Life Swap (15 page)

I suppose at times I feel like a Desperate Housewife (I’d
like to be the Teri Hatcher one but I’m far more like Felicity Huffman!) – that’s kind of the life we live. For most of the women around here all this charitable work seems to be far more about social climbing, and even though that’s not why I got involved, it’s so hard not to get caught up in it.

Because this town is only an hour outside Manhattan, a lot of the people who have moved here work on Wall Street – at least the husbands do. Not that I should complain, Richard works on Wall Street and thank goodness! But it makes for a very competitive lifestyle: everyone’s always trying to keep up with everyone else – who has the biggest house, who has the most expensive car, whose children got in to the best private school.

And it’s exhausting. I didn’t growup with anything, I came from the wrong side of the tracks altogether, and I’m not sure howmuch longer I have the energy to do this. So that’s why I’m writing. I’m sure I’m not what you’re looking for, and I’m sure you weren’t expecting to hear from someone in America, but the idea of having a break from keeping up with the Joneses is hugely appealing.

Plus I thought you might just like the idea of finding out what life really is like on Wisteria Lane (although in truth my road is called Sugar Maple Lane!)
.

Yours,

Amber Winslow

Vicky slides the letters back into the potential file and checks her watch. Damn. She’s going to be late. She has a one o’clock lunch meeting with a couple of people from Channel 4. They saw the magazine and phoned
her, pitched her about making a documentary about the swap, doing a fly-on-the-wall, coming along with both women to see how they fare.

Janelle almost cried with excitement when Vicky told her. She had to tell her. Even though she couldn’t think of anything worse than being on television as part of a fly-on-the-wall documentary.

There was the not insignificant issue of television putting on at least ten pounds for one thing. Plus the whole world would be watching her, and Vicky hasn’t wanted fame or celebrity since she was six years old and wrote to Jimmy Saville to ask him if he could fixit for her to meet the Bay City Rollers (he couldn’t).

She’s hoping that during this lunch meeting they will think her not interesting or charismatic enough to make a documentary about her, even though the premise is a good one. Janelle is joining them later, which is unfortunate, but hopefully Vicky can do enough damage before Janelle arrives, and put them off for good.

Chapter Eleven

Amber stands once again in the corner of her new Amberley Jacks-designed living room, and smiles as she surveys the changes.

The walls are lavender now, just as they proposed, the sofa a rich plum, the armchairs re-upholstered in a plum and chocolate-brown print. The curtains are a mocha and lavender check, and the pièce de résistance is the new antique Asian coffee table in the centre of the room, dressed for today’s committee meeting with silver platters of exquisite handmade cookies and pastries.

Amber comes into this room at least three times a day. She doesn’t actually sit down on the sofa – doesn’t let
anyone
sit down on the sofa – but she stands and admires how lovely it is, and thank goodness it managed to be ready for the final committee meeting before Friday’s Gala for the League.

Julian and Aidan did a wonderful job, she tells anyone who asks. Now they are working on the family room, the library, and Amber is thinking of adding the master bedroom to the list, although she hasn’t managed to tell Richard about adding a few more rooms, and he’s been so difficult lately about money, it might be best not to mention it at all.

In fact she’s even had to intercept the monthly bills
from Amberley Jacks and pay them herself from her own bank account. Richard was furious when he got their first bill. ‘Amber!’ he had roared from his office as he was sorting out the bills. ‘Look at this!’ He’d pushed the piece of paper at her and glared at her in an angry-father sort of way. ‘I thought they weren’t going to be expensive,’ he’d said finally.

‘Ah yes,’ Amber had said, because not only had the furniture they’d found cost far more than Amber had anticipated (everything had turned out to be ‘a piece’, all of it genuine, all of it old, and all of it horrendously expensive), but they claimed to have put in thirty hours during the month of April, which came to $6,000.

‘How can they possibly have spent thirty hours?’ Richard had said. ‘I thought they only came to the house twice.’

‘They did.’ Amber had immediately jumped on the defensive. ‘But they were out buying for us.’

‘Thirty hours’ worth of buying? How can that be? They only bought the coffee table, a couple of side tables and a few lamps. How is that thirty hours?’

Amber had shaken her head. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t know, but if that’s what they say it is, then that’s what it is.’

‘I’m going to phone them and ask them,’ Richard had said, reaching for the phone.

‘No!’ Amber had gasped, already humiliated at the thought. ‘Don’t do that. I’ll speak to them. I’m the one with the relationship with them, so I ought to speak to them, don’t you think?’

‘Well, okay, but make sure you get them to detail the hours. I want to see a list of exactly where these thirty hours went, and Amber, this is it. We can’t afford this sort of money on decorating. Now the formal living room is done that’s it. Okay?’

‘Okay, okay. I’ll speak to them tomorrow.’ Amber had blown him a kiss, knowing that he would have forgotten about it by the next morning, and he was at work all day, he wouldn’t even know if they carried on. She could always tell him she did it herself.

And although the lavender and plum living room isn’t what Amber would ever have done herself, isn’t even what she might have picked if she’d seen a picture in a magazine, it is pure Amberley Jacks, and she can’t wait for the committee, especially for Suzy, to see her new room.

‘Oh it’s lovely,’ Nadine says, walking in and sitting on the sofa next to Suzy, admiring the coffee table and antique brass lamps. ‘Didn’t they do a wonderful job?’

‘I know,’ Amber says proudly. ‘They really are worth every penny. Help yourself to some pastries. I’m just going to get some fresh coffee. Can I bring you anything?’

‘No thanks,’ the two girls smile sweetly and shake their heads. ‘We’re good.’

‘Oh. My. God.’ Suzy turns to Nadine and mouths the words, her mouth hanging open, as Nadine starts to giggle.

‘Oh stop it,’ she shoves Suzy playfully as they both look around the room. ‘What
is
this colour? What does it remind me of? Oh I know!’ She turns back to Suzy. ‘It’s puke.’

Suzy splutters with laughter. ‘I thought Amberley Jacks were supposed to be talented. This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. Look at this coffee table! How ugly is that?’

‘And what about those curtains? Could they be any more revolting?’ The two girls turn and giggle at the curtains, then stop abruptly as Deborah walks in.

‘Hi!’ She walks over and they all hug before Deborah turns to admire the room. ‘Well this colour is definitely unusual,’ she says, sitting down.

‘Nadine thinks it looks like puke,’ Suzy whispers with an evil grin. ‘Oh my gosh, will you listen to me? I’m being so mean. Don’t tell Amber, I think she loves it.’

‘Do you hate it?’ Deborah returns the smile.

‘We hate it,’ Suzy whispers.

‘So I take it you won’t be using Amberley Jacks, then?’ Deborah’s voice is all innocence.

‘Well they are supposed to be the best. Maybe they just screwed up here. For all we know Amber forced them to use the barf colour.’

‘So you will use them, then? Even though you hate this room?’

‘Um. Well. I don’t know.’ Suzy is aware she has been trapped. ‘I haven’t decided.’

‘I’m going to the kitchen.’ Deborah stands up and walks out of the room, shaking her head in disgust as
she goes. ‘Bitches,’ she says under her breath, and walks straight into Amber.

‘What did you say?’

‘Oh nothing.’ Deborah apologizes. ‘Just Suzy and Nadine being as pleasant as always.’

‘They weren’t being mean about me, were they?’ The colour drains from Amber’s face.

‘No. I think they’re just jealous that you were the first to use Amberley Jacks. In fact, Suzy’s so jealous she’s practically turning green. I can’t even stand to be around the pair of them. Let’s go wait in the kitchen, and anyway, I could do with some of that incredible-looking cake.’

Amber is as gracious a hostess as always, a skill she studied for years from her mother-in-law. When Amber met Richard her insecurity and lack of self-worth would come across to others as arrogance, or snobbishness. They didn’t realize that the reason she was cool was because she felt so inadequate. Icy Winslow taught her the value of graciousness. Icy Winslow, despite her glacial looks and frosty nickname, is warm and inclusive to everyone she meets, almost to the point of gushing, and everyone loves her in return.

Icy Winslow doesn’t have to be frosty, or supercilious, or pretend to be better than anyone because she knows exactly who she is, and has never had anything to prove. Amber still feels that she has lots to prove, that she is definitely less than the women sitting around her living room, and yet she has learnt that she needn’t
let that show, that to be warm and friendly costs so much less than being rude.

When people talk about Icy Winslow they say she still has the unique gift that several great women have when they’re talking to you, of making you feel that they would not be anywhere else at this current moment than standing right here, talking to you.

‘Think Icy,’ Amber always says to herself when she feels insecurity strike. ‘What would Icy do?’ and she flashes a wide Icy-style smile, makes sure she touches the people to whom she’s talking a lot, and asks lots of questions. She may not feel like Icy, but has learnt that acting as if she does can take her a hell of a long way.

And so now, during this committee meeting, Amber channels her mother-in-law. She hugs everyone who comes in, even the women she doesn’t like. She makes sure the plates of goodies are passed, that people’s coffee cups are refilled, that no one is left out in the cold.

So while Suzy and Nadine can say whatever they like about the Amberley Jacks living room, there is very little with which to find fault in Amber. Who could possibly not like Amber? Who could possibly not be taken in by her charm?

Chapter Twelve

Vicky arrives at the Wolseley fifteen minutes later than planned. She’d waited ages for a cab, and then got stuck in traffic, so she’s slightly more flustered than she had planned as well.

The waitress leads her through the beautiful people, through the famous and wannabe famous, to a table where a thin, bespectacled man with a large smile immediately jumps up and extends his hand.

‘You must be Vicky,’ he says. ‘I’m Hugh. We spoke on the phone.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ She shakes hands then turns to his colleague, a small, pretty girl with blonde hair and freckles who looks about twelve.

‘Hi,’ she smiles as well. ‘I’m Elsa. I’m the director. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve been reading your magazine for years.’

‘Great,’ says Vicky, wondering how this child could possibly have been reading
Poise!
for years when she looks like she graduated from kindergarten a few weeks ago. ‘Our editor, Janelle Salinger, will be joining us as soon as she gets out of a meeting. I hope that’s okay.’

Hugh pulls out a chair for Vicky telling her it’s fine, that Vicky is the one they’re most interested in, and as
he steps away from her chair he raises an encouraged and pleased eyebrow at Elsa. Vicky’s perfect. Already, after two minutes, he can tell the camera’s going to love her.

‘Here,’ he says, sliding his card over the table. ‘Let’s start with giving you my business card so you can get hold of me any time you want.’

Vicky takes the card, studies it briefly then looks up at Hugh in disbelief, a smile twitching around her lips.

‘Hugh Janus?’ she says finally, a giggle breaking out. ‘Is that really your name? Huge Anus?’

Hugh sighs his exasperated sigh because this happens every time. ‘No,’ he says slowly, ‘it’s Janus. Pronounced Jan-us. Not Jayn-us. It’s Hugh Jan-us.’

‘Oh come on.’ In her nerves Vicky feels on the brink of hysteria. ‘Seriously. That can’t be your name.’

‘I know. It’s horrific,’ he shrugs, with an apologetic grin. ‘But at least I’m not fourteen any more.’

‘School must have been horrendous.’ Vicky is fascinated.

‘Yup. You can’t even imagine.’

‘Yes I can.’ Vicky grins. ‘Did they ask if you had a brother called Lar?’

‘Large anus!’ Elsa starts cracking up with laughter, and Vicky joins in, even though Hugh doesn’t seem to find it particularly funny.

‘And what about your cousin Sor?’ Elsa says eventually, wiping the tears from her eyes.

There’s a long silence as Vicky and Hugh look at a
delighted Elsa. ‘Oddly enough,’ Hugh says in disbelief, shaking his head at Elsa’s delighted smile, ‘no. No one ever asked if my cousin was called Sor Jaynus.’

‘Oh God,’ Elsa flushes. ‘How stupid am I?’ And it sets off another round of laughter.

‘Well this is very professional,’ Hugh says finally, when order is returned. ‘So much for a business lunch.’

‘How in the hell does anyone keep a straight face with your name?’ Vicky asks. ‘Seriously, what were your parents thinking?’

‘They didn’t think, basically. My actual name is Hugo, which is fine. Hugo Janus doesn’t elicit any kind of response whatsoever, other than people assuming I’m an upper-class twit…’

‘Are you?’ Vicky grins.

‘Do I seem like it? Don’t answer that!’ he says. ‘But no, I’m neither upper class nor a twit, but once I got to secondary school everyone, not surprisingly, started calling me Hugh, and unfortunately it stuck, which caused endless mirth amongst the stars of the last reality show I did.’