Trading Up (27 page)

“Janey probably has a business manager who handles her money. Isn’t that how models do it? So you don’t really have to know anything about the stock market yourself,” Dodo said.

“Actually, a lot of models handle their own money,” Janey said.

“I was talking to this guy the other day who’s somehow involved in the modeling industry, and he told me that the secret about a lot of the top models is that they’re smart,” Paul said. “They have to be in order to succeed.”

“Come on, Paul,” Carolina snapped. “Smart in comparison to
what
?” And in the dead silence that followed, she quickly added, “I don’t mean
you,
Janey.” And then someone quickly changed the subject to the mountain-climbing trip they’d all taken in India last year.

Janey found it impossible to concentrate on the conversation. She hated sports and she’d never been to India; glancing surreptitiously at her watch, she saw that it was only nine-thirty. What a strange group they were, she thought. If you didn’t 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 145

t r a d i n g u p

145

know who was married to whom, you would never have been able to match them up correctly, for there didn’t seem to be any real deep, underlying affection between the members of each couple. They were like adolescents, playing at being adults . . .

“What should we do this year?” Carolina asked.

“I still think we should fly the Ferraris out to Montana and race,” Michael said.

“You’ve got a Ferrari, don’t you Rose?”

“I’ve got something better,” Selden said. “A Jaguar XK 120.”

“How fast can it go?”

Selden shrugged. “A hundred, a hundred and twenty?”

“We’ll leave you in the dust,” Dodo said.

“Why Montana?” Janey suddenly asked, attempting to insert herself into the conversation.

“Because there’s no speed limit?” Carolina said, in a voice that was just subtly rude enough to escape the notice of the men.

“Are you
just
a model, Janey?” Dodo asked. And then, looking around the table as if she might have made a faux pas, she said quickly, “It’s just that so many top models do
other
things as well, don’t they? I mean, that elegant girl, the one with the stunningly beautiful face . . . what’s her name?” she asked, turning to Carolina.

“You mean Christy Turlington,” Carolina said. “She has her own company and clothing line—I think she even does yoga videos . . .”

“That’s right, Janey,” Paul said, giving her a drunken leer. “Tell us all about
you
.” They were all staring at her. Janey felt a rising sense of panic—she was almost dizzy. She suddenly felt like she was suffocating; she couldn’t
feel
herself; even her outfit, which would normally have given her a sense of identity, seemed to be failing her . . . If she said nothing, they would all think she was an idiot, and she’d be damned if she gave them
that
satisfaction . . .

Taking a sip from her wineglass, she said smoothly, “Actually, I’m a movie producer.”

“You
are
?” Dodo said, impressed.

“What are you working on?” Carolina said, taking a cigarette out of her bag.

“Oh Carolina, don’t smoke,” Paul said.

“Fuck you,” Carolina said, and lit up.

“I wrote a screenplay last summer,” Janey said, finding, as usual, that once she began to lie, the lie got easier and easier. “And right now I’m in the process of getting it made.”

She took another sip of wine, not daring to look at Selden. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, that his face wore an expression of shock, as if he couldn’t believe she would tell such a fib. But what else was she supposed to do?

“What’s it about?” Carolina asked.

18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 146

146

c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l

“It’s about a model, and how everyone tries to use her,” Janey said.

“An old story,” Selden said dismissively.

“Selden’s mad because I didn’t tell him about it,” Janey said to Carolina and Dodo. Turning to Selden, she added, “I didn’t tell you, darling, because I wanted it to be a surprise. How
else
did you think I was spending my afternoons . . . ?” This brought a round of laughter. “You didn’t think she was spending her afternoons
shopping,
did you?” Dodo asked.

“I can never figure out
what
you women do,” Selden replied. And quickly changing the subject, he said to Ross, “What’s happening with the Old Man?” “The Old Man” being the code name they used for Victor Matrick, the aging CEO of Splatch Verner.

“Slowly going insane,” Ross said.

“Word is, he bought a plane,” Mark said.

“Plane?” Paul sneered. “What are you talking about? It’s a jumbo jet. A 727 . . .”

“Does anybody have any idea where these profits are really going?” Selden asked.

Leaning across him, Dodo whispered to Janey, “You know,
I
used to be a model.”

“Is that so?” Janey asked, feigning interest.

“You were a model for two months,” Carolina sneered. “I did it for a whole year.”

“Hello? You’re wrong?” Dodo said. “I was a Tropicana bathing-suit model for two years . . .”

“In any case, it was awful,” Carolina said.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dodo said. “It’s so boring. And then every photographer wants to sleep with you . . .”

“You’re right,” Janey said. “It
is
awful. But it’s weird, you know?” she said, sipping her wine. “Because nearly every pretty girl I’ve ever met has either tried it or wants to.”

“Well,” Janey said pointedly, as they got into the car. “That little
neighborhood girl
was nice.”

“They were
all
nice. They’re great people,” Selden said.

Janey sat back against the seat in a huff. She was suddenly angry, although she wasn’t sure why, and felt a fight coming on.

“Constance is always sweet,” she said, “but I wonder if there’s something wrong with her. Do you think she has an eating disorder?”

“She’s actually interesting if you take the time to talk to her,” Selden said.

18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 147

t r a d i n g u p

147

“Ah. Well,” Janey said. She looked out the window, wondering if they would be able to make it home before the fight erupted; if they could, it might be avoided.

Taking her reply as a retreat, he said, “Mark’s wife, Dodo, is a lot of fun.”

“She’s fun all right,” Janey said vaguely. “But she’s not a very good cook. Do you think raw lamb can make you sick?”

“She’s very successful—one of the most successful young women in broadcast-ing,” Selden said. He looked at Janey, wondering what was wrong with her. His first wife, Sheila, had always had a lot of girlfriends, and she’d excelled at making friends with the wives of his business associates. “The truth is, Janey, you hardly gave those women a chance,” he said, loosening his tie.

Janey turned to him with astonishment. “Me?” she asked, thinking how stupid men were. “They hated me from the beginning. Didn’t you see that Dodo’s face when I walked in? And did you hear what they were saying about models . . . ?”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn that dress!” Selden retorted. There—he had said it. He probably shouldn’t have, but at least he’d finally gotten it off his chest . . .

She shook her head in disgust. “Your business associates seemed to like it,” she said pointedly.

Now that was too much, he thought. Why were they always fighting? Every time he tried to have a civilized discussion with her, it turned into some stupid battle of wills. This was exactly the way she had been, that first night he’d met her. And while he’d always thought their exchange that evening had been nothing more than the exciting, antagonistic banter that led to sex, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps that enmity was representative of a real difference in values and morals. And then she had
lied
about being a producer . . .

“I think we need to have a discussion,” he said.

“Do you?” she asked. “About what? You can’t expect me to sit there and take their insults without defending myself . . .”

“Fine,” he said. “I can’t do anything about the way they feel. But why did you tell them that you were producing movies, for God’s sake?”

“Why
shouldn’t
I have told them?” she asked, her eyes blazing.

“Because it’s a
lie,
” he nearly shouted.

As usual, when he lost his temper with her, she gained the upper hand.

Crossing her arms, she said, “I won’t be scolded like a child. Not even by you, Selden Rose.”

Now he was on the defensive. “Okay. I’m not scolding. I just want to know why.

You’re my wife, goddammit . . .”

“So you expect me to tell you everything?” she asked, deftly drawing him away from the point of the discussion.

18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 148

148

c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l

By now, he knew
this
trick of hers, at least. “Janey,” he said. “You are
not
a producer. And what was that nonsense about a screenplay?”
The screenplay!
How had she come so close to spilling her secret? In an offensive move, she said quickly, “Maybe I haven’t produced—or written—anything
yet
. But you should know it’s something I plan to pursue, very,
very
seriously in the future.

So if you have a problem with it, we’d better deal with it now.” For a moment, he was torn between wanting to shake her like a child—to shake the truth out of her—and a crazy desire to laugh. The
fact
was, she had no idea how to be a producer, no clue as to what it took to get a movie made—after a couple of days playing at being a producer, she would likely give it up and go back to shopping. And so he said:

“Suit yourself then.”

“Thank you,” she said. She stuck her finger in her mouth and looked away.

Until that moment, she’d had no intention of pursuing this producing scheme; she would have dropped it if Selden had let it go. But she began to see that it might be a good idea; Dodo’s and Carolina’s reactions had showed her that it would give her the respect she craved. Of course, she hadn’t meant to lie, but now that she had decided to do it, it wasn’t a lie at all, no matter what Selden thought . . .

She glanced out the window. They were on the highway now, speeding back to the city, passing gas stations and billboards, and ticky-tacky houses—how depressing it would be to
live
here, she thought, suddenly relieved that the evening was over. “Listen,” she said, touching his hand in a conciliatory gesture, “let’s not fight, okay? Especially over a bunch of people I’ll probably never see again . . .” Selden drew his hand away in annoyance. Was it possible that there was
no
understanding between them? “Of course you’ll see them again,” he said. “Especially if we move to Greenwich. You’ll see them all the time . . .”

“Move to Greenwich?” she cried in horror.

“Yes,” he said, with mock patience. “That was always the plan.”

“Was it?” she said, in a panic. She couldn’t remember their discussing Greenwich before, except in the context of visiting his friends. If they moved to Greenwich, she would
die,
she thought, she’d be nothing more than a housewife—she might even end up like Dodo . . .

“Mark says there’s a great house for sale just down the street from them, right on the water. We could keep the boat there. Remember how much fun we had last summer on the boat?”

She glanced at him; his face was impassive, and there was a hardness in his eyes, as if daring her to challenge him again. But her womanly instincts told her that now was not the time for another fight, and so she yielded.

“Yes,” she said vaguely. “That
would
be fun.” 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 149

t r a d i n g u p

149

He immediately relaxed and, thinking that the crisis had passed, took her hand.

“I’m not sure if the property has a dock, but we can certainly build one, and the house is big enough for everything we need. We can even build a gym if you want one . . .”

Exercising was her least favorite pastime, but she murmured, “That could be nice . . .”

“I’ll call Mark tomorrow then, and get the name of the real estate agent.” She yawned, feigning sleepiness. Moving in next to him, she put her head on his shoulder; in a moment, he began stroking her hair.

She closed her eyes, although she wasn’t tired. Her mind was awhirl, trying to work out various escape routes, and she suddenly realized that marrying Selden Rose might have been a huge mistake. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to George and his apartment. She had said that she couldn’t live in a place like that, but now that she’d viewed life in Greenwich, she saw that she’d been fooling herself. Suddenly, there was nothing she desired
more
than to live in the grandest apartment in New York City—and if she’d had any sense, she would have gone after George long ago and married him, instead.

George
, she thought with a start. George—with all of his power and money—

now
that
was the kind of man she should be with.

18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 150

n i n e

the t went y-fo ot c hr istmas star hung staunchly over the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, the lampposts were garlanded with wreaths, and the department store windows featured mannequins done up in all manner of holiday finery. December in the year 2000 was bitterly cold—averaging a mere twenty-five degrees—but the shops and restaurants were filled with patrons determined to spend as much money as possible, for the fashion magazines had declared that fur was back and excess was in—from plastic watches adorned with real diamonds to $5,000 red crocodile boots. The stomach was heralded as the new eroge-nous zone and was on display even in the chill of winter, and for a certain fee, a plastic surgeon in California would reshape a woman’s vagina into a more youthful design.

“As if what God gave us wasn’t good enough!” Pippi Maus declared with indignation, as she spun through the revolving door of Cipriani’s restaurant out onto the sidewalk. Pippi was tipsy; she was, Janey noted with satisfying disapproval, always at least
slightly
drunk, although on this particular afternoon, so was Janey.