Lipstick Jungle

  “You’d better be nice to Seymour,” Wendy said, only half-jokingly, “or he’s going to try to do the same thing to you.” It was a conversation, Nico imagined, that fifteen years ago, people could have only imagined men having. But no, Nico thought, fingering a tie, Seymour would never do that. Seymour was content. He was a team player. He was always trying to make their lives better, and she appreciated him. She was generous. When you were essentially “the man” in the relationship, you had to be generous, and you had to be careful never to point out to the other person that you were paying; that fundamentally it was your show. In other words, you had to try to behave the way women ideally wished men would behave, and rarely did.

  A salesman in a dark suit and tie glided up behind her. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  She suddenly felt like a man in a lingerie shop. “Yes. I’d like to buy a tie for my husband,” she said, thinking that she still liked the way that sounded, saying the words “my husband.” She must do this more often. She ought to buy Seymour a little something every week or so. He deserved it.

  “Any special color? Or occasion?” the salesman asked.

  “It’s for a movie premiere . . .”

  “Is your husband in the movie business then?”

  “No,” she said. “My friend is . . . it’s her premiere,” she said emphatically—there was no need for the salesman to know this, she thought, but it somehow seemed important to make this clear.

  “So you’re guests, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a particular color . . . ?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Green, she thought. But no, green wasn’t supposed to be a happy color. Yellow? Never. Seymour would consider yellow too eighties Wall Street.

  “How about pink?” the salesman asked. “Pink is very big for men right now.”

  Seymour in a pink tie? No, that really was going too far. “Not pink,” she said decisively.

  “Silver,” the salesman said. “It goes beautifully with everything. It dresses a suit up. It’s very ‘special occasion.’ ” Nico nodded. “Silver then,” she said.

  “Come this way . . .”

  She followed him toward the back of the store. On either side were fitting stands—blocks surrounded by three-sided mirrored coffins, Nico thought. Sitting in a chair next to one of the coffins was a young woman whom Nico recognized from her office. The woman worked in the advertising department at one of her magazines; she had blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was pretty in that unformed way young women in their late twenties often are, as if she were still trying to pinpoint who she was and where she fit into the world.

  “Hello,” Nico said, nodding pleasantly. She wasn’t intending to have a big interaction with the young woman, but the girl looked shocked, and then horrified, and then guilty, as if she’d suddenly been caught doing something illegal. In terror, she glanced from Nico to a man standing on one of the fitting platforms. Nico recognized the man’s mahogany skin and knew it was Mike Harness.

  He was pretending to be busy with the tailor at his feet, who was pinning the hem of his pants, but he had surely seen her in the mirror. Mike! Nico thought. She did wonder what had happened to him—she’d heard he’d gone to England for a while. Should she pass by, pretending she hadn’t seen him, which was what he was trying to do, thus sparing them any awkwardness? But she hesitated for too long, and he looked up, staring into the mirror and seeing her behind him, probably curious about what she was going to do and planning what he would say, but maybe he already had something planned, knowing that someday they would bump into each other.

  “Hello, Mike,” she said. She didn’t offer her hand—she didn’t think he would shake it.

  “Well, well, well,” Mike said, looking down at her from his perch. “Nico O’Neilly.”

  “Nice to see you, Mike,” she said quickly, with a little nod, turning away. That was the right thing to do, she thought. Acknowledge him without getting into anything. But as she began examining the silver ties, the fact of their presences and everything that had happened between them filled the store like two thunderclouds. She couldn’t concentrate. I will apologize to him, she thought.

  She turned around. Mike was sitting down, tying his shoes, as if eager to get out of the store quickly. This was better; at least he wasn’t towering over her like a gargoyle. “Mike,” she said. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  Mike looked up, surprised and still angry. “You should never apologize to your enemies, Nico,” he said dismissively. “I would think that you of all people would know that.”

  “Are we enemies, Mike? There’s no need for that.”

  “Because I’m not a threat to you anymore? Then in that case, I guess not.”

  She smiled a little sadly, with her lips pressed together. Mike would never change, she thought, he’d never get over his ego. She’d done as much as she could do here; it was best to let it go. “I hope you’re well, Mike,” she said. She began to turn away, and he stood up.

  “Well, I guess I do have to thank you for one thing,” he said suddenly. “Natalia and I are getting married,” he said, indicating the young woman, who smiled at Nico as if she weren’t sure whose side she was supposed to be on. “You must know Natalia,” Mike said accusingly. “She works for you. Now,” he added.

  “Of course,” Nico said. “Congratulations.”

  “I’ve told her if she wants to get ahead, she should act just like you,” Mike went on, picking up his overcoat. This was obviously meant as an insult, but Nico decided not to take it as one. “That’s very nice,” she said, as if she were flattered.

  “In any case,” Mike went on, sliding his arms into the coat, “you opened my eyes to what’s important in life. It’s like what you women have been saying all along: It’s relationships that are important, not your career. Careers are bullshit. Careers are for assholes. When I think about how I twisted myself around . . . what I gave up to please Victor Matrick . . .” He looked down at Natalia and took her arm proprietarily. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

  “I guess,” Natalia whispered, looking from Mike to Nico. “But I think it’s a good idea to try to have both,” she ventured, not wanting to offend either one of her bosses, Nico thought.

  “Well, congratulations, again,” Nico said. She watched them for a moment as they strolled out of the store. That poor girl, Nico thought, having to marry Mike Harness. He was such a bully. She was going to take a closer look at that Natalia. She hoped she was good; if she was, she’d make it a point to help her. The kid deserved something good in her life after being married to Mike.

  “Should I wrap this tie and have it sent for you?” the salesman asked, holding out a folded silver tie in a shiny brown box.

  “Yes,” Nico said, enjoying her day again. “Please do.”

  * * *

  OH, WHAT A LOT of fuss human beings made, Nico thought.

  It was seven p.m., and the car was caught in a juggernaut of vehicles trying to make the turn from Seventh Avenue onto Fifty-fourth Street to the Ziegfeld Theatre where Wendy’s premiere was being held. You could feel the tension emanating from the other cars, the pure stress of winding up the day by attending a movie premiere; dressing up, finding transportation, and then there were the crowds outside the theater (held back on both sides of the street by police barricades) hoping to get a glimpse of a genuine movie star (was it the kind of moment people took to their graves, Nico wondered, the moment when they saw Jenny Cadine in real life?), and then the photographers and the P.R. girls with their clipboards, having to distinguish between the somebodies and the nobodies . . .

  The car pulled into a small space in front of the theater, and Nico quickly got out. Putting her head down, she pushed through the crowd and slipped into a side door, avoiding the red carpet altogether. More and more in the last six months, she’d accepted the realization that she didn’t want to be a public figure at all. She didn’t need it. The CEO and president of Verner P
ublications should be a slightly mysterious, shadowy figure who rarely appeared in the papers. It was Wendy’s night, anyway. The photographers didn’t need to get pictures of her.

  “Nico O’Neilly?” a young woman dressed in black with a headset asked.

  “Yes,” Nico said pleasantly.

  “We have a seat reserved for you in Wendy Healy’s row. I think your husband is already here.”

  “Thank you,” Nico said, following the young woman down the aisle. In the middle was a row of seats with “Healy” taped to the backs. Shane was at one end, next to Tyler and Magda, who was sitting next to her darling Katrina (how gorgeous she looked—that face, it broke her heart), followed by Seymour, who was sporting his new tie. Magda and Katrina were both wearing their fuzzy hats. They were good friends now, both with ponies and hats, she thought—how wonderful for them. She hoped they’d be friends forever . . . There were three empty seats on Seymour’s other side. She would sit next to him, and then Victory and Lyne would sit next to her. She glanced down to the end of the row. There were a couple of empty seats on the other side of Shane—that meant Selden would have to sit next to Shane! she thought. But no, Wendy would sit in between them. And this settled, she took her seat next to Seymour.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Hello,” he said. He glanced at his watch—his way of inquiring about why she was late.

  “Traffic,” she said. “There are about a thousand people out there . . .” She stared across him to the other side of the row. Selden Rose was coming down the aisle. He was stopping . . . looking at Shane . . . and now he was sitting down, just as she’d predicted, with a seat left for Wendy in between them. Shane was ignoring Selden, he was staring straight ahead. Well, Shane was going to have to get used to Selden now, Nico thought. She wondered if Shane knew about the pregnancy. If he didn’t, he would soon enough: Selden was selling his apartment and moving in with Wendy.

  “What is Wendy doing?” Seymour asked, having seen Selden take his seat.

  “I think she’s going to give a speech before the movie starts,” Nico said.

  “No,” Seymour hissed. “I mean with Selden and Shane. It isn’t right.”

  “They’re all grown-ups.” She shrugged.

  “It isn’t very nice to Shane,” Seymour said, taking Shane’s side.

  “No, but he deserves it. He was the one who wanted to leave,” Nico said. “Besides, you never liked him.”

  “And I’m not sure I like Selden any better,” Seymour said primly.

  “He’s okay . . . I think,” Nico added.

  She glanced down the row again. Shane was still staring straight ahead . . . no, now he was fussing with Tyler’s jacket. Tyler had that look on his face like he was about to have a temper tantrum. He was squirming and kicking the seat in front of him. Selden was watching Tyler, surreptiously, perhaps wondering if he ought to step in. Shane was now trying to ignore both Tyler and Selden.

  This was almost better than a movie, Nico thought.

  Selden kept glancing over at Shane . . . he is going to step in, Nico thought. And sure enough, Selden leaned across the seat. He said what looked like “Hey, buddy,” to Shane—the universal male greeting. Now Shane had to look at him. Selden was trying to be friendly . . . he was holding out his hand. Shane had to take it. And then, Selden was leaning over, saying something to Tyler. Tyler was momentarily distracted from his impending temper tantrum. Selden was making a funny face and Tyler was laughing. Shane looked put out, but now Selden was saying something to him again, trying to put him at his ease. Good for Selden, Nico thought, sitting back in her seat. She was happy to see that he was taking control of the situation and trying to do the right thing. She really was going to try to like him. Maybe things would work out happily for Wendy and Selden. In any case, Wendy certainly deserved some happiness in her personal life.

  The lights in the theater dimmed and everyone quieted down. And then there was a spotlight, and there was Wendy hurrying down the aisle. Someone handed her a microphone and she walked up the steps and onto the stage.

  People started clapping. Softly at first, and then with more and more enthusiasm. They loved her, Nico thought. There was so much affection for her from the crowd, which was filled not just with the stars and industry people, but with the crew and their families. They adored her—this woman who had made so many people’s dreams come true. For a few seconds, Wendy stood in the spotlight—so poised, Nico thought—nodding and taking in the applause. Then she cleared her throat and everyone laughed and the applause died down.

  “Good evening, everyone. I’m Wendy Healy, and I’m the president of Parador Pictures, and I’m thrilled to welcome you tonight to the world premiere of Ragged Pilgrims. This film is . . . finally finished!” (That got an appreciative burst of laughter.) “And it’s been a six-year labor of love on the part of so many people involved, people who never gave up on their vision of someday seeing this amazing story on the screen . . .”

  And how pretty Wendy looked, Nico thought. Her eyes slid down to the end of the row. Shane was frowning, and Selden, with his new long straight hair, was looking up at Wendy proudly. Then Shane looked over at Selden with annoyance. Well, too bad, Nico thought. Shane was beginning to lose his looks. His face was red and puffy, but maybe that was only due to some cosmetic procedure, like a laser peel. There was another huge burst of applause, and Wendy was walking off the stage and up the aisle toward her seat, stopping every few feet to kiss someone or shake a hand. She looked up and caught Nico’s eye. Nico waved and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  There was a little commotion in the aisle, and Victory and Lyne came hurrying down, brushing their hands over their heads. Victory slid into the seat next to Nico, her cheeks red from the cold. “It’s finally snowing,” she said, leaning over to give Nico a quick kiss. “We had to walk half a block. Lyne nearly had a heart attack.” She glanced past Nico and Seymour and the kids to Wendy and waved at her. “Look at Wendy and her two men!” she exclaimed to Nico in a whisper.

  “I know.” Nico nodded.

  “I knew it would come to this someday,” Lyne grumbled. “First women are taking over the world, and now they’ve got two men. You’d think one would be enough . . .”

  Nico and Victory exchanged glances and laughed. “Every woman knows that you need to combine at least two men to make one decent one.” Victory squeezed Lyne’s hand playfully as the lights dimmed, and the theater went black.

  Was that what every woman needed—two men? Nico thought, sitting back in her seat. It was so interesting. When they were in their twenties, they’d been frightened of not even finding one man . . . and there were still so many women in their thirties looking for that one guy. And here was Wendy, with two! And in her forties. When everyone tried to tell women they were washed up, at least sexually . . . well, that was certainly a lie. Hard work kept you young, kept you vibrant. It was the secret that men knew: If you wanted to attract the opposite sex, all you had to do was to become successful and powerful.

  The Parador logo came up on the screen, and everyone began clapping. There was a party scene set in New York just before the war, and over that was Wendy’s credit: “Produced by Wendy Healy.” From the opposite end of the row, Selden Rose emitted a whoop of appreciation, and Nico nodded to herself approvingly. What she’d told Seymour was true: Now that Selden was with Wendy, he would never be a threat. Not only because Wendy wouldn’t let him be, but also because, Nico suspected, he would no longer want to be. Nico guessed that Selden was like most men: He was ambitious because he thought that was the way a man should be. Meanwhile, he probably secretly wanted to retire. And once Wendy had his baby, he would certainly be different. He would fall in love with that child, probably want to spend all his time with it. She did hope, for Wendy’s sake, that he would keep working, at least for a little while. Imagine having to support two men and four children!

  * * *

  “THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO me,” Kirby said bitterly, wa
lking into his living room. “Women like me, they’re crazy about me, and then, I don’t know. Something happens and they don’t want to be with me anymore.”

  Nico nodded in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner, and glanced surreptitiously at her watch. It was nearly ten-thirty. She’d left the party at ten, when Seymour had taken Katrina home, telling him she had to stop by her office for a moment, where she and Victory and Wendy had agreed to meet for a private celebration afterward. Seymour wasn’t suspicious, but to make sure he wasn’t, she needed to take care of this situation with Kirby, and then she really did have to get back to her office and call Seymour from the phone at her desk. Her heart thumped with urgency. Now that she was here and the end was inevitable, all she wanted was to get it over with quickly, and leave.

  “I’m sorry, Kirby,” she said, which sounded completely lame, but what else was there to say? She took a few steps toward him. He was wearing jeans and was shirtless, as if she’d caught him in the middle of changing.

  “I thought you and I were different,” he said. He stood at the window with his back to her, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. She hoped he wasn’t going to make a scene.

  She swallowed. “Kirby, you knew I was married.”

  “So?” he said, spinning around.

  “So, I do love my husband, Kirby. He’s a wonderful man. And I don’t want to hurt him.”

  This sounded like a prepared speech, and Kirby nodded, as if he’d heard it all before. She crossed her arms with slight irritation. She probably shouldn’t have come at all; she probably should have done what a man would have, which was to simply stop calling, and inform her assistants that if Kirby called her, she was “out.” But that seemed like such a messy and cowardly solution.

  “So you used me to find that out,” Kirby said.

  “Oh Kirby.” She perched on the edge of the couch and stared at the wall. She could hardly bear to look at him either. She felt guilty, and the guilt made her feel annoyed. She tightened her lips. Had she used Kirby to discover her real feelings for Seymour? She hadn’t intended it that way. She hadn’t known what she was intending when she began the affair with Kirby; she only knew that she’d felt like something in her life was missing. As usual, it had turned out that the missing piece wasn’t another person, or something that she could get from someone else. All she knew now was that every little bit of her felt filled up, and there wasn’t any space for Kirby anymore.