A Song in the Daylight. Paullina Simons

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СКАЧАТЬ not Brontë. Gucci not Dante. Chanel not Charlotte. Prada not Pound.

      To go to the library (with her kids) she put on Libretto. The mall required a different ensemble, as did the supermarket, which is why she didn’t like to combine her outings, because she was inevitably dressed wrong for all but one of them. To the mall in summer she wore Betsey Johnson dresses and Marc Jacobs sandals. In the winter, tight Marciano jeans and low-heeled boots (the lower the heel, the more expensive the boot, as in counterattack).

      Kids’ winter concerts? Fur and (very) high-heeled boots. Ball games? Caps and jeans and jerseys, so affected, so designer.

      Food-shopping required only mini-skirts and cowboy boots, possibly Frye.

      And she blow-dried her hair. Damn that Kai. She left it long, very straight and hippie-like, an illusion of casual chic. She haphazardly highlighted it, an illusion of being outside and sunstreaked. She wore taupe makeup, to make it seem like she wasn’t wearing any, like she had just rolled out of bed and into her car. She got dressed up for everything. Except that one day when she left the house in sweats and a cast.

      The question was, and truly this was the profound question that demanded an answer: what to wear to a Jag dealership to go look at a sports car you don’t need and don’t want, just so you can be looked at by the dancing eyes of a tattered kid on a motorbike?

      Ezra would say it was a false choice. It wasn’t about what to wear. “It has nothing to do with the car,” he kept repeating. “It has to do with what the car represents. The car tells you, and therefore the whole world, where you are in life. That’s what it means. It’s a long way from the fifth-floor walk-up. But a long way up or a long way down?” Ezra paused for maximum effect. “Every time you drive to the supermarket, do you want to know how far you are from Hoboken? Do you want everyone else to know too? As Walker Percy says, we live in a deranged age, more deranged than usual, because in spite of great scientific and technological advances, man has not the faintest idea who he is, or where he is going. We live stifling in our souls all questions about the meaning of our own life, and life in general. So the real question is, Larissa, will this car help you discover who you are and where you’re going?”

      To go or not to go.

Chapter Three

       1

       0–60 in 4.9 Seconds

      “Mrs. Stark!” Kai was in a white shirt and tie, neat, and beaming. “How nice of you to drop by. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

      Larissa had walked through the doors fifteen minutes earlier and asked the receptionist for a salesperson to help her, and the receptionist, a chirpy young thing named Crystal, tried to hook her up with a Gary, and Larissa said, actually I was looking for Kai, and Crystal said, no, no, he’s busy today. Gary is very good, and has a lot more experience, he’ll be glad to help you. Larissa frowned. Was she wearing too much or too little? Under her brown suede jacket, she wore jeans, high-heeled Fryes and a simple maroon sweater. Her makeup was light (20 minutes), her hair casual (40 minutes). “If he’s not available today, I’ll make an appointment and come back.” She said this while glancing around the spotless cream-colored dealership. It was eleven on a Monday morning, and there was no one on the floor except the salesmen, the receptionist and the business people. She was the only customer. Crystal said Monday was Kai’s day off, so he wasn’t even supposed to be in, and tomorrow he was all booked. “I don’t think he’ll have enough time to take care of you properly, Mrs ….?”

      “Stark. Larissa Stark. Please let him know I’m here, and if he’s too busy, he’ll direct me to someone else.”

      Finally Crystal, out of excuses (WTF?) rang Kai’s extension, and in three seconds he was at the center of the showroom beaming at her.

      He even shook her hand gently, Emily Post notwithstanding, because in front of other people it was easy to be polite. Hand out, her hand in. His was wiry and warm, hers fashionable and cool, the pink nails freshly buffed.

      “I’m interested in finding out a little bit about your sports models,” she said, mock laid-back like her hair. “Not to purchase. Just to shop around.”

      “Of course. No one comes in here ready to purchase.”

      “But Crystal here,” Larissa continued calmly, “tells me today might not be a good day for you. I can always come back.”

      “No, today is perfect,” said Kai, throwing the flustered Crystal a quizzical look. “I’ll stay as long as I need to take care of my customers, Crystal, you know that. Come.” He guided Larissa with his fanned-out hand on the back of her suede.

      He showed her two models on the floor, a sedan and a white coupe. She didn’t like either. “Is that the price tag?” she said, astonished.

      Glancing at her with a “How much did you think a Jag cost?” expression, he put on his leather jacket and out they stepped into the windy bitterness to look at the models on the lot. She found a tiny sporty thing she thought looked kinda cool, and Kai said, “Oh, sure, you would pick that one.”

      “I didn’t pick it. I don’t like the color.” It was Metallic Indigo.

      “We can either get you a discount on the color you don’t want or for full price any color you prefer straight from the factory.”

      “Discount on something I don’t want?” Larissa smiled. “Kai, you drive a hard bargain.”

      “Thanks. That’s my specialty. You can’t say no.” He grinned back. He was well groomed today, respectable with his thin black tie, his white shirt and unripped, ironed jeans. His unruly longish hair was gelled off his forehead and moussed back, neat, presentable. He looked older.

      “You’re all cleaned up,” she said.

      “The other me is my motorcycle-chic costume.” He laughed. “This is my take people’s money costume.”

      “You’re right, the shirt should be ironed for that.”

      “Even the jeans,” he said.

      She wanted to ask who ironed his jeans, but of course didn’t. Larissa walked around the car, her hand on it, to feel the lines, to touch the cold glass. Too cold. She put her gloves on. “What’s so special about this one?”

      “This is the XKR supercharged sports convertible. Our most expensive model.”

      “Really?” She studied it with slightly more interest. “What else is great about it? Can’t be the color.”

      Handing her a pair of keys, he opened the driver door. “Get in and see for yourself.”

      “I’m driving?”

      “Well, I could drive, but what would the point be? I’m not buying it.”

      “I’m not buying it either.” She got behind the wheel. Car smelled new and leathery. “What’s the interior color? It’s a nice combo.”

      “Isn’t it, though? Color of the leather is caramel. The dashboard accents are СКАЧАТЬ