Кэндес Бушнелл: Four Blondes

She had been waiting for Allison to ask the question. Allison was a sort of professional best friend to the rich and famous; as soon as she left, she'd probably call up everybody and tell them she'd been lunching at Harold Vane's house, and that they were now good friends. In fact, Janey expected that after she and Harold broke up at the end of the summer, Allison would continue to pursue his friendship. She'd invite him for drinks, and when she saw him at parties, she'd put her hand on his arm and whisper jokes in his ear to make him laugh.

"Harold's on the crapper," Janey said. She had a soft, girlish voice, and despite her stunning face and figure, she knew her voice was really her secret weapon—it allowed her to say anything and get away with it. "He spends an hour on the crapper every evening before he goes out, and on weekends, an hour in the morning and an hour in the late afternoon. It really cuts into the day. Last weekend we basically missed a book party because he wouldn't get off the can.”

"What does he do in there?”

Janey shrugged. "I don't know. Shits. Reads. Although how it can take a person an hour to shit, I don't know. I keep telling him if s not good for his intestines.”

"It's probably the only time he can get away from everything.”

"Oh, no," Janey said. "He has a phone and e-mail in there." She looked at Allison. "Forget I said that, okay?" She could just imagine Allison going around to dinners telling people that Harold Vane spent an hour on the crapper while he talked on the phone and sent e-mails, and it made her feel guilty. After all, Harold had never done or said anything even remotely unpleasant to her, and she was actually a little bit in love with him.

That was the surprising thing about Harold. She couldn't bring herself to have sex with him at first but after they'd finally done it, the second Saturday after Memorial Day, she'd wondered why she'd waited so long. Harold was commanding in bed. He told her what he wanted her to do and how to position herself (later on in the summer, he shaved off all her pubic hair and told her to sunbathe naked), and he had a huge penis.

His unmentionable was so large, in fact, that all during that summer, when other women came up to her to ask her if it was true she was really dating Harold (this seemed to happen most in the ladies' rooms at the various trendy Hamptons restaurants they frequented), Janey would roll up her lipstick and say confidentially that his willy was so enormous, the first time she saw it she told him there was no way he was going to put that thing in her. Then she would go back to lipsticking her open mouth. It might have been a little off-color to talk about Howard's willy, but on the other hand, Janey felt she was doing rum a favor—when she broke up with him, it would make it easier for him to get other women.

Not that he seemed to have any trouble. Harold was like everybody's Santa Claus. Old girlfriends were constantly calling, offering to fix him up with their friends, and Harold was always doling out advice, and sending these women little gifts to help them get through their crises—cell phones and computers and even paying for private nursery school for the child of a woman who'd had the kid out of wedlock. On Janey’s first Hamptons weekend, he had pulled her by the hand out to his garage. "I want you to have your freedom this summer," he said. "I can tell that you're a girl who likes her freedom.”

“You're right," Janey said.

"Otherwise, you'd be married by now," he said.

He opened the side door to the garage and they went down three steps. He was behind her, and when she was at the bottom, he jerked her around and fastened his lips on hers and stuck his tongue in her mouth.

It took Janey by surprise, and she sort of remembered flailing her arms around like a live insect impaled by a pin. But the kiss wasn't bad.

"Just a little something to get your motor running," he said. Then he pushed past her and turned on the light. "Pick the car you want to drive this summer," he said. There was a Range Rover and two Mercedeses, one a 550 coupe and the other an SL convertible. "There's only one rule. You can't change your mind in the middle of the summer. I don't want you coming to me and saying, 'I want to drive the Rover' when you've already chosen the Mercedes.”

“What if I don't like any of them," Janey said.

"What if I want a Maserati.”

"I don't want you to get too spoiled," Harold said. "You'll end up hating me because no other guy is ever going to treat you as nice.”

"That’s probably true," she said, touching him affectionately on the nose with her index finger.

"Why don't you marry him," Allison kept hissing all summer.

"Oh no, I couldn't," Janey said. "I couldn't marry a man unless I was totally in love with him.”

"I could be in love with him in two seconds," Allison said.

"Yes, you probably could," Janey said, not bothering to add that Allison wasn't anywhere near attractive enough to interest a man like Harold.

Harold took Janey a little bit seriously. "Be smart," he said. "Do something with your life. Let me help you.”

Janey said she'd always wanted to do something important, like be a journalist or write a novel. So one Sunday, Harold invited a lady editor in chief to brunch. Harold always served cappuccino in oversized cups, and Janey remembered the lady editor, who was wearing a blue and white jacket in a swirly design, balancing the large cup on her thigh while they were sitting outside.

"Janey wants to be a writer," Harold said.

"Oh my," said the lady editor. She raised the cup to her lips. "Why is it that pretty girls always want to do something else?”

"Come on, Maeve,' Harold roared. "You used to be pretty yourself. Before you got smart.”

"And before you got rich," Maeve said. "What is it you want to do, dear?”

"I want your job," Janey said, in that soft voice that gave no offense.

When Janey and Harold broke up at the end of September, she actually cried on the street afterward. The breakup took place in his Park Avenue apartment they arranged to meet there for a drink before going out to dinner. Harold was in the library. He was sipping a scotch, staring up at his prized Renoir. "Hello, crazy kid," he said. He took her hand and led her to a red silk couch. "Something's come up. I won't be able to make it to dinner tonight.”

"I see," Janey said. She had an inkling of what was coming next.

"It was wonderful spending time with you this summer," he said. "But....”

"If s over/' Janey said.

"If s not you," said Harold. "If s me. I don't want to get married, and you should know that there's another woman I'd like to start seeing.”

“Please," Janey said. She stood up. "I was going to break up with you tonight anyway. Isn't that funny?”

It was chilly, and she'd worn a lightweight blue silk coat. As Harold escorted her to the door, she saw Skaaden standing in the hallway with her coat over his arm. Harold had not only planned the breakup, he had discussed it with Skaaden beforehand. As Skaaden helped her into her coat, she imagined what Harold would have told him: "The young lady will be arriving for drinks, but leaving shortly thereafter. She may be upset, so be sure to have her coat ready," and she smiled. "Good-bye Harold," she said. She took his hand, but allowed him to kiss her on the cheek.

She made it as far as the corner, then she leaned over a garbage can and started crying. She had a dialogue with herself: "Come on," said one voice. "This has happened a million times before. You should be used to it.”

"But it still hurts," said the other voice.

"Only a little. Harold was short and ugly and you never would have married him anyway. Besides, he spent an hour a day on the crapper.”