Trophies, p.53
Trophies, page 53
Marion checked her makeup in her compact. Yep. There were a few lines in the corners of her eyes. She’d earned them weathering this storm.
They were her trophies and they were staying.
Not all of them. But she did want eyes that could smile.
(Besides without so much Botox, your cheeks didn’t fall.)
(Yet.)
Right now her cheek looked like she had been in a knife fight, a result of the crimson gash Chloe Gelson’s lipstick left on it at Patti’s pre-prereception. In fact, the telltale signs of no fewer than five different colors were there. Marion fished a tissue from her clutch.
Oh, yeah, the star fuckers. They all came back.
Once word of the Zane reconciliation hit the streets, the MAJOR INFLUENCE was cemented back in place.
Going on Oprah hadn’t hurt either. (Even Verna Hale told her that she admired that strategy.) Breaking through the society-magazine ceiling and achieving mainstream mass-media attention in the name of a cause definitely bumped up a Trophy wife’s status. (Marion was surprised that Lyndy had never tried it.)
As she looked at herself in the mirror, it occurred to Marion that she could have turned into either one of those women, Lyndy or Verna: destroying others for a living…or reducing her world to one of regret and vengeful fantasies.
But there was one big difference between Marion and the Vernas and Lyndys of this world:
Marion Zane wasn’t an asshole.
Marion saw her husband exit the tent and she forgot about Verna and Lyndy.
Because Richard was walking with her daughter.
And her daughter had, for a change, excellent hair.
And she didn’t want to waste her energy on caca anymore.
Zephyr bussed her mother on the cheek and quietly said, “Hi, Mom.” She was still uncomfortable about appearing in public as Marion’s daughter. And she wasn’t going to hide it.
The notion that she was the Zane-empire heiress had definitely caused an increase in ribbing at the office.
And Zephyr liked to keep a low professional profile, as did her colleague in the profession, Barry Shapiro.
They had a lot in common, those two. That’s why Zephyr had always been Barry Shapiro’s favorite Zane. And that’s also why they were lovers. Had been for years. Zephyr had kept that fact very low profile.
Secrets were a family tradition, it seemed.
But even Marion didn’t know every secret.
“Ready for showtime?” Zephyr’s new stepfather asked her new mother.
“I am,” her new mother replied. “But it’s up to Xiocena. She’s got the shovel at the groundbreaking.”
Sasha and Dudayev were walking to the groundbreaking ceremony behind Verna Hale.
Because they wanted to measure her.
To see where she’d fit into the hospital foundation.
It was nice having more time for “other pursuits” now that Lladya was handling cooking and Wen was taking care of the gardens.
It gave them a chance to make up for the losses they’d sustained in betting against May-May-the-wicked-old-Chinawoman.
It was also nice that Ivan believed in outsourcing the disposal of his victims’ bodies.
“We keep that bracelet,” Sasha said. “It is real.”
“And heavy,” Dudayev happily agreed.
“The bracelet’s mine, gentlemen,” said Ivan, making both of them jump because the man had just materialized out of nowhere like a wraith.
He felt the bracelet was a worthy trophy.
“It’s okay to come out now, girls,” Claire called. “Pepper’s boys went home with their nannies and tummyaches.”
Brooke, Haley, and Eva peeked timidly out of the tent.
“I promise. Cross my heart and not hope to die.”
Claire’s stepdaughters came out of the tent, dutifully. And Claire thought it was wonderful that they trusted her.
She also thought it was wonderful that they knew better than to give her any shit about her requests or her corny midwestern sayings.
Claire ran a tight “tour” these days.
“That means you too, Billy. Turn the cell phone off now, please.”
And Billy didn’t fuck around either.
Because he wanted to fuck around.
As they walked to the site of the groundbreaking ceremony, several photos were taken of the Price family. Claire was happy that the girls knew better than to fight her stepmom-chooses-the-dresses-for-her-public-events rule. They looked perfect in their matching pink Ralph Lauren shift dresses.
Appearance was sooooo important.
That was why she’d made Billy wear a tie and a navy sport coat with gold buttons. He needed to look as important as he was.
And it was also why she’d chosen the pink cashmere Ralph Lauren shift with the matching cashmere coat for herself. It hugged her curves without looking slutty.
She wanted to give the community a good picture of who the Prices were. And nothing does that as well as well-groomed, obedient children.
And matching shifts.
It would tell everybody what a no-nonsense tight tour she ran.
In turn, people would want her to run other things.
Like galas and capital-raising campaigns. And fund-raisers for congressional aspirants.
She was meeting more and more of Marion’s connections every day.
She wanted to study Marion Zane’s every move.
It was best to always study under the best.
She was meeting with Marion’s decorator next week, in fact.
She wanted her house to be perfect for board meetings and entertaining.
She wanted to redecorate in Classic American Splendor.
CAS always put people at ease. (But not too much.)
Marion had been right to tell Claire to stick with her own style. CAS was tasteful and that’s who Claire was.
Their house wouldn’t look like a fad freak had ripped them off.
(The way Nicky Dupre’s house did.)
And Claire’s house wouldn’t look like a Perfect Rainbow Princess Castle either.
Because Claire didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
Who the heck wants to be princess when you can be Queen?
After she made sure that no cameras were in range, Claire twisted the clasp on her fuck-you Hermès Birkin bag and addressed her perfect, tasteful family.
“Mentos, anyone?” she asked sweetly.
96
Continuity
The crystal bar glasses were right. But the champagne flutes were wrong. They had cuts.
“No, that’s not the Murano,” Marion said, dropping her bra and taking the glass out of Ivan’s hand. “This isn’t even mine, it’s from catering. I didn’t order this!”
“That weddin’ planner’s paddin’ the bills,” said Pepper, unzipping her dress and letting it fall. Even after giving birth to her sixth child, aside from a slight hood over the belly button, her body had snapped back as usual. “Marion,” she scolded, “I warned you ’bout her!”
Ivan averted his eyes. Not to avoid the sight of Pepper in her underwear, but because he’d warned Marion about the wedding planner as well and didn’t want to rub it in.
“They are all thieves,” Maya pronounced, angling the bottle of warmed goat’s-milk formula for her sister-surrogate’s gift—her two-month-old son, Rex. “Is giant business.”
“Fine, she’s a crook. Say I told you to say it,” said Marion, quickly handing the flute back to Ivan and leaning over to let her breasts fall properly into the nude La Perla bra.
Ivan already had told the woman. When the planner “accidentally” double-ordered the booze.
Not wanting to damage her manicure, Marion swung up holstered and turned for Ivan to help fasten the bra. He did. “Just tell the guys to get those back in their crates and—”
“I already did. And Jeff is retuning the Murano crates to the kitchen, since your wedding planner sent them back down to the basement. Mrs. Price is keeping an eye on the woman downstairs to prevent further disasters.”
Normally, Ivan wouldn’t have bothered Marion while she was dressing with tattletales about a stemware mix-up, but this was a very important occasion for her and he wanted to keep her calm so she could enjoy it, which meant keeping her totally informed.
And besides, the visuals were too good to pass up.
“Oh, Claire will keep her in line.” Lately, she preferred to change clothes in private, a policy that included even Ivan. “Thanks. I’ll finish up and go down and see Jeff.”
“Very good.”
“Ivan, you know how to feed baby?” asked Maya.
“Yes I do, Mrs. Hanson.”
“Could you?” she asked, gingerly offering him her son.
Ivan made a smooth exchange and assumed Maya’s seat on the fainting couch without disturbing the infant or moving the bottle from his lips. “How old is Rex now?”
“Two and half month; thanks.” With that, Maya’s own dress fell to the floor and Ivan (delightedly) noted that she still forsook undergarments.
“He always drink so slow at end of feeding.”
“’Cuz he’s snockered on milk, like a li’l drunken sailor,” cooed Pepper, soothing five-month-old Demeter (destined to be nicknamed Demi) in the carrier at her feet, and giving Ivan a nice shot of her backside.
“Could somebody get these, please?” asked Marion, indicating her fragile nails, then the garter-belt clasps above the stockings she’d donned.
“Allow me,” said Ivan, tucking the baby bottle under his chin.
“Sorry to be so helpless,” Marion apologized. “Xio’s with Zephyr in the guesthouse. You’re saving my ass.”
Ivan remained stoic. “No problem at all. Turn around, please.”
Suddenly the door flew open and Crystal Zane stomped into the closets, wearing a Nina Ricci blouse and nothing but Jimmy Choos below her waist.
“I can’t believe I forgot my underwear!” she fumed.
Pepper immediately shot Marion a look.
“With four suitcases? Neither can I, sweetheart,” said Marion, avoiding Pepper’s eyes at all costs and turning so Ivan could fasten her other leg. “There’s new in the third, right side, bottom left.”
Crystal went to fetch the underwear and Ivan didn’t bother looking at the visual. The girl was pollution.
The door opened again and Dickie Jr. nonchalantly strolled in, causing everyone to gasp and cover up.
“This cuff link fell out,” he griped. “Need a little help.”
“Get the fuck out, Mr. Peeper!” snarled Maya, throwing a shoe.
Dickie Jr. clutched his eyes and staggered dramatically backward into the master bedroom. “Ahhh! It burns! It burns!”
“Nice try, degenerate,” muttered Crystal, stomping out in a new Dior G-string.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Marion said to the empty air.
“Oh, like I’m supposed to know you guys would do a total wardrobe change between acts!” Dickie laughed from outside the door.
“Yes, you are,” answered Ivan, who’d finished with Marion and was tucking sleeping Rex into his infant carrier.
“Hey,” said Marion, “this is my first and, hopefully, last time to play mother of the bride and I plan on milking it. Anyway, my Oscar dress from the ceremony had black mascara tears all over it.”
“Sor-ry!” sang out Patti from the back bathroom.
“Mine was spit-upped,” added Maya.
“Mine wuz leaked out,” added Pepper, which came as no surprise to anyone.
“And who wants to look like the mother of the bride,” Marion continued, hopping into a shorter Chanel chiffon cocktail and offering her back for Ivan to zip, “when the band is smokin’ insane? Have a seat out there, Dickie, and I’ll be in to help you in a sec.”
“Speaking of a little help,” Patti yelled from the bathroom, “I’m having sort of a problem with these bikini-wax strips…”
Pepper almost caught her hip in her zipper and her baby girl started to cry. “God almighty, Patti Fink! Why’re ya doing that now?!”
“I’m going to be dancing!” came the answer from the bathroom.
“Well, Marion’s about ta have a house fulla people an’ I’m tryin’ ta play beat the clock with m’ tits an’—shit!” There were two identical wet stains on the front of her blouse.
“Second closet, end of the Missoni,” said Marion as Ivan secured the hook at the nape of her neck.
“It’s in a very tender place!” bleated Patti.
Maya made a face. “My tits leak too!” she quickly lied back to Patti while shimmying into a gold cutoff Galanos.
“Coming, Mrs. Fink,” said Ivan, striding back to the bathroom.
Someone had to help her.
Marion stepped into her Manolos, clipped twenty carats of diamond drops into place, and swept out to the bedroom, where Dickie waited, smirking.
“Are you sure that Ivan of yours even has a cock?” Dickie Jr. cracked as Marion recuffed him.
Marion looked up at him: “You made this hole bigger when you pulled your cuff link off,” she said quietly.
Downstairs, Marion Zane clicked over to the old stairwell that led to the basement and peered down. The second Zephyr announced her engagement, Marion had rung up Seppe at Murano and ordered five hundred of their exquisite “reticello” flutes for the toast. But Zephyr had insisted on an intimate wedding…
“You only need to bring two hundred back up, Jeff,” Marion called down to her majordomo.
The sounds of several men moaning floated up in reply.
“Dictatorial cow!” snorted Roger, frantically chopping pimientos like a mad hedge trimmer on the other side of the kitchen. “Let her try recutting two hundred garnishes!”
The wedding planner wasn’t making many fans today.
So once in a while the Black Book was wrong in its recommendations? It wasn’t often.
At the sounds of more wedding-planner curses coming from both sides of the room (and one comparison to the reproductive organs of a hyena), Marion backed out of her kitchen the same way she’d come in.
As Marion started up the tower staircase en route to the master suite, a startling flash of light from overhead almost caused her to lose her footing.
Who was taking pictures up there? The guests couldn’t have made it back from Broad Beach yet! She was sure Patti had paid off the valets to stall them!
When Marion looked up, she saw only early-evening shadows in the empty tower. But when she looked back down at the steps, something flashed above her again.
Did that old chandelier have a short? she wondered
Marion clicked up the tower staircase to the second-floor landing.
But the lights weren’t even on up there.
Strange…
Looking out the casement window, she noticed that dusk had fallen. It was spring, but the air was still chilly. Make that cold, almost frosty.
And the air was vibrating.
And Marion knew she wasn’t alone.
Slowly, a figure started forming in the empty center of the shadowy stairwell in front of her. It looked like it was made of poofing sheets—no, poofing scarves…no, what did Patti call it?
Ectoplasm.
Great. You finally decide to show up when I’m expecting two hundred guests for a wedding reception.
But Gilda had already materialized into herself.
She was more beautiful and youthful than her pictures.
And she had a look of mischief around her pixie mouth and eyes.
There were seed pearls in the delicately woven lace of her sheer flapper frock. (Marion was glad she wasn’t naked.)
And her shoes were…well, they were awesome.
Her jewelry was impressive. Especially the engagement rock. Apparently, Rutherford had loved her. (Before he met the Italian.)
Gilda looked at Marion expectantly.
What?
Gilda kept looking at her expectantly.
(Marion didn’t have time for charades.)
Um, I have no more questions. I got it.
Gilda looked up to the cupola.
Yes, you jumped off the cupola. We went over this. Remember…last January?
(One of two months Marion wished she could forget.)
But Gilda was shaking her pretty bobbed head.
No? But I thought…wait, were you pushed?
Gilda was nodding her pretty bobbed head yes.
No shit? You weren’t drunk or doing opium or any of that twenties stuff…
“No” shakes.
Then I was right in the first place? Did Rutherford push you?
More “yes” nods.
I gotta learn to trust my research…
Then Gilda smiled.
“Fifteen minutes, Mrs. Zane!”
It was Ivan’s voice coming from deep inside the master suite, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. The last was from Patti.
Well, thanks for clearing that up, Gilda! Um, I gotta go now, it’s getting ugly down there…Rutherford pushed you because he was in love with the Italian. Thanks…
But something in Gilda’s smile was saying no.
The girl had a killer smile.
In any age, she would have been a heartbreaker.
Then suddenly someone else materialized…and this someone told Marion that Gilda was indeed a heartbreaker.
Next to the girl ghost, more poofy sheets were coming out of the air.
And they were forming into a man ghost.
Marion wasn’t really in the mood to look Rutherford Wilson in the eyes. Or ghost eyes or whatever ghosts looked at you with…
She didn’t have to.
The man ghost was younger and cuter than Rutherford.
In fact, the man ghost was a stone-fox-major-fine-hunk!
And he was wearing a chauffeur’s uniform.
And he had his hand on Gilda’s ass.
And she was ghost-giggling.
Oh! Rutherford loved you but you were doing…um, the staff?
And with a wink and a bright flash, they were gone.
It was completely dark outside now.
