One Fifth Avenue

by Кэндес Бушнелл

  Lola put her hand on her hip and posed prettily, glad that she’d had the foresight to dress in high heels and a trench coat. At last, she thought.

  This was the moment she’d been waiting for her entire life. She smiled, knowing it was crucial she look stunning in the photographs that would undoubtedly be all over the Internet in a matter of hours.

  Billy’s death was not ruled a suicide but an accidental overdose. He hadn’t taken as many pills as suspected; rather, it was the combination of four different kinds of prescription medication that did him in. Two weeks after his death, a service was held for him at St. Ambrose Church, where Billy had mourned the death of Mrs. Louise Houghton just nine months earlier.

  It turned out that Billy had recently made a will, leaving all his worldly belongings to his niece and requesting that a service be held in the church patronized by his idol, Mrs. Louise Houghton. Many of the hundreds of people who knew Billy came, and although the Brewers claimed Billy had sold them the Cross of Bloody Mary, there was, people agreed, no way to prove it, especially when Johnnie Toochin revealed that Mrs. Houghton had left Billy a wooden box filled only with costume jewelry. However, the box was never discovered, and so the provenance of the cross remained a mystery, and Billy’s reputation stayed intact.

  During his memorial service, several people gave eulogies about how wonderful Billy was, and how he represented a certain era in New York, and how, with his passing, that era was finished.

  “New York isn’t New York anymore without Billy Litchfield,” declared an old-monied banker who was the husband of a famous socialite.

  Perhaps it wasn’t, Mindy thought, but it still went on, the same as always. As if in confirmation of this fact, Lola Fabrikant flounced in halfway through the service, causing a stir in the back of the church. She was wearing a short black low-cut dress and, inexplicably, a small black hat with a veil that just covered her eyes. Lola thought the hat made her look mysterious and alluring, in keeping with her new role as the slighted young woman. The day after Schiffer and Philip were photographed together, Lola’s picture had appeared in three newspapers, and there were discussions about her on six blogs, in which the general consensus was that she was a babe and could do better than Philip. But after that, the interest in her had quickly waned. Now, although it would mean seeing Philip and Schiffer and Enid, she and Thayer had decided she ought to attend Billy’s service, if only to remind people of her existence.

  Lola had agreed reluctantly. She could face Philip and Schiffer if she had to, but she was terrified of Enid. The day she’d gone to confront Philip on the set at the Ukrainian Institute, she’d returned to One Fifth after being “assaulted” — her words — by the paparazzi, realizing if she hung around any longer, she would lose her mystique. Safely inside Philip’s apartment, she waited for him all afternoon, going over the situation again and again in her mind and wishing she could take it all back. She reminded herself that she didn’t know for a fact that Philip and Schiffer were really together; he might have only been comforting her after all. She would have to figure out a way to exonerate herself. But at about five, Enid appeared in Philip’s apartment, coming up silently behind Lola, who was in the kitchen, pouring herself yet another vodka. Lola was so startled she nearly dropped the bottle.

  “Oh, good, dear,” Enid said. “You’re here.”

  “Where else would I be?” Lola asked nervously, taking a gulp of her drink.

  “The question is, where should you be?” Enid said. She smiled broadly and sat down on the couch, patting the place next to her. “Come here, dear,” she said, giving Lola a frightening smile. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Where’s Philip?” Lola demanded.

  “I imagine he’s still with Schiffer.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you know, dear? He’s in love with her. He always has been, and I’m afraid for your sake, he always will be.”

  “Did Philip ask you to tell me this, or are you doing it on your own?”

  “I haven’t talked to Philip since this morning. I have, however, talked to quite a few other people who have informed me that you’re going to be in the papers tomorrow. Don’t look so surprised, dear,” Enid said. “I work for a newspaper. I have many, many contacts. That’s one of the advantages of being old. One collects lots of friends. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  Lola tried to beg for mercy. “Oh, Enid,” she cried out, and kneeling down, she buried her head in the couch in shame. “It wasn’t my fault.

  This girl came up to me, and I didn’t know what to say. She somehow got it out of me.”

  “There, there,” Enid said, patting Lola’s head. “It happens to everyone once. You were just like a snake about to be attacked by a mongoose.”

  “That’s right,” Lola said, although she had no idea what a mongoose was.

  “I can fix everything. I only need to know if you’re pregnant, dear.”

  Lola sat up and felt around for her drink. “I could be,” she said, becoming defiant.

  Enid crossed one aged leg over the other. “If you are carrying Philip’s child, I suggest you pour that glass of vodka down the sink. Immediately.”

  “I told you,” Lola said. “I don’t know if I’m pregnant or not.”

  “Why don’t we find out?” Enid said. She reached into a paper bag and took out a pregnancy test.

  “You can’t make me do that,” Lola shrieked, jumping back in horror.

  Enid held out the kit. When Lola shook her head, Enid placed it on the coffee table between them.

  “Where’s Philip?” Lola said. “If Philip knew what you were doing...”

  “Philip is a man, my dear. And, unfortunately, slightly weak. Especially in the face of female hysteria. Men just can’t bear it, you know? They tune it out.” Enid crossed her arms and, looking Lola up and down, said soothingly, “I only have your best interests at heart. If you are pregnant, you’ll need looking after. Of course, you will have the baby. It would be so lovely if Philip had a child. And we’ll make sure you’re taken care of for life. I have an extra bedroom, and you can live with me.” She paused.

  “On the other hand, if you do take the test and you’re not pregnant, I’ll make sure the story goes away quickly. With very little harm to you.”

  Enid gave Lola another terrifying smile. “But as you said, I can’t make you take the test. If you don’t take it, however, I’m going to assume you’re not pregnant. And if you’re not pregnant and you continue to lie about it, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Enid,” Lola said warningly. “No one threatens me and gets away with it.”

  Enid laughed. “Don’t be silly, my dear. Threats are only meaningful if you have the power to execute them. And you, my dear, do not.” She stood up. “I’ve tolerated your antics for quite a while. But today you’ve made me very, very angry.” She nodded at the coffee table. “Take the test.”

  Lola grabbed the box. Enid was old, but she was still the meanest mean girl Lola had ever encountered, and Lola was afraid of her. So afraid, in fact, that she actually peed on the plastic indicator and handed it over to Enid, who examined it with grim satisfaction. “Now, that’s lucky, my dear,” she said. “It seems you’re not pregnant after all. If you were, it might have been complicated. We wouldn’t have known who the father was. Not until the baby was born. It could have been Philip’s — or Thayer Core’s. And that’s no way to bring a child into the world, now, is it?”

  Lola had come up with a hundred responses — after the fact. In the actual moment, facing Enid, she wasn’t able to think of what to say.

  “Consider this an opportunity, dear,” Enid said.“You’re only twenty-two.

  You have a chance to start over. I had a long conversation with your mother this afternoon, and she’s on her way to pick you up and take you back to Atlanta. She’s a lovely woman, your mother. She should be here in an hour.

  I’ve booked a room for you at
the Four Seasons hotel so you can enjoy your last night in New York in style.”

  “Oh no,” Lola said, finding her voice. She looked around in a panic, spotted her handbag next to the door, and grabbed it. “I’m not leaving New York.”

  “Be sensible, dear,” Enid said.

  “You can’t make me,” Lola shouted. She opened the door, knowing only that she had to get away. She frantically pressed the button for the elevator as Enid followed her into the hallway.

  “Where are you going? There’s no place to go, Lola.”

  Lola turned her back and pressed the button again. Where was the elevator? “You haven’t any money,” Enid said. “You don’t have an apartment. Or a job. You have no choice.”

  Lola turned. “I don’t care.” The elevator came at last, and she stepped in.

  “You’ll be sorry,” Enid said. As the doors were closing, Enid made one last attempt to dissuade her. “You’ll see,” she called out, adding fiercely,

  “You don’t belong in New York.”

  Now, in the church, Lola remembered with glee how Enid’s plan had backfired. Her admonishment that Lola didn’t belong in New York had only made her more determined. In the past two weeks, she’d put up with quite a bit of hardship, returning home with her mother — who had begged Lola to stay in Windsor Pines and even tried to fix her up with the son of one of her friends who was getting a business degree — but Lola wouldn’t hear of it. She sold several pairs of shoes and two handbags on eBay, scraping together enough money to return to New York.

  She forced Thayer to take her in, and for the time being, she was living with Thayer and Josh in their little hellhole, sharing Thayer’s tiny bed.

  On the third day there, she’d broken down and actually cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen sink. And then that disgusting Josh, thinking she was free bait, had tried to kiss her, and she’d had to fight him off.

  She couldn’t bunk with Thayer much longer. She had to find her own place — but how?

  She tried to peer around the many heads in front of her, looking for Philip and Enid. She spotted the back of Enid’s coiffed head first. What would Enid do when she found out she was back in New York? Sitting next to Enid was Philip. Seeing the back of his head, with that too familiar longish dark hair, brought back all the fresh hurts and indignities she’d suffered at his hands as well.

  After rushing out of his apartment on what would turn out to be her final evening in One Fifth, she’d wandered around the West Village, weighing her options. But after two hours, her feet began to throb, and she’d realized Enid was right — she had no money and no place to go.

  She’d returned to One Fifth to find her mother and Philip and Enid waiting. They were calm, treating her with kid gloves as if she were a mental patient who’d had a breakdown, and Lola realized she had no choice but to comply with their plan. Then she’d had to endure the disgrace of allowing her mother to help her pack up her things. Philip was disturbingly distant throughout the process, as if he had become a completely different person. He’d behaved as if he hardly knew her and they hadn’t had sex a hundred times — and this, to Lola, was the most unfathomable of all. How could a man who had put his head between your legs and his penis inside your vagina and mouth, and kissed you and held you and tickled your stomach, suddenly act as if none of it had happened? Riding uptown in the taxi with her mother, she had burst into tears and cried and cried and cried. “Philip Oakland is a fool,” Beetelle declared fiercely. “And his aunt is even worse. I’ve never met such an awful woman.” She put her arms around Lola’s head and stroked her hair.

  “It’s a good thing you got away from those terrible people,” she said, but this only made Lola cry harder.

  Beetelle’s heart broke for her daughter, reminding her of her own heartbreaking incident in New York with the doctor. She would have been about Lola’s age then. Pulling her daughter closer, Beetelle felt helpless in the face of Lola’s distress. It was the first time, she realized, that Lola was discovering the terrible truth about life: It wasn’t what it seemed, and fairy tales did not necessarily come true. Nor could men be relied upon to love you.

  The next morning, Philip came to the hotel to see Lola. For a moment, she’d held out hope that he would tell her it was all a mistake, and he loved her after all. But when she opened the door, his expression revealed that he hadn’t changed his mind; indeed, as if to make a point, under his arm were the Post and the Daily News. They went downstairs to the restaurant, and Philip put the papers on the table. “Do you want to see them?” he asked. She did, of course, but didn’t want to give him more ammuni-tion. “No,” she replied haughtily, as if she were above such things.

  “Listen, Lola,” he began.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I made a mistake with you. And I’m sorry. You’re young, and I should have known better. I never should have allowed our relationship to continue. I should have ended it before Christmas.”

  Lola’s stomach dropped. The waiter brought her food — eggs Bene-dict — and Lola looked at her plate, wondering if she’d ever be able to eat again. Had her whole relationship with Philip been a lie? Then she understood. “You used me,” she accused him.

  “Oh, Lola.” Philip sighed. “We used each other.”

  “I loved you,” Lola said fiercely.

  “No, you didn’t,” Philip said. “You loved the idea of me. There’s a big difference.”

  Lola threw her napkin onto her plate of eggs. “Let me tell you one thing, Philip Oakland. I hate you. And I will always hate you. For the rest of my life. Don’t you come near me, ever again.”

  Holding her head high, she got up and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Philip sitting there, embarrassed.

  A little later, leaving the hotel with her mother, Lola wondered how she would ever recover. When they got to the airport, however, she bought the papers; and seeing her photograph on the third page of the Post, and reading the brief story about how Philip had dumped her for Schiffer Diamond, she began to feel better. She wasn’t some little nobody. She was Lola Fabrikant, and someday she would show Philip and Enid what a mistake they’d made in underestimating her.

  Now, scanning the pew containing Philip and Enid, she saw Schiffer Diamond sitting next to Philip, followed by auburn-haired Annalisa Rice.

  A few pews behind them was that awful Mindy Gooch, with her rigid blond bob, and next to her was James Gooch, with that familiar sweet bald spot on the top of his head. Ah, James Gooch, Lola thought. She’d forgotten about James, who was apparently back from his book tour.

  Now he sat before her, like Providence. She took out her iPhone. “I’m behind you in the church,” she texted.

  It took a minute for her text to reach him. Hearing the bleat, he turned his head slightly and felt in his pocket for his phone. Mindy glared at him. James gave a guilty shrug, took out his phone, and surreptitiously checked the message. The skin on the back of his neck reddened, and he turned the phone off.

  “I miss you,” Lola had texted. “Meet me in the Mews at three o’clock.”

  An hour later, James Gooch stood in a corner of the overcrowded living room in the Rices’ apartment and, looking around to make sure Mindy wasn’t somewhere in the room watching him, reread Lola’s text, his stomach thumping with excitement and curiosity. Leaving the church, he’d looked for her, but she was already outside, posing for the photographers. He considered speaking to her, but Mindy quickly pulled him away. Now, checking his watch, he saw that it was nearly three. Weaving through the crowd, he scanned the room for Mindy. A waiter passed by with a tray of caviar piled on top of tiny blintzes, and James popped two into his mouth. Another waiter freshened his glass of champagne with a bottle of Dom Perignon. Annalisa Rice had gone all out in Billy’s honor, inviting at least two hundred people back to her apartment to further mourn his loss. Billy’s sudden death had shocked Ja
mes, and coming back on the plane from Houston, he had even read Mindy’s blog about it; for once, he had to agree that she was right. The death of a friend did make you realize that life was finite, and there was only so much time left in which to be young — or youngish, anyway.

  But Billy’s death was only one in a bizarre series of events that had plagued One Fifth while he’d been away. There was the Internet Debacle, and the discovery of the Cross of Bloody Mary, which people postulated had been hidden in Mrs. Houghton’s apartment. Then Billy’s overdose. And Lola’s assertion that she was pregnant by Philip Oakland, who had dumped her for Schiffer Diamond. This was to be followed — according to Mindy — by an impending announcement that Philip Oakland and Schiffer Diamond were to be married after an appropriate period of mourning. It was all slightly outrageous, James thought — and what about poor Lola Fabrikant? Did anyone care what had happened to her? He wondered but he didn’t dare ask.

  Now he would find out. Discovering Mindy in the dining room talking to Enid — they were friends again, it seemed, and appeared to be in a deep discussion about their favorite topic, One Fifth — he nodded at her, trying to catch her attention. “Yes?” she said curtly.

  “I’m going to walk Skippy,” he said over the noise of the chattering crowd.

  “Why?” she said.

  “Because he needs to go out.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and went back to her conversation.

  James tried to slip out the door but was waylaid by Redmon Richardly, who was talking to Diane Sawyer. Redmon grasped him by the shoulder. “Do you know James Gooch?” he said. “His book’s been number one on The New York Times best-seller list for five weeks now.” James nodded and moved away but was stopped by the editor in chief of Vanity Fair, who wanted to talk to him about writing a piece about Billy’s death.