Nancy’s Theory of Style (7 page)

“How would I know since I’ve never been
invited there? He cut down ancient oaks and went behind your back.”

“I can’t invite you because you and Todd
and the mutual hatred thing. Back to my story about hiring my fabulous new assistant,”
Nancy
said. She
placed her palms together and gazed toward the ceiling. “It was like a magical fairy
tale.”

“Please stop looking as if you’re having
a vision of the Virgin de Guadalupe because it’s seriously freaking me out.”

Nancy
stuck her tongue out at Milagro and
said, “Derek noticed an awful flower arrangement. It was as if he was trying to
sleep on one hundred Swedish mattresses, but couldn’t because he was so
exquisitely sensitive to the vulgarity of blue carnations.”

“I couldn’t sleep in a room with blue
carnations and I’m not exquisitely sensitive. Is Derek diminutive with little rimless
glasses? That would be divine.”

“Sadly, no. He’s tall and lanky, which are
generally fatal flaws in an assistant, but he is, as the French would say, beau
laid, ugly beautiful, because he’s still fabulous despite the non-spectacle
quality. His eyes are stunning. He has black lashes that make them intensely
azure, like, uhm…”

“Like azures?”

“I was thinking of something less
semi-precious. But sapphires are the wrong shade.”

“Peculiar that Toad would fulfill one of
your fantasies, i.e., said gay English assistant, when he’s always been fixated
on his own crude wishes, i.e., offering you implants when you have always been
madly in love with your perky pair.”

“They are marvelously perky, but Todd actually
thought I would want implants. He’s only aware of obvious trends and knows I
like to be fashionable,”
Nancy
said.

“Nonetheless, I took umbrage on their
behalf,” Milagro said. “Does Derek have a sense of humor?”

“He may. He thanked me for translating
American English into British English, and I’m hoping he was being dryly or
wryly sarcastic, but it’s too early to tell.”

“Continue to hope. I always thought you
should be with someone who got your humor and realized that when you seem to be
joking, you’re serious and when you seem to be serious, you’re joking.”

“You’re speaking of yourself, not me. Derek
can help me with my Theory of Style.”

“How’s that going?”

“Sometimes I worry that I’m like that
deluded prune in that novel you like, Middle Earth.”

“Middlemarch. You mean Casaubon, who
spends his life writing the Key to All Mythologies, which is discovered to be
errant nitwittery only after his death.”

“You know how I adore errant
nitwittery,”
Nancy
said, “but only when it’s intentional. That’s one of the problems with reading
fiction; it preys upon impressionable minds and implies that life has subtext,
when life is wont to ramble plotlessly along.”

“I’ve been letting that idea percolate
lately,” Milagro said. “What if life isn’t actually utterly aimless?”

“If it wasn’t, wouldn’t we eventually
see a pattern, like a pointillist painting? We would. We’d see connections and
structure and themes would resonate,”
Nancy
said. “What are you wearing to Gigi’s not-a-birthday party? And are you
bringing one of your lovers?”

“A g-string and pasties, but I still haven’t
mastered twirling them in different directions. I already told you I’m not
going. Gigi’s friends have too much attitude. They look down their
surgically-altered noses at me.”

“They look down on all nobodies. There’s
no need to take it personally. What can you expect when you insist on continue
to garden for Gigi?”

“I need to augment my writing non-income
and my only other talent is forgery.”

Nancy
was about so say something fun and
bitchy, but just then a tall man stopped at their table. “Hi,
Nancy
,” he said, and then, “Hey,” to Milagro.

Nancy
looked up and up and said, “Bailey!”

Bailey Whiteside looked excitingly tall
in a periwinkle blue button-down shirt and slim-cut slacks. His sandy hair was
brushed straight back like an old matinee idol.

“It’s been ages!”
Nancy
said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Thanks, but I’m on my way out to a meet
some friends.” Bailey said in his gravelly voice. “Todd told me you’re staying
at Chateau Winkles.”

“For now. Bailey, this is my friend,
Milagro.”

Milagro gave a phony smile and said,
“Oh, we’ve met,
Nancy
,
at your wedding.”

“That’s right,” Bailey said with a nod,
but he kept looking at
Nancy
.
“Do you want to meet up after dinner?”

“Sorry, but I’m busy working on Gigi
Barton’s party. You never responded to your invitation.”

 
“Didn’t I?” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll see you
there. Bye.”

He sauntered off and conversation grew
quieter as he passed by and people saw him give a one-armed hug to a former
mayor who was also walking to the exit.

Milagro said, “Bailey Whiteside is a major
douche, although I believe that’s required of political strategists. He’s met me
several times, and he always acts as if he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Bailey wouldn’t ignore your bodacious
charms if you’d had the sense to be born with a trust fund. Whenever we went on
vacations together, he was always so nice to me.”

“I’m sure he was. He was giving you the
hairy eyeball.”

“That’s a vivid and unfortunate
expression,”
Nancy
said. “I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d met Bailey before I
met Todd.”

“Because a Whiteside is even more inbred
and entitled than a Chambers, right?” Milagro said. “Nancy, I will concede that
Bailey’s kind of hot in a sleazy prep school way, but I wish you would consider
dating someone for himself, and not because your parents would approve.”

“If you had a good relationship with
your parents, you might understand,”
Nancy
said. “Are you going to eat that uni?”

Milagro pushed the plate toward
Nancy
. “You have it. You look
like one of those lollypop chicks with the giant head and the stick body. Why
have you starved yourself?”

Nancy
used her chopsticks to pick up the
piece of sushi. “I look fabulous and I haven’t starved myself. I hate the food
Todd likes, slabs of dead animal and tubers with cream sauces.”

Milagro raised her sake cup. “Welcome
back to civilization,
Nancy
.”

Back at her apartment,
Nancy
went over the numbers for Gigi’s party.
Froth wouldn’t make a profit on this event, because
Nancy
was spending her entire budget on a
grand show to promote her business.

She realized that she was biting at her
thumbnail and chipping her sea-green enamel. She filed the tip and touched it
up instead of ignoring it, because that’s how tackiness started: one day you
neglect a chipped nail and the next you’re wearing a stained sweat suit with
your hair in a scrunchie. If it ever came to that,
Nancy
would just lie down in a field and let
the vultures peck out her clumpily mascaraed eyes.

It was almost eleven when her cell phone
rang. She looked at the ID and was relieved when it wasn’t Todd calling. “Hi,
Lizette!”

“Hi,
Nancy
. How are you?”

“Good. How are you? When are you coming
to the city next? I’m just scheduling things.”

“I can’t make it anytime soon.” Lizette
paused ominously. “
Nancy
,
I just wanted to tell you personally that…you know that spring thing?”

“Your weekend party at the vineyard? Don’t
worry. I haven’t forgotten it.”

“Well, Todd’s coming this year,” Lizette
began, “you know how he and Bill have the bromance going – and we knew it would
be totally awkward for you to come, too.”

It took a second for Lizette’s words to
sink in. “Lizzie, I’m only away from the house so I can really launch Froth. It
was a business decision that Todd and I made together.”

“I’m sorry, and I know, and I hate being
in the middle of this,” Lizette said. “I would have fought Bill on this,
honestly, Nance, except that he heard something and he won’t even listen to me.”

Nancy
kept her voice calm. “What did he hear?”

There was an intake of air at the other
end of the line, before Lizette’s words rushed out. “Bill heard that you left
Todd for someone else. It wasn’t Todd who said so, and I promised not to tell,
and I don’t believe it for a minute. I know you’d never...you wouldn’t, would
you? I mean, of course, you wouldn’t.”

Nancy
wanted to hurl the phone against the
wall and scream.

But the more you reacted to a rumor, the
more people believed it. She hadn’t endured Todd’s blathering on about The Art
of War for nothing: all warfare is based on deception.

“That’s so funny!”
Nancy
said. “Because I had dinner with my
friend Milagro tonight and she told me that she heard that I left Todd to be
with you! She congratulated us on being so lesbilicious, and I didn’t have the
heart to disillusion her. I hope you don’t mind that I said I was the girl and
you wore the, uhm, lederhosen.”

“
Nancy
,
you can’t let her tell people that!”

“Oh, Milagro doesn’t know anyone. She is
friends with Gigi Barton, but Gigi only gossips to her inner circle, or
whomever she’s partying with.”

“But it’s completely untrue.”

“Technically, but rumors are so much
more fun than my dreary business strategy.”

 
“Sometimes
the truth is better than a rumor, Nancy, even a fun one,” Lizette said uneasily.
“If anyone asks me, I’ll tell them you’re focusing on Froth.”

“Oh, Lizzie, how un-fun you’ll make me
seem. Have a wonderful party and I’m sure no one will remember last year’s incident
with Bill. Bye!”
Nancy
hung up before Lizette could ask about the supposed incident.

Nancy
couldn’t believe her so-called friends
were dragging her good names in the mud this way. Protesting gossip was the
surest way to convince people it was true, but diverting gossip couldn’t hurt
so she left a message for Milagro saying, “Milicious, be a sweetie and tell a
few friends that Lizette and I are having a lesbionic liaison. Embellish as you
will.”

Feeling better,
Nancy
went to the bedroom, which was painted
ivory with blue-gray trim. All of the bed linens were white. Even though she’d
changed her froofy pink décor, the color kept sneaking in. Now it appeared in a
vase of peonies and throw pillows.

She opened the doors to the walk-in
closet and pulled the chain for the old-fashioned hanging bulb. She spritzed Jo
Malone lime, basil and mandarin room spray and then breathed slowly and deeply,
admiring the rows of accessories, organized from small to large. Immaculate
clothes hung on slim, black velvet, no-slip hangers.

She rearranged her shoes, placing the lively
spring collection at eye level. She moved her winter shoes from the main
shelves and stored them in boxes, each with an identifying photo on the front.

Then
Nancy
selected her clothes for the next day. She
was feeling efficient and Coco Chanelish, so she chose charcoal men’s cut slacks,
a white poplin shirt, a narrow black belted jacket, and spectator pumps.

Once in bed,
Nancy
realized that she was lying on “her
side.” She wiggled to the middle of the mattress. Then her head was stuck
between the pillows, so she wiggled back to one side.

She thought about Todd’s nighttime
routine. He used to kick his clothes off wherever he felt like it, roaming
around the house in boxers with cartoon characters or sports team logos. She’d despised
the baggy boxers, but a few months ago he’d bought form-fitting stretch briefs
that disturbed
Nancy
even more. They were just too European.

If a girl truly loved a man, wouldn’t
she automatically be enchanted by that garment which caressed his most intimate
parts? She remembered fantasizing about Todd when she was in college.
Nancy
’s recollection of
her teenage fantasies of Todd were as indistinct as the fog that shifted by her
windows.

Nancy
tried to enjoy the thought of Bailey in
his undies. She hoped they weren’t tightey whities or banana hammocks since he might
have been led astray by a tasteless girlfriend.