Glamour (7 page)

“You’ve always been a good girl,” her father grunted. “You knew this had to be.”

Knew this had to be? Baba had never mentioned it, just like he never went to the mosque. She gathered up her courage.

“Not now. Not anymore.” Helen stood firm. “
I’m
going to decide who I marry, Baba.”

“But Ahmed is a nice boy!” Aisha was scandalized. “It’s a lot of money. An excellent match, a good family. Cairo is perfect for you! We’ve discussed it.”

“You will obey me on this, Helen. I am your father,” Baba reminded her stiffly. “Our family has position—reputation—to think of. Maybe I should pull you out of that school!”

Helen bit her lip. Leave Sally and Jane? Like hell! She was
not
leaving school, and what’s more, she absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent
was
going to Sally’s party! All his crazy schemes came second to that. She
was
going to the party!

Helen choked back her outrage.The faces of her parents, even Jasmine, stopped her. Her mother was looking at her pleadingly; her father’s bluster concealed real anxiety. Her kid sister was chewing on her lip anxiously, brown eyes darting from Helen to her mom and dad, hating the conflict.

“You cannot let us down,” Baba said heavily. “Ahmed arrives here in a few days, with his parents.They are your mother’s cousin Firyal and her husband, Rashid.You would not make me look stupid before the family, I hope, Helen. They’ve all come thousands of miles to see you.”

Helen sighed.Who cared? She could play along—for a while, anyway.

Mama and Baba had an arranged marriage themselves, and she knew perfectly well it had been happy. Maybe it wasn’t
such
a contradiction that they wanted the same for Helen. But then, they never should have brought her to L.A., she thought.

Helen Yanna was of a different generation. The world had changed.

Yet she loved her parents, and she wanted to let them down gently. Of course she wasn’t going to marry this guy. But if she played nice, didn’t embarrass Baba in front of their cousins . . . maybe there was an opportunity for her.

Sally or Jane would
work
this situation. She could, too.
To get to the party.

“I tell you what, Baba.” Her father was a businessman. They could do a little old-fashioned horse trading! “I’ll think about it. So long as it doesn’t interfere with Sally’s party. It’s going to be a major social event, you know. Paulie Lassiter is a billionaire, all from oil. There are going to be movie stars . . . diplomats . . . bankers . . . and of course, Mrs. Lassiter is overseeing the entire thing.You should let me go; it’ll be a feather in your cap.”

His eyes narrowed. “And if I do? You’ll marry Ahmed?”

“I’ll
meet
him,” Helen countered. “I’ll
think
about it. . . . Certainly, why not? Cairo is very cosmopolitan . . . and like you say, he has a good family. . . .”

“You’re in no position to bargain!” said her father crossly. He marched to the dresser and took out his bottle of whisky.

Helen lowered her eyes. “Okay, Baba,” she said meekly. “Whatever you think is best. . . .”

Perfect tactics. He shook his head, sorrowfully, and spread his arms.

“I suppose if there are chaperones, you can go. We want you to fit in. Ahmed will like it if you have friends here . . . he can expand his business. . . .”

“What business is he in?”

“Carpets.”

Helen looked away so Baba would not see her roll her eyes. Carpets, great.What a cliché. Did he have any flying ones?

“
Very expensive
carpets,” Aisha announced. She was sharper than her husband, and knew something about the set of her daughter’s back. “Priceless works of art.... Some of them, only the real Hollywood types could afford anyway.”

“That’s great!” Helen lied. She tried to give it some of Sally’s cheerleader pep. “I’ll see if I can collect business cards, Baba. Anyway, a woman has to think of her social position. For the family . . . ours . . . and his.”

Yeah, lay it on thick. Was this a sin? Maybe. But she had no intention of marrying somebody she’d never met. And in her religion they couldn’t make her.

But it didn’t hurt to give them a little soft soap. Anything, as long as she could go to the party.

“That’s very true.You’ll make an excellent wife . . .very well, you have a deal.You’re a good girl,” Ali pronounced smugly.

He watched his daughter, dark head bowed, turn back to her books. That had gone surprisingly well. Of course he loved America, and the lifestyle here, but there were limits. He had not been blessed with sons, and he had no intention of either daughter shaming him.

Helen was disturbingly beautiful.... Her body was ripening daily. When the family went out to restaurants, men looked boldly at her.

She was ready for marriage. If they waited, like Western girls did, it would be a disaster. Let her complain, Ali thought; she will enjoy her life, once she has a husband, some babies, and a fine house. He himself had grown up poor and had made it through the sweat of his back.Things would be altogether easier for Helen.

Yes, he had done well.

Jane sat in her favorite nook in the library.There was a comfy window seat, padded with soft green cushions, and it looked out over the lush lawn that sloped down toward the carp pond.There was a great view of the permanently flowering garden—Miss Milton’s, like the rest of the town, was
big
into image. Best of all, it was a tucked-away spot, near the reference shelves.

Hell, the library in general was pretty tucked away.The school had cachet, sure, but not the academic kind.The glossy Angeleno teens who populated it didn’t care too much for books.

The ones who did use it were like her. Natural loners, a bit shy, usually not so easy on the eyes. Fat Debbie Mitford was in here a lot. And Soon-Yi Kiwasa, the Thai girl with the serious acne problem. All of them using books as a get-out clause from life.

Because you had to have real motivation to study at this school. It wasn’t done. Grades.Who needed ’em? City College types that would have to get
real
jobs when they went out into the world. With its enormous fees and three-year waiting list, only greased by additional massive donations, Miss Milton’s was not stuffed with girls who’d ever need to work for a living.

If your parents weren’t worth upwards of ten mil you were nothing in this school.

Jane Morgan knew she was the odd one out.

Her father—her bastard, unloving, selfish peacock of a father—he wasn’t rich. Powerful, yes. Prestigious, sure. But money? He went through it like water. And he detested actual work.

They lived richly. Many would say better than Sally Lassiter, even. But they owned nothing.The sumptuous Washington town house, stuffed with antiques? The beach house in Malibu? The driver, and the glossy limo with the diplomatic plates?

None of it theirs. All provided by the state for its loyal ambassador.

His Excellency. A major international figure.

His Excellency—a worthless piece of crap.

Everything Thomas Morgan did in his life centered around himself. The wonderful, sparkling Thomas. Like her friend Sally, he was one of life’s butterflies. Gaudy ties and waistcoats that were the talk of the town, always twinned with his famous green socks.

When she was small, there had been bewilderment.Why was Daddy always at work? Why was there a succession of nannies? Whenever Jane got fond of one, the woman was sent away.

She had always been bright, and worked the main fact out fast.

Her father didn’t love her.

He was never overtly cruel. There were plenty of toys, outings, a smart nursery, the right parties with the children of other diplomats—Thomas even showed up to those. And Jane had used to glow, bathe in the magic of his famous smile and laugh, and hope things would change.

They didn’t.

When she got old enough, she challenged him. Why wasn’t he there? Why didn’t he read her bedtime stories? Give her cuddles?

“I’m busy, darling,” he’d replied, giving her a stiff, perfunctory hug. “I have to provide for you.You have lots of games and toys, don’t you?”

“I don’t want games. I want you, Daddy.”

“And you’ve got me, so that’s lucky.” Her father was already absorbed in his press clippings. “Now run along, Daddy has to get to work.”

Rejection.

It became part of her soul.

Too painful.Too much. Deep down she determined she would never suffer through it again. Jane Morgan withdrew into a world of books and figures. She would never wind up a cocktail-party-circuit feature like her father, a stuffed shirt whose only concern was his image, being seen in the correct circles. How he loved it when they promoted him to ambassadorial rank. The word “Excellency” dripping from everybody’s lips. Next, they said, it would be that long-predicted knighthood. Eventually perhaps a peerage of his own. He’d rank with his elder brother, back in England. Jane knew nothing would please her father more.

But that shallow life wasn’t for her.

Jane felt small. She couldn’t engage the attention of her own father.What chance did she have with other men?

She decided not to compete.

Math—a serious subject. One her father knew nothing about. The only use he had for figures was for injections of cash.

She’d asked to be sent to a
good
school—since he couldn’t wait to get her boarding somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind! The further the better. At least, Jane asked, could it have a brilliant college-placement record? Top SAT scores? Pupils who had their pick of Ivy League schools?

Instead, Daddy darling had picked Miss Milton’s. Some surprise—he chose the one with the social status.

Jane learned not to complain. Never did her any good. Sure, Miss Milton’s was lousy academically. All the more opportunity for her to stand out. It had bad teachers with good connections, but it also offered the raw materials. Computers. Books. A well-stocked library.Whatever periodicals she wanted.

By the age of eleven Jane Morgan was reading the
Wall Street Journal
. And the
Economist
.That was her idea of fun.

But she loved hanging out with Sally. Though golden and bubbly like her father, unlike him, Sally had a heart. To young Jane’s amazement her early, tentative overtures at friendship weren’t rejected. And if Sally saw her as a plain backdrop against which she herself could shine, so what? At least Jane had
somebody
. At least she had a friend.

She craved normality. Acceptance. Sally Lassiter offered her a slice of both. And when Helen joined the twosome, things got even better. It was easier to talk to Helen—she had the makings of a brain—and she was shy, made Jane feel confident by comparison. Plus, there was a fascinating background. It was great knowing somebody from a completely different culture—the anthropologist in Jane Morgan ate that up. Here was a girl even weirder than Jane! Somebody who needed protecting, the same way she did.

They were a strange trio. But a good one.

It was the closest thing to family that Jane’d ever had.

“Well, well, well.”

Jane sighed. It was Julie. With her two sidekicks right behind her, Maureen and Kate, otherwise known as the Terror Twins. They delighted in bullying the new girls—forcing them to throw parties, then making sure nobody came—getting them to dye their hair strange colors. General nastiness. If you didn’t suck up to Julie’s clique, bad things could happen.

“What do you want? I’m studying.”

“You’re always studying,” Kate Menzies piped up.“Lamebrain.”

“Get out of here, or I’ll go get a teacher.” Jane brushed them aside. She was with Sally; untouchable.

“Ho ho.” Julie looked triumphantly at her hangers-on.“Maybe
Miss
Jane Limey doesn’t want to know our news.”

They all smirked.

“Maybe I don’t.” Jane forced herself not to ask.

“ ’Course, it isn’t set. Just a rumor. But I do have
great
sources.”

“Seems a certain fancy diplomat’s getting himself into trouble.”

“Like,
real
trouble.”

Jane shrugged. “You should know by now, I don’t care
what
my father does. Nice try, though, girls. Better luck next time.”

“Oooh,”
they chorused.

“I think you’ll care about this one, babycakes.When it all goes down,” Maureen said nastily. “Front-page stuff. I’d be using this library while you can. And make sure to say all your good-byes to Sally and the towel-head.”

“I told you to get out of here. Don’t speak like that about Helen. I’ll report you, in a heartbeat.”

“ ’Course you would—sneak.”

Jane made a supreme effort and lightly shrugged her shoulders. “Everybody knows how mad you are you can’t get an invite to Sally’s party, Maureen. So sad to be left out like that. Rob Lowe’s coming—I hear you like him. But really, don’t take it out on the rest of us. It just looks pathetic, don’t you think?”

Maureen flushed a satisfactory shade of puce.“Bitch! Let’s see how long Sally Lassiter hangs out with a
goddamn bum
. You’re going to be on the streets. Maybe you could come to our house—we need a new maid!”

“Or you could sell oranges on the roadside. Like a wetback.” Julie laughed loudly, and her companions snickered.“See ya, welfare girl.”

Jane yawned and went back to her book.

Only when they’d left the library did she left her head. She wouldn’t have wanted those cows to see the anxious expression on her face.

“So how did it go with your dad?”

“Fine! I can come,” Helen replied happily. She had no intention of telling Sally about Ahmed and the arranged marriage.

“That’s great. Julie was begging for an invite earlier.” Sally smirked as she contemplated her party-throwing skills. Some of their enemies had thought they could get away by blanking her, but Sally had played it carefully. Stacked the party with rides and treatments until it sounded like paradise—manicure tents, masseuses on hand, fireworks displays, flight simulators, camel rides—then added cool little gifts, like necklaces specially designed at Frederick’s of Hollywood, and lastly, added the killer ingredients—boys and stars.