Fashionably Late (28 page)

Karen felt at a loss. “Look,” she said, “you’ll see her at work.

Maybe it’s good for you to have some distance. Maybe that’s all you need.”

Defina shook her head. “Work was the problem. I should never have let her model. The game is different now. It’s much tougher. Don’t let your niece get any more involved. There’s no room left to be real or imperfect. It used to be fun. But now it’s turned into a really sick business. It’s too much pressure for anyone.”

“But Tangela’s doing well. She’s booking lots of work, and the agency likes her.”

“Yeah, but she isn’t the first black model like I was, and she’s not gonna be more than second her. And I think she knows it now. Even so, she can’t give up fashion and go back to school. You know how it is: no one gives up the excitement for the grind. So she’s stuck.

Three years ago, when she quit school, she thought she was going to be a superstar.

Now she knows she isn’t, and it’s killing her. She’s seen her limits, and she’s not even twenty-one. That isn’t normal. And it doesn’t help that I told her so.”

Karen felt Defina’s pain. God, how hard would it be to lose a daughter this way, to drugs and dangerous men? Was it worse than what Perry had gone through when his daughter died of cancer? Karen felt the hairs rise on her arms. Wouldn’t it be better to be childless than to go through this kind of pain? Jeffrey thought so. But somehow, Karen still didn’t.

“Maybe you can just take it easy on her, Dee. Maybe once things calm down you’ll be able to work it out.”

“Yeah, if she’s not pregnant, dead, or married to some pimp by then.”

Defina shook her head. “Sorry to be so down. Enough of this kind of talk. Maybe you’re right. It’s a phase. It will pass.” Dee picked up the wine bottle and filled both of their glasses. “Only two choices for a woman at a time like this: suicide or chocolate. I was going to put my head in the oven but the souffle would have fallen. So let me get it and a couple of shovels to eat it with. Anyway, we ought to be drinking and celebrating. It’s just that this mother-daughter stuff is real hard.”

Defina reached for another bottle of wine and pulled the cork.

“Tell me about it,” Karen said. And then, as if her own cork had been popped, she told Defina all about Doctor Goldman, about her own longing for her birth mother. “And you know the craziest thing, Defina?” she asked, when she was just about done. “All the time I was doing the Elle Halle interview, I kept thinking she was going to bring my real mother out of some closet. I was petrified, but when it didn’t happen, I wasn’t relieved. I was disappointed. Isn’t that crazy?”

Defina shook her head. “Not crazy to me. You know what I’ve always wondered? Where do you find comfort, Karen? Not from Belle. And it looks like Jeffrey isn’t giving you any nurturing. Until last year, I had my grandmere. She was a rock. I can’t tell you how I miss her. A woman can’t make a whole life out of work. I know that for a fact. We got to have something, someone to love.”

“That’s why I would like to adopt a baby.”

“Damn! And I just spent an hour telling you how lousy it is to have a kid.”

“Don’t worry about it. Jeffrey doesn’t want to do it anyway.”

Defina shook her head, rose and returned carrying her chocolate souffle.

“So, what are you going to do? Aside from eating half of this, of course.”

Karen looked at her watch. “Well, right now I am going to join twenty million people who are about to watch me make an ass out of myself. So turn on that television. I don’t want to miss this.”

Defina looked at the time, whooped and scrambled off the couch to switch on the TV. The Elle Halle theme music was already playing and her introductory voice-over, the lead-in to all of her shows, had begun.

“Tonight,” she was saying in that perfect television tone, “we are going to take a look at a woman whose contribution in the fashion and business world has already been filled. But she is a woman poised on the threshold of much bigger things. Tonight I talk with Karen Kahn, mistress of the fashion world.” The theme music swelled and a quick montage of pictures swirled across the screen: Karen at the office, on the telephone, Karen at the Oakley Awards, Karen on her knees beside Tangela, cutting fabric, her mouth holding pins, Karen beside Jeffrey, walking along the river in Westport. Then there was a dissolve to the commercial.

Defina whooped again. “Karen Kahn, mistress of fashion,” she imitated.

“Sounds like you’re some kind of S & M freak. But girl, you looked good.”

“I looked like shit in that shot with Tangela. God, am I that fat?”

“Oh, shut up. Have some more souffle. I hope I got this VCR to record.”

The hour-long show flew by. Karen couldn’t believe how thick her accent was, or how big she looked next to Elle Halle, but she still watched, mesmerized. It was strange to see herself and it was stranger to think that so many others were watching her too. But, thank God, the coverage was really pretty favorable. The program showed her working, at some of the charity functions, and in meetings with Casey, her design staff, and Defina and Mercedes. Overall, the view was a good one: a hardworking girl who had pushed her way into the big leagues. There was a short segment where Jeffrey talked about the business, and another one where they showed the Westport house. There were also a few snooty shots of Karen getting in and out of limos, but altogether it wasn’t too glitzy.

It ended with her acceptance of the Oakley Award. It was good coverage.

Karen spooned the souffle into her mouth and wondered if the show would affect NormCo’s offer. She thought she came off well, and Defina agreed.

“Well, there’s nothing else on, unless you want to buy a genuine faux diamond in an actual gold-tone setting for the amazingly low price of

.

. . ” Defina hit the remote and the shopping channel appeared. But it wasn’t junk jewelry that was being sold. It was schlocky windbreakers with some kind of matching skirt.

“Who the hell would wear that?” Karen asked.

“I don’t know. but a hell of a lot of people seem to buy this stuff.

Duchess Diane and her wrap dresses have gotten a whole second wind.”

“Yeah, but who the hell buys her stuff?” Karen asked. She stared at the screen and watched another outfit being offered. It was a woman’s suit and it was awful.

“You know, Joan Rivers sold a hundred and twenty million dollars worth of jewelry last year,” Defna said. “You’re looking at the future, Karen.

It’s not going to be department stores, it’s on that screen.”

“Oh, come on, Dee. People like to touch the goods. Shopping is a tactile sport. Anyway, this doesn’t have any class. Doing something like that could ruin my name. Look at what happened to Halston when his clothes showed up in J.C. Penney.”

“That was then. This is now. Women don’t have the time to shop, but they still have the urge. Television shopping offers instant gratification.”

Karen shook her head. “Forget about it. Look, I hate to watch and run, but I got to go.”

“One more drink.”

Karen paused, got the vibrations, and then agreed. She could feel Defina’s loneliness and it shocked her. Dee had always been so strong.

They polished off the rest of the second bottle of Merlot between them, and only then did Karen get up. Defina walked her out to the waiting car that sat there, unmolested, and they hugged on the sidewalk.

Defina looked back at her house. It was lit, and from the street you could see the hallway and the inviting red rooms. But Defina looked away. “It’s a funny thing,” she said before she turned back, “I’ve almost paid off the mortgage. For years I thought that all I wanted was to own that house. But now, living in it alone is not exactly what I had in mind. I miss my grandmere. I miss Tangelaţthe little girl she was.

And now I’m sorry I gave up all those men for her. I was trying to do what was best for her, but where has it left me?” Defina was definitely a little bit drunk. She looked at Karen. “The TV show was great,” she said. “But you don’t live on TV. You go see if you can find your mama.

We need all the friends we can get.”

As Karen walked into her dark apartment, the phone was ringing. She fumbled for the light switch and picked up the nearest extension. Lisa was talking before Karen even got the phone up to her ear.

“Oh, it was great! You looked great! Did you see the shot of Stephanie?

In the background when you were in the hallway? She’s just thrilled.

We’re all thrilled. We tapescl a copy. Do you want one?”

Lisa was always so generous, Karen thought. She waited while her sister went on for a little while longer, then there was the beep of call waiting. “Can you hold a minute?” Karen asked, and hit the button in the receiver.

“Karen?” her mother’s voice asked. “Did you watch it?”

“Yes,” Karen told Belle.

“What did you think?” Belle asked. Karen could hear the reservation in Belle’s voice.

“I thought it was fine, Mom. What do you think?”

“Well, since you asked, I don’t think you came off too well. You should have worn some color. And sometimes, like when you were talking on the phone, you seemedţwellţpushy. You know what I mean?”

Karen sighed. “Mom, I have Lisa on the other line. Can I call you back?”

“Certainly. Your father says to tell you congratulations.”

” Karen could tell her mother was pissed, but she’d run out of patience. She hit the button and got Lisa back.

“I have Mom on the other line,” she lied. “Can I call you later?”

“Sure, but I really got to talk to you.”

Karen could hear the disappointment in Lisa’s voice, but she just couldn’t cope right now. “Sure. Thanks for calling,” she said.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Karen was in bed, exhausted and almost asleep, when Jeffrey got in from his poker game. He walked into the bedroom without greeting her and sat down at the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes. She could tell by his careful movements that he was a little bit drunk.

“Did you win?” she said. He didn’t answer. “Did you lose?”

Slowly he turned to face her. “We didn’t play. Perry turned on the goddamned television. We watched the show and then I drank.”

She tried to ignore her disappointment, but after all hadn’t he promised they were going to watch the show together? Wasn’t that the deal? Anyway, this was all wrong. There was something in his tone, something odd. “Didn’t you like it?” she asked.

“Like it! I saw forty-two minutes of you and three minutes of me.

That left fifteen minutes for commercials. Seems a pretty unfair division for two partners, or don’t you think so?”

Karen sat up, knocking over a pillow that fell to the floor. She didn’t bother to reach for it. Now what? “But it was good coverage, Jeffrey.”

“It made me look like a schmuck. You made me look like a schmuck.”

“Jeffrey, I didn’t want to do the show, and I didn’t edit the show.”

“No. You just said that you were the creative one. You just told them that I was the jerk with the pencils in the back room.”

“Jeffrey, what are you talking about?” She tried to remember exactly what she had said, and exactly how the Elle Halle people had cut it.

She and Defina had had some wine, but she hadn’t been drunk. The show had seemed fine, and neither Jeffrey nor Karen had looked bad.

But Jeffrey stood up. He was so angry that his eyes had turned a steel gray. They narrowed and, unconsciously, Karen pulled the blanket up over her chest as if his gaze could harm her. “You made me look like a schmuck,” he repeated. “RememberţI was the artist. Perry, Jordan, and Sam watched and I knew what they were thinking. That I live off of you.

You didn’t talk about how I got the seed money from my father. You didn’t talk about how the business was my idea in the first place. But you did tell fifty million people that you own controlling stock. Why didn’t you just castrate me?”

“That’s not fair, Jeffrey. I did say all of the other stuff. They cut whatever they wanted to out.”

“Sure. Like you cut me out. Out of the credit. We still haven’t gotten the NormCo offer, and even if we don’t take it, we need a good appraisal to raise a loan. You think this makes negotiating with them any easier?”

He turned and, barefoot, began to pad out of the room.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“Out,” he said.

“Barefoot?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. She was so angry, she hoped he would go out without shoes. This was so unfair. And so unlike him. He had never been the kind of macho jerk who competed.

Elle Halle had brought out the worst in him. Or had she merely seen it and focused on it when Karen hadn’tţwhen Karen hadn’t let herself?

Karen was sick and tired of it all, but she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep tonight. And tomorrow she had to make some progress on the new collection. She simply had to. Otherwise what would they show in Paris?

She reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out the little plastic prescription bottle. Tonight was a two-Xanax night. Fuck Jeffrey, fuck her mother, fuck them all. She popped the two tiny pills into her mouth and washed them down with a glass of Evian water. She’d had enough for one day.

The Merlot and the pills began to kick in only minutes after she turned the light out. The last thought she had before she slept was of Jeffrey, barefoot on the West End Avenue sidewalk. She hoped it was raining.

Karen slept until Jeffrey came noisily back. She looked at the clock.

It was four ten. She lay in bed, trying to force herself to sleep. It didn’t work. Now she ought to go back to sleep. But she couldn’t give it up. You need your sleep. But telling herself that didn’t help.

She lay there, as limp as the lox on the trays she had served at the stupid family brunch, only miserable, exhausted, and sleepless.

Karen wasn’t a great thinker, and she knew it. It wasn’t that she was dumb: over the years she had come to understand that straight cognitive thinking just wasn’t her forte. She was more intuitive, more indirect and creative. She lived through her eyesţwhat she saw often told her what to think and even how to feel.