Lethally Blonde. Nancy Bartholomew

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      When I first meet Renee I think she must’ve watched one too many action-adventure movies. I mean, I know she commands troops of people in black who swoop down to rescue her friends from terrible trouble just in the knick of time, but does she really have to be so incredibly rigid? Don’t get me wrong. When I get old like her I want to be powerful enough to have two of my friends saved with just one tiny phone call, but I will not lose sight of my femininity.

      Renee doesn’t look like a man or anything but she’s just so formal. I meet her at 3:00 a.m. and she’s wearing a Chanel suit and three-inch Ferragamo pumps. Not one auburn hair is out of place. Her makeup is understated and flawless. To make matters worse, she greets me like I’m in a receiving line at the British embassy or something. She’s cold, stern and impossibly remote. You’d think she was the Queen of England greeting a commoner.

      I look around the room and I realize she’s got money, but still, she’s not in my financial tier. I try to take some comfort in this. At least I know I’ll always be richer than she is, but then, I’ll always be richer than almost anyone on the planet. After a point, money is just money. But command, now that’s an aphrodisiac. Renee acts as if she is accustomed to the mantle of power; that is what’s making me so uncomfortable.

      Renee lives in a brownstone and while it is nice, it’s no penthouse. And, studying her closely, I’m almost certain there’s been work done. I mean, what woman in her forties hasn’t had something altered? I just can’t put my finger on who did her. It looks so natural. Her hair is strikingly auburn. Her complexion fair and unblemished. She’s thin, but not anorexic. It’s so unfair!

      I sit in a wingback chair in Renee’s parlor, listening as Renee and Emma talk and wonder why Emma adores Renee. She is about as easy to be around as a porcupine. Still, I haven’t been here two hours and Renee has somehow managed to get me to tell her things almost no one knows. I don’t mean just the stuff you read in magazines or tabloids, I mean everything. She does it so skillfully that I barely realize she’s interrogating me while managing not to give away one piece of her own personal information. I’ve been studying clinical psychology for four years and I still can’t do that!

      When Renee goes in for the big finish with me she is so good I don’t even see it coming.

      “So,” she says in her clipped, polished voice, “your wealthy stepfather married your mother when you were a toddler. You have never wanted for anything, never worked, never needed and certainly never bothered to exert yourself in any fashion. I suppose you must be wondering who on this planet would miss you if you suddenly disappeared. I mean, if things had somehow gone tragically awry this evening.”

      We are drinking this amazing white Bordeaux and I admit I’m feeling it. So at first I think she is still speaking to Emma, only she has turned her head in my direction and is still talking.

      “No one would miss the ‘It’ girl,” she says. “They would be replaced by the next hot rich thing.”

      A cold chill sobers me as her words echo in my head. I mean, who would miss me? Paparazzi? My ferret? Emma? Who would remember me for anything but my money? What would my obituary say in True Style magazine? Big, fat tears well up in my eyes and I look around for help from Emma, only she has mysteriously vanished. When did she leave the room?

      “Emma will miss me,” I say, but I sound uncertain, even to myself.

      Renee smiles. “Of course she will…for a while. Emma is such a dear girl. I’m sure she’d compose a piece about you—she’s such a fabulous pianist. Her life will roll along and eventually, she’ll hardly remember to think of you. She won’t mean anything by it, but that’s just how she is.”

      Renee sips her wine and stares at the flames dancing in the fireplace while I just sit there like a lump. I am twenty-four, beautiful, smart, incredibly wealthy and, for all intents and purposes, useless. What am I going to do, endow a building? I swallow, hard, and feel tears threaten to turn into sobs of regret.

      “I’m young,” I struggle to say at last. “I have lots of time to create a legacy.”

      Renee turns away from the fire and raises one imperious eyebrow. “Do you? One never knows. Your jet could crash tomorrow. You could wake up with a brain tumor. Does one ever really know how much time one has?”

      I chug the last half glass of wine and realize that I am completely sober.

      “I’m taking courses in clinical psychology at the New School,” I say, and give away the one secret I have left. Against my parents’ wishes and without their knowledge, I am going to graduate СКАЧАТЬ