Cheap Diamonds

by Norris Church Mailer

  There was so much I didn’t know about this beauty business. It had never once occurred to me to put cream on my elbows or heels. Probably someone had been eyeing them with distaste, thinking, “What rough ugly elbows and heels that girl has.” I’d have to check it out in the mirror. One more thing to worry about. At least I didn’t have to worry about my weight. With all the walking and stair-climbing, I had lost five pounds already, and this weekend’s food wasn’t going to put any weight on me, I could tell. For lunch we’d had boiled lentils and salad with lemon juice. That was it. I couldn’t wait for dinner. Next time I was bringing a jar of peanut butter along, that’s for sure.

  “Sure you don’t want to go for a swim?” Lana said. “Don’t be by yourself. Have some fun! I brought an extra swimsuit. You can wear it.”

  “Thanks, Lana, but I don’t think so.” The idea of wearing someone else’s swimsuit was about as appealing as borrowing their underwear. I guess it’s an only-child thing. “I’m not much of a swimmer. You go ahead and have fun. I’ll catch you later.”

  There was a gazebo, just like in the movies, on the long lawn, and I strolled down and sat in a cushioned chair and just drank in the beautiful scene. Fall was definitely in the air and the sun hanging low in the sky threw a soft golden glow over it all. I was a little annoyed at myself that I didn’t make more of an effort to be friendly to the others. I think part of me felt like a fraud, and they were going to find out I wasn’t really one of them, but just a gawky girl that somehow got taken by Suzan Hartman by mistake. Part of it, too, was that I was hesitant about talking, because of the accent. Although I didn’t have the money to call the speech teacher Suzan had recommended, I practiced talking with the TV, saying “I,” instead of “Ah,” and trying to make one syllable out of words that we used two for—like the name Ann, we pronounced “Ayun,” Jim was “Je-um.” Never use one syllable when two will do just as well—that is the secret to a good southern accent. I had to think about it, though, and usually forgot.

  I decided to practice the “I’s” while I watched the sun go down.

  “I-ee, I-ee, I-ee…”

  “You what?” I turned around to see one of the models standing there, a guy named Paul Serrero. He was Italian, had dark curly hair, and was in the pages of GQ and Esquire all the time.

  “I-ee was just practicing my I’s. So people will stop asking me what part of the South I’m from.”

  “What part of the South are you from?” He plopped comfortably in the other chair. He had friendly brown eyes and a cleft chin.

  “Arkansas.” I said it a little defiantly. People sometimes actually laughed when I told them, like Arkansas was a big joke or something.

  “Really? I know a guy from there.”

  “A model?”

  “Yeah. Blond guy. Zack, I think his name is.”

  “That’s a weird coincidence. I think I ran into him at Ron Bonetti’s. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “No, but we just did a catalog shoot together.”

  “Do you know how to get in touch with him?”

  “Hey, baby, I’m not your local dating service. Why so interested in that guy? I’m right here!”

  “I’m not interested in him, like interested in him. I only saw him that one time. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. Not many of us Arkies up here. We might be cousins or something.” I smiled and Paul laughed, which was a relief.

  “Right. Tell you what—if I see him again, I’ll get his number for you.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t need it.”

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t have given it to you anyhow.” He tried to look roguish, and I let him think I thought it was funny. “So,” he continued, “are you seeing somebody?”

  “Not really. Kind of.” I wasn’t, but I thought of Aurelius. I hadn’t seen him since the coffee shop, but the next morning there was a red rose outside my door. He was sure taking his sweet easy time about asking me out, if that was what he intended to do. I couldn’t wait around forever, no matter how tingly I got when I saw him. The nights with the library books were beginning to get long.

  “‘Not really, kind of.’ What does that mean?” He lifted an eyebrow. I wish I could lift my eyebrow like that. I tried to, but only succeeded in frowning.

  “It means I…I don’t know what it means. Forget it.” I was flustered and changed the subject. “So how long have you been modeling, Paul?”

  “Year and a half. But I really want to be an actor. I’m taking classes with Uta Hagen at HB down in the Village. This modeling stuff is just a bread job. You haven’t been around long, or I’d have noticed you.”

  “A month.”

  “And you’re already at the grand weekend parties? Suzan must like you. Or is it Freddy?”

  “Freddy, unfortunately. I’m sort of scared of Suzan, if you want to know the truth.”

  “The Ice Queen? It’s just her brittle shell. Underneath, she’s—actually, she’s brittle all the way down. Although I think Freddy gives her a hard time. Watch out for him.”

  “Oh, I already knew that. It stands out.” Several of the other guys were running across the lawn with a football, yelling for Paul to come play.

  “Hey, you guys! I’m busy here with a lady!” he yelled.

  “You go on ahead and play,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  He gave me a sweet smile and joined the others. Although he was good-looking, somehow he didn’t ring my chimes, and it was a relief when he left.

  Suzan appeared for dinner, wearing a pale-blue silk evening-pajama outfit, hair immaculate as always. Dinner was more of a formal occasion than lunch, with all twelve of us seated around the long oak dining table. There were fresh flowers in the middle, real linen napkins, three different wineglasses, and three forks. We had white wine with the first course, which was a slice of cold orange-colored rubbery vegetable soufflé, and red wine with the main course, which was vegetarian lasagna, with zucchini squash used instead of meat. The cook, whose name was Edith, had boiled the pasta until it was mushy, and I thought there was nothing bad that could ever be made out of tomato sauce, but I was wrong. Lana leaned over and whispered that Edith was from Ireland, and the Irish didn’t know what to do but boil potatoes and meat. I watched Suzan and don’t think she even had two bites, so she probably didn’t notice that her cook didn’t know how to cook. Or care.

  We had a sweet dessert wine with some stewed figs, no sugar, of course, and then we all went to the living room, where one of the guys took out a guitar and we sang songs like “Summer Wine” and “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.” I waited for “Kumbaya,” which I’d learned in church camp, but I guess that was out of their repertoire. I never have had much of a singing voice, so I just pretended to sing along, but it was cozy, with the fire going in the stone fireplace and all of us lounging around on the floor. Suzan was curled up on the couch with an after-dinner glass of wine, and a couple of the guys sat at her feet. I was getting to be more at ease with everybody, and they seemed to think I was just as entitled to be there as they were. Paul sat next to me, and on my other side was Mitch, a redhead, who turned out to be from Lubbock, Texas. It was fun talking to him, and his accent was just as thick as mine. It sounded really cute and made me feel more at home. I decided to stop worrying about it, and stop practicing with the TV. If people didn’t like it, they could lump it. Paul was annoyed that I talked so much to Mitch, and moved over by a girl named Laura.

  Around eleven, Suzan got up and left, and Freddy went soon after. Everyone else gradually drifted off to bed, or to whatever, and Mitch and I were the only ones left in front of the fire, still going over the last Razorback game against the University of Texas, where he had gone. Even though I didn’t go to the University of Arkansas, if you lived in the state you had to be a Razorback fan, and my friends and I always went to a few of the games. I actually had seen the one he was talking about.

  The conversation finally died down, along wi
th the fire, and he looked at me with what he must have thought were sexy eyes and asked if I’d like to go out for a walk, but I said I was tired, so he just shrugged, patted me on the shoulder, and said good night. I was glad he didn’t try to kiss me. He was fun but not my type. I don’t really like redheaded men—I can’t help but think of Howdy Doody—but I hoped he would become a friend.

  I staggered when I got up and realized I’d had more wine than I thought. A little goes a long way with me, and all night they just kept pouring the glass full every time I took two sips. I really needed to find the bathroom fast, and wasn’t sure if I could wait to get to my room. In fact, I wasn’t really sure where my room was. Somehow in the dark the house looked different.

  I started down a hallway I thought led to my room and opened a door I could have sworn was the bathroom. It wasn’t. I froze in my tracks, hand on the knob. There, lying back on the bed was Freddy, stark naked, and Lana was between his legs doing…well, you can imagine what she was doing to him—I’m not going to spell it out. It was a pretty disgusting sight, his white legs up in the air waving around, her black hair falling in her face as her head bobbed up and down. As I started to quietly back out, Freddy lazily turned his head and looked straight at me with that creepy grin and winked. I don’t think Lana even noticed I was there, as busy as she was. It really made me sick. My only friend was giving Freddy a…well, a you-know-what, right in the house where his wife was. Lana’s own boss! I know Freddy was her boss, too, in a way, but it was the Suzan Hartman model agency. I felt like getting in the car and going home, but that was not an option at this late hour, especially since it wasn’t my car.

  I went back toward the living room, not quite knowing what to do. I couldn’t just put on my jammies and go to bed and calmly read a chapter or two of Go Tell It on the Mountain, my new book by James Baldwin, knowing my roommate was right down the hall Hoovering away on ol’ Freddy. I had no idea where anybody else was. They were probably paired up, doing the same thing, all up and down the hallways, and I kind of thought there might be a couple of guys together. The only thing I didn’t want to do was open any more doors, since I could hear little moans and grunts and smacking noises coming from behind some of them, but I needed to pee worse than ever.

  Finally, I remembered there was a powder room beside the swimming pool, so I went back there, found it, and did my business, then walked out to look at the pool and try to collect myself.

  The stars twinkled down through the glass dome of the ceiling, and the water was alive with sparkly blue light, making the room glow like a Christmas bulb. I didn’t think anybody would be out there, but I was wrong. Suzan was curled up on a wicker chaise, still wearing the silk evening pajamas and looking for all the world like the Blue Fairy who had flown down hunting for Pinocchio and lit beside a magic pond. I stood in the door for a minute, and then turned to leave, hoping she hadn’t seen me. But she had.

  “You might as well come on out,” she said. “Sit with me for a while.”

  I sat in the chair next to her. She took a long swallow of wine from the glass she still held, then poured more.

  “Want a glass of Chardonnay?”

  “No, thanks. I had too much already. I’m not really used to it.”

  “Baptist?”

  “Holiness.”

  “Just as bad. Maybe worse. I was Baptist.” She dragged out the word. Baaabtist. Her impeccable accent was slipping. It was the wine, but maybe it was also being around me. Accents are contagious. “You know, I’ve been in New York longer than I lived in Arkansas,” she mused, more to herself than to me. “Funny. Just when you think you’ve managed to get far away from the past, it comes back to haunt you. Like you, walking right into my office, bringing it all in with you.” She didn’t have that sharp tone in her voice she usually did, or the ice in her eyes. She was softer. Almost wistful. I think she was pretty drunk.

  “You didn’t remember me, did you? From the fair that time?” I said, after an awkward pause.

  “Of course I remembered you. You’re memorable. My mother even talked about you years ago when you were in her class. ‘Susan,’ she said—she never calls me Suzan, which irritates the life out of me, as Freddy well knows—‘I have a little white-haired girl in my class who just might be a model one day. You’ll have to see her if you ever come home.’ So I knew about you. I just never expected you to show up on my doorstep. Not many girls from Sweet Valley have the ambition or the guts to go after what they want.”

  “You did.”

  “Well I was from Little Rock, after all. That’s a big difference.” She laughed, like she was making fun of herself. “Yeah, I had guts then. When you’re young and beautiful, all you need is a lot of guts and a few brains, and as you get older you realize that what you need is just the opposite. At this point I don’t think I have much of either one left.” She took another long drink of wine. Her hand trembled as she balanced the glass on the edge of the chaise, holding it by the rim. “Who was it?”

  “Who was what?”

  “Who was with Freddy?”

  “I…don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. It must have been quite a shock. Let me guess—you needed the bathroom, got lost, and walked in on Freddy and…Tricia? Laura? Lana? Give me a clue.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you mean. I didn’t see anybody with Freddy.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s been with them all. And half my girlfriends. Probably all my girlfriends. He had a quickie with one of my bridesmaids before we left on our honeymoon. Then she wiped herself off, came out, and caught the bouquet. I hate women. I really, really hate them. Even more than I hate men.”

  How casually she said it. Like she’d had all the emotion drained out of her, and was just reciting a fact. I was a little shocked. More than a little.

  “Your bridesmaid!” I said after a minute. “That’s horrible! Was she a close friend?”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “Sure there is. I have friends I’d trust with my life.” I could never in my wildest dreams imagine Baby sleeping with anybody I even half liked. Even Cassie, I knew, would never betray my trust like that. Lana, however, I’d keep my eye on.

  “Good for you. I hope they never fall for somebody you’re in love with. And you better hope you never fall for somebody one of them is in love with. You’ll find out that friendship takes a backseat to love every time.”

  “Do you…I mean…are you still in love with Freddy?”

  “Was I ever in love with Freddy? I wonder,” she mused. “I must have been. Nothing else explains it. But now…now, I loathe Freddy.”

  “Then why…”

  “He has controlling interest in the agency. He made sure of that. He didn’t put a nickel into it—his experience and his expertise were his contributions—but I was stupid enough to sign a contract without reading it because I loved and trusted him. Large payment for a lesson well learned. Always read your contracts. Always.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but if you hate all women and don’t trust them, why are you telling me all this?”

  “I’m drunk, or you can bet I wouldn’t be talking to you at all.” She paused, considering, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “No, that’s not true. I could tell the first time I saw you. You’re more noble than me.” I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “Nobility was never one of my virtues, I’m afraid. You believe you would have hot slivers shoved under your fingernails before you would betray a friend, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know about hot slivers, but I know I would never sleep with a friend’s boyfriend. Ever.”

  “Not even if you were insanely crazy about him? Madly, deeply in love with him?”

  “I would never be in love with a friend’s boyfriend.”

  She leaned back, a satisfied look on her face.

  “That shows me how young you are, in spite of reaching the advanced age of twenty-two, Cherry Marshall. I
can tell you’ve had a sex life, but not an extensive one. Am I right? One boyfriend? Two?” Maybe she could read my mind. I shifted on the cushion, not really wanting to tell her about Tripp and Faye, or anything else.

  “I’ve had one guy. Who is with somebody else now. But she wasn’t my friend, and I sure wasn’t hers. I didn’t even know about her when I met him.” It was a lie, sort of. I’d actually had another little sexual encounter, when I found out Tripp was married, but I didn’t feel like going into my lone sorry scuffle at midnight in the potato patch with Ricky Don Sweet. It was just closing the door on our high school romance, and as far as I was concerned, it didn’t count.

  “Cheers to old boyfriends. May they never come back to haunt us.” She smiled and lifted her glass to me. “Sure you won’t have a little nightcap?” I shook my head. My eyelids felt sandy. She poured herself another glass, draining the bottle. “Yes, I do have to admit I’ve been on both sides of the cheating fence. It’s worse to be the one cheated on, I can tell you. But noble or not so noble, under it all we are just two little girls from Little Rock, aren’t we?”

  “Sweet Valley.”

  “Right. Two sweet little girls from Sweet Valley.” She laughed. “Come sit by me, Cherry. Just for a minute.”

  I felt a little funny about it, but she scooted over and made room for me on the chaise, patting the cushion. She put her arm around me and I could smell her perfume, Youth-Dew, which was what my mother wore. It was weird, like she was a twisted twin of my mother, and I felt like any minute Rod Serling would step out from behind the potted plant and say, “Here’s Cherry Marshall, a good Christian girl who thinks she can come to New York to become a model, and still be the same old person she always was. In reality, she has entered…the Twilight Zone.”

  “I heard you and Mitch talking about the Razorbacks. Did you go to many games?” Suzan asked. Her breath smelled like wine, but mine probably did, too. Between her breath and the Youth-Dew and the wine in my stomach, I felt a little fuzzy, like I was there but at the same time was standing off to the side, watching myself.