Doreen (7 page)

“A shopping trip? In New York?” Doreen blinked, trying to comprehend the suggestion. Heidi's perfectly done face loomed over her bed. It was early enough to seem like it might still be night. “Right now?”

“Why not?” said Heidi. “It's Saturday. If we leave soon we can just go for a day and be back by tonight.” She tossed a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress onto the bed. “Put this on. I'll do your hair. Up, I think. You need to look older and comfortable and sophisticated.”

“But Heidi, I don't have money for that.”

“You think you can scrape together bus fare?”

“I suppose.”

“That's all you're going to need, my pet. Now up and at 'em. I want to get to the shops by eleven if we can.”

The two girls spent the bus ride huddled together studying fashion mags. Once they arrived at Port Authority, Doreen blinked into the bright lights, disoriented by the complexity and tumult around her. She had not been to New York since she was a girl, but Heidi was a sure guide. They made quick passage through the station and down into the subway.

“Where are we going? Uptown?” Doreen asked, squinting at a map.

“Naturally,” Heidi said with a wink. “Come on!” She pulled Doreen through the turnstile on a single swipe of her card and they hopped on a train.

The shops Heidi referred to were not of the department store variety, nor designer boutiques or chain stores. They were thrift stores—charity shops on the Upper East Side.

“You see,” she explained as they walked arm in arm down Third Avenue, “Upper East Side ladies have the most luxurious clothes and the largest closets and the most attentive staff, probably in the universe. They spend gobbles of dough, wear everything once, then toss it to make room for next season's must-haves. These foundation stores are here to help the ladies feel worthy for discarding their barely used designer duds. It's win-win.”

“But Heidi,” said Doreen, “even if it's cheaper than the stuff in the stores, I really don't have any extra—”

“Don't worry about it. Look.” Heidi pulled Doreen away from the center of the sidewalk. She stopped and, looking into the rearview mirror of a parked Mercedes, reapplied her lipstick and fixed her hair. She gave Doreen the lipstick and gestured that she do the same.

Heidi felt the adrenaline rush through her. As many times as she had made the rounds through the Upper East Side charity shops, she had always been alone. She hid her familiarity with things like thrift stores and buses and subway systems from normal Chandler society. But she would share it with Doreen. She would show Doreen everything she'd learned.

“All you have to do is seem moneyed and bored, like you're not impressed. I've got the honking Louis Vuitton and you've got my giant fake Chloé. If you see something you like, just be quick-wristed and unafraid. I'll show you. It's easier than you think.”

“This bag is a fake?”

“What? Yeah. But a good fake, isn't it? Tell anyone and I'll have you eliminated. Now be cool and follow my lead.”

“Okay.”

Heidi resumed her quickstep toward the first stop.

“Wait. Wait! Heidi!” Doreen called.

Heidi stopped and waited for Doreen to catch up.

“Sorry, I don't mean to, but . . .” Doreen pulled Heidi aside. “So are we stealing from charity shops? Is that the plan here?”

“Ha! Charity shops? No! That's outrageous. These aren't really charity shops. See that place right there? The Arthritis Foundation?”

“Yeah.”

“Their gala is next week. Just getting in the door costs over a thousand dollars a person. Famous people go. There's a silent auction. Sting played last year. What I'm saying is, it's not like we're taking food out of the mouths of the needy.”

But Doreen just shook her head. “I don't know. It seems wrong.”

Doreen shifted from foot to foot and looked around at the passing traffic. She was uncomfortable, that was plain. Heidi had not considered the possibility that Doreen would not have what it took to participate in her innermost inner circle. And now it was too late. She'd exposed herself. Clueless, naïve Doreen would now be armed with information—about who Heidi Whelan really was and what she was capable of, namely shoplifting, posing, acting as if. Deployed to the right channels, that information could prove very detrimental to Heidi's social position. Doreen had to participate. That was the only way. Otherwise Heidi could lose everything.

An elegant woman clicked by in skinny jeans and a glittery top, led by three Pomeranians. Doreen stepped aside to let her pass, and Heidi saw her straighten her posture slightly. She even turned and watched the woman after she'd gone by. Heidi smiled, exhaled. Anyone could see the longing in Doreen's face. That woman had stepped right out of Roland Gibbons's world. But it could be their world, too. Doreen and Heidi's.

“I hear what you are saying, I do,” said Heidi, taking Doreen's arm. “But, Dorie, you want to excel at Chandler. Socially, I mean. Don't you? That's what I thought. The unfortunate truth is that all entrances into high society are very closely guarded. That's the bad news. The good news for you and me, Doreen, is that the guards are superficial, but stupid. It is easy to get past, the only requirement is that you look the part. So, the way I think of it, the Arthritis Foundation is making a kind of unknowing investment in me. By giving me the trappings of wealth, they are making it possible for me to join the ranks of high society. So that one day, when I'm an adult, I can spend the five grand or whatever may be required to don a designer gown and help the suffering millions. Make sense?”

“I guess.”

“Plus, it's fun. Trust me.”

“But, wait, sorry, just one more question. If we are just going to steal the stuff, why come here? Why not just go to Bloomingdale's or something?”

Heidi sighed. “First of all, I would never go to Bloomingdale's. Second, these places have the same designer labels as the best stores, but everyone in there is a volunteer. There is practically no security at all. It's so easy, Doreen, you'll wonder why everyone doesn't do it. Now let's go. We have a lot to get to today.”

Doreen resumed her pace beside Heidi. “Hey, you know what? I'm happy to go along. Seriously, you'll get no judgment from me. But maybe I'll just observe for a while. Would that be okay? I'll just browse and not, like, take anything.”

The girl's resolve had shaken, but she would go along with the program, all right. Heidi was sure of that.

“Do what you want, Doreen. Just be quiet about it, cool?”

“Yeah. Right. Cool. You got it.”

The clothes. The shoes. The scarves. Everything was so, so tempting. And Doreen looked perfect in everything.

“We'll donate, won't we? When we're older,” said Doreen as they walked between the Cancer Foundation and AIDS Research, her step swinging from the mint-condition Roger Vivier heels she'd worn out of the store.

“Oh, we'll save the world, Doreen,” Heidi said. “We just need a little boost first.”

“Doreen, you are a natural. Better than I ever expected. You see,” said Heidi, “when you look and act like you are in your rightful place, you are treated accordingly. It is simply the difference between feeling grateful and feeling entitled.”

Doreen and Heidi sat at a little table in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton hotel. Their haul of stolen clothes surrounded them, in shopping bags from real designer boutiques. Heidi had brought the bags along to transport their loot and add to the overall effect. And it worked. The girls looked exactly like a pair of society ladies relaxing after a tiring day of shopping.

Heidi leaned forward provocatively and lowered her voice. “Do we have a room here? No. Can we afford a meal or a cocktail? No. But for a couple of dollars we can sit here all afternoon, drinking Diet Coke and feasting on free snacks. We can speak intimately with one another about things nobody else will understand, we can allow ourselves to be admired. And mark my words, when you are young and lovely and well groomed, you do not often have to wait long to receive the generous attentions of—”

“Pardon me,” said the waiter, setting two glasses of champagne before the girls. “But the gentleman at the bar wishes to—”

“Oh no, I'm sorry, please send it back,” said Heidi with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, madam.”

“Heidi! Are you sure?”

Heidi shot Doreen a reprimanding look then returned to the waiter, all smiles. “We are having a nice time, you see,” she explained, “and we do not wish to be interrupted. Please thank the gentleman, whoever he is, and give our regrets.” The waiter nodded. He disappeared with the two flutes.

“Do not turn around,” Heidi commanded in a whisper before Doreen could locate the mystery man.

“But I don't understand. You were just saying—”

“Veuve Clicquot. A nice touch. Young, though, not much older than we are, I would say. An older man would approach. This is an old-world gesture, a movie gesture. Either he's a geezer or he's a young man putting on airs. Let's hope for the latter, shall we?” Heidi said with a wink.

Sure enough, almost as soon as the words escaped Heidi's mouth, a young man approached their table. He was tall, with an athletic build. His clothes were a sharper version of the Chandler look: starched pink shirt, khakis, blue blazer. His hair was deep black and charmingly rumpled.

“Too early in the day for champagne?” he asked. “You don't look like the kind of girl who watches the clock. Peter Standish. This is my compatriot, Coburn.” Another young man stepped up from the shadows, the same age and type but blond with watery blue eyes and a general dimness of expression. “Coburn Everbock. He, like myself, is a Harvard man. A crew man. We have come to Gotham in search of distraction. Unfortunately, we have had no luck.”

“What a shame,” said Heidi dismissively. “Have you tried Broadway?” She rolled her eyes at Doreen, but the girl seemed altogether too fascinated by the two boys. Heidi hoped she would catch on soon.

“You see, our studies up in Cambridge are quite immersive—fascinating stuff, really, from the minds of giants. Distraction, for that reason, does not come easily. We require beauty, wit, charm—but mostly beauty,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “We were sure that our country's cultural center would have much to offer us in this regard, but as I have recently reported, wheresoever Venus may lurk in this fair city, she has eluded us.”

“Until now. Oh, sorry, was I meant to wait for the punchline? How rude of me to interrupt,” said Heidi.

“Ah, but it is your privilege! So you were right after all, Coburn. Grace and intelligence have not abandoned the city. I was sure we had wasted our time.” Peter pulled a wallet out of his blazer and decorously passed a bill—one of many, Heidi could not help but notice—to his friend. “Your winnings, my friend. I give them to you happily and you have Ms. . . . ?”

“Whelan,” said Doreen. “Heidi Whelan. And I am Doreen Gray.” Heidi made a show of appearing irritated at Doreen for encouraging the boys, but flashed an approving glance, undetectable by the hovering suitors. A tiny smile of recognition appeared on Doreen's lips as she began to understand the game.

Peter nodded at Doreen, allowing his gaze to linger. “Well, Coburn, you have Ms. Whelan and Ms. Gray to thank for your victory.”

“Thank you,” said Coburn.

“Please sit,” said Doreen. Heidi expressed overt displeasure with her friend while continuing to give silent approval. They were working as a team now, communicating in wordless, imperceptible looks. Heidi had felt from their first meeting that Doreen could read her. And clearly, she'd been right.

“How kind of you, Ms. Gray, but I'm afraid your friend would prefer that we be on our way.” He raised an eyebrow to Heidi.

“Sit if you must,” said Heidi, “but if you insist on discussing yourself or your studies, I'm afraid I will require something stronger.”