Summer Sisters (27 page)

But when Vix began to talk Caitlin’s eyes glazed over and Vix could tell she wasn’t really that interested. Or maybe she was as genuinely tired as she claimed because halfway through dinner she put down her plate, stretched out on the sofa, and fell asleep. Vix covered Caitlin with a blanket, finished her meal, and carried the plates of uneaten food to the tiny kitchen, where she set them in the empty fridge.

Then she turned out the lights and sat in the darkness watching Caitlin sleep, the beautiful face relaxed, the long, lithe body curled up like a cat. Later, on her way to the bedroom, she touched Caitlin’s hair, touched her cool cheek, the way she’d dreamed of touching her when they were children.

The next day Caitlin slept till noon. Vix had already finished the
Times
crossword puzzle and one of the lemon tarts left over from dinner.

“Thanks for last night,” Caitlin said when she awoke.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. You let me sleep.” She wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Oh good. You saved everything.” She came back with a plateful of cold linguine. “So now I want to hear all about your life,” she
said, slurping up a mouthful, “starting with Bru’s proposal.”

“There’s not that much to tell.”

“But he gave you a ring and you said
no?”
Caitlin prompted.

“I said I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s supposed to be guys who aren’t ready … guys who can’t commit.”

“I guess I’m an exception to the rule.”

“You surprise me. I always thought you’d wind up married to him with a houseful of kids by the time you were thirty … leading an incredibly boring, ordinary life.”

“How could I? I signed the NBO pact, remember?”

Caitlin laughed. “NBO or die! So you’re
really
over him?”

“Yes, totally!” She was pleased at how sure of herself she sounded, considering that she’d called him just weeks ago, on a night she’d felt so blue, so alone, she could hardly bear it. Her hands had trembled and her mouth had gone dry when he’d answered. She should have hung up right away. Instead, haunted by the idea that he thought Harvard had turned her into an elitist, she’d said, “Just so you know … I hate snobs!” She regretted it the second the words were out of her mouth.

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?” he asked.

When she didn’t respond he said, “Victoria?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Do me a favor … don’t call again.”

By the time she said, “I won’t,” he’d hung up the phone.

That night Caitlin danced for her decked out in full flamenco—red and black dress cut down to reveal the tops of her breasts, a slit up to her crotch, her hair pulled back, a flower tucked behind her ear—heels and castanets clicking. A fiery, seductive dance that ended with her body on the floor … hands outstretched to her audience of one. When the music stopped Caitlin waited for her to make the next move. Finally, Vix cleared her throat and said, “I think we should go out …”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“So that was Caitlin,” Maia said when Vix got back from the Carlyle on Sunday afternoon. She and Paisley were painting the kitchen cabinets a deep blue. “It doesn’t take a shrink to see she’s jealous of us … of Paisley and me. She doesn’t want anyone in your life to be more important than her.”

“You saw all that in ten minutes?” Vix asked, tossing her overnight bag on her bed.

“I saw it the second she walked in. And the way she turned up her nose at the wine Paisley offered …”

“Caitlin’s complicated,” Vix said, changing into a T-shirt and sweatpants.

“We’re all complicated,” Maia said. “And we’ve all had friends like her.”

“I don’t think so,” Vix said, coming into the kitchen where she picked up a paintbrush, dipped it into the tray
of blue paint, and got to work. “Oh, please …” Maia said. “There’s a Caitlin in every junior high. You have to get over her and get on with your life.”

“I am getting on with my life.”

Paisley

S
HE HAS TO SAY
, she admires Victoria for her loyalty to the Phantom Friend, as well as for having the guts to tell Bru she wasn’t ready. They never talk about him. The subject is off limits. Victoria says it’s easier that way. She realizes
her
crush on him was just a momentary thing. She’s way past imagining herself on a desert island with him, or any other island. Besides, there’s this guy who’s been pitching a sitcom to her boss …

36

T
HE PLACE THEY SHARED
in Chelsea had just one bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and eight hundred square feet of open space. “Think of it as a loft,” the rental agent had said, “in a very
now
neighborhood.”

The week they’d moved in they constructed individual sleeping areas by hanging Indian print fabrics on rods suspended from the ceiling, making it look as if they were patients in some eclectic hospital ward. As far as privacy went, forget it. But with the threat of AIDS, with everyone talking about Safe Sex, they weren’t exactly whooping it up.

Of the three of them only Paisley slept around, refusing to waste her youth worrying about some disease she wasn’t going to get, because the men in her life were Ivy League types, from good families.

“At least insist they use condoms,” Maia lectured regularly. She’d become so cautious she swabbed the toilet seat with alcohol before sitting on it, convinced Paisley was going to bring home herpes, or the papilloma wart virus, or trich at the very least. “You don’t know who’s bi, you don’t know who’s doing what with whom …”

Every Tuesday night they ate supper in front of the tube, watching
thirtysomething
. Was this where their lives were heading?

Vix’s job at Squire-Oates had turned out different than she’d expected.
Working with Captains of Industry
translated into editing videotapes of corporate executives during an intensive three-day course in communication, each course geared to that specific individual’s needs so he or she, but mostly he, could face a press conference with confidence when grilled about the latest mishap, lawsuit, merger, whatever, at the corporation.

It was up to Vix to catch their flaws on tape. Did he touch his balls, stroke his chin, do that thing with his jaw? Were his hands flying out of control as if he might take off at any moment? Was his speech clear and concise or did he stumble, mumble … and how about those long
aaahhhhs
, as if he had a tongue depressor lodged in his throat while he was trying to come up with the answer to a tough question? Did she fiddle with her jewelry, lick her lips, constantly flick her hair away from her face?

In just three days, with endless practice in front of the agency’s team of specialists, most of these Captains of Industry learned to face the camera and come off as trustworthy, believable individuals. It amazed Vix. She wondered why Dinah didn’t take the course herself.

Dinah was as determined and ambitious as any of them, yet often couldn’t make decisions. She’d sometimes drop a folder on Vix’s desk. “Victoria, I’m giving you this one,” she’d say, twisting a strand of hair around
her finger or, if she was in a real bind, sucking on the ends. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Squire-Oates had an impressive client list and Vix found she was good at coming up with strategies for their campaigns to promote policies, personalities, and products. She decided she was more of an idea person than a technical one and looked forward to the day when Dinah, recognizing this, would come through on her promise to nurture her career.

In the meantime Dinah took full credit for Vix’s suggestions. Vix wasn’t in a position to complain. Unemployment was not on her agenda. Sometimes, when Vix started thinking about it, she’d get scared, not sure she was ambitious enough, determined enough, to make it in this city. Sometimes she felt old and tired. She hated it when Dinah referred to her as a
puppy
, reminding her of how young she was, of how she had her whole life ahead of her.

As a kid, Vix had had some warped idea that
grownup
meant having a job and living on your own. It meant no one could tell you what to eat, or what to wear, or how to behave. It meant it was okay to have sex with guys. What a joke! When she first came to New York she decided being
grownup
had to do with responsibilities, but then she’d think about her sister and change her mind. Lanie was hardly grownup although God knows she had responsibilities.

Lanie considered Vix a big success. She referred to Vix as her
rich
older sister. She’d constructed a fantasy about life in the Big Apple that was more 90210 than
10003. She was convinced Vix lived in a fabulous apartment, got expensive haircuts, and wore clothes right out of the pages of
Cosmo
. To Lanie, with her two little kids and the same useless husband, Vix’s life seemed like Cinderella’s after the ball—even without the Prince. Lanie didn’t get that Vix was struggling, too. It was just a different kind of struggle, at a different level.

From what Vix had seen, having children didn’t necessarily make you grownup. Besides, what about people who chose never to have them? She’d always felt uncertain about having kids because of Nathan. Not that she’d necessarily have a child with a physical disability but she knew what it was like to live with that kind of burden, the sacrifice it required, the strength, the love. Bru wanted a houseful of kids. Caitlin swore she would never have them. “Not everyone has to be a mother,” she’d say. “A person can have a happy and fulfilling life without children.”

A postcard from Caitlin dated December 2, 1987, Seattle.

Forget Madrid. This is it! I’ve finally found my place. It’s young, it’s cool … and I don’t just mean the weather. Start packing
.

Abby

S
HE TRIES TO KEEP UP
with all of them, sending addresses and phone numbers around the world so they can keep in touch with each other. She wishes Daniel and Vix would get together. Maybe someday … In the meantime she gives Vix’s phone number to sons of her friends.

Lamb teases her, saying she should open a matchmaking service. Actually, not a bad idea. She enjoys helping people find happiness. But at the moment her plate is full. She’s taken over management of the Somers Foundation. And none too soon. She’s reorganizing from scratch. She never dreamed this was where life would take her.

Gus

H
E DECIDES AGAINST
the job offer in Albuquerque. He likes being around water too much. Blame it on all those summers on the Vineyard. He’s lucky to get a second offer and jumps at the chance to write for the
Oregonian
. Aside from all that chauvinistic crap about keeping outsiders out, the people in Portland are friendly and the women are fresh, outdoorsy types.

When he’s sent to Seattle in March to get a story on Microsoft he calls Caitlin and arranges to meet her for a drink. Abby’s sent him her phone number. She’s the chronicler of their lives. Caitlin arrives with two guys in tow. James and Donny.

Can you believe I once tried to seduce this guy
, she tells them, pressing her thigh up against his. She and James and Donny fall all over themselves laughing, as if the idea of her seducing
him
is a sick joke. He’s sorry he called. He doesn’t need this.

So how’s the Cough Drop?
he asks to change the subject.

You mean you haven’t heard?

Heard what?

She eloped with Bru. Just last week
.

No way …

Does that surprise you?

Yeah, it surprised him.

Only joking, darling Gus!
she tells him, taking his hand. And she dissolves into laughter again.

He gets out of there as soon as he can. Doesn’t tell anyone he saw her.

37

A
NOTHER PRESIDENTIAL
election but this time Vix and Paisley were less than thrilled with the candidates. “At least
Barbara
will be better than
Nancy,”
Paisley said, as if the election were over and the votes counted. “She’s got a sense of humor. And she wears the same pearls as my grandmother.”

Maia found their political discussions hilarious.

“I don’t see how you can defend the Republican party after what happened to you,” Paisley told her.

“Please,” Maia said, “if your guys had been in office we’d be in the middle of a serious depression.”

When the phone rang Vix couldn’t find it. “Check in the bathroom,” Paisley called. “Next to the toilet.”

It was Caitlin. “Vix … where are you?”

“In the bathroom, actually.”

“I mean where are you, as in, when are you coming? I’ve found the perfect place for us to live. It’s furnished in antique wicker and there’s a small garden. Roses, Vix … all year round. But you have to give me a date. They won’t hold it for long.”