by Anita Hughes
Cassie led him into the conservatory and sat gingerly at the glass table. “I’ve contacted my attorney and started the divorce proceedings.”
“Cassie, listen to me.” Aidan grabbed her hands across the table. “I’ve never loved you more. It was all madness. You don’t know what it’s like to be pushing fifty, to be surrounded by young people who have their whole lives in front of them.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Cassie pulled her hands away and hugged her chest.
“The department got a new hire this year: Randy Lipton. He had a Ph.D. from Stanford and walked around campus in surfer shorts and Rainbow sandals. Coeds lined up outside his office the first day of classes. When I told them professors don’t hold office hours the first week of school, they just giggled. They were like groupies, waiting for a rock star to appear backstage. I know how juvenile I sound.” Aidan rubbed his temples. “But when Molly made a play for me I couldn’t resist. I needed to feel like a man.”
“Aidan, I’m not your therapist. I promised to love you in sickness and in health but that wasn’t enough. I don’t love you anymore, I can’t love you.” Cassie kept her eyes on the table.
“You can love me.” Aidan latched on to her words. “We can see a therapist together.”
“You fucked Molly, you fucked your TA. You lied to everyone and cheated.” Cassie shook her head.
“Everywhere I went, Randy was the rising star. He came to the gym one night and asked me to play a game of squash. He trounced me, Cassie. I couldn’t walk after the game! I hobbled off the court like the fucking Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
“Being jealous of a young stud is no excuse for screwing your way across campus and through Europe.” Cassie lifted her eyes to meet Aidan’s.
“I was crazed.” Aidan pulled his hair. “But the madness has passed. I woke up one morning in Athens and knew I had to be home with you. I got the first plane out.” Aidan leaned across the table. “And our sex was so good, Cassie.”
Cassie jumped back as if she’d been shot. She felt like she was looking at Aidan through a kaleidoscope. Every time she turned it, it formed a different pattern.
“You caught the first plane out because Penny left you! You don’t know how to stop lying. What’s going to happen when your hair turns white and your back goes out? Are you going to bed the whole junior faculty? Good-bye, Aidan.” She stood up and walked toward the foyer.
“Cassie.” Aidan followed her. “Give me one more chance.”
“I’m not a magic genie.” Cassie walked to the front door. “I can’t fix you. Let me know when you get the divorce papers.”
Aidan grabbed her arm and grazed her cheek with his lips. Cassie could smell his aftershave and his avocado shampoo. She wriggled out of his grasp and opened the front door.
“Please leave,” she whispered.
“Have you thought about what this is going to do to Isabel?” Aidan stood in the middle of the tall double doors.
Cassie tried to keep her breathing steady. She dropped her hands to her sides and waited for them to stop shaking.
“Isabel can still work at Fenton’s this summer. Good-bye, Aidan.” She slammed the door and ran upstairs.
When she reached her room, she walked straight to the closet and leaned against the full-length mirror. She closed her eyes, trying to erase the feel of Aidan’s mouth on her skin. The cold glass against her cheek soothed her. Slowly she opened her eyes, slipped off her robe, and searched for the perfect outfit to wear to work.
Since then she tried to throw herself into working at Fenton’s, dressing in breezy summer dresses, spending extra time on her hair and makeup, but she couldn’t regain her earlier passion. She told herself it was like learning to walk again, one baby step at a time. Sometimes crawling seemed impossible.
* * *
On the morning of the Asian Art Museum fashion show, Cassie went to Joseph Cozza’s on Maiden Lane and came out with skin that had been scrubbed, buffed, and plastered with seaweed. Joseph convinced her to get the Brazilian blowout and her hair lay smoothly on her shoulders like a silk cap. Even her hands had been coated with almond butter, placed in mittens, and buffed with an exfoliating brush. She felt almost happy as she walked into Fenton’s to pick up the dress Alexis had selected for the fashion show.
“Hi, stranger.” James grinned as she got on the escalator. He wore navy slacks and a white button-down shirt. His hair was brushed to the side and he carried a stack of papers under his arm.
“You’re wearing your glasses. Have you been staring at figures all day?” Cassie smiled. She hadn’t been avoiding James but she kept their conversations short. She found her eyes still filled unexpectedly with tears, and she had to slip on sunglasses and bite her lips to stop them from trembling.
“Closing out some final deliveries.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Are sales improving?”
“Not yet.” Cassie grimaced. “Giselle has been parading the Princess around but Alexis is keeping its origin under wraps. She has some big plan to launch it at the Asian Art Museum today. If she doesn’t launch it soon, our ship will sink.”
“Who knew they taught marketing to dance majors?” James laughed.
“She’s like a tornado,” Cassie agreed. “Giselle’s dinner party was such a success we’ve been inundated with requests to plan menus for her friends.”
“That must be boosting sales a bit.” James nodded as they got off the escalator. “I had lunch with your mother yesterday. She didn’t seem quite ready to throw in the towel.”
“Alexis filled her in on the Princess, so I think we’ve gained a temporary stay of execution.” Cassie headed toward the dress department.
“Cassie.” James put his hand on her wrist. “Your mother told me what happened between you and Aidan.”
“Aaah.” Cassie exhaled like a tire puncturing. “I’m sure she enjoyed that. She’s always been Aidan’s biggest fan.”
“She was concerned about you. I’m sorry you had to go through that, he doesn’t know what he’s giving up.”
“He has lots of distractions.” Cassie blinked away the tears. “I better go. If I’m late for the fashion show, Alexis will skin my hide and sell it to make shoes.”
“I wanted to know if you’d like to have dinner. We could go to Boulevard and I’ll walk you through the menu.” He smiled like a schoolboy, sticking his hands in his pant pockets.
Cassie hesitated. James was so easy to be around and he made her laugh. “I don’t have time.” She shook her head. “I need to concentrate on the emporium if it’s going to pull through. Aren’t you going back to Chicago soon?”
“Third week of June. I get a couple of weeks off. Then I’m gutting a steak house and turning it into a raw food restaurant.”
“Maybe I’ll see you before you leave.” Cassie pulled her hand away.
“I’ll bring in some McDonald’s.” James smiled awkwardly. “Knock ’em dead this afternoon.”
* * *
Cassie stood in the dressing room, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress Alexis had selected was a delicious raw silk the color of cherries, slit up the sides and with a plunging neckline. She slipped on a delicate gold belt and three gold bangles and examined the shoes Alexis left in a Bottega Veneta box: red stiletto heels with gold buckles and a dusting of diamonds. She put them on and turned in front of the mirror. She wished Aidan could see her, then she pushed the thought away, grabbed her purse, and hurried down the escalator.
“I feel like one of Charlie’s Angels,” she said to Alexis, who was waiting in front of a stretch limousine.
“Then the first part of my plan is working.” Alexis grinned. She wore an almost identical dress the color of raspberries, with a silver belt and an armful of silver bangles. “What do you think of our princess?”
Giselle strutted toward them in a dress so tight it looked like it was sprayed on. Her legs seemed to go on forever and her hair fell to her waist like spun gold. She wore a ruby and di
amond choker and a diamond tiara on her head.
“I think she’s going to cause an accident.” Cassie giggled at the construction workers and tourists who stopped and stared.
“We each get one of these.” Alexis handed Cassie a Princess bag. “But don’t open it until I say so. Let’s go.” She opened the door of the limousine. “It’s time to put Operation Princess in motion.”
* * *
The Asian Art Museum was packed by the time they arrived. Women stepped out of Mercedes and Jaguars carrying Louis Vuitton bags with solid gold buckles.
“Why are we circling? We’re almost late.” Cassie glanced at her watch.
“Haven’t you learned anything from watching E!? We can’t make an entrance unless everyone’s here.” Alexis signaled the driver to stop. “You go first,” she said to Cassie. “Remember, Giselle’s the princess, we’re the ladies in waiting.”
Cassie, Alexis, and Giselle walked into the museum, Princess bags draped over their shoulders. Alexis grabbed them each a glass of champagne and circled the room twice, blowing kisses and waving to the women in floppy hats and Gucci shoes. Then she crossed the runway and led Cassie and Giselle to their front-row seats.
Cassie saw the Traina girls with their mother, Danielle Steel. She spotted Annette Bening, who she knew was performing a play at the ACT. She saw the girls from Yahoo!: Marissa Mayer and her pack of wealthy dot-commers. She spotted Allison Speer, public relations queen, sitting next to Kendall Wilkinson.
“Ladies.” The emcee tapped his microphone. “We are thrilled you could join us for this star-studded event. We are lucky to have the designers with us this afternoon and if you behave, they might be taking special orders.” The emcee winked and the women chuckled appreciatively. “Please join us in the east wing for a delicious buffet after the show. Let me introduce our fabulous models.”
The women clapped and waited for the models to appear on the runway. There was a loud rustling behind the curtains and the emcee appeared again, red-faced and clutching his microphone. “My apology for the delay. There’s been a small wardrobe malfunction. Feel free to refill your champagne glasses. The show will begin shortly.”
Everyone waited expectantly but nothing happened. The women started squirming, fanning themselves with their programs. They made small coughing noises as if that would prompt the show to begin. Alexis positioned her bag on her lap and said to her neighbor: “I hope the show begins soon. I did back-to-back Pilates classes this morning. I’m starving.”
“A few more minutes, please.” The emcee came back on stage, wiping sweat from his forehead. “We’re fixing the problem as quickly as possible.”
“I don’t know about you,” Alexis whispered loudly to her neighbor so the first few rows could hear. “If I don’t eat something, I’m going to faint.” She unbuckled her bag and took out a bunch of green grapes, a jar of sun-dried tomato hummus, a round of olive bread, and a basket of cherry tomatoes.
Cassie saw women crane their necks as Alexis handed her neighbor a crust of bread spread with hummus. Alexis turned to the second row and passed around the basket of tomatoes. She nudged Cassie and Cassie obediently opened her bag and shared its contents with the women near her. Soon the first three rows were eating duck pâté, asparagus tips, tangerine slices, and sweet radishes.
Giselle opened hers last. She leaned down to retrieve her bag so her breasts brushed against her dress like two ripe melons. She opened the clasp and extracted a cream-filled éclair wrapped in silver paper. She put the éclair in her mouth, licking the sides like it was a long, thick penis, and wiped the cream off her lips with a silk napkin. Then she let out a long sigh like a protracted orgasm, and muttered something in German.
The lights dimmed and music blared from hidden loudspeakers. The models strutted down the runway, six-foot amazons wearing layers of makeup and very little clothes, and everyone applauded in relief. Alexis packed the food back in her bag and stashed it neatly under her seat, winking at Cassie to do the same.
* * *
“Where did you get that bag?” A thin woman wearing a floppy hat accosted Cassie. “I’m always starving but I can’t tote a Caesar salad around in a Fendi clutch.”
“It’s an exclusive,” Alexis interrupted. The women stood in small groups in the east wing, nibbling hors d’oeuvres and dissecting the fashion show.
“I must have one.” The woman stroked Cassie’s bag. “I love the fabric, it’s so supple. And the artwork reminds me of van Gogh. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Fenton’s food emporium,” Cassie replied, moving the bag to her other shoulder.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Alexis whispered, standing between them. “They’re only available with purchase, and supplies are extremely limited.”
* * *
The limousine dropped Giselle off at her St. Regis penthouse and Alexis stretched her legs in front of her. “I’d say that was a success.” She grinned.
Dozens of women approached them during the reception begging to know where they could get a Princess bag. Alexis whispered in their ears and the women floated back to their friends, eyes sparkling with their secret.
“I hope we have enough bags.” Cassie giggled. “I may have to call Mr. Paik and rush order some more.”
“Did you see Giselle swallow that éclair?” Alexis laughed. “She should moonlight as a porn star.”
“I have one small question.” Cassie slipped off her Bottega Venetas and wiggled her toes. “Did you have anything to do with the ‘small wardrobe malfunction’?”
“Convent girls never tell.” Alexis smiled like the Cheshire cat. “We deserve a treat. Let’s go home and watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Driver”—she tapped the glass partition—“could you stop at the market? We need to pick up a carton of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.”
* * *
The day after the fashion show women lined up at Fenton’s before the doors were open. They made a beeline to the emporium, filling their carts with fruits and vegetables, fish and poultry, wine and cheese. They handed their gold cards to the cashier and claimed their prizes: their own Princess bags stuffed with their purchases.
Cassie saw women carrying Princess bags all over the city. Thom Paik had to hire a night shift to keep up with production. Cassie kept Gregory supplied with cases of wine and baskets of Fenton’s pâtés and soft cheeses. Sales of merchandise were going through the roof. Cassie’s mother came down to the emporium several times a day to bask in the success.
“Darling, there you are,” Diana cooed. She was dressed in what she forecasted to be the summer color: bright yellow that belonged on a rain slicker. She wore a white silk scarf and white sandals accessorized with colored gems.
“You look very stylish.” Cassie smiled.
“I have an important lunch date with Hermès. They finally are considering opening a Hermès boutique in Fenton’s.” She tapped her cigarette holder on Cassie’s desk. “I actually have two lunch dates, I need your help.”
“My help?” Cassie asked dubiously.
“I was supposed to have lunch today with Grant Landers. Do you remember him? You used to take dancing lessons together. He sold his start-up to Google and started a line of swimsuits. All the profits go to charity. I promised we’d discuss carrying them at Fenton’s.” Diana plucked a lily from the vase on Cassie’s desk. “Could you do me a huge favor and have lunch with him? I can’t put off the people from Hermès.”
“Why don’t you reschedule with Grant?” Cassie frowned.
“He’s already driven up from Palo Alto. Please, Cassie. His mother and I go way back.”
“Fine.” Cassie stacked the papers on her desk. “But I have three appointments this afternoon to look at apartments.”
“I respect your desire not to stay at Alexis’s indefinitely,” Cassie’s mother said carefully. “But do you really want to be alone right now? You could stay with me.”
Cassie’s face softened. “I’ve lived with someone my whole lif
e. I think being alone is exactly what I need. I’m going to find a one bedroom with lots of light and get a cat.”
“Cats aren’t very good company.” Diana shook her head. “They can be quite self-centered. Grant is waiting in my office. I’ll tell him you’ll meet him on the first floor.”
* * *
Grant stood in the swimsuit section, examining fabric. Cassie remembered him as a skinny redhead who held her too tight when they danced. Now his hair was more strawberry blond. He wore a white T-shirt, tight jeans, and leather sandals.
“Cassie Fenton, you still look like you’re twelve years old.” His smile revealed bright white teeth.
“It’s nice to see you.” Cassie blushed. “My mother tells me you’re doing wonderful things for charity.”
“It’s hard when you make so much money so young.” Grant shrugged. “You really have to search for meaning in life. Besides the obvious things, like money, women, and fame.” He laughed. “Why don’t we talk about it over lunch? I have reservations at Emerald.”
Cassie and Grant sat at a table by the window and Grant ordered a Loire Valley Chardonnay.
“If I only drink wine at dinner, I’ll never be able to sample all the fine wines in the world.” He broke a breadstick and dipped it in olive oil. “I try a different region every month, it’s very educational.”
“Tell me about your swimsuit line,” Cassie said politely.
“I was sitting on the beach in Fiji a couple of years ago and I saw these native girls playing in the sand. Here I was, staying in a thousand-dollar-a-day resort, and they probably didn’t have a decent education. I started a foundation to build schools in tropical countries where the natives live on the poverty line.”
“That’s really admirable.” Cassie nodded.
“Swimsuits seemed a natural fit.” Grant sipped his wine. “Plus the perks are great. I pick out the models and I’m present for the fashion shoots. Next week I leave for Antigua.”
Cassie ordered a grilled vegetable plate and moved the food around on her plate. She still didn’t have much of an appetite, and usually nibbled nuts and dried fruit at her desk. She listened to Grant’s plans to get his swimsuits into Fenton’s and Neiman’s and tried to smile enthusiastically.
