The First Wives Club (63 page)

”I’m free!” she said, and left the zoo, entering the real world.

EPILOGUE.

The wives Getting Together Gunilla Goldberg extended her arm, bending back her wrist and twisting her hand in the characteristic movement of a newly manicured woman. The talons that tipped each finger were now a uniform two inches long, and all were colored an even, glossy carmine.

In New York, for approximately six dollars a finger, your nails could be coated with a thin layer of silk, sealed with glue, and thereby maintained at perfection at all times. “What do you think?” she asked Khymer Mallison, who sat at the table beside Gunilla’s, her own hand being ministered to.

”Nice,” Khymer told her absently, though she felt the color made Gunilla’s skin sallow.

Gunilla shook her head. “Too hard. I knew I should have gone with the Bridal Path Pink.” She looked up at the anxious Eastern European woman across the table from her. “Take this off. I prefer the pink.”

Malla hid her sigh. Three coats and a top coat before the strenka changed her mind. And Malla knew from experience that Mrs. Goldberg wouldn’t tip enough to make up for the lost time. She forced a smile, picked up a cotton swab, immersed it in remover, and dragged it over Gunilla’s index finger, making a bloody clot of the polish.

“You know who I saw the autre jur?”’ Gunilla asked. Khymer turned, mildly interested. “That Mary Griffin. The one who Gil Griffin beat up before he went to jail.”’ “Really?” Khymer asked. “Where did you see her? I thought she’d disappeared.”

”Well, I was discussing a fund-raiser at the Morgan Library—you know, it’s in that dreary neighborhood where Altman’s was—and I broke a nail. I needed a quick fix, so I went into one of those Korean places.”

Both women shuddered. The Korean manicure shops that had sprung up all over Manhattan catered to working women, not the Khymers and Gunillas of the world. “Butchers, of course. They wanted to cut my cuticle!

Well, anyway, I looked up, and there was Mary Griffin, sitting as close to me as you are, getting a pedicure.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Bien sur. They had nothing to read but four-month-old Vogue and Cosmo magazines. She was more interesting than that, though not much, the poor thing.”

”I thought she had left the city. What’s she doing?”

”Oh, working for some insurance company in a totally dreary job, and living in Turtle Bay. It was embarrassing, really. But c’est la guerre.” Yes, Gunilla thought, if you don’t keep fighting, you could slip down the greased pole and wind up in Turtle Bay. But she’d been on the top, and she would be again. She wondered if things were going well between Ted Turner and Jane Fonda. Well, even if they were, she didn’t mind. She’d find someone. And Jane had almost made it chic for a mogul to date someone his own age.

“Whatever happened to that other blonde?” Khymer was asking. “You know, Shelby Cushman?” Khymer was taking a dig at Gunilla. Another of Gunilla’s little social plans that had gone awry.

Gunilla sighed. “Oh, she filed for divorce from her husband before he went off to Allendale, and then she got dumped by Jon Rosen and went home to Savannah or wherever it was. Of course, the Symingtons were wretched.

But I hear she finished the divorce and is off hunting in Dallas. She might do well there.”

She gave Malla a bright smile of thanks as the manicurist began applying the new polish. “Are you going to the Van Gelders’ party next week?” she asked casually.

Khymer smiled. ‘Yes. You, too?” She knew that Gunilla hadn’t been invited. since Sol had left her for that Sally Worthing, Gunilla’s social life had slowed down quite a bit. “I hear they’re announcing their daughter’s engagement. You know, the weird one with the funny name.”

”Phoebe,” Gunilla told her in a voice that sounded tired.

“Yeah. I heard that she’s quit art and gone into acting. She’s going to marry that movie star she met in the rehab hospital.”

“Kevin Lear. Yes. It’s the only way to meet men nowadays,” Gunilla said bitterly. ‘Liz Taylor did it. It’s that or prison. Let’s see, Morty Cushman, Gil Griffin, Ivan Boesky, Milken, and Steve Brettan. No wonder there’s such a shortage of men.”

Khymer laughed. “I haven’t noticed,” she said bitchily.

“You will, dear. You will.” Gunilla wondered just how well the Mallison marriage was going. Khymer’s husband has always seemed to like me, she thought. Perhaps …

Just then, Annie Paradise walked by them. “Hello, Annie,” Gunilla said. ‘It’s been simply ages.”

Annie stopped and smiled. “Yes. Well, I’ve been sort of off the social circuit.”

“I understand,” Gunilla said.

Annie walked into the bare foyer of her now almost empty apartment, being careful not to smear her manicure. She hadn’t had one in months, both because of all the typing she was doing and because of the money they cost. But now things would be a bit easier. The penthouse had sold, not quickly, but at a good price. She crossed the living room, echoing not only with memories but with the sound of her footsteps against the shiny parquet, snapping back off the vast glass windows.

Without the muffle of furniture and curtains, the room was an echo chamber, and without the ability to close off the view it became too close, too invasive, too hard.

It was her last night in the apartment, in New York. All that was left was her old mattress, not worth storing, and a cracked lamp from Sylvie’s room, plus a few odds and ends that she was leaving behind.

Well, she was really leaving all of it behind, she thought.

It hadn’t been so difficult to say good-bye to Sylvie this time. Annie wondered if it was because Sylvie seemed so content or because Annie’s own life was so much more full.

She thought back to the moment of insight she had had in Japan. It had stayed with her and sustained her.

Sylvie and Hiroshi had already become friends, their lack of a common language seemed unproblematic. Hiroshi had brought Sylvie one of the lovely Kyoto dolls that were so justly famous, and Sylvie seemed to love him and it equally. She was a happy girl.

Annie entered the bedroom where her suitcase was lying opened on the mattress.

She had only to add the new dress, an extravagance, but one she could justify. After all, Elise had sent her the tickets to Nice, a first-class round-trip, and her note said there was a room waiting for her at the hotel de Paris in Cannes.

Annie would be taking the nine A.M. Pan Am flight tomorrow morning.

This would be her last evening in New York and in the apartment she had so dearly loved. All the furniture had gone into storage, the bonsai were distributed to friends and the hospital, her clothes already packed and shipped. And tonight Annie was having a farewell dinner with Miguel at Le Refuge. All she had to do was dress and pack her new gown and the ever-growing manuscript. Then she’d be ready. But as she began to fold the dress, she was tempted to try it on once more.

She slipped it over her head. It was simple, but made of the most luxurious silk jersey. Round-necked, with long, tight sleeves that were meant to be wrinkled and clingy, it had a clinging bodice that then, almost magically, spread to the floor in a bias cut so beautifully done that one couldn’t trace where the fullness started—it was like an inverted blossom. And it was crimson, a true flame color.

So unlike her, in her usual safe oysters and creams and pinks. Annie smiled at the reflection she made in the bathroom mirror. With her mother’s earclips, she’d look very nice indeed. She wouldn’t shame Elise.

Miguel picked her up at seven. She let him into the empty place, and he walked through the rooms to the window wall.

“Very nice,” he said, looking out over the river.

“Once it was.” Changing the subject, she asked, “You’re certain that you can’t come to France?”

He shook his head. “Elise invited me, but there’s just so much work right now. You understand, don’t you?”

Annie nodded. since the Gil Griffin conviction, there had been talk of Miguel for DA or maybe even mayor. She smiled.

He turned to her. “You know, Annie, my divorce is final in another month. I haven’t asked you about your plans beyond your trip to Japan.”

“And I appreciate it. I really do. Japan is something I want to do on my own. It’s my gift to myself, and I think it’s the first thing I’ve done just for me. Mr. Tanaki’s offer is too good to refuse. I’ll have a little house, and a tutor, and a Buddhist teacher. Let me finish the revisions to the book, and then I’ll come back, and then let’s see.” She paused, searching his face. ‘is that all right?” She took his hand. He held hers tightly. “When I come back, since I won’t have a place here to live, maybe I can stay with you for a night or two?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”’ Miguel laughed. Gently he reached up and stroked her cheek.

When Annie got off the flight in Nice, she had only her carry-on bag, and it made customs and immigration easy, if any French bureaucracy could ever be called that. But as she walked out of the swinging doors to the rest of the Nice airport, she immediately saw her name— her maiden name—held up by a uniformed driver. At her nod, he hurried to her and took her bag. “Mademoiselle MacDuggan? I ave been looking for you,” he confirmed in charmingly accented English. “Mademoiselle Elliot asked me to take you to the villa right away. It is okay?”

“Villa?” she asked, and he nodded.

“There as been, ow you say, a change?”

The drive, along the winding coast road, was breathtaking. Annie realized, with a pang of regret, that she hadn’t been to the south of France for more than a decade—since her tenth-anniversary trip with Aaron. What had she been waiting for?

Well, that’s all over now, she thought, comforting herself. I’ll keep to my path, and I’ll try not to confuse my dream of anyone with who they really are. Aaron is over, Sylvie is taken care of, the boys are fine, and I am alone. For now. She thought of Miguel and hoped she’d go to him out of strength, not weakness. She stared out at the beautiful Mediterranean. I have never felt better, she thought, patting the bag at her side.

“Annie, darling, you’ve arrived! Was your flight ghastly?” Elise greeted her with a warm hug at the door.

Larry kissed her and offered to take her bags, but Annie kept the small one beside her.

“I’m sorry about the change of plans, but since the first, unofficial showing, it’s been a nightmare. The press and the distributors won’t leave us alone.” Elise laughed. “Where were they last winter? All you have to do is make a phenomenally successful film and then they won’t leave you alone. The hotel was a mob scene, so we took this place instead. I hope you’ll like it.”

Annie looked at the enormous white room that opened to a terrace, pool, and a more distant view of the Cote d’Azur.

”What’s not to like?” asked Brenda, coming in from the terrace.

“Surprise, surprise!”

”Brenda! You’lying dog! You said you and Diana couldn’t get away.”

“Well, if you’re stupid enough to believe that I’d give up a free trip to Cannes and seeing my buddy here win the Film Festival, just to keep everyone honest at Paradise/Loest and to attend a Gay Pride Day march in Poughkeepsie, you deserve to be lied to.” She, too, hugged Annie warmly. “Come on out to the veranda and join the party.”

“So, we do get to do this all together!” Annie exclaimed. The other two nodded, guilty. “You sneaks!”

“And not just First wives. Honorary members as well,” said Bob Bloogee, walking in from the veranda with Bette beside him.

“Yo, Annie!” she called.

”I think this calls for a drink,” said Larry, carrying in both a bottle of champagne and San Pellegrino water. He gave each of the guests their choice. Then, from off the buffet, he raised a slice of bread. “A toast!” he exclaimed, and they all laughed.

Later, after a superb dinner and more than a couple of bottles of assorted beverages had been drunk, Elise, Annie, and Brenda sat together in the salon, the lights dim. The next morning they’d be up early for the screening, but they felt, all three of them, reluctant to let the evening end.

“Well, fellow club members. I think we’ve succeeded in doing what we set out to do,” Elise said with satisfaction.

“Yes. Morty is broke, Gil’s lost his status, Bill’s been neutered, and Aaron’s abandoned. Not bad for beginners, huh?” Brenda asked.

“Hell hath no fury … ,” Elise murmured.

“I think it’s time for a new slogan, though,” Annie suggested. “since it is over when it’s over”—her two friends looked at her expectantly—“how about, Living well is the best revenge’?”

“The proposal is on the floor and seconded,” Elise said approvingly.

“Passed unanimously,” added Brenda. “First wives Club meeting now adjourned.”

They sat for a while in companionable silence.

”So, you’re off to Japan and Miguel is out of the picture?” Brenda asked. “Permanently?”

”No. Only for now. He’s wonderful—he’s a really good man—but I’m not sure that a man is what I need most right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Brenda said, laughing.

”Oh, Annie, wont you be lonely in Japan, all by yourself?” Elise took her hand. ‘I’m so very happy with Larry. I wish that you—” “I won’t be alone. Mr. Tanaki and his family will host me. I’ll be fine.

Wish me spiritual growth. Wish that I could finish the second draft of my book.”

“Second draft? What about the first?” “Done,” said Annie proudly.

‘, “Why, talk about sneaks!” Brenda cried. “Did you really? What a q,’ good little girl you are.”

“Well, not as good as I used to be, I hope.”

”But how thrilling. May I read it?” Elise asked.

“More importantly, did you dedicate it to me?” Brenda asked.

Elise snorted. Then she switched into Elise in action. “You know, I am in contact with a lot of agents….

We’re hot right now.” She paused, thinking. “Swifty Lazar maybe. Or Mort Janklow.”

“Thanks, but they’re not for me. Anyway, I already have taken care of it. Amy and Al at Writers House have been wonderful.”

“Annie, you finished the book and got two agents and didn’t tell us a thing?

You still can’t be trusted.”

“Well, you and Diana were busy renovating your apartment, and Elise and Larry were doing their movie. I had to keep busy somehow, didn’t I?”