Wolves in Chic Clothing

by Carrie Karasyov

  “Pennies aren’t pretty. They’re expendable. Arrange for the pickup.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Let me just get an order form . . .”

  chapter 40

  Julia was green.

  “Come on, sweetie,” said Douglas, standing sympathetically in Julia’s doorway. “I know it’s so hard, but you have to get ready for work. You can’t just lie here until he calls you.”

  “Why not?” she asked blankly. She was in a fog.

  “Jules, honey, you can’t worry about what happened. We’ll find out soon enough. We have to go to work now, you don’t want to get in even more trouble.”

  Julia felt like an anvil had been placed on her chest. After all the hopes, the excitement, the sheer joy of the prospect of Will sweeping her up and away, the crash down had not been pleasant. Or even bearable. She hauled her grief-weary bones out of bed and into her clothes. Douglas gave her a hug and held her hand as they walked to the subway.

  When they arrived at Pelham’s, no sooner did Julia bid Doug farewell and ascend to the top floor than her dread sank in. She had a pit in her abdomen that was worse than any cramps she’d ever experienced. And it was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

  The elevator doors opened, and when Julia stepped out there was an eerie silence. It took only a second to realize that all eyes were on her, including those of two burly security guards—the two, in fact, who had first escorted her to Lell’s bridal suite on her wedding day. And this time they were here for quite a different purpose.

  “Well, well,” said Lell, coming out after the receptionist had quietly buzzed her, alerting her to Julia’s presence. “I’m sorry, Julia, but you’ve been terminated.”

  “What?” Julia started shaking.

  Gene Pelham walked out. “Julia, you messed with the wrong family when you made a play for my son-in-law.”

  “What? Is that what he told you?” she said, incredulous.

  “And now the game’s over,” said Gene. “Our lawyers have already filed a restraining order. Goodbye.”

  He turned to his daughter and put a comforting arm around her. “Come on, dear, she’s out of our lives now.”

  The guards tried to take Julia by the arms. “I can see myself out,” she protested.

  “Sorry, miss. Boss’s orders.”

  In a tearful walk of shame more humiliating than Bud Fox’s in Wall Street, Julia Pearce was paraded off of the polished premises. Out on the street, she panicked. She didn’t have Will’s cell number and she needed to call him. She started walking toward his office. Her walk became a jog, then a run, then a sprint. Her feet carried her as if her life depended on it. Certainly her reputation did.

  Panting and exhausted both emotionally and physically, she approached the security desk, asking them to call up to Willoughby Banks at Marblehead Ventures. She waited as the phone rang.

  “It’s voice mail,” the guard answered to a sweating Julia. “Should I— Oh! Here he is right now, hello, Mr. Banks!”

  Will Banks froze in his steps as Julia spun around to meet his stare. A full five seconds passed before either could speak. Julia couldn’t read his expression, but it was markedly different from the last time she had seen him. She could see his shoulders stiffen through his custom-made suit.

  “Will, I—” Julia started, her voice breaking. “I just got fired. What did you tell Lell?”

  Will paused, keeping his cool. He gripped the handle of his briefcase tighter and took a deep, controlled breath.

  “I told my wife that perhaps you had taken my affection toward you too far and misinterpreted—”

  “Wait, what?” interrupted Julia.

  Will looked over at the guard, whose eyes were bulging and mouth was agape. He quickly looked at his computer, but was clearly taking it all in. Will gently grabbed Julia’s elbow and guided her away from the desk.

  “I think you misconstrued what I had said to you, as well as my intentions for you. I was merely being nice to you, because you are an employee of Pelham’s and directly report to my wife. Any other reason for my acts of kindness toward you were obviously misinterpreted.”

  He had been rehearsing this little speech, and Julia felt like she was going to hurl. “Are you fucking kidding me? Me? Misinterpreted? How should one translate the words, Run away with me!”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he said coolly. “If I have misled you or hurt you in any way. I wish you the best, Julia.” He walked past her into the elevator and out of her life forever.

  chapter 41

  Two nights later, at the Erase Cataracts Today ball, there was talk of nothing but that social-climber Julia’s unwanted advances on Will Banks.

  “What was she thinking?” Polly asked her table, which included Hope and Charlie, Lell and Will, and Meredith, who was back in good graces with Polly, and Oscar, who was a human seat-filler.

  “That little upstart trash,” said Polly. “I never had a good vibe from her. She gave me the creeps. What a loser.”

  “It’s sad, really,” replied Lell, her hand on Will’s shoulder. “Poor thing. She messed with the wrong people.”

  Hope looked at Will, who was busy eating his roll, which had just been placed before him by a tails-wearing waiter holding bread tongs. What a lucky distraction, thought Hope, who pitied Julia. It was awful of her to go for Lell’s husband, just awful. But if there was one thing Hope knew, even about her dearest friends, it was that there was two sides to every story.

  “Is this—Julia? Julia Pearce?” asked Oscar, stunned.

  “Helloooo? Where have you been?” Polly taunted Oscar. “You’ve been in your office too damn much. Julia Pearce is out of our lives. And out on her ass. She tried to go for Lell’s husband!”

  Oscar was quiet. Suddenly, the pieces aligned. As he looked at Will with his eyes focused on his bread plate, he knew this was the man who had been putting Julia through all her traumatic ups and downs. That motherfucker, Oscar thought. Now he’s going to pass it all off on her and come out clean on the other side.

  “I believe there are two sides to every story,” Oscar said to the table in Julia’s defense. Hope looked up, shocked her thoughts were not just shared by someone else but were being articulated.

  “Pardon?” said Lell, squinting her eyes. “What are you insinuating?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Okay, let’s not get all crazy here,” interrupted Polly, shooting Oscar a look. “Maybe you don’t know the whole story. But I assure you, that trailer-trash dork who climbed us is over in this town. History. She’s gone the way of the brontosaurus.”

  “Oh, is that how it works with you people?” asked Oscar.

  “Oscar!” Polly said angrily. “Us people? That freak slithered into our lives and passed herself off as the glass heiress and turned out to be a nothing from Nowheresville!”

  “I don’t think so,” he responded, sickened by the company at the table.

  “Oh, what are you, her little Lancelot? How cute? Does someone have a little crush?”

  Now Will looked up from his plate. Oscar shot him a look of death.

  “No,” he said, standing up. “I’m not her Lancelot. She is her own knight; she has strength and character, something you all know nothing about. And if perhaps she did make a mistake,” he said this last part shooting Will a deathly look, “it is only because someone else took advantage of her and exploited her. You all used her as your little plaything, then didn’t hesitate to throw her away. I think it’s disgusting.”

  With that, he walked away.

  “Well,” said Polly, dumbfounded. “Of all the insane things! I believe he is half cracked! What a total loon! What a fool!”

  The table remained quiet.

  Polly continued. “I don’t think I’ve seen a bigger brouhaha in all my days! The nerve of that louse storming out of here in that manner!”

  She truly did believe nothing could rock their clique’s polished, perfect little world more. The fact was, something could. Something
very, very bad was brewing and about to hit the holders of calligraphied Table 27 cards like a hurricane.

  “Mr. Henderson Mecox?” a voice boomed.

  The table turned to see a detective in a trench coat along with two blue-uniformed NYPD cops.

  “Y-yes,” Henny replied, as the surrounding tables stopped clanking their dinnerware and started looking over.

  “You’re under arrest for two counts of child pornography and solicitation. You have the right to remain silent.” Henny was lifted from his Pierre Hotel ballroom chair. “Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law.” His arms were pulled behind his back and his wrists cuffed.

  “I didn’t do anything!” protested Henny. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”

  “Mr. Mecox, we found several hundred downloaded pictures of underage children in provocative positions and states of undress on your computer. That is a federal offense.”

  “You can’t just go in and get my computer!” protested Henny, shocked.

  “No, but when your computer is serviced, the store has an obligation by law to turn the evidence over to the police.”

  Oh my God, thought Polly. What have I done?

  As the officer continued Mirandizing Henny—“You have the right to an attorney—”—Polly let out a shriek, then a sob, then fell dizzily to the floor.

  chapter 42

  Hope was exhausted. She and Charlie had spent half the night at Polly’s comforting her, which really meant keeping her from jumping out the window, and supplying her with sedatives. It was surreal. But it had to be true. Hope couldn’t help but feel a little guilty—she was the one after all who had referred Polly to MacMenders. But still, how creepy and sick was it that Henny was a pedophile and a pervert? Perhaps it was all for the best to have him put away. Maybe now he could get help. She had no idea if it was little girls or boys he’d been looking at. And to think, Gavin and Chip had been to Polly’s a number of times! Hope shuddered.

  She had never had a good vibe about Henny. He was like a man-child, still living as if he were back in boarding school and it was all about drinking as much vodka as possible and referring to old chums by their childhood nicknames. So immature. But what was Polly going to do? Hope was so lucky she had Charlie and that she knew him inside and out. He would never ever be part of a scandal like that. He would never betray her. And yet, she felt horribly guilty for the way she had nearly betrayed him.

  “Oh, my Lord, I just heard, just heard!” squealed Franny Corcoran into the phone. “Poor Polly! How will she live? This is so humiliating! I could never show my face in town again.”

  Hope was not in the mood to field these fake condolence calls. Franny was the town crier, and she just wanted to pump Hope for any additional info so she could spread it around and be the first with the news. Forget that.

  “I know, it’s terrible. Listen, Franny, I’m so sorry but I’m on the other line. Can I call you later?” lied Hope.

  “You better. Because I’m so concerned. I want to know what I can do for Polly. Shall I send her a basket from Fauchon? Oh, but she doesn’t eat carbs. Hmmmm . . . Let me think about it. What do you get the wife of a pedophile?”

  “I’m not sure, but I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

  Hope hung up the phone. She was at her desk, sipping tea and trying to revive herself so that she could write some cover letters. But her lack of sleep and anxiety was totally blocking her. Frothingham’s had not bitten on the part-time work application, much to her frustration and embarrassment. And that coupled with the fact that John Cavanaugh would most definitely never give Charlie the job was enough to put them in dire financial straits. She had no choice but to try to gain employment somewhere.

  The front door shut and Charlie entered the apartment. “Good news!” he said, excited.

  “What?”

  “John Cavanaugh called and he wants me to come in for another meeting. It looks good!” Charlie looked at Hope expectantly. She smiled, but inside she felt nauseous. What was John going to say? Was he going to tell Charlie about their flirtation?

  Hope had no idea what John was thinking. She had not gone to Greenwich to meet him. She had stood him up, making it as far as Grand Central Station only to sit on a bench for hours watching the giant clock. She didn’t want to play games. She didn’t want to have an affair, or do anything that could remotely be construed as leading John on. No. Better to stay away, and if it meant that Charlie didn’t get the job, it would be her cross to bear. She’d just have to get back in the workforce and do her part for the family. But there was no way she’d deceive Charlie. She loved him too much.

  John had called her cell twice, but she hadn’t picked up; she’d only heard his messages. He had not tried contacting her again. But now this. Hope didn’t know what he was going to say to Charlie. Would he tell him about their dinner in Florida? Would he make it seem like she led him on? Had she? She never actually did anything. But she felt horribly guilty nonetheless. Hope swallowed hard and smiled.

  “That’s great, honey.” And she hoped it would be.

  Charlie scooped Hope up and gave her a hug. “This could be it,” he whispered.

  Yes, thought Hope. This could.

  chapter 43

  Julia hadn’t left the apartment in days, nor the bed, for that matter. She lay there, motionless, save for her finger on the remote changing channels. She was now a full-fledged View addict and decided she wanted Elizabeth Hasselbeck’s job. Boy, she’d love to sit there and just have fun and dish every day. But now everyone was dishing about her. It all started with Franny Corcoran, who got wind of the supposed “situation” from Polly, then told every gossip columnist in town. The week before it was a blind item on Page Six: “WHICH young, beautiful jewelry store heiress discovered one of her dear friends/employee was making a play for her investor husband?” Then, like clockwork, sure enough on Gawker.com, a flood of e-mails poured in. “I heard it was Julia Pearce, of Simon Pearce Glass Blowers in Quechee, Vermont!” Then another typed in “She wishes! She’s no heiress! She just let everyone believe she was, but she doesn’t have a pot to piss in!” Nice.

  And then the Daily News item and then the Gotham magazine piece. New York was abuzz about this mysterious girl who had managed to infiltrate this tight clique, usurp the limelight, then steal the queen bee’s man. All lies. Julia shuddered at her naïveté—she should have listened to the red flag warnings Douglas tried to give her. She should have blown off Will’s very first advance. But then what? She only would have been friends with them even longer, and therefore had an even later wake-up call. She just couldn’t believe Will had sold her out like that.

  “I brought you the paper,” Douglas said, walking through the door with a half knock, holding a Starbucks cup and a New York Times, which he placed on her bedside table. “The paper with all the news that’s fit to print, not that other trash.”

  “You mean that other trash that everyone reads?” she said, sitting up to take sip the coffee.

  “That a few people read,” he corrected. “Think macro. This will all blow over,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “There are bigger things in life. Bigger problems, graver issues. You’ll get through this and it will seem a distant, meaningless memory.”

  “Thanks, Doug. I love you.” She hugged her friend.

  “You, too.”

  There she was, no guy, no job, no hope. She was, most of all, ashamed of herself and embarrassed. She thought about Lell and Polly and the rest of the posse, and could imagine them eviscerating her the way she had heard them do to others so many times. She knew she could expect that. But she also thought of some of the other people she had met, and could only imagine what they were thinking. For the most part, she really didn’t care, because they would ultimately move on to the next scandal. But for some reason, Oscar Curtis kept coming to mind. In fact, she started thinking a lot about Oscar. He’d as much as warned her. It was as if he’d foreseen the outcome. And maybe he had. He
obviously knew this crowd better than she did. At the time he had seemed irritating, but she wished she’d taken his advice. But what made her most ashamed was that he had expected better of her. And he’d always seemed to connect to the real her, not the false Julia that Lell and Polly had labored so hard to project.

  Thinking more and more about Oscar made her realize that she had really not been honest with herself. Here was a guy who was totally her type a few months ago, pre–Lell, pre–Will, pre–ascent into high society. He was not flashy, he was not Mr. Life of the Party, but he was introspective and kind. He was the type she would have flipped for in the past, and yet she was so caught up in her glamorous scene, she’d treated him as an afterthought. One day she hoped to make amends. He didn’t seem to be the type to say “I told you so.” Yes, she actually looked forward to running into him again.

  She started flipping through the paper, and with each article she read, she felt more and more emotional. She cried harder than she’d ever wept before. Not just in self-pity, but also in relief. Her experience was not a tragedy, it couldn’t hold a candle to the war or families torn apart or hunger or a real, bottomless vat of grief—she would be just fine. In fact, at the end of three hours with the Gray Lady, Julia felt . . . encouraged. She got up, showered, and decided to stop being a whimpering lump and start doing something. Helping people was surely the way to help herself. And since she’d been pressured by Lell to leave Girls, Inc., she hadn’t felt the same.

  She hopped off the 6 train in Harlem and walked to the after-school center, where she hugged her former fellow helping hands.

  “I have no idea where I’m going to work now,” she said. “I want to keep designing jewelry, but I have no clue how or when that will happen. One thing I do know is I missed you guys,” Julia wiped a tear. “And no matter what I do next, I’m never leaving again.”