chapter      18

Cordelia had an extremely busy day planned for herself, so she asked her driver to meet her one hour earlier than usual to “get the ball rolling.” She was “doing Madison,” that is, popping into all of the most chi-chi boutiques and having “a look-see” at their fall collections. Unlike last autumn, when chrome and slate motifs were favored, burgundies and cobalts were the preference du jour; therefore, Cordelia had to rethink everything in her closet. Unfortunately Jerome was unavailable to shop, so she had to make do on her own, which always made her a little anxious and indecisive.

“Let’s see. Shall I go with the black or white?” she asked the saleslady at Manolo Blahnik, who told her that silver was also in this season. Cordelia asked to see the look-book, and after flipping through decided to take all three colors. Armani was next, then Valentino, Carolina Herrera, and even Chloé—just out of curiosity. (Jerome had made her promise she wouldn’t do Chanel without him.) There were so many stores to see, and most of them close together, so Cordelia just kept dipping in and out of them. Her driver followed her in the car so that she could throw her purchases in on the leather seats whenever she felt like it.

“Mommy, that’s pretty!”

“That is pretty. You know what? That would be perfect for Aunt Tina’s wedding.”

“Yes! Yes!”

Cordelia turned around to see an elegantly dressed, very attractive woman in her thirties with her flaxen-haired six-year-old daughter, who was clad in a pressed green Chapin uniform. They were looking at a cotton candy and butterscotch smock dress on a mannequin in the window of Bonpoint.

“Shall we go inside and try it on?”

“Yes!”

Cordelia stared as they went into the store, the girl skipping with delight and the woman smiling with maternal pride. Something about the scene made Cordelia freeze. She glanced back at the window. She watched the mother and daughter talk to the saleswoman and point to the outfit, and she watched the saleswoman nod and lead them to a rack of clothing. She was riveted. It was like watching a couple fight, or a car wreck, or a really good episode of Frasier. She simply couldn’t turn away. She had always wanted a daughter.

She got into her car. “Julio, we’re going to Tiffany’s.”

“Yes, Mrs. Vance.”

Tiffany’s was not a venue that Cordelia or her friends frequented, unless they were purchasing something off of someone’s bridal registry or buying lesser acquaintances holiday gifts. (They had the most delightful trinkets such as silver key chains, money clips, and Elsa Peretti earrings that were perfectly appropriate for household staff and the secretaries at Morgan’s firm.) Cordelia was aware that only amateurs would buy jewelry there (even the engagement rings were meant for the out-of-towners who didn’t know enough to buy estate or go to a diamond dealer to have the perfect bauble made). But there was something that she adored about the place, so she often stopped by.

Cordelia’s driver opened the door for her on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street and watched as she walked to the revolving doors. She glanced back at him as she made her way in and watched him pick up the car phone. He really shouldn’t be making social calls on my dime, she thought.

“Hello, Mrs. Vance. How are you today?” greeted a salesgirl.

“Fine, thank you, Hilary.”

“What can we do for you today?”

“I’m just looking around. Perhaps something for my niece, or my housekeeper. We’ll see.”

“We have a lovely new collection of diamond earrings in,” said Hilary, leading her over to a counter. “Simply gorgeous.”

“Let’s have a look-see,” said Cordelia.

While Cordelia browsed the $100,000 and up counter, she did not notice, nor would she have, that Maria had entered the store. Maria pushed through a group of Arkansas tourists and elbowed her way past some Osakans to get to the counter that displayed sterling silver rattles. She tapped her finger along the glass, smudging the recently Windexed vitrine until she found a rattle that would be perfect for her little Schuyler.

“Excuse me!” she yelled at a saleslady across the counter. “Excuse me!” she continued impatiently.

“I’ll be right with you, ma’am. I’m just helping another customer.”

Maria plopped her logo-covered Louis Vuitton handbag down on the case with a bang, and the saleslady looked over.

“Please be careful, ma’am,” chided the saleslady.

Maria sighed deeply and loudly, and whipped her wrist out of the folds of her enormous fox-fur coat. She looked at her watch and sighed again. She glanced around impatiently. This was a fucking joke. They were treating her like scum. Did they not know who she was? She was more bling-bling than any haggy bitch in the joint! If only her brother was here—he’d demand some attention. She watched the salesladies effusively tending to other customers. What was so much better about them? Look at that old weather-beaten blonde in the corner, whom three salesladies were obsequiously throwing themselves at. You couldn’t even tell what designer made her clothes. Maria moved closer to see what the big deal was.

“And this one, Mrs. Vance, is my personal favorite . . .”

Mrs. Vance? No. Fucking. Way. Was this Morgan’s ball and chain? She was as old as Mrs. Roper.

Maria watched as Cordelia examined the diamond and sapphire earrings. Another customer called to the salesgirls, who dispersed, leaving Cordelia alone with the jewels. Maria was about to approach when she saw something that made her stop dead. Cordelia discreetly took one of the rings and put it in her pocket. No way! So this is what she’s all about, thought Maria.

“Hilary, I’m just going to leave these. I don’t want anything today,” said Cordelia, raising her voice so the salesgirl would hear her.

“Okay, Mrs. Vance,” said the salesgirl, returning and sweeping the jewels onto a velvet mat without even looking at them.

“Thank you.”

Cordelia lingered a minute, casually staring at another case as if nothing were amiss. Maria decided to make her move.

“Cordelia Vance?”

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Maria Garcia. I used to work at Brown Brothers. We met at the Christmas party.”

“Oh, of course. It’s nice to see you again,” responded Cordelia, who had no recollection of this woman whatsoever.

“It’s very nice to see you. How’s your husband?”

“He’s fine, thank you. Working hard as ever. How have you been? You left to . . . ?”

“I had a baby.”

“A baby! Terrific! Congratulations. Boy or girl?”

“A girl. Schuyler.”

“Beautiful name. Well, you are very lucky.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I always wanted a little girl.”

“You did?”

“Well, yes. Of course I love my boys, but they grow up and find their own families. There’s nothing like a little girl. They never leave you.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“I really must be running, so please take care.”

“Thank you. Send my best to Mr. Vance.”

“I shall.”

“Goodbye.”

Maria smiled. She turned back to the salesladies. “Excuse me, can I get some help here?”

The salesgirl gave her a withering look. “I’ll be right with you.”

Maria banged her fist on the glass. “I said I want service!”

“I’m assisting someone else. I will help you when it is your turn.”

“What, I don’t look rich to you? You don’t think I could get you a sales commission? Well, I saw Pretty Woman—did you? And that is me! Without the hooker part. So you better get your saleslady ass over here and do a little song and dance for me now!”

“I will assist you when I am available.”

“By the time you’re available, I’ll be at Cartier spending thousands,” said Maria, turning on her heel and storming out of the store, pushing the doors with a heavy hand and boiling heart.

   

Morgan was deeply immersed in his spreadsheets when his secretary knocked gently on his door and entered.

“Mr. Vance, there’s someone here to see you,” she said nervously.

“I said I cannot be disturbed now, Lizzie,” said Morgan.

“I think it’s that maid who used to work here,” whispered Lizzie. “She’s very insistent. I tried . . .”

Morgan turned beet red. “That’s all right, Lizzie. You can send her in.”

Lizzie tried to suppress her surprise, but her face betrayed her.

“It’s okay—it’s a mentoring program I’m involved in,” explained Morgan clumsily.

“I see,” she said, leaving the room.

Moments later Maria burst into the room.

“I will not be kept fucking waiting! Does your wife have to be kept waiting?” said Maria, flinging her fur coat (that cost Morgan twenty grand) on his charcoal gray armchair. She was wearing an inappropriately tight black spandex top that clung to her fat rolls, and black leather pants.

“Maria, shut up and sit down.”

Morgan walked over to the door and made sure it was firmly closed.

“Shut up? Why? Why you want to keep me quiet? You show me some respect! I have your baby sitting at home. It took me a day to squeeze out your fucking child, so you better show me some fucking gratefulness.”

“Maria, listen. I’m tired of your antics. What is it now?” asked Morgan with a mixture of fear and exasperation.

“I was treated like shit in Tiffany’s.”

“That is why you came storming into my office? Have you no discretion?”

“Your wife was there,” said Maria, an evil smirk on her face.

Morgan panicked. “You talked to Cordelia?”

Maria sat down on the chair on top of her coat and put her feet up on Morgan’s desk. She folded her hands behind her head. “They were kissing her old blond ass, and you know what she did? She STOLE from them! She’s a Winona Ryder! She shoplifts! I may have no education, but I know a THIEF!”

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy—”

“I saw with my own eyes! You’re wife is a fuckin’ jewel thief! Like in the movies!”

“What did you say to my wife? How dare you . . .” said Morgan, rage brewing up inside him like lava. He didn’t know if he was angrier at Maria or himself for getting in this position.

“You don’t care? You don’t care if your wife is a kryptomaniac? I do! They treat her like the queen, and she is no queen!” Maria sat up and exploded. “I’m calling Tiffany’s and telling!”

“They already know,” sighed Morgan, defeated.

“What?”

“I have an arrangement with them. They just send me the bill. It’s taken care of monthly, and it’s none of your concern.”

“WHAT? She’s a fucking robber and they treat her with more respect than they treat me? Just ’cause she’s a fucking Vance? I want my last name to be Vance!”

“Maria, you must tell me what you said to Cordelia,” said Morgan evenly.

“Why should I?”

“Because I said to.”

Maria and Morgan stared at each other. Morgan was fuming. Maria had never seen him like this. Finally she raised her eyebrows and threw up her arms. “I told her we worked together.”

“You stay away from my wife!” his voice rose so much that he nervously calmed himself down so as not give Lizzie the ultimate water cooler gossip through the door.

“It’s time you make an honest woman of me!”

“This is ridiculous!” he said, almost raising his voice again but funneling his ire instead to a harsh whisper. “I give you everything you need . . .”

Maria stood up and put on her coat with the same dramatic flail she had seen on so many soap operas. “You leave Cordelia real soon or I’m going to make your life a living hell,” she said with sheer threatening confidence. With that, she smiled ruefully and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.