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last fall. In the middle of the room was a wooden block with two steps. Mimi stripped down to a strapless bra and a pair of nylons, as Colette, the fitter, took a blue chiffon gown from the rack and put her arms through the skirt, holding it above her head so Mimi could slip it on.
She was nervous. The clothes were bound to be a little tight and she was uncertain about what to do. Should she have the seams let out—or save everything for next year? Colette yanked gently on the zipper, trying to pull together the sides of the bodice. At last the zipper went up, and they both breathed a sigh of relief.
Colette looked slightly disapproving. “Madame has . . . ?”
“Oh no,” Mimi said, shaking her head. She put her hands on her belly and Colette’s face lit up in understanding. “Ahhhh,” she said, nodding wisely. “That is
très bien, n’est-ce pas
?”
“Oui,”
Mimi said.
“Je suis très heureuse.”
And then, at about five minutes before one, François, the charming Frenchman who was the corporate head of Christian Dior, came into the fitting room. “I think you might like to see this,” he said, holding a fax out to her. Mimi had looked at the fax, with that terrible laughing headline, and had let out a little scream.
“Excusez-moi,”
François said. “I did not mean to upset you—but I thought perhaps she was a friend of yours?”
“She is—or rather, she was,” Mimi said in confusion. “She’s supposed to be on her way over here . . .”
“I do not think she will come today,” François said. “The whole fashion world is talking about it—apparently she was a model in Paris a very long time ago.”
“Yes, I suppose she might have been,” Mimi said vaguely. She didn’t want to give François any information that he would immediately pass on . . .
François had left the room, and Mimi’s first thought was, Poor, poor Janey!
Naturally, she’d wanted Janey to be punished for her behavior, but she certainly wouldn’t have wished anything like this upon her! But then she looked at the fax again, and she realized that she wasn’t very surprised—no, she wasn’t surprised at all. All of New York would be waking up to the story now; faxes were already being circulated in Paris, and probably London and Milan as well . . . And, of course, it would be all over the Internet. Janey must know by now, she thought, and in that case, she certainly wouldn’t keep their appointment. And given this recent development, it was entirely possible that Mimi wouldn’t have to confront her at all . . .
And she had felt a weight lifted.
And then, about fifteen minutes later, Janey had walked in.
Mimi’s first thought was that Janey somehow didn’t know—and that she was going to have to tell her.
“Janey . . . !” she cried.
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Janey looked at her wildly, circling around the pedestal like a tiger about to eat her. “Where are you going to wear that dress?” she asked.
“To the New York City Ballet Gala,” Mimi said. Janey mustn’t know about it, then, she thought, otherwise, why would she be asking about the dress? “I was going to ask you to be on the committee . . .”
“Were you?” Janey said, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s strange, considering the circumstances . . .”
So she
did
know, Mimi thought nervously. And, as if in confirmation of this fact, Janey said, “Oh yes. I know all about it.” But her next comment nearly knocked Mimi over.
“Somehow,” Janey said, in a weird, eerily calm voice, “you’ve engineered this whole thing to get me out of Paris . . .”
“Janey!” Mimi cried in shock.
“So you can have Zizi all to yourself!” Janey added triumphantly.
Mimi took a step back in surprise, nearly falling off the pedestal. As she righted herself, she found her whole body was shaking with fear and disgust . . .
“I just saw Zizi,” Janey said. “And he told me the whole story.” Mimi raised a trembling hand to her chest, wondering if she had somehow gone insane. How was it that Janey was speaking the very words she had intended to say to
her
?
“And I thought you were my
friend,
” Janey continued. “Oh, everyone told me that you were spoiled and selfish, that you always had to have your way; that you’d do anything to get what you wanted. But I didn’t believe them.” She turned on Mimi, her eyes glittering like black sapphires. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to defend you? How many times I’ve had to tell people that you were actually okay . . .”
“Janey!” Mimi cried in terror. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” Janey said, taking a few steps toward her. “First you force me to come to Paris with you—to cover up the fact that you’re trying to get Zizi back—and then, when you see him and he rejects you—when he refuses to have sex with you—you call George and tell him to make up this story . . .”
Mimi put her hands over her mouth as if she were going to scream. In that moment, she knew without a doubt that every word Zizi had spoken was true.
Janey had simply taken the plot and rearranged the characters, casting herself as the victim. But she couldn’t
truly
believe that what she was saying was real . . . ?
Mimi looked at her. Janey’s eyes were shining but blank, as if the high beams were on but no one was driving. She took another step closer, and Mimi shrank back in fear. “But it’s not going to work, Mimi,” Janey said. “I’m surprised that even 18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:25 PM Page 328
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you would do something that stupid . . . Accusing me of taking money from Comstock Dibble. Because the fact is that I
did
write a screenplay. And once the press gets wind of it, they’re going to turn around and come after
you
. . .” Mimi sank to her knees. Little gasps of fear that sounded like coughs were coming out of her mouth. Colette ran to her—naturally, her English wasn’t anywhere near good enough to know what was going on, but she did recognize physical distress. “Madame Paxton!” she cried.
“Vous êtes . . .”
“De l’eau, s’il vous plait . . . ,”
Mimi gasped.
Colette hurried out of the room as Janey watched her go. And then Janey took another step forward. She was carrying gloves and she began slapping them against her thigh, as if she might use them to hit Mimi . . .
“Janey,” Mimi panted. “You have to know that not a word of this is true. I only found out about the scandal five minutes ago—five minutes before you walked in.
And as for Zizi, I saw him last night, and he told me . . .”
“What?” Janey asked dangerously. “That I had come on to him?” She turned her head and laughed. “Of course he was going to say that. It’s what every man claims when you reject them . . .”
“You called him a whore,” Mimi gasped.
“And why shouldn’t I?” Janey said. “After all, that’s what he is, isn’t he? A male whore? A man who took money for sex?”
Mimi rose shakily to her feet. Her only thought was that she must somehow get Janey out of the room and away from her. She walked slowly to the rack of clothes, holding on to the metal rod for support, and forcing herself to appear calm, she said evenly, “Maybe you’re right, Janey. Maybe everything you’re saying is true . . .”
“Of course it’s true,” Janey snapped. But the fact that Mimi was agreeing with her seemed to pacify her somewhat. “I know this can’t be easy for you, Mimi; I know how you felt about him,” she said. “But when I saw him half an hour ago, at the Ritz, he told me that you’d been stalking him, that you’d followed him to Paris, and that he’d had to reject you. The fact is, he wants
me
. . . He told me he would be with me in a minute, if I weren’t already married to Selden.” Mimi nearly laughed. That, she thought, was the last thing Zizi would ever say.
But Janey was pulling on her gloves—if Mimi handled her carefully, in a moment or two she would be gone. “I see,” Mimi said, nodding thoughtfully. “And what about Selden?” she asked, as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation about men and relationships.
“Oh, Selden,” Janey shrugged. “He would be devastated if I left him . . . and that’s what I had to tell Zizi.”
“Naturally,” Mimi said, swallowing her revulsion. The worst thing about it, she thought, was that if you didn’t
know
Janey, you might actually believe her.
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“I only came to warn you,” Janey said, beginning to walk toward the door. And then, with a triumphant look of disdain, Janey’s eyes traveled to Mimi’s belly. “But I see that I’m too late.”
Mimi nodded silently.
Janey’s gloved hand touched the brass knob on the door. “I really am your friend, Mimi. I’ve always loved you, ever since I was a kid and I used to see your picture in magazines. I always wanted to be just like you when I grew up. And I hope that after all this is over, we can still be friends . . .” Mimi’s smile was tight. “Of course, Janey,” she said cautiously. “We’ll always be friends. You know that.”
Janey started out the door. And then she turned back. With a malicious gleam in her eyes, she asked innocently, “By the way. Who’s the father?”
“Madame!” Colette said, hurrying into the room with a cup of water before Mimi could answer. She gave Janey a dirty look and shook her head; Janey shrugged her shoulders and started off down the hallway. Colette handed Mimi the cup.
“C’est tout d’accord?”
“Non, Colette,”
Mimi said wearily, taking a few sips.
“Je suis très fatigué. Je pren-derais un’ autre appointement demain . . .”
“Mais oui, bien sûr,”
Colette declared.
“C’est naturallement. C’est le bébé.”
“Oui,”
Mimi nodded.
“Le bébé . . .”
“Le bébé,”
Mimi said aloud, touching her stomach. She glanced at her watch again.
Where
was
that doctor? She closed her eyes in annoyance, and as she did so, she could still see Janey’s terrifying visage as she uttered that last devastating pro-nouncement . . . It was like Janey’s beautiful head had split in two, and a long-necked serpent had emerged and swooped toward her, laughing and snapping its jaws at her. She could still see its shiny, scaly, black skin and those teeth and that long red tongue . . .
Exactly what was it, she wondered, that had caused Janey to snap like that—to completely rewrite the truth about her and Zizi? Was it the shock of seeing herself on the cover of the
Post,
or was it something else, something deeper? At first, she had thought about warning George and possibly Selden about how dangerous Janey might be, but then she’d have to reveal her own actions. And it wasn’t like Janey hadn’t been punished enough. Mimi imagined she’d have to move to Connecticut with Selden, where she would be forced to keep a low profile . . . But Selden would probably divorce her, and then what man would be stupid enough to want her?
Plenty,
she answered, with a wry laugh. But Janey would have to disappear, at least for a while . . .
But a little voice inside her warned that Janey would never do that and, open-18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:25 PM Page 330
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ing her eyes, she pounded on the examining table with her fist.
She must stop thinking about that Janey Wilcox,
she scolded herself. Janey was not important now . . .
The only thing that
really
mattered was the baby . . .
It was amazing to be given such a gift, she thought, placing her hands on her stomach; even one that came at such a price. For in having this baby, she was faced with an age-old predicament: She wasn’t completely sure who the father was. It was an untenable situation—on the outside she went about her business as if George
were
the father, but inside she guessed it was Zizi’s. The result was that every waking moment she felt like a fraud—the terrible secret burdening her more heavily than carrying the actual child. She was no better than Janey Wilcox, she thought, and she deserved to be punished as well. And if the child was Zizi’s, she would be: Although the child would be released from her body, the
secret
never would—and she would carry that burden for the rest of her life . . .
But what was she to do? Perhaps the honorable thing would have been to have an abortion, for that would be apt punishment for her sin, and then George would not have to be deceived. But why should the child be killed for
her
crime?
“Good morning!” the doctor said cheerily, coming into the room at last. “Are you ready for your sonogram?”
Mimi nodded, and the doctor continued, “There’s just one thing we need to know first. Do you want to know the sex of the child . . . ?”
“Yes, I do,” Mimi said cautiously. She leaned back against the examining table and suddenly felt guilty again, reminding herself that she was a sinner. Could the doctor tell? she wondered. But of course she couldn’t . . . And after all, the child could still be George’s . . .
But she hoped not! she thought, with an inner cry. After all, she was a woman who had been in love, and naturally she wished that the child had been conceived in love as well. So who could blame her if she prayed fervently that the child would be a boy—and that he would look just like Zizi?
Janey Wilcox stood in the suite at the Lowell Hotel, carefully straightening the pages of that morning’s
New York Post
. The phone was wedged between her shoulder and her ear; nodding and emitting an occasional “Uh-huh,” she added the paper to the large pile of press clippings stacked up in a corner of the living room.
She was talking on the phone to Wendy Piccolo. In one of life’s weird twists, Janey and Wendy had become phone friends, speaking to each other once and sometimes even twice a day, chatting for hours until Wendy had to leave for the theater, where she was playing Blanche DuBois in
A Streetcar Named Desire
.