Stephie had thought she herself was pretty, and she had also thought she was thin, but that was before she’d met Tangela. Tangela had given Stephie a whole new definition of both pretty and thin. Tangela’s skin was the light brown color of some really creamy ice cream flavor and her nose was more refined than Stephanie’s own. Now, looking covertly at her, Stephanie watched as Tangela read something in a fashion magazine and flared her beautiful nostrils in contempt or disgust. Tangela hadn’t really spoken to her here at the office or at her aunt’s brunch, nor did she seem to want to become more friendly. Tangela wouldn’t ignore her if she was thinner and prettier. The older girl must just figure I’m a school kid, a stupid baby, Stephie thought, a nerd whose aunt was only doing her a favor by letting her model. Tangela didn’t notice when Stephie walked into a room, and she didn’t seem to have anything to say to her when they worked together. But Stephanie was fascinated by the older girl. Now, screwing up all her courage, Stephanie picked up her egg salad sandwich and her diet Pepsi and walked over to the table where Tangela sat alone.
‘Want half my sandwich?’ Stephie offered, as boldly as she dared. Tangela flared her nostrils again and looked across at her as if she were some kind of insect.
‘Why don’t you ask if I want flabby thighs?’ Tangela sneered.
‘It’s diet bread,’ Stephanie hastened to explain. After all, she’d been watching her weight and dieting since she was nine. ‘The mayonnaise is fat-free,’ she added.
‘Then it’s about the only fat-free thing you got,’ Tangela said. She waited while the words sank in. ‘Listen up. Just because you’re Karen’s niece don’t mean I got to crib with you,’ Tangela told her. ‘You’re no model. You’re just a rich kid from the suburbs, playin’ at this job. Play by yourself.’ Tangela stood, picked up her enormous black shoulder bag, and walked from the room.
Stephanie sat there for a moment, stunned. She hadn’t been put down like that since Jennifer Barton had been mean to her back in the third grade at Inwood Elementary. She blinked back tears and looked around to make sure nobody else had witnessed her humiliation. But the other women, mostly finishers from the sample room, were busy talking to one another. Stephanie hung her head. The egg salad sandwich sat there like a judgment. The smell of it suddenly made her feel sick. In a single motion, she stood and crumpled the sandwich into the napkin that had been under it. Then she threw it into the garbage. She would skip lunch. And maybe she would skip dinner. In fact, she felt like she might never eat again.
Like her daughter, Lisa had barely eaten any lunch. It was that thrilling being in Manhattan, dressed up, lunching with a fabulous-looking man at one of the best places.
One of Lisa’s preoccupations was what she thought of as The Game. Always attractive and, under Belle’s tutelage, always carefully dressed, she had become more and more interested in the impact she made on other people. Back in high school and in her one year at college she had focused on the impression she made on young men. But in the last decade and a half, that interest faded. Like the majority of women, Lisa dressed to impress other women.
Of course, it wasn’t just any other women. Lisa didn’t care what her cleaning lady thought of her wardrobe. In fact, she didn’t care about what anyone in all of Inwood thought. Lisa played for bigger stakes than that. She dressed to impress the most fashionable and chic women she could find.
The problem was they were a bit thin on the ground in her neck of the woods. So Lisa spent a lot of time getting herself dressed and accessorized and then going to places where what passed for the fashion cognoscenti of Long Island congregated. There were a couple of department stores and the restaurants that catered to women shoppers. Lisa also frequented one of the tonier malls. But the problem with all of those was that women actually involved in shopping rarely noticed other women, and women eating lunch might admire the clothing of a stranger, but would always feel superior to see that stranger dining alone. Because what Lisa actually sought was not just the admiration but the envy of those women. She knew the appraising look they gave, often hidden behind oversized sunglasses or an averted face because, if you were dressed really well, another well-dressed woman couldn’t resist at least one appraising look. For Lisa, The Game was to elicit that look and also to catch the woman in the act of awarding it. When she did that, Lisa’s own reward was to flash the loser a quick but superior smile. Because, over lunch in Lisa’s world, you were not what you ate, you were what you wore.
She’d become expert in The Game. She could dress not just in the latest style but always with a new twist. She’d add an accessory, or an unusual leather, or an antique scarf or pin that could not be duplicated. Once, in the Tea Room on the third floor of Manhattan’s Bendel’s, a woman had stared at her purse throughout all of lunch. At the end of the meal, the stranger couldn’t stop herself from approaching Lisa and asking where she had gotten it. ‘I had it made for me in Italy,’ Lisa had lied coldly. It actually hadn’t counted as a point in The Game, because by breaking that invisible boundary and speaking to her, the woman had revealed herself as unworthy. She lacked control and class, so besting her gave Lisa no satisfaction.
Manhattan was the place to play The Game. It was a tough crowd. Today she had finally gotten it right. She had strolled through the lobby of the Saint Regis and easily gotten two businessmen to turn their heads. A good sign, but one that didn’t really matter. She had arrived at the restaurant and the maître d’ had given her that approving look that gave her the tiny extra bit of confidence one needed. Then she got to walk across the floor of the beautifully appointed room to the corner table where Jeffrey had stood up to greet her. He was the perfect accessory, the last touch she needed to appear as if she had a charmed life. Two women, lunching together, had tried hard to keep their eyes averted. They had failed. Lisa had preened herself, like a raptor after a kill.
She and Jeffrey had greeted each other, ordered a drink, and then Lisa didn’t know what to say. But she knew she wanted this moment to last. What was going on in Karen’s life right now? ‘Have you met Elle Halle yet?’ she asked. She raised her voice a bit, hoping the other women would overhear.
‘Met her? I feel as if she moved in! I had to spend hours with her,’ Jeffrey complained.
Lisa was too excited to eat or even to think too much about the conversation. Jeffrey talked for a little while about Stephanie and the internship and went on for a long time about business affairs. Lisa never understood why men did this. Leonard was never more boring than when he talked about the practice, but for Jeffrey, Lisa smiled and nodded and tried to respond vivaciously so that everyone could see what a good time she was having. So when Jeffrey leaned over and took her hand, she was surprised – almost shocked. She, like her mother, wasn’t a physical person. For a moment, she wondered if he might not attempt a pass at her. It was a horrible thought, but she was relieved to see not a lustful but a worried look on his face. Still, he seemed to want something from her. She focused again on the conversation.
‘You can see why I’m concerned,’ he was saying. ‘I just don’t feel as if I can keep the ball in play much longer.’
Lisa blinked. When had he moved from business and begun talking about sports?
‘And she doesn’t know how stressed out she is. Sometimes I’m afraid she’ll work herself to death.’
Lisa knew then who they were talking about. She nodded, putting an understanding look on her face.
‘You know, a while ago she said the strangest thing. She said she wanted to find her real mother. That isn’t normal, is it? Out of the blue like that, I mean, it has to come from stress.’
Jeffrey had gotten her attention. ‘Karen wanted to do what?’ she asked. In all the years of growing up, in all the time they’d spent together, neither of the sisters had ever mentioned that Karen was adopted. No one in the family did. Somehow, it didn’t seem nice.
‘That’s what I said. But that’s not the worst. She also has started this thing about adopting a ba
by. Can you imagine?’
Lisa opened her eyes wide. ‘So, you’ve given up on trying for a baby?’
Jeffrey paused. He looked uncomfortable. ‘She didn’t tell you?’ he asked.
‘Tell me what?’
This time the pause was longer. ‘She finally went though the last stuff with Dr Goldman. The news wasn’t good. It’s definite. She can’t have children. No way. I think that’s a big part of this. Honest to God, Lisa, she isn’t acting rationally. That’s why I want you to talk to her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.’
Lisa sat there, too stunned to feel complimented. Her sister hadn’t even mentioned Dr Goldman’s results to her. Lisa couldn’t believe it. Maybe Karen had been busy lately, but they had always confided in one another. Hurt and offended, Lisa tried not to show her surprise, but a bitter thought occurred: Why should Jeffrey think Karen would listen to her? Karen obviously didn’t think Lisa was even important enough to tell this news to.
‘Anyway, I know you don’t own much stock in the company, but if we manage to get a twenty-five-million-dollar offer, after the conversion and taxes it would probably mean close to half a million dollars for you.’
‘What?’ Jesus Christ! Had he said half a million dollars for her? What was he talking about? Something about an offer. About a conversion of stock. She should have been paying attention. Half a million dollars for her? She could buy a house in Lawrence. Maybe, with half a million dollars, she could even convince Leonard to move to Manhattan. Her whole life would change! What did Jeffrey want her to do? ‘How do we get the money?’ she asked.
‘Karen has to agree to sell to NormCo if we get a decent offer. I’m not supposed to tell you anything about it, nondisclosure and all that, but I’m sure Karen already has.’ Lisa nodded, although Karen hadn’t said one word. ‘All I’m suggesting is that you have to find some way to talk to her. This sale is really in her best interests. We may lose the business if we don’t sell out. And I’m afraid that after Robert made that little slip at the brunch, Arnold might affect your sister’s views.’
‘Arnold?’ Lisa dismissed her father with the same shrug that Belle habitually used. ‘Are you going to tell Belle? You know, my mother and father could use the money, too.’
Jeffrey shook his head. ‘Not right now,’ he said. ‘You know Arnold. He’ll drag out six hundred reasons why NormCo is politically incorrect. If they once bought polyester that was made from nonunion petroleum by-products, he’ll be calling them fascists and scabs. Karen doesn’t need that right now.’
Lisa blinked her eyes. She wondered if this was what they called ‘insider trading.’ But Karen hadn’t told her about her sterility or about this offer. Lisa wondered if she could consider herself an insider in Karen’s life anymore at all. Half a million dollars! How much money would Karen make in a deal like this, Lisa asked herself.
All at once it seemed so unfair. Karen had everything: a husband who wasn’t only handsome but also concerned about her. She had that great apartment and the new house. Now, she was going to also be millions and millions of dollars richer. Lisa reminded herself that she loved her sister, but she also knew it just wasn’t fair. Everything came easy to Karen. And she didn’t even appreciate what she had.
Jeffrey stretched his hand across the table and took hers again. This time, Lisa was prepared. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked. Lisa nodded and returned the gentle pressure of her brother-in-law’s palm against hers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hemming It Up
‘The Elle Halle Show,’ broadcast that night, conflicted with Jeffrey’s poker game with Perry, Jordan, and Sam. The game was like a religion with the guys – uninterrupted since grad school – but when Jeffrey asked Karen if she would mind if he taped the show and watched it with her later, Karen was shocked.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but you’re going to have to learn to program the machine,’ she joked, to cover her hurt feelings. She guessed it was stupid to care who she watched the program with but she had just assumed that she and Jeffrey would watch it together. Well, she had a lot of other invitations, and she guessed the best one was from Defina.
So Karen left the office at half past seven and took a car all the way uptown to Striver’s Row, the genteel part of Harlem, an oasis of upper-middle-class brownstones and trees. Black doctors, stockbrokers, ministers, and real estate developers lived there, alongside Defina. She had bought her brownstone with early modeling fees, and since then had poured a lot of money into making it the showplace it was. Turning down the row it was hard to believe the pretty street was in the midst of the blight that was Harlem, but the nervous driver had not forgotten where he was.
‘Are you going to be long?’ he asked. ‘Maybe it would be best if I drove downtown. You give me a call, and I’ll be back up here in a couple of minutes,’ he promised. Karen got angry, and thought of all the times that Defina had trouble just getting a cab to take her home. Why was life so unfair and so complicated? On the other hand, she understood that the driver’s entire business capital was tied up in his limo. Could he be blamed for being nervous?
‘Please wait,’ she said. ‘It’s a safe neighborhood. This was where Spike Lee filmed Jungle Fever.’
Her reassurance didn’t seem to work, but the driver didn’t have a choice. And maybe he’d learn something. If the Huxtable family had lived in Manhattan, they would have lived on Striver’s Row.
Defina had the door open before Karen had climbed the stairs to the front entrance. Dee was wearing a pair of palazzo pants and a kimono-style jacket that Karen had done years ago. ‘I can’t believe you still have that,’ Karen cried, looking her over.
‘You can’t believe it still fits,’ Defina told her. ‘I just had new elastic put in the waist. I can get into it, but you don’t want to see my butt without this jacket covering it.’
‘I don’t want to see your butt at all,’ Karen told her, and walked into the hall.
The house was laid out like a typical brownstone, only nicer: there was an entry hall that ran along one side of the house and from which a beautifully curved walnut staircase climbed three floors. Defina had refinished the woodwork and stairs herself, and the dark wood gleamed against the black-and-white checked marble floor of the hall. A sliding double-pocket door was thrown open and the living room and connecting dining room behind it were open to view. Defina had painted both rooms a brilliant red lacquer, and with the dark wood floors and the shiny brass chandeliers, they had a wild elegance. Carved wooden masks were mounted between the panels of molding on the walls and Defina had also framed some African textiles that looked to Karen like a cross between modern art and something out of an Egyptian tomb. The furniture was fairly plain – comfortable pieces upholstered in mud cloth and a nicely oiled Danish modern table, surrounded by half a dozen rush-bottomed chairs, sort of an Out of Africa by way of Park Avenue look. In preparation for their evening, Defina had already rolled out the television to a central spot in the bay of the window. Karen looked over at the table and saw that there were only two place settings.
‘Tangela isn’t joining us?’ she asked.
‘Tangela isn’t living here anymore,’ Defina told her
‘Oh, Dee, when did that happen?’
‘Last week. I told her I wasn’t running a hotel, and she told me she knew that because the laundry service sucked. I smacked her. She moved out before I could throw her out.’ Defina sighed. ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ she said. ‘But I can’t help thinking that she’s going to blow it.’ Defina paused. She seemed reluctant to speak. ‘Karen, let me ask you somethin’. Does Tangela seem different to you?’
‘Different from the other girls?’
‘No, I mean different from the way she used to be. She’s still seein’ that no good black-ass boy and I swear he’s into drugs.’
‘What are you talking about, Dee? Some grass?’
‘Grass? Weed? Shit, honey, I smoke weed. I’m talking about coke, or maybe even crack. She’s thinner than
ever, and I don’t think even Tangela can have that much attitude without chemical assistance.’
Before Karen could say anything, Defina had begun to move food from the sideboard to the table. Karen sat down. Who was she to give advice? After all, she was fated to be permanently excluded from the mother role. ‘It’s hard to raise a kid.’
‘It’s hard to raise a black kid,’ Defina agreed. ‘And then, she’s not really black, is she? I mean, her father was white. Not that whites see her that way. And she doesn’t fit in with blacks either.’ Defina sighed. ‘I tried to give her an identity. I probably did all the wrong things.’
‘How can you say that?’ Karen asked. ‘You’ve tried so hard.’
‘Trying isn’t enough,’ Defina said. ‘You got to succeed.’ She shook her head and spooned some rice onto Karen’s plate. She handed her a dish of chicken. ‘I surely shouldn’t have let her take the modeling work. It made us too competitive. And the money was too easy and too good. That much money is bad for a Harlem kid. When she dropped out of school I knew the kind of trouble we’d be getting into.’
‘Listen, Dee, maybe wanting a place of your own is just a normal part of growing up.’
‘Grow up yourself, Karen. Nothing about what Tangela is doing is normal. She’s getting paid big buckets of money to stand around and look good. But she feels she don’t look good enough. She’s not black enough, and she’s not white enough. She wants magazine work, and to strut the catwalks. But nowadays a girl has got to be more than beautiful – she’s got to be perfect. This job has helped her lose self-confidence, not gain it. And she’s getting paid a lot of attention by men. Of course, they’re the wrong kind of men.’ Defina shook her head. ‘I’m just afraid she’s going to make the kind of mistake that you can’t recover from. But I guess there isn’t anything more I can do.’ Dee bent her head, picked up her fork, and began to eat.
Fashionably Late Page 21
