Power & Beauty (21 page)

“I don’t know rap. And rap doesn’t know me.”

“Do you like jazz?”

“I adore jazz. I adore Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. I adore Dinah Washington and Nancy Wilson. You will see their LPs on my shelf.”

“What’s an LP?” asked Nina.

“An LP is a long-playing record, an antiquated form, a product of a bygone day.”

“Well, if you like jazz, you should like hip-hop. It comes from the same thing.”

“My dear child,” said Anita, “it most certainly does not. Jazz is among the most sophisticated musical forms. It is about the tension between freedom and form. Hip-hop is vulgar, pornographic, misogynistic, and hypermaterialistic.”

“So you hate it.”

“I ignore it.”

“But you have all those pronouncements about it,” Nina said.

“Nina, when you get to my age you are entitled to pronouncements. And at your age, sweet one, you are entitled to ignore them.”

“I will.”

“I am not surprised.”

From there the conversation grew even more heated. Beauty stayed silent as Anita and Nina went at it. In politics, Anita was a right-to-center moderate. Nina was a left-wing radical. In sports, Nina loved roller derby and women’s soccer. Anita had no interest in sports. Nina liked horror films; Anita loathed them. The more wine Anita consumed, the more sarcastic she became. The more sarcasm Anita showed, the less respect Nina offered. Beauty was deeply uncomfortable and greatly relieved when, after dinner, Anita excused herself and went to her bedroom, where she watched TV before falling asleep at ten
P.M
.

“Oh, my God,” said Nina as soon as Anita was out of earshot. “She’s such a bitch. How can you stand to live with her?”

“I like her,” said Beauty. “She’s good to me.”

“She’s going to turn you into a robot. You’re going to wind up designing clothes with peacocks all over them.”

“She knows the business inside and out.”

“What business?” asked Nina. “The business of selling out and turning out shit?”

“Have you ever been to Bloom’s, Nina? Bloom’s does not sell shit.”

“Bloom’s sucks. Hillary Clinton shops at Bloom’s. Martha Stewart shops at Bloom’s. I wouldn’t be caught dead in Bloom’s. You can’t work at Bloom’s. Bloom’s will corrupt your soul. This woman will corrupt your soul. You gotta get outta here, Beauty.”

“And go where?”

“You can live with us. My folks won’t mind. They’ll like it. You don’t take up much room, and you don’t eat much. They’ll be thrilled that I have a sister. I’ve always wanted a sister, haven’t you?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“No buts about it. Pack up right now. Let’s go.”

“Nina, I can’t—”

“Are you scared?”

“No, it isn’t that. But this woman took me in. She’s getting me a job. She has things to teach me.”

“Bad things. She’s a bad influence,” said Nina.

“I don’t see it that way.”

“You’re getting brainwashed.”

“I’m getting a beautiful apartment to live in,” said Beauty. “She didn’t have to take me in.”

“She took you in to brainwash you. You gotta get out. You’re an artist like me. This woman is a whore. She’ll turn you into a whore.”

“Wow . . . Nina . . . do you really believe that?”

“I feel it, I know it.”

“Well, I don’t know anything except she’s not charging me any rent.”

“Don’t you see—you’re whoring yourself out to her. Besides, she’s an obvious drunk. She drank a whole bottle of wine by herself tonight. The woman’s a lush. She probably has to drown her guilt for all that ugly merchandise she buys for people with no taste.”

“Whatever . . .”

“Look, Beauty. This place is creepy. The peacocks are creeping me out. I’m outta here. You coming?” asked Nina.

“No.”

And with that, Nina was gone.

That night, nagging thoughts kept Beauty awake. She kept hearing Nina’s words, and while she was not inclined to pack up and leave Anita, she couldn’t help but think of Power’s relationship with Slim. Slim had given Power a place to live. Slim had made Power comfortable and secure. He had taken Power under his wing and was leading him down the path that Slim had traveled. Slim’s money and success were too much for Power to resist. Well, wasn’t this also true of her and Anita? Hadn’t Anita given her a place to live, made her comfortable and secure? Wasn’t Anita taking her under her wing? Wasn’t Anita’s money and success too much for her to resist? All true, thought Beauty, except that Anita was a good person and Slim was an asshole. And besides, Beauty wasn’t turned off by the crass commercial world of fashion the way Nina was. She understood what Nina was saying. She got the fact that designing clothes was like painting or music. She knew it was an art form. But what was wrong with an art form that pleased people? What was wrong with an art form that made lots of money? Beauty wanted to make lots of money.

She also wanted to keep Nina as her friend. Nina had befriended her when the other girls at school had not. Some were jealous of Beauty’s striking looks. Some made fun of her Georgia accent. Beauty was definitely an outsider at a school that bred cliques. Nina was an insider and leader of the clique of the coolest kids. She brought Beauty into that circle of coolness. Beauty appreciated that. She liked Nina, liked hanging out at Nina’s apartment, like Nina’s gutsy way of looking at the world. Nina had shown Beauty the ins and outs of lower Broadway. She had shown her the trippiest boutiques in Soho, the piercing and tattoo parlors, the galleries, the dance clubs. Nina was a teenage hipster who, at least from Beauty’s point of view, had New York City dialed up. It was okay that Nina didn’t like Anita and vice versa. That was understandable. Two different worlds.

Beauty, though, related to both worlds. She didn’t want to give up either. And, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have to. She finally fell asleep with a calm feeling that all was well and that, despite the differences, she could enjoy the comfort of having Anita as her guardian and Nina as her best friend.

Cold reality, though, hit her hard the next day at school. Nina snubbed her in sewing class. She acted like she didn’t exist. In the cafeteria, when Beauty sat down at Nina’s table, Nina got up and left. Everyone saw what was happening. Beauty was humiliated. She felt like crying. During the week, it got worse. Nina managed to turn all the cool kids against Beauty. She told stories about the crazy peacock lady whom Beauty lived with. She told everyone that Beauty wanted to be a super-square fashion plate and design dresses for rich old ladies with no taste. Before long, Beauty became an outcast. The hipsters wanted nothing to do with her—and neither did the conservative kids, who had never liked her to begin with. She was alone.

She had Solomon and Amir, but not for long. Anita fired Solomon because she thought his sense of fashion was too edgy for Bloom’s.

“I tried to train the man,” she told Beauty, “but he just didn’t realize the basic conservative nature of the New York consumer. Europeans and Middle Easterners often view New York through an avant-garde lens that may be accurate when it comes to painting and music, but not fashion. New York wants to be in style—but not that far out in front. This is a cautious town, my dear, where money, not art, rules the streets. You must remember that.”

When Beauty called Solomon the next day, his first words were, “The bitch is brilliant, but the bitch is ruthless. Be careful, Beauty. Anita Ward has ice running through her veins.”

Solomon found a job selling in the men’s department at Neiman Marcus on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Amir went with him, and Beauty found herself alone. Amir’s group All stayed together, but when Beauty went to see them at the Cornelia Street Café in the Village, even Ray Ray, doing his fantastic silent raps, gave her the cold shoulder. Seemed like Nina had poisoned the world against her.

“All of us are alone,” Anita told her one night when, once again, they were dining at Da Tato. “At the end of the day, we have no one to count on but ourselves. That’s the hard lesson we must face. I wish someone had told me that when I was sixteen. It sure as hell would have saved me a lot of grief.”

After trying to keep the story to herself, Beauty finally told Anita about her falling-out with Nina.

“It’s the best thing that could happen to you,” said Anita. “She’s a pretentious little twerp. Do you know how many artsy-fartsy know-it-all girls like Nina are running around this city? And do you know how many of them will find success as artists? Practically none. Most of them wind up behind the cosmetics counter at Macy’s. When their parents stop paying the bills and force them to deal with the real world, they can’t. Their ambitions go up in smoke. They think they’re going to become Grace Jones or Yoko Ono or Madonna or Lady Gaga. They want to be stars but they have no insight, no talent, no tenacity. They are in love with art for art’s sake. They are in love with rebellion. It’s all such fun, it’s all so easy, it’s all so glamorous, my dear, until you have to pay the rent. That’s where the rubber meets the road, a road made of unyielding, unfeeling, uncompromising, cold concrete.”

“But I liked Nina,” said Beauty. “She was my friend . . .”

“‘Was’ is the right word. She is past tense. She has proven her worthlessness. She is a flighty girl, this one, and undoubtedly will fall into hard drugs and loose sex. You mark my words. These are dark days for the promiscuous. Sexually transmitted diseases will kill you quicker than cancer. These hallucinogens and stimulants going around will kill your clarity, destroy your sanity, and have you acting the fool. If you find that school unpleasant, Beauty, if you continue to feel out of place, we will find another. I don’t want you mixing with the wrong crowd. I want you down at the store on Saturday. You’re to work in alterations. Belinda Sanchez will supervise you. Belinda can sew rings around any teacher in that school of yours. Belinda is a whiz.”

Noah Sanchez

A
fter working at Bloom’s for five months—on Saturdays and during the summer—Beauty had sex with Noah Sanchez, the son of her sewing mentor, Belinda Sanchez. It happened at the end of her junior year a few months before her seventeenth birthday. Noah was her first intimate physical encounter since the night that she and Power found themselves in bed after the death of Moms.

Noah reminded her of Power. He was Power’s height, skin color, and weight. His mother was from the Dominican Republic and his father managed a post office in Harlem. The Sanchez family lived in Inwood, the Dominican section of upper Manhattan, across the street from a park that overlooked the Hudson River. Unlike Gramercy, though, Inwood Hill Park was two hundred acres of hidden paths and woodsy trails. To walk in Inwood Hill Park was to leave Manhattan and enter a forest. It was there, in a secluded alcove on a warm summer night under a full moon, where Noah and Beauty made love. It was there where, in a silent scream, she called out Power’s name. It was there where Noah said that he loved her. It was there where Beauty started crying.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Noah. “Did I hurt you?”

Beauty couldn’t tell Noah that she hadn’t been with him. In mind, body, and soul, she had been with Power.

“No,” she said, “it’s just a lot of stuff I’ve been going through.”

They got dressed, picked up the blankets they had used to cover the ground, and began walking through the park. Through the trees, the light of the moon danced on the surface of the river. To the south were the lights of the George Washington Bridge. In the distance was the roar of an ambulance speeding down 207th Street. When the sirens stopped, the sound of crickets filled the sweet, fresh-smelling air. For a long while they walked in silence. Noah wanted to ask Beauty whether she had enjoyed the sex. He had felt her climax, but he also had not felt her presence. He wondered what was going on in her mind. On top of the highest hill of the park, they sat on a bench that looked across the river to the New Jersey Palisades.

Beauty sensed that Noah had questions for her but still said nothing.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“My mom said something about an election. I hope you’re not taking that too seriously, Beauty. I thought I’d be elected captain of the basketball team this year and my best friend got it instead.”

“I didn’t even want to run to be a representative on the school fashion board,” said Beauty, “except that some of the girls nominated me. I didn’t know they nominated me to humiliate me. But that’s what happened. Someone made a copy of the actual voting results and stuck it in my locker. It was probably Nina Golding. Anyway, I got two votes. The girl who won got a hundred and sixty votes. The next day at school I heard everyone laughing at me behind my back.”

“Anita never laughs at you. And neither does my mother. They love you. We all love you.”

“I’m never going back to that school.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It was a mistake to go there in the first place.”

“My mother says that as a seamstress she’s never seen you make a mistake.”

“Sewing’s one thing, designing is another.”

Noah turned to Beauty and said, “I’m ready to design my life around you.”

Beauty didn’t know how to respond. Noah, like his mother, was a good-hearted and sincere human being. It was his mother who introduced him to Beauty and encouraged the relationship. Anita discouraged it. She didn’t think Noah was good enough for Beauty. She had respect for Belinda as a craftswoman. She knew Belinda’s husband and had met Noah. They were a lovely family but not for Beauty. Beauty was going places and couldn’t be held back by a teenage infatuation—if, in fact, she was infatuated with Noah Sanchez.

“I’m just getting started here in New York,” Beauty told Noah that night in Inwood Hill Park.

“I know you’re super-talented,” said Noah. “I know you’re going to be a superstar, and I can tell you I’ll never get in your way. I got into Columbia for next year. I’ll be living at home and studying my head off. I’ll be prelaw. I have dreams of my own, but I want our dreams to flow together. You’re my dream and I want to be yours.”

“You’re so serious, Noah.”

“About you . . . yes, I’m serious about you. When you meet your soul mate, you can’t let her go—not for anyone or anything.”

Noah’s words warmed Beauty’s heart. Noah was a gentle guy. He loved to read about art, hike in the woods, help out his parents with errands. He worked part-time at the Cloisters, the nearby museum in Fort Tryon Park, where he tried to make the story of medieval tapestry come alive for underprivileged kids.

“He’s not just a jock,” Beauty told Anita the next day when Anita questioned her about being out so late. “He’s a really well-rounded guy. There are so many parts to him.”

“I’m sure, my dear, but I’m also sure that the part about you he likes most involves sex.”

Beauty took offense at the remark but didn’t feel inclined to argue with Anita. She wanted to defend Noah more vigorously, but she also had to admit that, other than his resemblance to Power, she wasn’t nearly as attracted to Noah as he was to her. He was a good guy, but maybe almost too good. There was no adventure in him, no edge, not even the slightest hint of risk. He was a safe choice, and Beauty was hardly interested in safety.

Despite all this, Beauty continued to date Noah. There was nothing threatening or unpleasant about Noah. They had sex occasionally, but only when Beauty wanted to fantasize about Power. They went to movies and art exhibits and baseball games at Yankee Stadium. He provided a companionship that Beauty needed. And even though she continued to tell him that she could not commit to a long-term relationship, Noah harbored hope that she’d change her mind, refusing to give her up.

Meanwhile, worried that Noah might prevail, Anita decided to ship Beauty out of the city. She sent her to Los Angeles, where she could complete high school and work for Soo Kim, a former protégée of Anita’s who had become one of the most successful designers in the country. Naturally Beauty was excited at the prospect—she had never been to California—and Anita was gratified that her plan was falling into place. In August, though, Noah announced that, through some last-minute maneuvers, he had been awarded a full scholarship to UCLA. He’d be living in the same city as Beauty.

“I know you like this boy,” said Anita, “and I know he’s absolutely crazy about you, but for God’s sake do not get tied down and do not get pregnant.”

Come September, Beauty would be living in the guest room of the four-thousand-square-foot penthouse apartment in the Ritz-Carlton Residences next to the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles, which Soo Kim shared with her husband, Primo Dalla Torre. Meanwhile, across town, Noah would be staying in a dorm room in Westwood that he’d share, by sheer coincidence, with Lee Kim, Soo’s younger brother, who, like Noah, was a UCLA freshman.