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Authors: Candace Bushnell
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“I’ll have one of my assistants send a car. That way, you can party without having to worry about driving home.”
Roditzy fixed her with the bright stare of someone who won’t take no for an answer, and Patty was unable to protest. “Great!” Roditzy said, and then, with the air of someone who has important places to go and many people to see, she snapped open her cell phone and marched into Ralph Lauren.
Patty collapsed weakly onto the bench, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Digger away on tour, that was another two months when she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. And on top of it all, now she would be forced to go to some party she had no interest in attending—why was it that everyone in New York was always demanding your presence at something or other?—and it was all Janey’s fault for being late. If Janey had been on time for once, she probably would never have run into Roditzy.
But now, here came Janey at last, roaring up Route 27 in her Porsche Boxster.
You could hear her coming a mile away because she drove that car like it was a racehorse—she shifted the gears so you could hear the engine turning over, and she did it on purpose, so people would look up and see her. She always wanted everyone to see her now, and that made Patty worried. Because in the past, people hadn’t always said the nicest things about Janey . . .
The car pulled up in front of Patty, and with a great flourish, Janey got out and slammed the door. She was wearing a red Prada halter top and white jeans (white jeans had just come into style, but Janey had been wearing them forever), and with a completely natural smile that wasn’t at all like the phony, slutty smirk she wore on her billboard, waved to Patty. And in that moment, Patty crumpled inside as she always did and took back every bad thought she’d ever had about Janey: After all, how could anyone as beautiful as Janey be as evil as she’d imagined?
And then it was even worse, because with a chirpy “Hi Sis,” Janey took her arm (much in the way Mimi had taken Janey’s arm a few nights before) and said, “Listen, I didn’t want to tell you this on the phone because I knew you’d say no, but I want to buy you something at Ralph and then take you to lunch at Nick and Toni’s”—one of the most exclusive restaurants in the Hamptons—and Patty felt like a heel all over again.
“Do you mind if we skip the shopping?” Patty asked, wanting to avoid another chance encounter with Roditzy Deardrum. “I’m starving.”
“Of course not,” Janey said. And then, fixing her sister with a gimlet eye, she asked, “By the way, how’s Digger?” Her tone was nonchalant, but her eyes seemed to pierce right into Patty’s brain as if she could see the truth, and for a moment, Patty had that terrible feeling she’d been having lately, as if she were drowning.
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“Well, he’s . . . ,” she said lamely, and Janey nodded wisely. But with that simple assent, Patty felt that Janey understood everything. And as they walked up the street to Nick & Toni’s, Patty reflected that the really good thing about Janey was that she made you feel like you could tell her all of the terrible, deep, dark thoughts you had in your head, and that she would understand.
At the age of eighteen, Janey came to think of herself as the sort of person who could draw out confidences, and had quickly understood that getting information was power. It wasn’t always the information itself that was important (which was the mistake that most people made), but the act of being told things: It formed a bond between her and the confessor—a sort of unspoken pact of friendship, which she could draw on later to get what she needed.
And now, seated at a table in the front section of Nick & Toni’s, her face was arranged in the soft lines of commiseration appropriate to these kinds of situations, and although she
Roditzy fixed her with the bright stare of someone who won’t take no for an answer, and Patty was unable to protest. “Great!” Roditzy said, and then, with the air of someone who has important places to go and many people to see, she snapped open her cell phone and marched into Ralph Lauren.
Patty collapsed weakly onto the bench, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Digger away on tour, that was another two months when she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. And on top of it all, now she would be forced to go to some party she had no interest in attending—why was it that everyone in New York was always demanding your presence at something or other?—and it was all Janey’s fault for being late. If Janey had been on time for once, she probably would never have run into Roditzy.
But now, here came Janey at last, roaring up Route 27 in her Porsche Boxster.
You could hear her coming a mile away because she drove that car like it was a racehorse—she shifted the gears so you could hear the engine turning over, and she did it on purpose, so people would look up and see her. She always wanted everyone to see her now, and that made Patty worried. Because in the past, people hadn’t always said the nicest things about Janey . . .
The car pulled up in front of Patty, and with a great flourish, Janey got out and slammed the door. She was wearing a red Prada halter top and white jeans (white jeans had just come into style, but Janey had been wearing them forever), and with a completely natural smile that wasn’t at all like the phony, slutty smirk she wore on her billboard, waved to Patty. And in that moment, Patty crumpled inside as she always did and took back every bad thought she’d ever had about Janey: After all, how could anyone as beautiful as Janey be as evil as she’d imagined?
And then it was even worse, because with a chirpy “Hi Sis,” Janey took her arm (much in the way Mimi had taken Janey’s arm a few nights before) and said, “Listen, I didn’t want to tell you this on the phone because I knew you’d say no, but I want to buy you something at Ralph and then take you to lunch at Nick and Toni’s”—one of the most exclusive restaurants in the Hamptons—and Patty felt like a heel all over again.
“Do you mind if we skip the shopping?” Patty asked, wanting to avoid another chance encounter with Roditzy Deardrum. “I’m starving.”
“Of course not,” Janey said. And then, fixing her sister with a gimlet eye, she asked, “By the way, how’s Digger?” Her tone was nonchalant, but her eyes seemed to pierce right into Patty’s brain as if she could see the truth, and for a moment, Patty had that terrible feeling she’d been having lately, as if she were drowning.
18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 38
38
c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l
“Well, he’s . . . ,” she said lamely, and Janey nodded wisely. But with that simple assent, Patty felt that Janey understood everything. And as they walked up the street to Nick & Toni’s, Patty reflected that the really good thing about Janey was that she made you feel like you could tell her all of the terrible, deep, dark thoughts you had in your head, and that she would understand.
At the age of eighteen, Janey came to think of herself as the sort of person who could draw out confidences, and had quickly understood that getting information was power. It wasn’t always the information itself that was important (which was the mistake that most people made), but the act of being told things: It formed a bond between her and the confessor—a sort of unspoken pact of friendship, which she could draw on later to get what she needed.
And now, seated at a table in the front section of Nick & Toni’s, her face was arranged in the soft lines of commiseration appropriate to these kinds of situations, and although she
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