Shades of Fortune (16 page)

“I can smell a man's looks,” her mother says quickly.

“If you smelled anything about him, it was Mimi's new cologne! I saw him splash some on his hands before he sat down to dinner.”

“I smelled him
before
he splashed the cologne on,” her mother says firmly. “He had an oily smell. He smelled like a greaser. That's what your father would have called a man like that—a greaser.”

“But he's
not!
He's a graduate of the Harvard Business School.”

“Is he? I wonder. He didn't talk like a Harvard man. Edwee's a Harvard man, and Edwee doesn't talk like that. I don't even believe that Roger Williams is his real name. It sounds like a made-up name to me. Roger Williams sounds like the name of some hotel.”

“But it
is
his name.”

Once again, her mother says nothing, gazing emptily into space, and stroking Itty-Bitty's back with the tip of her toe.

“This is my one big chance, Mother.”

Softly, her mother begins, “How many other big chances have I given you money for, Nonie? The dress shop, the restaurant, the—what was it?—oh, yes, the fashion magazine. All of them cost me money, these big chances of yours. I am not a bottomless pit.”

“Those were … bad luck, I admit. It was bad luck, bad advice, untrustworthy partners. But don't you think I've learned something from my mistakes?”

“Have you?”

“Oh, yes! I have! I've learned to be much tougher. I've learned to be … like Mimi, and look what she's done! Oh, Mother, please—give me one last chance! Edwee's been given the money to do what he wants. Even Henry was given a chance! Oh, Mother, I'm not getting any younger. Please give me one last chance to become somebody, the person I deserve to be!” In a sudden gesture that she knows would displease her mother if she could see her, Nonie flings herself to her knees on the floor in front of her mother's chair and stretches her arms across her mother's lap, which is still warm from Itty-Bitty. “Mother, do you see what I am doing? I am begging you. I am begging you for one last chance. I am begging you on bended knee!”

“Stand up, Nonie,” her mother says quietly. “That's undignified. It's unladylike. Are you sleeping with this man?”

“
No!
”

“Then stand up. Stop acting like a child.”

Rising, Nonie sobs, “It's just that I want this … I want it … so much …”

“Why don't you ask Edwee for the money? He's rich. Or Mimi? She's rich, too.”

“I couldn't … humiliate myself like that. To ask Mimi for money. She's my
niece
. And Edwee—I don't trust Edwee. Edwee is a sneak.”

Her mother nods. “You're right about that,” she says. “I hate to say that about my own son, but you're right. Edwee is a sneak. Sneakiness has always been Edwee's problem.”

“Then who else? Who else can I turn to?” She extracts a hanky from her Hermès bag and blows her nose noisily into it, aware that the sound is harsh and unpleasant.

Her mother's eyes gaze vacantly into space. When she speaks now her normally fluty voice is hard and even. “How much have I given you over the years, Nonie, for your various enterprises? Thirty million? Would that be a good ballpark figure? Thirty million, over the years, and that's not counting what it cost me to bail you out of three marriages. People used to say I was no good with figures, but when figures like that come out of my pocketbook, I keep track. Did it ever occur to you that is more than either Edwee or Henry inherited from your father in Miray stock? And yet you say you were shortchanged. That is why I am saying to you today that I am not a bottomless pit.”

Nonie, dabbing at her eyes, at first says nothing. Then she says, “If you can't afford five million, Mother, then how much could you lend me? As you can see, I'm desperate.”

“Five thousand.”

“Five
thousand!
That's an insult, Mother! I can't do anything with five thousand dollars. I need—”

“And let me ask you another question. Where's my jade elephant?”

Nonie gasps. “What are you talking about?”

“My jade elephant. Han Dynasty, first century.”

“I—I don't know anything about a jade elephant!”

“It used to sit over there,” her mother points, “on that piecrust table. It was there the last time you came to see me, in July. After you left, it was gone. No one else was in this apartment. Have you taken to pinching things from me, Nonie, as well as from other people?”

“Why—why—what a perfectly dreadful thing to accuse me of, Mother! Your own daughter, your own daughter who—”

“Are you sure you didn't just drop it into your purse, Nonie, as you were walking out?”

“Of course not! Obviously, one of the hotel staff—”

“I've lived at this hotel for fifteen years, Nonie, and I know all the staff. Nothing has ever been missing before.”

“A waiter, or a—”

“My waiter is always Eric. They always send up Eric, because they know I like him. And Eric hadn't even been in that day. I'd lunched out.”

“What a perfectly despicable, contemptible thing to accuse me of, Mother!”

“Let me just say one thing, Nonie. It's one thing when you come to me asking me for money. But when you start pinching my things, it's another.”

“I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this sort of thing! I—”

Her mother sighs. “Well,” she says, “if you decide to sell it, don't take it to some Third Avenue pawnshop. Take it to John Marion at Sotheby's. It should fetch quite a nice price. If John Marion has any questions about it, refer him to me. I'll tell him I gave it to you.” Then she says, “What time is it?”

Hesitantly, dabbing at her nose, Nonie sniffles, “Four-thirty.”

“Then I'm going to have to send you on your way, Nonie. That Mr. Greenway is coming by at five to interview me. He says I'm a living link with the past. What do you think of that? A living link with the past!”

“You're sending me on my way on a perfectly horrid note like that? Accusing me of stealing—”

“Edwee may be sneaky, but at least he's never stolen anything from me.”

Suddenly Nonie leans forward, close to her mother's face, and says, “And speaking of darling Edwee, I don't suppose you've heard what darling Edwee is planning to do with
you
.”

Her mother's eyes snap immediately into focus. “
What?
”

“He's planning to ship you off to a nursing home. In Massachusetts. He's going to have you legally probated. He's going to have you declared incompetent. He's collecting witnesses to say that you're senile and incapable of handling your own affairs. You'll live in a tiny cell. You'll have to give up your apartment and all your things. You'll have to give up Itty-Bitty.”

Her mother's hand flies to her throat. Then she reaches quickly down and scoops up her little dog and clutches it protectively against her bosom. “What?” she cries. “He can't do that, can he? He can't take Itty-Bitty away from me!”

“Who knows what he can do? He's the oldest surviving son, and he's working on it already. He's got the nursing home all picked out; your room's reserved.”

“You wouldn't let him do this to me, Nonie!”

“What can I do? He's the oldest surviving son, and he's got all these lawyers at Dewey, Ballantine working on it. He can afford to hire forty lawyers at Dewey, Ballantine to have you put away. I can't afford that sort of thing to fight him.”

“Mimi won't let him! Mimi's the boss of the company now, isn't she? She wouldn't let him do this sort of thing to me, would she?”

“
Mimi!
” Nonie cries. “Don't you know that Mimi
hates
you, Mother? Hates you—because of the way you treat her mother. Like the other night, at her dinner party.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The other night. At Mimi's dinner party. The way you lashed out at Alice.”

Her mother blinks. “I've been to no dinner parties at Mimi's,” she says. “I haven't set foot in Mimi's house for at least two years!”

“Now, Mother. This was last Thursday night. Surely you remember. That was when you met my friend Roger Williams, remember? That was when you suddenly lashed out at poor Alice. I wish you could have seen the expression on Mimi's face when you said what you said. It was an expression of … sheer horror, Mother. No, I don't think Mimi feels very charitable toward you—particularly right now. Mimi's not going to do anything to help
you
, Mother.”

“Well, if she hates me so, why did she ask me to dinner?”

“She probably thought you'd behave yourself. So you
do
remember the dinner.”

Her mother says nothing, still clutching her little dog. “Well, perhaps,” she says at last. “Perhaps I do remember. But Alice—Alice's trouble is ingratitude. Alice has never learned the art of being grateful. Gratitude is an art she's just never learned, that's all. If you only knew what your father and I did, what we went through, to try to help Alice, and help Henry. Not even Mimi knows. And never so much as a word of thanks! I've never understood how a person could be so ungrateful!”

“Still, Alice is Mimi's mother. And the things you said to her were not nice. Did you ever call Mimi to apologize? I'm sure not.”

“Oh, Nonie!” her mother cries suddenly. “You've got to help me! Will you help me, Nonie?”

Nonie dabs the last tears from her eyes with her handkerchief and replaces the handkerchief in her clutch bag. Suddenly the expression on her face is one of regained self-confidence. Gently, she reaches out and touches her mother's knee. “What I'm suggesting,” she says almost tenderly, “is that I could try to help you, and you could try to help me. We could help each other, Mother.”

The little dog in her mother's arms reaches down and, with its rough pink tongue, begins licking the gold bracelets that tumble from the sleeve of Nonie's black silk suit.

The delivery men from F.A.O. Schwartz could barely maneuver the huge shipping carton through the front door of Mimi's parents' apartment on East 97th Street, and their job was even more ticklish since the carton was affixed with big red
FRAGILE
stickers. At last they had the box wedged into the narrow entrance hall, and, their job completed, they presented Mimi's mother with the receipt form to sign.

It was Mimi's tenth birthday, and inside the big box was a card that read, “Happy Birthday, dear Mireille, from your adoring Grandmama and Grandpapa.” Then came the chore of removing the contents of the box from many layers of white tissue paper.

It was the biggest and most beautiful dollhouse she had ever seen, and it was nearly as tall as she was. It was white with green shutters, in a Palladian style, and its front opened outward on hinges to reveal the rooms within. On the first floor was an entrance hall with a curving, carpeted staircase. On one side of this was the parlor, completely furnished with tiny sofas, chairs, tables, and lamps, all very formal. Across the hall was the dining room, with table, chairs, a pair of Victorian sideboards, a crystal chandelier, even dishes, silverware, and candlesticks to set the table with. Pictures the size of postage stamps hung from the walls. Next to this was the kitchen, with a miniature old-fashioned cookstove, an icebox that opened to reveal tiny bottles of milk, a little china loaf of bread, a cake with pink icing, a trussed chicken ready to pop into the oven. Tiny pots and pans and cooking utensils hung from hooks along the walls, and cabinets opened up to display more dishes, cups, saucers, and a larder filled with canned goods. A cookpot no bigger than a thimble stood on the kitchen stove, and on the kitchen table rested the smallest possible rolling pin beside a bowl of rising dough. Upstairs, there were three formal bedrooms, a bathroom with an old-fashioned tub and bowl, and a child's nursery filled with dolls, stuffed animals, and a rocking horse, all fashioned to scale. On the third floor, under the gabled and dormered roof, were the prim and Spartan servants' rooms with their little iron beds and plain wooden chests of drawers.

The dollhouse was too large to fit into Mimi's bedroom, and so it had to be set up in a corner of the dining room. Mimi can remember sitting on the dining-room floor, introducing her two favorite dolls, Matilda and Miss Emily, to their new house, while her mother screamed at her father in the kitchen next door.

“How much do you suppose that thing
cost?
” her mother cried. “From
Schwartz's?
Two thousand? Three thousand? Why don't they give her something she can
use?
Why don't they give us money? What did they give her last year? An ermine jacket with a matching muff and hat!
Ermine!
I don't even own a decent winter wool coat! Why don't they send us money? Why don't they help us pay for her education so that we're not always applying for scholarships? Why is there never any money, Henry? What's wrong with them?
What's wrong with you?
”

“Do you want a divorce, Alice?” she heard her father ask.

At that point, she heard the word
divorce
so often that it had lost its power to terrify her. She tried not to listen to their shouting and to concentrate instead on Matilda and Miss Emily, who were seated now at their new dining table, preparing for an evening meal.

“Will you serve the soup, Matilda?” Miss Emily said.

“Certainly, Miss Emily.” The dolls were always very formal and polite with one another.

“Is that it, Alice? Do you want a divorce? Because if that's what you want, you can have it!”

“Divorce!” her mother sobbed. “Then where will I be? What will become of me? What will become of the child?”

Mimi remembers thinking that, whenever her parents quarreled, she was always just “the child.” When they were like this, she had no name at all.