Кэндес Бушнелл - Four Blondes

It was so typical of her, Janey thought. She was always right and always dismissive of how she, Janey, might really feel; Janey's feelings were completely irrelevant unless they dovetailed perfectly with hers. "Your mother is soooo fantastic!" Swish Daily kept saying. He'd designed Patty's and Janey's dresses (Janey was the only bridesmaid), and had cut short his vacation on the Italian Riviera to be there.

"My mother is very old-fashioned," Janey said dryly.

"Oh no. Quite the opposite. She's absolutely modern," Swish said. "So chic. And soooo seventies.

Every time I look at her I want to start singing 'Mrs. Robinson.'“

The wedding planner held up his arm and tapped his wristwatch. "Fifteen minutes until the guests start arriving," he said. "Places, everyone.”

It seemed like everyone had been waiting weeks for Patty's wedding. The guest list included four hundred people and was A-list, meaning the people on it were either famous, or had a recognizable tag line after their name, such as "editor in chief of fashion magazine" or "architect to the famous." Janey didn't know whether to laugh or cry. For the past ten years she'd been climbing the Hamptons' social ladder, trying to stay in the best houses and going to the best parties, and in one season Patty had arrived on the scene and floated effortlessly to the highest rung. She and Digger had a genuine nonchalance about it, as though they really hadn't noticed, which was coupled with an attitude of careless entitlement, as if it were completely natural—even inevitable that they should find themselves in this position. And meanwhile, Janey felt like she was begging for scraps: allowing herself to become the secret lover of a powerful man who fucked her up the ass so she couldn't get pregnant, and attempting to enter a new career in which even she, despite her arrogance, could see that she had no aptitude for.

How had this happened, she wondered, as she smiled and greeted the guests, delicately holding a glass of champagne between her thumb and forefinger. She had obviously made a wrong turn somewhere, but where? Why hadn't anyone ever told her?

"Janey!" Peter called, sweeping her into his arms and lifting her off her feet. "I haven't seen you all summer. You look fantastic, as always." Peter! Well, of course he was invited, he was Digger's lawyer. "I've been thinking about you. We should get together.”

"We should," Janey said, noncommitally. "Hey, you know Gumdrop died.”

"Oh Peter. I'm so sorry," she said.

"Yeah, well, dogs are like women. They can always be replaced." He moved on with a half smile. How sad he was. In ten years, he'd be fifty-five. What would happen to him then?

"Hello, Janey," Redmon said.

"Oh Redmon," Janey said. She kissed him on both cheeks. "I'm sorry about... about last summer ...”

“What about last summer?" Redmon said. "All I remember is that / had a great time.”

"Well, then. So did I," Janey said.

"Well, well, sister of the bride. I hope if s not always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

"Zack!”

"Had your good summer, luv?”

"Oh yes. And I didn't even have to spank anyone.”

“Harold my darling." She bent over and gave him a hug.

"I so wish this was your day, crazy kid. Maybe next year, huh?”

"Maybe," Janey said. She looked up past the crowd. A large chauffeured Mercedes was pulling into the driveway. The driver hopped out and opened the door. Comstock got out, stretched, and looked around. Then the driver went around to the other side. He must have brought the movie star with him, Janey thought, but instead, a tall, dark-haired woman got out. She came happily around the back of the car. Comstock took her hand.

"Janey! You look so pretty!" Allison said. She leaned in. "Did you see Zack Manners? He looks terrible. You must be so happy you're not with him.

I heard he was pulled over for drunk driving and got caught stuffing a vial of cocaine into his sock. Socks! In the summer! When is your house over?”

“Tomorrow," Janey said. "But my landlord said I could have it for an extra day.”

"Goodie. I'll come and visit you," Allison said.

"Sure," Janey said. She watched Comstock approaching out of the corner of her eye. She knew that woman he was with ... why was he holding her hand and whispering in her ear ... he looked so pleased with himself, and so did she ... oh God ... she was that socialite—the one who'd been married to that Hollywood guy and then that guy who ran for president—but she was so ugly! She had a face like a horse, you could tell even though she was wearing huge black sunglasses like she was afraid of being recognized.... She was supposed to be really scary and really rich: What was he doing with her? "Hello, Janey," he said.

"Comstock," she faltered.

"I'd like to present my fiancée. Morgan Binchely.”

“Hello," Janey said. She couldn't take her eyes off his face. She hadn't seen him for three weeks, and for the first time she saw that beneath the ugliness was cruelty. His eyes were cruel. Without those cruel eyes, he could have never overcome his ugliness. People would have dismissed him or taken advantage. He smiled, his pink lips parting slightly to reveal the gap in his teeth. His expression seemed to sneer Show me.

She'd show him, all right.

"This is happy news," she said. "When did you get engaged?”

"In Greece," Morgan said. The accent in her voice hinted at finishing schools and horseback riding in Connecticut. "It was quite a surprise, I must say." She tightened her hold on his arm. "We'd only been seeing each other for—what?—six months?”

“That’s right," Comstock said.

"Mon dievX Mr. Comstock Dibble?" Janey's mother said, suddenly appearing at her side. "But I should curtsy. You are a king. A king of the movies!”

“This is my mother, Monique," Janey said.

"I know all your films," her mother said, dramatically placing her hand on her heart.

"You're very kind," Comstock said.

"You are a friend of Janey's?" her mother inquired, linking her arm through hers.

"Janey is writing something for me.”

“I see," her mother said curiously. "Excuse me," Janey said.

"Janey!" Comstock said.

Janey turned. She looked at Comstock and shook her head.

"Yeh! Let her go," her mother said. "She is always show you call it—martyr. “

They all laughed.

"A that I'd like to do now is to go around the V V room and have everybody introduce themselves. And please say a few words about why you're here." The instructor, a fifty-year-old man with a mustache and an ill-fitting suit that looked like it had been dry-cleaned too many times, nodded at a woman in the front row. "Why don't we start with you," he said.

"Well," the woman said. "I'm Susan Fazzino and I'm forty-three .. .”

"We don't need ages," the instructor said.

"Okay ... I'm married and I've got two kids, a boy and a girl, and I was a teacher and I'm looking for a way to make more money. With flexible hours.”

"Very good," the instructor said. "But if your career in real estate takes off, you'll be working twelve hours a day.”

"Oh! I didn't know that." Janey sat back in her chair and tapped her pencil on her notebook. God, this was boring. She'd only been in the course for ten minutes, but already her mind was wandering.

"I'm Nelson Pavlak ...”

Well, she supposed she was lucky to have gotten off as easily as she did. "Janey," Comstock had said. He actually had the nerve to stop by her house the next afternoon on his way back to the city as she was packing up her things. "Nothing has to change just because I'm getting married. We can continue. Morgan knows me. She knows that I'm not going to be faithful to her. She just doesn't want it in her face.”