Fashionably Late

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Jeffrey gave her a look. Wolper had already bifurcated the slice of pâté and had one half on his fork. He paused.

  Karen continued. ‘Part of NormCo’s reputation in the mass market has been based on your claim that you make most of your garments in the USA. But I know you do use a lot of offshore production, and I have to be certain of the condition of the workers.’ God, she sounded like a sociology textbook or something. She was embarrassed. He would think she wasn’t business-like, that she was being ‘too female,’ She didn’t want to mention the kind of rumors she had heard, but Bill must have known exactly what she was talking about. Still, if he was angered by this new factor, he didn’t show it at all. He simply filled his mouth with the pâté, nodded his head, and swallowed. Then he wiped his lips on the red napkin and smiled.

  ‘I can appreciate your concern,’ he said. ‘And I have a suggestion that might put it to bed. Because you see, Karen, this is the best of all possible worlds.’

  Karen wished she could believe that, but she merely nodded and kept on listening.

  ‘Of course, we do try to employ US workers whenever we can. But let’s face it, we can’t always get the quality at the price we want. Or at the price that that same American wants. We also like to advertise ourselves as a Made-in-the-USA kind of company. So we found the perfect solution. Our secret weapon: the Marianas.’

  ‘The who?’ Jeffrey asked before Karen had a chance to. Karen imagined a group of Italian seamstresses doing NormCo’s production. Who the hell were the Marianas?

  ‘Not who. Where. The Marianas. They’re a US territory in the Pacific Basin. We do a lot of work there. It’s legal, it’s quality-controlled, and it’s cheap. Plus, no import duty and every garment can be legally labeled “Made in the USA.”’

  Karen thought back to the stuff that she and Defina had looked at in Macy’s. She remembered how they kept wondering how it could be so cheap. Now she knew. Well, it was within the letter of the law, apparently. But was it in the spirit of the law? Not Arnold’s law, certainly. ‘I’d like to see those facilities,’ she said. ‘Are they NormCo plants?’

  ‘We own one, and we contract out a lot. We also contract out in Thailand right now. I think you would be pleased with all the factories. We’re not talking slave labor, Karen. Do I look like a Simon Legree?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘But I would like to see them,’ she repeated.

  ‘No problem. How soon can you leave?’ Wolper asked smoothly. ‘We could all go together. A scenic tour of Asian factory production.’

  Karen looked at Jeffrey. ‘In three weeks?’ she asked.

  Wolper pulled out a tiny automated calender and began beeping things into the minuscule keypad. Karen couldn’t help but notice how delicate his touch was. He looked at her and smiled. ‘How about leaving for Bangkok on the twenty-fourth?’ he asked. ‘We should just be ending the rainy season.’

  ‘That’s when Milano is scheduled,’ Jeffrey said.

  Karen looked over to Jeffrey, who wasn’t smiling. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could make plans independently. She’d finish Fashion Week in New York, then he’d do Milano, she’d do Bangkok. ‘That would be fine, Bill,’ she said.

  ‘I think we could have the contract ready by then, don’t you, Jeffrey?’ Bill Wolper asked.

  ‘I think we understand each other,’ Jeffrey answered. ‘If Basil has no further problems.’

  ‘I am sure there won’t be any difficulties,’ Bill Wolper told them both. ‘So, we can plan to sign the contract before the thirtieth of the month.’ He picked up his glass of wine. ‘Shall we drink to that?’ he asked.

  While her aunt was choking down veal, Stephanie was in her room vomiting up her lunch. She had spent the morning going through the newspapers that Lisa had bought for her. Even though she couldn’t read most of the French, she felt overwhelmed by all of the publicity that she, ‘The New Waif,’ was receiving. The black show was everywhere: the only reference to the other, the white show, was the fact that Karen showed up for the ending. And there was nothing about the other models – not even Tangela. Stephanie felt proud and frightened – she knew she’d gotten this by eating almost nothing, and now it was clear she was right not to. But how long can it go on? she wondered.

  Aunt Karen was also right, Stephanie thought. I am good at modeling. But the pride and the fear had driven her to call room service and eat three chicken sandwiches and a whole order of delicious pommes frites. After she ate it all, she threw up. Then, to be certain none of the calories stuck, Stephanie got her headset and began aerobic dancing in circles, moving feverishly with joy and fear, thinking over all the possible job opportunities she would have now. They love me, they love me,’ she was singing to a Soup Dragons tape, when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ Stephanie asked. Quickly, embarrassed, she covered the tell-tale tray of dirty dishes.

  ‘It’s Tangela. Can I come in?’

  Stephanie, surprised, opened the door. Tangela had completely ignored her, ever since Karen chose her to replace Maria. ‘Hi. Come on in.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tangela strutted across the room and spread herself onto the bed. ‘Starting a scrapbook or something?’ Tangela asked, eyeing the newspapers that were strewn around the room.

  Stephanie felt embarrassed immediately. She flushed. Scrapbooks were for babies. ‘No. I just thought I’d collect some of them and take them back home to show my friends.’

  ‘High school? That’s kid’s stuff,’ Tangela snapped. ‘If you want to be recognized in this business and stay popular with everyone from your aunt to the bookers, to the agencies, to the photographers, you have to act like a woman, not a kid.’ Tangela squinted her long dark eyes and sized Stephanie up as if she were looking at her for the first time. ‘You really might be able to make it,’ Tangela said.

  ‘Well, what kind of things do I have to do?’

  ‘First of all, quit school. You’ve got to make your move now, while you’re hot.’

  ‘Quit high school? Be a dropout?’ The idea had never occurred to Stephanie.

  ‘Of course. It’s lame. You think people will remember you next year, or the year after, if you’re not in the scene?’

  Stephanie shrugged. ‘I guess not,’ she said. ‘What else?’

  ‘Always keep yourself looking good. And keep your weight low and your energy high. Nobody would have looked at you if you hadn’t slimmed down. You should be grateful to me.’ Stephanie noticed a glare in Tangela’s eyes at the last comment. But Tangela was being nice, wasn’t she?

  ‘I am grateful. Really. And I’m careful about what makeup I use. I don’t wear clothes that go against my skin color, and well, I’m trying to keep my weight …’

  ‘That’s the one thing that’s most critical,’ Tangela told her. Her eyes raked the room and she saw the lunch tray. Stephanie blushed. Tangela smirked. ‘Uh huh. Well, you got to start smoking. All of us do.’

  ‘Forget it. My mother would kill me.’

  ‘Forget your mother. They’re old and finished and jealous. You gotta smoke. And listen, I have something else that can help you keep your weight low, and it makes sure you never run out of energy.’

  ‘You mean diet pills?’

  ‘Hell no. I gave those up a long time ago. I’m talking coke.’

  ‘Diet or Classic?’ Stephanie blurted, and then nearly bit her tongue off. Kids back at Inwood talked about coke, but her friends didn’t use it.

  Tangela laughed wildly. ‘Jesus, girl, what rock have you been hiding under? I’m not talking baby soda water, I’m talking cocaine.’

  Stephanie felt a little wave of fear run through her. She’d smoked marijuana a few times, but it had made her dizzy and hungry. Coke was real dope. ‘No. No way. I don’t do …’

  ‘Listen, you want to stay in this business and be successful at it? You’re going to need something.’ Tangela jerked her chin at the empty lunch tray. ‘Hanging over the bowl is no solution. Believe me, this is it.’
Tangela put her bag in her lap and searched through it. ‘Ah, here it is.’ She pulled out a black zippered satin bag, opened it up, and took out a mirror, a tiny silver spoon, a razor blade, and a hundred-dollar bill.

  Stephanie didn’t know what to do. Here was Tangela, a real model and her idol, giving her advice and, for the first time, being really friendly with her. But Stephanie didn’t want to do this. Still, she was too ashamed to say so. And Tangela knew about her vomiting. Tangela seemed to know everything. Did you get addicted if you only tried it, she wondered? Could it make you go insane? She once read about a girl who took drugs and jumped out a window. She’d thought she was a bird. Was that coke or some other drug? And what if her mother found out? What if Aunt Karen found out?

  Tangela had gotten busy. She had tapped some white powder out onto the hand mirror and had now cut it into thin lines. She took the hundred-dollar bill and rolled it tightly. ‘All of us models use this,’ she said. ‘How else do you think we stay so thin and manage to dance down those runways? I’m telling you they’re lying in those commercials when they tell you about the soda. This is the real thing.’

  She took the bill and inserted one end into a nostril. It was so gross. Stephanie was ashamed to watch, but she forced herself. Then Tangela moved the other end of the tube to the long line of powder and sucked it up her nose. God, it was disgusting! Like a vacuum cleaner. Stephanie had never hung out with the drug crowd at school. She had been with the popular, collegiate kids, not the heads. And she didn’t even like drinking, plus there were too many calories in it. But when Tangela looked up at her and smiled, handing her the rolled-up bill, it was as pure a dare as Stephie had ever had and she knew that if she rejected it she would never be accepted.

  Wincing, she inserted the little tube into her nose. It was wet, and that alone made her ready to throw up again. She wondered, for a terrified minute, if she could somehow fake sniffing the coke, but the line clearly disappeared when Tangela had done it. Stephanie took a deep breath, then realized she would have to expel it to have room in her lungs to snort, and kneeled down to the mirror. Quick as she could, she sucked the powder up her nose, like a good little Dustbuster.

  It stung, but not enough to make her sneeze. Right away she felt her heart begin to pound, and held out the roll to Tangela. Tangela smiled, took the bill, and snorted up the other three lines.

  Stephanie stood up, feeling a little dizzy. She could feel the blood singing in her ears. The end of her nose tickled and she wiped it with her hand. She sniffed.

  She felt a light beading of perspiration break out on her chest and forehead and upper lip. She pinched the end of her nose again. Her heart was beating more wildly, but she didn’t feel frightened. She was surprised to find that she felt good. Really good. And not scared at all. Tangela was still crouched over the table, doing something with the mirror. Stephanie walked to the window and looked out. This wasn’t bad. She felt tall, thin, and important. She turned to the clippings about her lying across the bed. All of a sudden she felt as if she owned the world. She was the Waif of the Future and, in this moment, she knew she could succeed. She’d quit school. She’d make a lot of money. She could do anything. Best of all, the hunger that had gnawed at her stomach for so long seemed – at last – to have disappeared. Stephanie realized that she was free. That she would never have to eat again, that she would never have to humiliate herself by kneeling over the toilet. She felt in control.

  Meanwhile, Tangela had laid out another set of lines. Stephanie was surprised. What for? She had had enough. But Tangela laughed. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t I give you the secret?’ Stephanie nodded. Her mouth felt too dry to speak, but Tangela was making up for it. ‘Have some more,’ she said. ‘Have some more and afterward we’ll go out and buy some things. Then tonight I’ll take you to this bar. Everybody will stare, they all know us now. Ebony and Ivory.’ Tangela laughed, and this time the laugh sounded wilder. ‘We’ll be like Naomi and Linda. But younger.’ Tangela handed the roll to Stephanie. Stephanie knelt at the table and sucked up another line from the mirror. This time she didn’t mind watching as Tangela snorted the other four lines. For a moment, Stephanie wondered if you could overdose on this stuff. But then she felt her heart begin to pump again, even more strongly than before, and her blood once again seemed to sing in her ears. Tangela laughed, and Stephanie joined in, although she wasn’t sure why she was laughing. She just knew it felt good. Tangela was her friend.

  ‘Last night everyone wanted to know where you were. Every place I went, they wanted to know where you were.’

  Stephanie smiled. ‘That’s great. I wish I could have come, but my mother and my aunt …’

  ‘Fuck your aunt. Big fat bitch. Just like my mother. I didn’t get coverage. I didn’t get on TV. I didn’t get the black dress. Whose fault was that? Bitches.’ Tangela bent over the table, but this time she used the tiny spoon to lift some of the powder directly under her nose. She snorted from the spoon, but that left half a white moustache on the black skin under her nose. Tangela kept on talking, but her voice was lower now. Something about her boyfriend, and Maria Lopez. Then, ‘Fuck them,’ she yelled, and Stephanie jumped. ‘Fuck them both,’ Tangela screamed. ‘I’m prettier than that bitch. I’m prettier than you.’

  Stephanie could see Tangela had broken out into a heavy sweat. Her eyes seemed huge, as if they were going to burst out of her head. The whites of her eyes seemed very bloodshot. Stephanie herself was dizzy. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked and put her hand on Tangela’s shoulder. ‘Ssh,’ Stephanie cautioned. ‘People will hear us.’ Tangela twitched away and smacked Stephanie’s hand.

  ‘Get away from me. Who the fuck are you?’ she spat and walked over to the bed. She picked up one of the newspaper pictures. ‘Fuck you,’ she said again. She crumpled the newspaper in her hand. ‘Spoiled ofay bitch!’ She reached across to the rest of the papers and began to grab them, ripping and tearing them as she did.

  ‘Hey!’ Stephanie yelled. Her heart was beating even faster now. Maybe Tangela wasn’t her friend. She felt a fear as total as the strength that had flowed through her only a few minutes before.

  Tangela looked up at her. ‘Shut up!’ Tangela cried. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ Then Tangela crumpled into the corner at the side of the bed.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Defina asked, from the doorway, where she stood with a bellman who held a pass key. Stephanie turned to her. She didn’t have a clue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Womb for Rent

  It was one of those perfect New York days, when you know the city is a better place to live than anywhere else in the world. Riverside Park sparkled, an emerald bracelet that lay along the silver sleeve of the Hudson. It was going to be a perfect day, Karen thought as she looked out of the long windows of her apartment. It was the day on which Cyndi, the mother of Karen’s baby, would arrive in New York.

  They had all agreed that the girl would spend her last few weeks here, and have the baby at Doctors’ Hospital. Karen had been eager to fly her in from Bloomington, first class, but Sally advised her against it. ‘The airlines won’t allow someone that close to labor to fly, and anyway she’d be uncomfortable with first class. She’s just a kid, a college student. She’s from a blue-collar suburb of Chicago. Don’t make her feel like she’s being bought. Comfort, but not luxury,’ Sally advised.

  So today Cyndi would arrive by Greyhound and Karen and Jeffrey would meet her at the Port Authority bus terminal on Forty-First Street and Eighth Avenue. Karen didn’t like to think about what the nineteen-hour bus trip had been like for Cyndi and her bladder, yet over the phone the girl had sounded not just cheerful but excited. Karen herself hadn’t been inside the bus terminal in twenty years, but it would only be for a few moments and then they would whisk Cyndi up to the Hotel Wales. It was a small, family-run hotel on Madison Avenue on the Upper East Side, close to Doctors’ Hospital and in an excellent neighborhood. But not in their ne
ighborhood.

  Sally had advised against that, too. ‘Not in your neighborhood, not in your home. She doesn’t need to know your last name, exactly where you live, or where you work. Trust me on this, Karen. You don’t want the heartbreak of lawsuits later on, or a lifetime of letters begging for money or visits. She’s agreed to hand the baby over and never see it again. Believe me, it’s the best thing.’

  Karen had felt a little chill run down her back. ‘But what if my child wants to find its natural mother some day?’ she asked. ‘What if some time in the future the baby wants to know?’

  ‘That’s different. Right now we’re talking about Cyndi, who’s an adult who’s making an adult choice. Your baby has no choice about being born or being adopted. Later on, as an adult, he can take steps to do whatever he wants.’

  Cyndi was carrying a boy. The other couple, the ones who had passed Cyndi on to Karen, had insisted on prenatal testing, so they already knew the baby’s gender. Jeffrey didn’t seem any more excited about the idea of a son than of a daughter. More than anything else, he seemed involved in ironing out the myriad of details in the NormCo acquisition final contract. In fact, since they’d come home from Paris he’d seemed more than a little distant. And maybe he was upset about her trip to Bangkok with Bill, though he didn’t admit it. But Karen knew that lots of real expectant fathers felt distant from both their wives and the baby-to-be, and Jeffrey hadn’t had a lot of time to get used to the whole idea. She was counting on the fact that the reality of a son in his arms would engage his emotions.

  The return from Paris had not meant a rest. Karen had the New York show to contend with. Now, Karen dressed quickly in a black dress with a jumper that layered over it. It had turned out to be one of her most successful styles from the Paris show. She surveyed herself in the mirror. Too severe? Too chic? She didn’t want to overwhelm Cyndi. She tore the jumper and dress off and instead wriggled into her size-ten jeans and a pearl gray cotton V-neck sweater. She put on woven brown leather Botega Veneta loafers and a matching shoulder bag. That was better. Simple, easy, and young without pushing it. She didn’t want Cyndi to be shocked at her age. Biologically, at least, she was old enough to be the girl’s mother, the baby’s grandmother. Karen shuddered. Well, she was no older than a lot of late mothers in New York right now. At the last minute, Karen pulled out a small chiffon scarf and tied her hair back. Cute. Casual. Just right.