Gilded Age Read online

  Ellie smiled her most brilliant smile. Viola’s face floated in front of her, red with joy and victory. P. G. hung in the background accepting congratulations from the people who would no doubt approve of joining two of Cleveland’s richest families. Ellie hugged her friend in congratulation. She widened her smile until her face hurt, telling herself that not all options were yet closed to her. There was still door number two. She turned to Leforte. “Yes,” she said. “I’d love to have a drink with you.”

  • 10 •

  The Downtown

  I drove downtown on an overcast fall day, nearly winter, to meet Ellie at her new job. She’d been sending me e-mails asking me to come see her and her new boss, the fashion designer, for lunch in a renovated building across the street from the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The building had been a textile mill but now was filled with artists’ spaces, a theatrical company, a Pilates studio, and an Internet café. The building next door was a decaying warehouse, the windows smashed out and boarded up from the inside, the mortar crumbling.

  I’d rummaged together a pregnancy outfit. I’d only just outgrown my normal clothes, and now my choice was either to highlight the bump or wear a fashionable tent. I’d recently been rocking my mother’s djellaba from the seventies with the hood out over a tiny jean jacket and flat boots. It somehow looked just crazy enough to seem a choice and not a default. I’d actually gone shopping for something to wear to this lunch, such were my nerves at meeting Ellie’s fashion designer boss. But I’d been unable to find anything that didn’t feel contrived, and so I’d decided Mother’s vintage was best.

  I was still feeling nervous when the freight elevator deposited me on the top floor. I could hear her boss before I even walked down the hall.

  “I wanted to say to that damn idiot on the radio that, first of all, it would never, never be Adam and Steve.”

  I couldn’t hear a reply, but as I opened the door I heard her laugh and him speak again: “It’s Adam and Steven, for God’s sake.”

  “Hey,” Ellie said, laughing, as I walked in the room. She was sitting on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette, wearing a gleaming astrakhan wrap around her shoulders, a thick cashmere sweater, and a tiny gray skirt that showed off her perfect legs swathed in black jersey tights and ending in precariously high-heeled black suede booties.

  The space was white with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, but dingy and many times painted over.

  Clear late fall light flooded across Ellie’s face and for just an instant I saw her as she must have seen herself in the mirror sometimes—perhaps in the morning or late at night. There were crosshatched crinkles under her eyes and the beginnings of apple-doll lines above her mouth as she took a last drag of her smoke. Her skin looked sallow and rough next to her black clothes. Then she flicked the butt out the window and smiled at me, and again she was radiant and returned. The moment passed.

  A tall, fair man, well scrubbed and youthful, came over and hugged me. He wore a ripped black cashmere sweater that showed wide swatches of neon yellow T-shirt, sharply cut pin-striped flannel trousers, and dark expensive-looking shoes. Two steel hoops glinted when he smiled—piercings right next to each other on the left side of his lower lip. Viper bites, Ellie would later tell me they were called.

  “Steven, this is the friend I was telling you about.”

  He kissed the back of my knuckles, and I thought I felt the graze of warm steel for just an instant. “I’m dying to do a maternity line,” he said, pulling me in close. “She told me your little secret,” he whispered. “But you don’t look pregnant at all. Look at you.” He held me at arm’s length. “Now spin.”

  I looked at Ellie, mortified, but also relieved that I seemed to pass muster. “Please, Steven, don’t scare her,” Ellie said. “She’s not going to spin.”

  We went down to the Internet café for sandwiches and salads. The place was done in midcentury modern—steel chairs and white tables. The walls displayed art for sale by artists working in the building. I ordered a grilled cheese, Steven some superior salad, but Ellie ordered only green tea with honey.

  “Not feeling well,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Nice piece,” I said, slipping into a chair next to Ellie. I petted the black Persian lamb wrap she was wearing. “Have you always had it?”

  “New,” she said.

  I raised eyebrows.

  “She has a sugar daddy,” Steven said.

  “I do not.”

  “That luscious Randall Leforte. You know he probably oils himself up before he goes out. Smells like Gucci heaven when he comes to pick her up for lunch.” He flicked his tongue over the piercings in his lip.

  “You’ve been seeing Randall Leforte?” I was surprised.

  “Saw. A few times. Just curious,” she said.

  “Haven’t you seen the picture of them?” Steven asked, forking around in his spinach salad.

  “How did you know about that?” Ellie asked him a little sharply.

  “It was in the newspaper, hello—the picture of you guys at the benefit for the playhouse. But Mr. Leforte is also my Facebook friend,” Steven said smugly. “And he posted the picture on his wall.”

  “He has a Facebook page? Why is he your friend?” Ellie asked.

  “Probably trying to get in good with you,” Steven said. “The man can wear a tuxedo.”

  “Well?” I said, turning to Ellie.

  “Well, I’m having fun. He’s so not my type. No, this,” she said, stroking her fur, “is the result of wise investing. Gus Trenor is taking care of my money for me.”

  “Does Gus Trenor actually manage people’s money?” I asked, taking a bite of my gooey cheese sandwich. “I mean, besides his own.”

  “That weekend in Ellicottville he offered to invest some of my settlement for me, and he’s done well so far. So I bought myself a little treat.”

  “As long as you’re okay with it,” I said after I’d swallowed.

  “He actually has quite a few clients. You’d be surprised.”

  “He’s one of those what-do-you call-’ems, Ells,” Steven broke in, snapping his fingers.

  “Dead-end WASP,” Ellie said, bored, elbows on the table.

  “I love that,” Steven said. “All of the expectations and none of the abilities.” He forked a bite into his mouth.

  “So not hot,” Ellie said.

  “No,” Steven said, shaking his head when he was done chewing. “And you, my dear, definitely need someone hot,” he said, poking his fork at her. “What is wrong with Leforte? The man’s hot as blazes. His first name’s Randy, for God’s sake. I’ll bet he’s a tiger in the sack.” He nibbled his viper bites, pondering this.

  Ellie rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea. “From the person who told me he went to the clubs Saturday night to get his man on.”

  “Well, why the fuck not?” Steven asked.

  Ellie shrugged, lapsed into silence. A line was forming of dark-suited businessmen picking up their gourmet sandwiches. Every one of them did a double take when he saw Ellie. She sipped her tea, used to the attention her beauty attracted.

  “Because I want more.”

  “He has money,” Steven said.

  “Maybe I don’t give a shit about money.”

  I smirked; I couldn’t help it.

  But Steven was nodding. “Good girl. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t give a shit about marriage or kids either. Maybe you’re just some super-fabulous post-millennial babe who’s going to blaze a new trail for women worldwide.”

  I smiled. I was really starting to like Steven.

  He waved a hand toward my belly. “Frankly, I don’t see you with all that.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Sorry, darling.” Then he turned back to Ellie. “But the suburbs-and-security thing … doesn’t really suit you, Ells, not in my opinion. And seriously, not to get all bra-burning on you, but shouldn’t you be thinking about more than that?”

  I was hoping to make space for something more too. Once t
he children were in school, maybe. I was about to stick up for myself, to try to explain that I wasn’t some patsy of male hegemony, when Ellie spoke up.

  “What else is there?” she asked quietly.

  Steven moaned and leaned back in his chair. “Jesus, woman, this is the two thou. You can do any damn thing you want. Be secretary of state or a Supreme Court justice or some other brand of complete ass kicker …”

  Ellie snorted. “Come on, be real.”

  “Why don’t you believe in yourself?” Steven asked, leaning over the table, suddenly intensely serious. “Why don’t you want something dreamed up by just you and no one else?” He poked her fur, high on the left side of her chest. “What the fuck is in there?”

  I remembered that they’d been in rehab together. That he probably knew things about her that I never would. I was touched by his concern for her, his ability to see clearly.

  “Is this the part when you sing ‘Climb Every Mountain’?” she asked.

  He rolled his eyes and gave her the finger.

  A young boy in a tight black T-shirt and a barbell through the cartilage of his ear, maybe a student at nearby Cleveland State, came to refill our water. He knocked Ellie’s glass right into my lap.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said to her, not me. He flicked a rag out of his back pocket and wiped up the spill with a shaking hand.

  “It’s okay,” I said, swiping my lap with paper napkins.

  His eyes didn’t leave Ellie. “Can I get you another water?” he asked.

  “Sure, thanks,” she said.

  “More tea?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him then and smiled. “Yes, please.”

  He smiled a wide grin at her, a little dazed, I thought. He walked away but came right back.

  “I’m sorry, did you say you wanted water and tea?”

  Steven rolled his eyes. I watched the two of them, amused, as always.

  Ellie had a little smile on her face. “Yes, please.”

  He gave a sheepish grin and left. He never did come back with her drinks.

  When the boy was out of earshot Steven turned to me.

  “Everyone wants her to get married,” he said. “Look at the effect she has.” He gestured toward the counter, where the boy was helping another customer. “They want her tied down, not corrupting the young.”

  “You want a piece of that?” I asked Ellie in disbelief, hooking my thumb toward the counter. “He’s young enough—”

  “Don’t you dare say it,” she interrupted with a smile.

  “Marriage,” Steven said, turning to me. “Your marriage is hot?”

  “Don’t pick on her,” Ellie said to him while sweeping a hand toward me. “You should see her adorable husband—straight out of a J.Crew catalog and not with a flat Waspy ass either.”

  We all laughed, though I felt vaguely uncomfortable that Ellie had been appraising Jim’s ass.

  Steven leaned back. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no man hater. A woman without a man is not like a fish without a bicycle. A woman without a man can get lonely.” He gestured toward Ellie. “She’s going to need lovers.”

  I snorted at the word.

  He laughed. “You breeders—so stuffy. You must know someone eligible for her,” he said to me seriously. “If she doesn’t like randy Randy Leforte.”

  “Ellie knows everyone I know,” I said.

  “Everyone knows everyone in Cleveland,” he said, sighing. “It’s like Sweden.” He rose, straightening his impeccable trousers. “I’ll leave you ladies to your estrogen talk.”

  Ellie stuck her tongue out at him. He kissed each of us on the cheek, faint click of steel, and then left.

  “Do you want to go shopping?” Ellie asked suddenly.

  “In Cleveland?” I said, surprised.

  “Don’t be provincial. You just have to know where to go.”

  “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

  “Steven won’t mind.”

  She scrabbled up her phone, her car keys, her wallet, and a lipstick.

  “Why don’t you carry a handbag?” I asked.

  “It’s such a luxury not to. Don’t you know? To have your hands and shoulders free. Freedom is the true luxury. The new black.” She smiled at her corny phrase. “Besides, it ruins the line of clothes.” She tucked the lipstick and her phone up the sleeve of her fur and grabbed the rest of her things.

  I nodded but wondered if she couldn’t afford a nice bag right now.

  We walked out to her car. Noontime groups of women from the surrounding office buildings were headed out to lunch wrapped in their practical woolen coats with their sensible low-heeled shoes and huge black shoulder bags. Ellie towered above them with her great mass of caramel hair flying out over the glossy sleekness of her fur.

  “So Steven doesn’t mind if you just take off for the afternoon? Nice work if you can get it.”

  “I don’t know how the whole Steven thing is working out.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s hired me to be his muse. Have you ever heard of anything more bizarre?” The wind off the lake was rapidly turning her face red. “I go and sit around the studio and try things on and brainstorm with him. But I don’t know how much longer something like this can last. I mean, when I stop amusing him, or he stops thinking I’m fabulous, or I stop laughing at his jokes—what then?”

  “I thought he needed PR help.”

  “It’s not exactly advancing my career or my skills. I can’t put on a résumé ‘muse for an ex-junkie nobody designer,’ can I?” We turned the corner, walking past a police precinct straight out of a thirties noir movie—stone pillars, globe streetlights. Next to it, a vacant lot was covered in trash.

  I was surprised by her vitriol. “You don’t know where it will lead. You could meet someone in the industry—”

  “You know, you always say that. ‘You don’t know where this will lead.’ But I think I do know where it will lead. If not to a husband, then to a boss. Look at these girls,” she said, gesturing to four twentysomething women walking toward us. “You think they don’t live in fear of some boss and his tirades or don’t sit by the phone waiting for some man to call? They live by men’s whims. God, I’m so sick of it. I just want to opt out of the whole thing.”

  She had unnerved me, and I was worried about her. Ellie never seemed to worry, or perhaps she didn’t worry with me. “But that’s life,” I said. “We are all of us, always, accommodating others, unless you want to be a hermit.”

  She put an arm around me as we walked. “I know. And you’re about to do the biggest accommodation act of all. I’m just saying in the balance we accommodate men, much more than the other way around. And I’m a little bit sick of it. I want to know what it would feel like to have someone accommodate me for a change. Or everyone—how delicious would that be?” We kept walking and when I didn’t say anything she said, “Okay, maybe just one fabulous man to do my bidding.” When I didn’t laugh she added, “Just for a while.”

  “So opt out. Buy a house. Live alone.” Her attitude annoyed me today.

  “I’m thinking of buying a condo. Gus’s investments are going so well I might have a down payment soon.”

  I was constantly amazed at Ellie’s concern about money. She had a prenup with her first husband, yes. But surely he’d settled something on her? Then again there’d been those whispers of an affair, a few even. Maybe such things canceled out any payments.

  We both climbed in her car, an ancient red BMW with a dent in the hood.

  She drove fast and parked in front of Potter and Mellen, the city’s oldest jeweler.

  “This is where you shop now? Niiiice,” I teased.

  “Baubles,” she said, and smiled.

  All her life money flowed out of Ellie’s pockets as quickly as it came in. When she was married in New York, her husband had kept her on a short leash with his cash. “We could have walked,” I said.

  “Not in your condition.”

 
We stepped under the royal blue awnings and then into the warm room as hushed as a vault. Immediately two saleswomen welcomed Ellie with hugs and kisses.

  “Have you come to visit it?” they asked in the well-modulated tones of nurses on the maternity ward.

  “To show it to my friend,” Ellie answered.

  The impeccable women smiled and went behind the counter. One carefully spread a blue velvet swatch on the case as if unfurling a baby blanket. The other settled an enormous brooch on the cloth.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Ellie whispered. She wasn’t used to having her own money, to commanding a decent sum from her own work and deciding exactly how it would be spent. I could see that she was enjoying mulling over this purchase.

  It was an immense gold brooch, in the Art Nouveau style, depicting a tree with a twisted trunk and spreading branches. Nestled inside the branches were old mine-cut diamonds and smooth cabochon emeralds.

  “Oooh, pretty,” I said. “Old, yes?” I asked the lady behind the counter.

  “Turn of the century. We don’t get pieces like this very often.”

  I could see why; jewels like this weren’t often sold out of families. It brought to mind my mother once describing a new family in town as “the type of people who buy their jewelry.” Ellie had picked the piece up and was holding it to her shoulder.

  “It’s something very special,” the woman now said to Ellie and me.

  “But it’s too beautiful to be kept in a safe. I’d wear it all the time. Every day,” Ellie said.

  The lady behind the counter smiled wider. “It’d be wonderful with jeans,” she said in a whisper.

  “Or a green velvet gown,” the other murmured.

  Just then Viola Trenor, wearing a sack dress that looked like it was made out of hemp and golden suede boots, emerged from the other side of the shop, where the china and crystal and silver were kept. She held a stack of manila folders with notes and paper clips hanging out. We all hugged and kissed.