14 Millions of Money (1/2)

The Ivy inhabited its narrow corner of London perfectly. It seemed custom-fit to its plot of land. Inside, the walls were lined with portraits and stained glass. It smelled like money: roasted lamb and hothouse flowers. Gemma wore a fitted dress and ballet flats. She had added red lipstick to her college-girl makeup.

She found Paulina waiting for her at a table, drinking water from a wineglass. When Gemma had last seen her eleven months ago, Will's mother had been a glossy woman. She was a dermatologist, midfifties, trim except for a potbelly. Her skin had had a moist pinkish sheen, and her hair had been long, dyed deep brown and ironed into loose curls. Now the hair was gray at the roots and chopped into a bob. Her mouth looked swollen and manly without lipstick. She wore, as women of the Upper East Side do, narrow black pants and a long cashmere cardigan—but instead of heels, she had on a pair of bright blue running shoes. Gemma almost didn't recognize her. Paulina stood and smiled as Gemma came across the room. ”I look different, I know.”

”No you don't,” Gemma lied. She kissed Paulina's cheek.

”I can't do it any longer,” said Paulina. ”All that time in front of the mirror in the morning, the uncomfortable shoes. Putting on the face.”

Gemma sat down.

”I used to put on my face for Corey,” Paulina went on. ”And for Will, when she was little. She used to say, 'Mommy, curl your hair! Go put on sparkles!' Now there's no reason. I'm taking time off work. One day I thought, I don't have to bother. I walked out the door without doing anything and it was such a relief, I can't say. But I do know it disturbs people. My friends worry. But I think, meh. I lost Willow. I lost Corey. This is me now.”

Gemma was anxious to say the right thing, but she didn't know if sympathy or distraction was required. ”I read a book about that in college, ” she said.

”About what?”

”The presentation of self in everyday life. This guy Goffman had the idea that in different situations, you perform yourself differently. Your character isn't static. It's an adaptation.”

”I have stopped performing myself, you mean?”

”Or you're doing it another way now. There are different versions of the self.”

Paulina picked up the menu, then reached over and touched Gemma's hand. ”You need to go back to college, sweetie potato. You're so smart.”

”Thank you.”

Paulina looked Gemma in the eye. ”I'm very intuitive about people, you know,” she said, ”and you have so much potential. You're hungry and adventurous. I hope you know you could be anything in the world you want.”

The waiter arrived and took a drink order. Someone else set down a bread basket.

”I brought you Willow's rings,” said Gemma, when the bustle was over. ”I should have mailed them back before, but I—”

”I get it,” said Paulina. ”It was hard to let them go.”

Gemma nodded. She handed over a package of tissue paper. Paulina pulled the sticky tape off. Inside lay eight antique rings, all carved or shaped like animals. Will had collected them. They were funny and unusual, carefully crafted, all different styles. The ninth one, Gemma still wore. Will had given it to her. It was a turquoise snake on her right ring finger.

Paulina began to weep quietly into her napkin.

Gemma looked down at the collection. Each of those circles had been on Will's fragile fingers at one point or another. Will had stood, sun-kissed, in that jewelry store on the Vineyard. ”I want to see the most unusual ring you have for sale,” she'd said to the shopkeeper. And later, ”This one is for you.” She'd given Gemma the snake ring, and Gemma would not stop wearing it, now, even though she didn't deserve it any longer, and maybe had never deserved it at all.

Gemma gagged, a feeling that came from deep in her stomach and rippled through her throat. ”Excuse me.” She got up and stumbled toward the ladies' toilet. The restaurant spun around her. Black closed in from the sides of her eyes. She clutched the back of an empty chair to steady herself.

She was going to be sick. Or faint. Or both. Here in the Ivy, surrounded by these pristine people, where she didn't deserve to be, embarrassing the poor, poor mother of a friend she hadn't loved well enough, or had loved too much.

Gemma reached the restroom and stood bent over the sink.

The gagging would not stop. Her throat contracted over and over.

She closed herself in a stall, steadying herself against the wall. Her shoulders shook. She heaved, but nothing came up.

She stayed in there until the gagging subsided, shaking and trying to catch her breath.

Back at the sink, she wiped her wet face with a paper towel. She pressed her swollen eyes with fingers dipped in cold water.

The red lipstick was in the pocket of her dress. Gemma put it on like armor and went back to see Paulina.

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When Gemma returned to the table, Paulina had composed herself and was talking to the waiter. ”I'll have the beetroot to start,” she told him as Gemma sat down. ”And then the swordfish, I think. The swordfish is good? Yes, okay.”

Gemma ordered a hamburger and a green salad.