Nothing Left To Want (13 page)

I wondered if I would become a woman like my mother. I wondered if my heart would turn to ice like in the book 'The Snow Queen' that Elizando used to read me. I wondered what Sulky Sue would do if I called her back into the room with me and asked her to talk to me because I was so fucking lonely and afraid that sometimes I thought I might be better off dead.

I didn’t know I was crying until the shapes of the tiny skiers outside the window became blurred. I dry-swallowed one of the pills and waited. After a while I didn’t feel like crying any more and I started to laugh instead, stopping only when the sound of my voice in that empty house creeped me out.

Pills for the pain of living … thank you, Dr. Barrows, but then it wasn’t really funny at all. I had liked him, and I had thought he liked me, but in the end he was just a less honest version of Sulky Sue, another person who would do what I asked, eagerly snatch up my money, and hate and judge me for asking and paying in the process.

I fell asleep. It’s tiring to be disliked. I could have almost felt sorry for my mother, almost.

* * *

It was dark when the sound of my horrible disease beeper woke me. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my head hurt.

I was trying to figure out if I needed to call for old Sulky to get my insulin pump refilled, or if I could make the mile-long trek upstairs myself, when Milan and Christy and three strange boys burst into the room.

The girls looked so radiant in the sudden bright lights that Milan had switched on at her entrance. They were flushed from skiing and cold air, and the excitement of new guys to admire them.

The three boys were all on the seriously hot side - two tall blonds and a dark-haired third that was so good looking with his olive skin and dark blue eyes that my already dry mouth felt filled with sand when I saw him.

I was immediately aware that my face must be puffy from sleep and pale from low blood sugar. Self-consciously I sat up, trying to smile, and the great room around me, including the five people standing in front of me, tilted at crazy angles. I knew that if I just pointed at my insulin pump, Christy or Milan would have run upstairs and gotten a fresh insulin needle. Instead I surreptitiously shoved it further down the front of my jeans.

I could feel a thin slick of sweat forming already. I knew if I didn’t ask them for help soon, I would go from sweaty and weak to dry heaves, and fall over unconscious, with the possible never-live-it-down bonus of losing bladder control. I dug my nails into my palms hard and it helped for a minute. The room stilled, my focus straightened, and I was able to smile.

Milan smiled back at me and plopped down onto the couch beside me, lifting my legs onto her lap. “Look what Chrissie and I found at the Blue Sky Basin. These three were just hanging out and they rescued us.”

I swallowed, and croaked out. “Rescued you?”

Christy and the boys flopped down on chairs. One of the blonds answered. “Yeah, their bindings kept coming undone. I don’t think Chanel is going to be the official Olympic sponsor of the half pipe anytime soon.”

They all laughed, and I tried to but couldn’t. I felt too sick. The perfect dark-haired boy looked around Aunt Georgia’s great room without expression, and said, “Nice little place you girls have here, so ... ” He stared at Milan, stunning dark eyes meeting ice blue ones. “Where is the ahhmazing pool room you were talking about?”

Milan patted my leg, addressing me, showing off for him. “Care Bear, since the boys rescued us, Christy and I had to invite them back. I promised them a home-cooked dinner from whichever pizza place that delivers up here, and then a little swim.” She turned and gave the dark boy her most dazzling smile and he lost some of his cockiness. I watched his face tighten, staring at her. “I told them they could help us make boy soup.”

The others laughed appreciatively at her wit, but not me. Seeing the way he looked at her, I felt even sicker. I was glad that stupid Dr. Barrows hadn’t stayed. Milan would have scorned him and he, of course, would have fallen head over heels in love. It’s hard at fifteen to conceal jealousy, it’s hard to be overlooked.

I glanced across at Christy to see if she felt the same, but like everyone else, she was watching Milan like she was the sun and they were all dying for a tan. Lucky Christy, always content to ride Milan’s wake. Stupid me, always wanting to be her or, if not be her, then be as noticed as her.

Milan seemed to sense my feelings that night; she tried to bring me in. She reached over and stroked damp hair off my face. “Care Bear, you’re all sticky, you must have been having hot dreams.”

I reached up self-consciously and put my hand on hers, pushing it away. She looked at me, confused. I had always welcomed her casual affections.

One of the cute blond boys eyed my wrist and whistled out loud. “Whoa, that cannot be for real.”

I know it was a loserish, low class thing to do but, instead of ignoring him, I brought my other arm out from under the blanket and stretched it over my head. His eyes bulged and I managed to flash my dimple along with my bracelets. The dark boy, who was obviously their alpha, like Milan was mine, really looked at me for the first time.

“
If they are real, why would you be wearing them when you’re just lying around? Anyway, I don’t think they are real, you’re just a little kid.”

I know I must have flushed and the room tilted again, this time from humiliation. He thought I was a little kid. I was the same age as Milan who was looking at me, her blue eyes filled with ... love and pity?

She stood abruptly and tossed her hair. “I’m hungry. I don’t want to call for pizzas, it takes too long. Come on, let’s drive down and eat.” The two blond boys rose obediently. The one who had first commented on my wrists asked Christy, “You’re coming too, right?”

She flashed Milan a look and once again I was amazed, and a little jealous, at the silent perfect communication they shared. She shook her head. “No, I’m going to stay here. I’m all sweaty and icky from skiing. You guys bring back a mushroom for Carey and me.”

The boy sat again. “I’ll stay and hang with you. Mushroom sounds good.”

Christy glanced at Milan, then at me. Her eyes widened a little and she said petulantly, “I don’t want you to stay here. I said I was going to take a shower. Gawd, did you think I was inviting you to watch.”

The boy flushed and pulled on his jacket.

The dark alpha boy stood too. Speaking to Milan but still eyeing me, he said, “Sure we’ll take you to Pazzo’s, no sweat. I’d still like to know the deal with your little friend's mass bling there, though.”

Milan turned on him. “It’s not bling, you no-class loser. Those are real, she’s real. Carey’s our diamond girl.” She sneered, You wouldn’t know the real thing if you saw it.”

He wasn’t fazed. He turned to Milan and eyed her up and down. She smiled at his appraisal, her anger gone as quickly as it had come. He asked her. “So, if she’s a diamond girl, you must be made of some gemstone so rare I haven’t even heard of it yet.”

Her eyes clouded. “No, no gemstone at all. I’m made of that fake jewelry, the kind that looks like it's gold, but it turns your finger black.”

The other boys laughed. Christy and I didn’t. The dark boy shook his head. “No, that’s not right. Whatever you’re made of it, it could stop a fucking clock just by looking at you. Don’t you know that you’re the hottest girl in any room?”

Milan leaned in closer to him, giving him a half-smile. “Okay, if you say so, that’s what I am. Carey’s the diamond girl, Christy’s the best girl, and I’m the hottest girl in every room. Sounds like a good logo design. Come on, I’m hungry.”

The boys followed her long strides out of the room and, as soon as we heard the distant closing of the front doors, Christy was beside me. “You’re sick, aren’t you? Poor Carey. You should have called us. I had my cell on all day.”

I looked at her beautiful face and I couldn’t talk. She leaned over and encircled me in her sweet girl scent. “It’s okay, I know, I understand. Milan does too. We love you Carey. You think you’re some kind of freak because you’re sick and it’s not true. Come on, let me help you upstairs. Tell me what you need.”

My swollen throat and dry mouth wouldn’t work. I stared at her helplessly. She nodded, helping me up. “Here, lean on me. We’ll take the elevator.” Without asking me, she reached down and yanked my insulin unit from the front of my jeans and stared at the numbers and the flashing light. I had muted the sound when they had come in. “Gawd, Carey, this is empty. Come on, let me help you.”

I did let her help me. I let her guide me upstairs and sit me on the toilet, and even pull down my jeans and panties, because I couldn’t make my hands work. While I sat there, she pulled out two syringes from the small refrigerator in the room I had chosen and she depressed them expertly, filling my insulin unit, then she helped me undress and get into the round tub.

She joined me and gently washed my hair as well as her own. After our bath, she guided me, still naked, to the carefully turned-down bed and into the cool clean sheets. Apparently Sulky Sue was efficient as well as mean.

I grabbed her hand. “Christy, thank you. You saved me.”

She shook her head. “No, I just helped you, you’re our friend, Carey, our closest bestest friend. Milan and I will always take care of you, just like you take care of us. We love you.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead, turning off the bedside lamp. I heard her soft laugh in the darkness. “Wow, wouldn’t those guys love to walk in on this, two hot naked blonds? I better go blow-dry my hair and get dressed. Milan and the boys will be back any minute. You sleep, little Carey girl, sleep and have sweet dreams. Tomorrow, Milan and I won’t ski, we’ll stay home with you all day, okay?”

I murmured okay, wanting to beg her to stay with me till I slept and knowing, if I did, that she would say yes but resent me for it. And it was so important to me that she and Milan always see me as more fun than trouble. If I let them know me, really know me in all my disgusting need and insecurity and physical weakness, I knew they would draw away, perfect faces pulled tight with disgust and pity.

Kelleher toys or not, I would lose them.

I didn’t fall asleep for a long time. That night I laid there alone in the dark and listened to the far-off sounds of music and laughter, and the girls screaming in pretend terror at whatever the boys were doing to them in the pool.

I didn’t feel sorry for myself or want to join them. I knew the boys would think I was weird and awkward, and it would ruin the night. I knew that if I were in the pool, I would have had to take off my bracelets and then they would have seen the ugly scars underneath all my diamonds.

Chapter 14

The air in here is so bad but it shouldn’t be. It's cold in here. I can’t feel much in the way of sensation from my neck down but the skin on my face is still sensitive. I can register the clammy air on my lips and how cold my tears feel trickling down the sides of my face into my ears. I haven’t been able to feel my feet at all for what seems like days. Truth to tell, I have never had much sensation in my feet.

For me that was one of the rare positives of being a Type One diabetic. New York girls have to live out their lives in punishing shoes, sky high heels even with a pair of old jeans. At our chic-est, we will stride through the meat packing district to a new club wearing our newest Manolo boots, fourteen thousand dollars a pair, always too narrow and the heel is a nosebleed making five inches.

In truth, when New York women set foot outside, they are
en pointe
. People always ooh and ahh over ballerinas in their little toe shoes standing
en pointe
for two seconds. Well, the true foot hero is the New York woman striding bravely down Fifth Avenue on stiletto thin heels, her feet practically at a vertical angle and always in shoes at least one size too small. We are the modern day practitioners of the ancient art of Chinese foot binding.

In places like Greenwich, a young debutante and her trophy mother can risk a pair of Chanel ballet flats. Go for it, they are very ladylike, but I wouldn’t recommend making a habit out of it. Sky high heels don’t just lengthen a woman’s legs and make her calves look sweet, they shorten the impact of the size of girl’s feet. A foot bent at an angle nature never intended is a foot that doesn’t look like a freaking gunboat, as it would in flats.

A couple generations ago people from families like mine used to marry their cousins to keep the money in the family. They even married their first cousins, which honestly is so weird, but then I guess there started being enough money to broaden our horizons, so the family scions were able to stop marrying their cousins and producing kids who looked like poor Eleanor Roosevelt.