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By Root 478 0

I WAS INSIDE Tiffany’s, memories rushed back. The feel of the carpet beneath my feet, the shine of the wooden panels, the heat of the lamps under the glass counters. This was the one place where Vivienne and I had gone alone, without her entourage, and we were like a real mother and daughter. This was where my mother seemed most herself — even more than when she was at the theater — and happiest. I studied the display case as if I were planning a June wedding, which, oops, I guess I had put the kibosh on earlier today. The diamond rings were like a constellation, all lined up in a divine, predestined order: from the smallest, barely visible single-stone band to exquisite natural pink and yellow square-cut and pear-cut diamonds set in platinum, each ring worth more than some luxury automobiles. “May I show you something?” a young saleswoman had appeared out of the ether. She was my idea of elegance in a simple black suit with a lovely string of pearls, everything jus

Thirty-three “THE ST. REGIS! I love the St. Regis,” Claire said as she and Michael turned the corner of 55th Street and the hotel was revealed. He had picked her up at the place she shared with another model near Bryant Park. Then they had walked north on Sixth, then Fifth. He’d kidded that maybe he could buy her a little something at Tiffany’s: another weird Jane memory popping into his head. “Are you rich, Michael?” Claire asked, laughing. “In spirit only,” he said. Actually, all he had to do was snap his fingers, and he had most of what he wanted. Literally. Snap! And some cash would appear in his pocket. He didn’t know how it happened, but why fight it? Anyway, Michael’s needs were few; the simple life suited him best. “Can we go in?” asked Claire. “Absolutely. We love the St. Regis!” And suddenly there it was, right in front of him: the Astor Court. Everything about the hotel restaurant seemed to have changed; and yet everything seemed exactly the same. Women in designer outfits,

Thirty-four THE HEADY RUSH of spending a fortune on a ring that could be used as a spotlight from a space station was starting to fade, leaving me a little jittery. Like any self-respecting addictive substance. Now I desperately needed to relax, to calm down. And yes, since this was go-to-hell day, to eat dessert. The St. Regis was the perfect place for all of the above. I was hanging on by a thread: My ex-boyfriend was an egomaniac and a complete and utter jerk; my current mother was making me crazy, and had been for decades; I had just spent a huge sum of money on a ring I didn’t need. Beyond that, everything was just fine and dandy. “Would you like to see a menu, miss?” the waiter asked. How did he know I was a “miss”? Was it in my eyes? The way I held myself? I needed to seize control. “No. I’ll just have iced tea,” I said virtuously. “Thank you.” “Of course.” Then my sanity returned. Virtuous, schmirtuous — too late. I was wearing a diamond ring that I had bought for myself. “Wait

Thirty-five “IF I EAT this entire ice cream sundae, (a) it will be all your fault, not mine, and (b) I will not be able to get into the clothes for my shoot tomorrow morning. And (c) I’ll be fired.” Michael laughed. “Ah, the silver lining. Then you’ll go back to school full-time, graduate, and become a brilliant teacher even sooner.” She took a bite of the ice cream, a big bite, and made a funny face with food in her teeth, the kind that only gorgeous models and small children can make without grossing people out. Actually, maybe only models. “Is that what you think I should do?” “Of co ——” Suddenly Michael was staring across the room. “Earth to Michael?” Claire said. “Ground Control to Major Tom?” Michael was still staring, and thinking, This can’t be happening. Cannot. Must not. For a moment Michael panicked, then remembered that this was just a coincidence. She couldn’t remember him. They never did. They always, always forgot. That was what made it bearable. He busied himself with h

Thirty-six MY VOICE HAD COME OUT shaky and raspy, so that I almost didn’t recognize myself. I was on the edge