She placed her rum and Coke on the table and picked up one of the small pieces of the toast on the golden tray and used the mother-of-pearl serving spoon to scoop a large amount of the glob onto the toast. She glanced around the party to see if anyone was looking her way. There were only about two dozen people in the large ballroom, and most seemed to be engaged in conversation while the small three-piece orchestra played some unknown tune in the corner of the room. Good.
She sniffed the glob. Kinda smells like almonds. She mentally shrugged, then popped the piece of toast in her mouth. Her eyes watered and she almost gagged as dozens of little bubbles burst against the roof of her mouth, each one squirting a gooey liquid that she could only describe as fish juice.
Her first instinct was to spit the stuff out, and she looked for a napkin to do it in a ladylike manner, but it was just then that she noticed her smiling hostess gliding her way. She had no choice but to swallow. Now she just had to hope she didn’t regurgitate on Mrs. Riverton’s beautiful blue chiffon evening dress.
“I’m so glad my daughter invited you, Nicole,” Mrs. Riverton said when she reached Nikkie. “Rachel so seldom invites her friends to my little soirees, but I do like to have young people around. It livens up the party, don’t you think?” The woman reached out and grabbed a trim middle-aged man who was walking by, while Nikkie swallowed the bile that had crept up her throat. “Henry, have you met Nicole Jensen? She’s a good friend of Rachel’s.” She turned back to Nikkie. “Nicole, this is Henry Finch. He’s one of my late husband’s law partners.”
“How do you do,” Nicole said, sticking out her hand. She wondered at the surprised look on Mrs. Riverton’s face, but the man graciously shook her hand.
“I’m fine, Miss Jensen,” the solemn man said with a small smile. “It’s good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Nicole answered politely.
“So how long have you known Rachel?” he asked.
“Just a few months. Cindy introduced us.”
“Where is Cindy?” Mr. Finch looked around the room.
“Oh, I’m sure she’s not even here.” Mrs. Riverton waved her hand dismissively. “You know how that girl is. Nicole, Rachel tells me that you work at Paxon and Green?”
Mr. Finch raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I just had lunch with Arthur Kadinsky at the club last Thursday. I’ll have to tell him I met you.” He winked at Nicole. “I’ll make sure to tell him to treat you nicely.”
A little stuffy, but a nice guy, Nicole decided as he and Mrs. Riverton began discussing a charity function they were cohosting the following week. She picked up her rum and Coke and took a large swallow to wash down the fishy taste that still lingered in her mouth. It only made the taste in her mouth worse.
“Ooh, is that caviar? I’ve never tried caviar,” asked a young woman with overly bleached hair and a voice that was just a few octaves louder than anyone else’s in the room. “Is that the Russian kind or American kind?”
“Iranian, dear,” Mrs. Riverton said kindly. “Imperial Osetra. Please try some.”
The girl nodded, then picked up the serving spoon and dumped a glob only slightly smaller than the one Nikkie had taken on the small piece of toast.
“Oh, wait,” Mrs. Riverton said quickly. “You said you’ve never had it before, didn’t you? You might want to try a smaller portion at first, dear.” She took the toast from the woman’s hand and scraped some of the caviar back into the bowl. “Caviar is, well”—she looked at Mr. Finch—“an acquired taste, wouldn’t you say?”
Mr. Finch nodded. “Indeed.”
Mrs. Riverton gave the toast with caviar back to the woman. “Here you go, Amy. Now, just take a small bite at first. A nibble.”
“What’s that you’re drinking?” Mr. Finch asked before Amy could bring the caviar to her mouth.
“An apple martini.”
“Hmm. Well, you might want to try vodka or champagne. It goes much better with caviar.” He winked at her. “We do want your first experience to be a pleasant one.”
“Oh, okay.” Amy looked around for a place to set down her caviar serving.
“Here you go, dear. You can just place it on this napkin.” Mrs. Riverton placed a white linen napkin on the table.
“Thanks! I’ll be right back.” The girl hurried off.
Wow, I wish they’d been around to give me a few tips, Nikkie thought as the girl headed off to get a new drink. She half-expected Amy’s naiveté to be Mr. Finch’s and Mrs. Riverton’s new topic of discussion, but they immediately went back to chatting about the upcoming charity event. Either they were putting on an act or they were really nice and genuine people.
“Don’t wander off too far, Nicole, dear,” Mrs. Riverton lightly called after her when she finally decided to drift away. “There is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
She was halfway across the large ballroom when Rachel was suddenly at her side.
“Having a good time? I’m sorry to have abandoned you, but I was called to the telephone. Mother doesn’t allow the family to use cell phones in the house.”
“That’s okay. I’ve just been mingling.” That was actually a half-truth. While she’d smiled and nodded at a few people, the conversation she’d just had with Mrs. Riverton and Mr. Finch was the first she’d been engaged in since Rachel left her twenty minutes before. “This is really a nice house,” she said, looking around once again. “I’ve never been in a house that has an elevator.” As soon as she said it, she was sorry. She didn’t want Rachel to think she was some kind of hick.
“Um-hm, it is nice. If you want, I can give you a tour a little later. That was Cindy on the phone, by the way. She was supposed to be here, but she asked me to tell Mother she has a migraine.”
“I didn’t know Cindy suffered from migraines. Is she going to be okay?”
“Oh please! Cindy’s fine. In fact, she wants us to meet her at Suede’s after the party is over.”
The young women laughed.
“You know, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you,” Nikkie said, moving closer to Rachel. “You and Cindy aren’t really related, are you? She’s your fake cousin, right?”
Rachel cocked her head and looked at Nikkie quizzically. “What’s a fake cousin?”
“You know, a close friend who you call a cousin,” Nikkie explained.
“Why would you call a close friend a cousin?” Rachel laughed.
Nikkie’s mind raced. Oh God, fake cousins are just a black thing? “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I’ve just heard of some people who do that. And you and Cindy are so different. I mean, you don’t look alike, and you certainly don’t act alike.”
Rachel smiled. “Yeah, Cindy can be a real bitch, can’t she? But”—Rachel tinkled the ice in her glass—“she’s certainly a lot of fun.”
“That she is,” Nikkie said, glad to have gotten out of the “fake cousin” faux pas.
“No, Cindy and I are real cousins. My mother and her father are siblings, but they were just as unalike as Cindy and I. Both of them inherited a bunch of money from their grandfather—he was actually a crony of John D. Rockefeller’s, and once was part owner of the Empire State Building—and didn’t have to work for a living. Cindy’s father never got an actual job, but he continued to invest in real estate. That’s our family’s thing, real estate. When my mother graduated from Sarah Lawrence, she married my father, another old-money family, after a whirlwind romance. It totally shocked her family. What shocked them even more was that Father decided to actually get a law degree and work for a living, while also continuing to dabble in real estate. Uncle Richard just never could understand it. He and Cindy’s mother always acted as if they were superior to us, but the truth is—and believe me they know it—is my parents have more than twice the money they have,” Rachel said with only the slightest hint of a boast in her tone.
“Really,” Nikkie said breathlessly.
Rachel nodded as they continued to meander
around the room. “We’re not as flashy as they are, and we live more simply, but we’re doing quite well.” She noticed the look on Nicole’s face and laughed. “Believe me, this”—she swept her hand over the room—“is simple compared to Cindy’s family’s house.”
“Wow” was all Nikkie could say.
“When my father died a few years ago, Uncle Richard tried to become the patriarch of the entire family, but Mother wasn’t having it,” Rachel continued. “She likes Uncle Richard and all, but she made it clear she could handle the family finances. And they have different philosophies of life. It wouldn’t have worked out at all.”
A thought suddenly hit Nikkie. “Your mother said she wanted to talk to me about something. Do you have any idea what it could be?”
“Probably one of her projects. She’s always trying to get young people more politically and socially active. Don’t worry. She’s aggressive, but she’s not too pushy. Just say you’re too busy at work to get involved in whatever it is she has in mind.”
“Actually, I like your mother. She seems really down-toearth.”
“Rachel! Finally!” said a tall red-haired young man with freckles. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Hey, Ritchie.” Rachel kissed the man on the cheek. “Nikkie, this is my cousin Ritchie. He’s Cindy’s younger brother. And this is Magda, his girlfriend,” she said, waving her hand at the stunning raven-haired woman who clung to Ritchie.
“His fiancée,” the woman said in a heavy Mediterranean accent.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you two had become engaged,” Rachel said, looking at Ritchie questioningly.
“We haven’t announced it yet,” Magda answered while Ritchie averted his eyes. “We’re shopping for the ring tomorrow.”
“Well, this is my friend Nicole Jensen.”
“Hi,” Ritchie said without looking at her, thereby not noticing the hand Nicole extended his way.
“Rache, where’s Cindy? She’s supposed to be meeting us here.”
Rachel smiled. “She called a little while ago to say she couldn’t make it because she had a migraine.”
“That bitch. She has my Ferrari,” he snarled.
“Hello, Ritchie. Hello, Magda.”
“Hi, Aunt Helen.” Ritchie kissed the older woman on the cheek. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Don’t be silly. Where’s your sister?”
Ritchie’s mouth turned into a sneer. “Rachel just told us she called to say she wasn’t going to make it tonight.”
“Migraines,” Rachel said simply.
“Just turn to Page Six of the Post tomorrow and you’ll see how much she’s suffering.”
Mrs. Riverton ignored her nephew. “Magda, dear, you look lovely as usual. And how is your father?”
“He’s fine, thank you for asking, Mrs. Riverton,” the young woman answered in a bored voice.
“Wonderful. Please tell the ambassador I said hello. Well, I’ll leave you youngsters to yourselves.” Mrs. Riverton turned to Nikkie. “Do remember we have to talk, dear.”
“Are you staying until the party is over?” Ritchie asked as soon as Mrs. Riverton walked away.
“More than likely. Why? What do you have in mind?” Rachel asked.
“I’m supposed to be meeting some black guys in Harlem and I was hoping you could give me a ride so I wouldn’t have to get a taxi.”
“What are you going to Harlem for?” Rachel asked suspiciously.
“Take a guess,” Ritchie said with a chuckle.
Rachel shook her head. “Sorry, you’re going to have to cab it. I’m not going to have anything to do with this mission.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ritchie snapped.
“And who are these black guys, anyway? How well do you know them? And how did you meet them?” Rachel demanded, color rising in her cheeks. “What do they do for a living?”
“What do you mean? They’re just a bunch of black guys.”
“No, Ritchie! I know the kind of black guys you’re talking about. Do you really intend to disgrace your family like that? They’re not just a bunch of black guys, and you know it. They’re a particular kind. The kind that Kennedy kid hung out with back in the eighties when they found him beat up and mugged after taking an overdose of heroin.”
“They’re not just a bunch of black guys; they’re a bunch of no-good niggers,” Nikkie said in an attempt to side with
Rachel. “There’s a difference.”
“Is anything wrong, children?”
“No, Aunt Helen,” Ritchie stammered. “But Magda and I have to leave. I’m so sorry, but we have an engagement uptown.” He looked at Rachel and then back at his aunt. “Could you have your driver give us a ride, perhaps?”
“Let them walk, Mother,” Rachel said quietly.
“I’m sorry, but the chauffeur has the evening off, Ritchie dear,” Mrs. Riverton said without missing a beat. “But Henry is getting ready to leave, and I’m sure he won’t mind dropping you off, wherever it is you need to go, on his way to Hartford.”
“That’s all right, Aunt Helen, I wouldn’t want to trouble him. I’ll just take a cab. Good night.”
Rachel, Nikkie, and Mrs. Riverton watched as he and Magda headed out—heads held high and looking neither to the left nor right.
“Nicole,” Mrs. Riverton said after they left, “why don’t you take a walk with me. As I said, there’s something I’d like to discuss.” She linked her arm with Nikkie’s. “Would you excuse us, Rachel? I promise I won’t keep your friend long.”
Nikkie’s stomach fluttered as she accompanied Mrs. Riverton out of the ballroom and onto the large balcony overlooking Fifth Avenue. “I was just telling your daughter that you have a lovely home. Have you lived here long?”
“It’s been in my family for almost a century. My mother was raised here, in fact.” Mrs. Riverton sat down in one of the six or seven chairs on the balcony and motioned for Nikkie to sit next to her. “So Rachel tells me you’re from Detroit. How are you enjoying New York?”
“It’s just lovely. My kind of town, as they say.” Nikkie laughed nervously.
“I’m sure. I know you and Rachel have been out quite often with Cindy at various nightspots.” She smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I used to go out quite often myself when I was younger.”
Nikkie nodded, not knowing what she was expected to say, and afraid to say the wrong thing.
“I’m glad you and Rachel are friends. So many of the young people she knows aren’t doing anything with their lives. They’re content just having a good time and whittling away at their trust funds. But you work for a living. And I hope you would work even if you didn’t have to. But”—she laughed lightly—“of course you have to.”
Nikkie nodded again. The butterflies in her stomach now felt like bees, buzzing furiously around and stinging at random.
“Rachel is quite fond of you, and has spoken about you often.” Mrs. Riverton’s fingers trailed along the arm of the chair as she spoke. “I’ve only just met you, and I daresay I also found you quite appealing. In fact, I first wanted to discuss you joining . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I find it more important to discuss another matter with you.”
“And what would that be, ma’am?” Nikkie’s mouth was dry, and her voice seemed strange even to her.
“I know you feel uncomfortable, dear, and I’m very sorry about that. In fact, I could see that you’ve been uncomfortable most of the evening. You’re not used to being around a set such as ours, is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nikkie croaked.
Mrs. Riverton sighed. “I’m trying to put this as delicately as I can, but I could see that you’ve been worrying about fitting in. Please don’t try, you’re wonderful as you are.”
Nikkie laughed nervously. “Thank you,” she said, relieved that this was all the woman wanted to tell her. “It’s just that, well, I’m not up on all the social graces, and—”<
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“By the way, just so you know, a lady doesn’t reach out to shake a man’s hand,” Mrs. Riverton said, patting Nikkie’s cheek. “She waits for him to put his hand forward.”
Nikkie blushed.
“Oh, look at you. Don’t take it as a criticism, take it as loving instruction.” Mrs. Riverton put her hand on top of Nikkie’s. “That’s the sole intent behind it.”
“Well, thank you. I—”
“But this you should take as criticism.” Mrs. Riverton sat back against her chair. “I overheard part of the conversation you, Rachel, and Ritchie were having. And if I’m not mistaken, I believe I heard you use the word ‘nigger.’ Am I mistaken?”
Nikkie’s mouth dropped open and her stomach lurched. She suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. She stood up, then hurriedly sat back down. She looked at Mrs. Riverton, then quickly looked away.
“I see I’m not mistaken,” Mrs. Riverton said quietly. “I wouldn’t have judged you as the type of person who would call an African-American a name like that. In fact, I’m quite shocked—”
“Mrs. Riverton, I’m so sorry!” Nikkie blurted out. “I don’t normally use that word . . .”
“I didn’t think you did, and yet—”
“And I only used it to make a point. I was just trying to say that there’s a difference between black people who are trying to do something with their lives and blacks who are just—”
“And there’s a difference between white people who would never use racial slurs and those that would—and do,” Mrs. Riverton said firmly. “And I prefer guests who are not in that latter grouping.” She paused. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Nicole. That may seem harsh, and I suppose it is. I do hope you’ll respect my wishes.”
I can’t believe it, Nikkie thought as she collected her shawl and stepped outside the huge mansion. She’d heard Cindy and Hal and a number of white people use the word “nigger” and get away with it when they explained that they were talking about a certain class of black folks. So why is it that I’m wrong for using the word even when using the same explanation? Because I said it at a swanky party? If the explanation is good enough for private functions, why not public ones? If a person saying it in public makes it racist, then it’s just as racist in private. I’ve been taken to task by a white person for calling a black a “nigger.” Just how low have I sunk?
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