Table? Not even a seat. All they had time for was Fendi and Roger Vivier and who’s the latest cougar to have slept with some Broncos player, and whose husband’s been running around with some hot redheaded lawyer.”

“That woman sucks up gossip like a vacuum cleaner. You know that.” Gail patted Carolyn on the shoulder.

“I’m sure we can get her husband to buy a table. His firm is pretty good about underwriting,” Claire said, feeling suddenly useful. “I could make a call and—” She stopped, feeling just as suddenly foolish for thinking she had any remaining cachet at said law firm, which Michael often used, and was possibly consulting with on
standard custody stuff.

“God, I’m sorry for the tirade, sweetie. How are you? Hello, Jackie.” Carolyn dropped her bags and kissed both Claire’s and Jackie’s cheeks and poured herself a glass of champagne. “Looks like you ladies have been having a grand time in here. Are you all finished?”

“I’d like to pick up a few things for Nicholas.”

“Some welcome-home items—perfect idea,” Carolyn said. “I’ll help.”

Downstairs they chose polo shirts and a hoodie. Nicholas had worn the same few pieces of clothing during his rehab, and Claire hoped a small change in his wardrobe would somehow symbolize the beginning of a new chapter for him. The purchases also made her feel like a regular mother again.

Claire handed her Neiman’s card to Trevor, their sales associate, and waited for him to ring them up while they all contemplated an espresso stop.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Montgomery, but there seems to be a problem with your card.”

“Really? Could you run it again? I haven’t used it in ages, so it might just be a little dusty,” Claire replied with a puzzled laugh.

“I’m sorry, but it’s no longer . . . valid.”

She looked from Gail to Jackie to Carolyn, once again reproaching herself for her naïveté about her husband’s intentions. He may have been acting friendly and in no rush to formalize a divorce, but Gail had obviously been right about cigars. Gradually, and without her even noticing, had he been shifting her to the margins of their life? “Unbelievable,” she whispered under her breath, just as Carolyn pushed her own card across the counter to Trevor.

“Oh, no, Carolyn, please. I’ll just use a different card.” She pulled out her American Express. When the transaction went through she started to breathe again.

C
HAPTER
33

T
he four women made a hasty departure from the store and headed to an old coffeehouse haunt of Jackie’s where hipsters in ironic T-shirts read Kierkegaard and Ray Bradbury through dark-rimmed glasses. In short, the sort of place they’d have no chance of bumping into anyone they knew. Over lattes, they caught Carolyn up on the recent Michael developments. Claire contributed with vague detachment, concentrating instead on what she was going to say to her husband later that evening, and how she was going to say it.

But after a round of strategizing about the launch of her new life as shrewd guardian of her future and Nicky’s, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. As if in the tales of Gail’s savvy financial detective work and relentless quest to emerge intact from her divorces, and Jackie’s insistence that it would be easier to push through the emotional and nostalgic traps while Michael was behaving like a jerk, and Carolyn’s (surprising) assertion that some marriages were like velvet prisons—comfortable enough until you’re sprung, and better off terminated—Claire found added permission to be the staunch warrior she needed to be. She also felt a glimmer of hope.

“How are you all so smart about this?” she asked, taking a decadent bite into a brownie.

“It’s easy to see other people’s lives clearly,” Jackie reminded her. “Except, of course, for our mother, who, by the way, has never met a scab she hasn’t picked off. So please don’t let her dig at your plans anymore. Just move forward with determination. In fact, the sooner you’re able to resolve all this, the better off Nicholas will be.”

“And it’s crucial to show that you have the strength to deal with the situation moving forward. Don’t let this just
happen
to you, Claire,” Carolyn said, knocking over her coffee with the strength of her own convictions. The mug clattered to the floor and shattered. “Damn it!” She threw napkins on the spill, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes, looking less than her usual soignée. “Sorry.”

“Um, what am I missing, Carolyn? Are you okay?” Claire asked. She thought she saw Carolyn flash Gail a loaded ix-nay glance just as the tattooed barista appeared with a towel and cleaned up the mess.

“This isn’t about me, sweetie. I just want you to get prepared, and then you can move on with your life again,” she said in the upbeat but firm voice of someone trying to believe her own advice.

“Seriously, what’s going on here?” Claire asked.

“Let’s just say that Carolyn and Robert hit a rough patch a while back, but they’ve put things back together again,” Gail answered, ignoring Carolyn’s now obvious attempts to shut her up with her eyes.

“God, I’m so sorry, Carolyn. I’m rambling on like—”

Carolyn pushed up the sleeves of her creamy sweater and held her hand up. “Look, I didn’t want to get into to it because it’s over and you’ve got more important things to focus on. But since Gail can’t seem to help herself . . .”

“Hon, holding things in makes the moving-on part that much harder. Remember our little confab with your yoga instructor?”

“Fine. I’ll give you the abridged version as long as we all can promise not to dwell on it.” And with the succinct eloquence of a tabloid reporter, Carolyn proceeded to explain how on the night of the museum benefit, she took home the exquisite bronze sculpture of two lovers from the live auction, while Robert, not one week later, took home the
luvully
blond assistant who had processed the transaction. Carolyn had discovered the affair two months after via an untimely text message while Robert was standing naked in the bathroom brushing his teeth. But she had chosen to forgive him and stay for the sake of their privacy and their businesses and their nearly grown kids. And because he had reasoned with her, and retitled their entire art collection in her name. And because when you play you pay. “I didn’t have it in me to start a legal battle and then start my life all over, so I just sucked it up and tried to put it behind us. And I apologize for being a little prickly when we were at Gail’s. The scar tissue’s still forming.”

Claire cringed, imagining the raw nerve her breach of the marriage contract had clearly struck with Carolyn. And she thought about the multitude of disappointments and poor choices that had piled up over the last months like so much black snow, wishing they could somehow shovel it into the sun and let it all melt away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, just don’t be paralyzed by inertia and fear like I was, Claire. Get out there and dust off your ‘take-no-prisoners hat,’ and turn this into something good for yourself and for Nicholas.”

“She will,” Gail said, leaning in and squeezing Claire’s knee.

The strong fragrance of Gail’s perfume fanned out around her. Claire closed her eyes and breathed in the night in Carolyn’s powder room and, going farther back, the heady days with Jules, her mentor at Sotheby’s. It was the scent of bold women in high heels who knew where they were going. And for an instant Claire reveled in the exquisite solidarity of these smart women who had her back. “I just hope I can be as resolute as you think I can.”

“Sweetie, hope is not a strategy,” Carolyn said, fishing through the various pockets of her purse. “At least, not in my experience. You need to establish control of the situation, like I’ve seen you do so beautifully on all the projects we’ve worked on.”

Claire sat up straight, threw her shoulders back, and saluted Carolyn, who was now trying to whiten her eyes with Visine.

“And another little piece of advice about the Neiman’s account?” Carolyn asked, as if gauging Claire’s mood for more.

“Yes?”

“Keep your words sweet just in case you have to eat them. It’s
possible
that was not directed at you. And you don’t want to give Michael any ammunition in the ‘she’s being irrational’ department. Trust me.”

“Sara Lee on the front lines and Hillary Clinton behind the scenes. Got it.” Claire paused, pondering the other item that had been tugging at her. There was no point in holding anything back now. “Can any of you think of someone named Taylor, who Nicholas might have known?” She gave the girls a brief background.

“Taylor Swift? Taylor Momsen? Taylor Lautner? The teen celebrity options are endless,” Jackie said, clarifying the
Gossip Girl
and
Twilight
references, with which she expressed embarrassing familiarity thanks to her daughters.

“Or,” Carolyn said pointedly, “Taylor could be an
adult
woman. A ‘friend’ of Michael’s?”

Claire laughed nervously at the idea, which she had, up to that point, refused to contemplate. “I had thought it was someone Nicky went to school with. But Michael might have seemed uneasy—just for a second—when Nicky asked him who Taylor was. And then he was himself again. And I had jumped to other stupid conclusions—”

“You can’t afford to think any of your conclusions are stupid, hon,” Gail said, pushing away her biscotti and discreetly releasing the top button of her skinny jeans. “If something isn’t sitting well with you, you need to listen to your gut. Keep your eyes and ears
wide
open under that sweet smile. All Hillary and Sara Lee, all the time.”

Claire took a long sip of her cappuccino, finally allowing herself to consider the possibility that Taylor might be a woman with whom Michael had more than a passing acquaintance, and what that would say about the way he’d dealt with her own indiscretion—all of which became too much to swallow after the day’s already full menu. She checked her watch, anxious that she would be late for her appointment with Nick’s behavioral therapist.

“And may I also suggest,” Gail said, eyeing Claire as they walked to the parking lot, “that we wear black tomorrow to officially mourn the death of your self-reproach?”

On the way back to the apartment with her head feeling as if it was on the verge of exploding, Claire noticed a small item tucked away in separate tissue paper among Nicky’s new clothes. She pulled it out of the Neiman’s bag to inspect it, and discovered the Etro scarf.

“Happy birthday, hon,” Gail said without missing a beat.

“My birthday’s not until May.”

“Consider it early. The colors were just too perfect on you to pass up.”

“Is that Cavalli dress hiding in there, too?” Jackie asked from the backseat.

“No. But you might have a little delivery later this afternoon.”

Claire kissed her friend’s cheek just as Gail pulled up to the building’s entrance. “You’re too much. Thank you,” she said. “More than you know.”

“I wasn’t there when I should have been, but I am now. And I plan to share all the fruits and nuts of my hard-won decoupling labors with you.”

“Speaking of food, what’s with all the desserts? You hardly ever eat like this.”

Gail pulled her Gucci sunglasses down her nose and peered up at her. “I must be premenopausal. That, or pregnant.”