One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [123]
“You’re the one who’s never around,” Philip said, wondering why women were always so difficult.
“I’m here now, Philip,” she said, stopping on the corner of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue. “And I’ve been here for months.”
She’s still interested, Philip thought. “So let’s have dinner.”
“With Lola?” Schiffer said.
“No. Not with Lola. How about next Thursday? Enid’s taking Lola to the ballet.”
“That’s an honorable plan,” she said sarcastically.
“It’s two old friends having dinner together. Why can’t we be friends? Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of everything?”
“Fine, schoolboy,” she said. “We’ll have dinner. I’ll even cook.”
Meanwhile, upstairs in One Fifth, James Gooch was preparing to make love to Lola Fabrikant. Not actual love—not sex, which he knew was most likely beyond the realm of possibility—but verbal love. He wanted her interest and appreciation. At ten-ten, not wanting to appear too eager, he rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. He was thinking only of Lola, but when she opened the door, some of his attention was diverted by Philip’s apartment and the inevitable comparisons to his own. Oakland’s place was a real apartment. No string of boxlike rooms for him. There was a foyer and a large living room, a fireplace, hallways, and when James followed Lola into the living room, he caught a glimpse of a proper-sized kitchen with granite countertops and a table large enough for four. The place smacked of old money, personal taste, travel, and a decorator, encapsulating that mix of antique and contemporary. James took in the Oriental rug, African sculpture, and leather club chairs in front of the fireplace. How often did Oakland sit there with Lola, drinking Scotch and making love to her atop the zebra rug? “I brought you my book,” he said awkwardly. “As promised.”
Lola was wearing a fancy T-shirt, even though it was winter—but didn’t all young girls bare their almighty flesh in all kinds of weather these days?—and plaid pants that hugged her bottom, and on her feet, pretty little blue velvet slippers embroidered with a skull and crossbones. As she held out her hand for the book, she must have caught him looking at her feet, for she touched the heel of one slipper with the toe of the other and said, “They’re last year’s. I wanted to get the ones with the angels or butterflies—but I couldn’t. They’re six hundred dollars, and I couldn’t afford them.” She sighed and sat down on the couch. “I’m poor,” she explained.
James did not know how to respond to this flood of random information. Her cell phone rang, and she answered it, followed by several “ohmigods” and “fucks,” as if he weren’t in the room. James was slightly hurt. In the run-up to this encounter, he’d imagined she truly was interested and the delivery of the book partly ruse, but now he wasn’t sure. After ten minutes, he gave up and headed toward the door. “Wait,” she said. She pointed to the phone, making a talking motion with her hand as if it were out of her control. She held the phone away from her ear. “Are you leaving?” she asked James.
“I guess so,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to go. I’ll be off in a minute.” James doubted this but sat down anyway, as hopeful as an eighteen-year-old boy who still thinks he has a chance to get laid. He watched her pacing the room, fascinated and frightened by her energy, her youth, her anger, and mostly by what she might think about him.
She got off the phone and threw it onto the couch. “So,” she said, turning to him, “two socialite girls got into a fight at a club, and a bunch of people videotaped it and put it on Snarker.”
“Oh,” James said. “Do girls still do those things?”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you kidding? Girls are vicious.”
“I see,” James said. A painful pause ensued. “I brought you my book,” he said again, to fill up the silence.
“I know,” she said. She put her hands over her eyes. “I’m just so confused.”
“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to,” James said. The book was sitting on the coffee table between them.