As the fog from her post-divorce haze had cleared, she’d understood that what Betsy really wanted was the dirt: a detailed list of what had happened to send Virginia’s life careening downward, in order to avoid the same fate. When Betsy called last week to arrange a girls’ night out, Virginia had eagerly agreed, knowing she’d be coming straight off her first day on the job. She’d imagined their meeting as the exclamation point on her new life as a successful workingwoman.
Sticking with the script, she pasted a bright smile on her face. “It’s been a whirlwind. I started working at Penn Central this week, right in Grand Central Terminal. Can you imagine?”
Betsy frowned as she dabbed at the bar with a cocktail napkin. “You’re working now?” Her lipstick matched her ruffled top, the color of orange sherbet, which she’d pulled down to expose her shoulders even though it was November.
“Ruby’s quite independent, and I enjoy having a sense of purpose in life.”
“I haven’t been to Grand Central in ages, because we take the car up to North Salem on weekends, but I hear it’s ghastly these days.”
“The building’s seen better days, but the office is quite grand. You take an elevator right up, so you don’t see any of the street people. Perfectly safe.”
So far, so good. Especially learning that Betsy and Cliff rarely used the train. Less chance of being discovered.
“Cliff’s seriously considering that we move out of the city. I don’t blame him.” Betsy rummaged through her bag, placing her wallet, a tube of lipstick, and a small book on the bar before locating her compact. “The other day, I noticed graffiti on 820 Fifth Avenue. That grand building, marred by spray paint! Horrible people running around.” She checked her appearance, clicked the compact shut, and swept everything but the book back into her purse.
The bar had filled up since they’d arrived. Single men with exposed chest hair chatting up women with exposed cleavage. The room teetered a little, and Virginia placed both hands on the bar to steady herself. She glanced down quickly at her own chest, to make sure that her bra hadn’t slid up again. With only one breast, there was nothing to hold the other side in place. The woman at the specialty shop who’d sold her the bra had promised it would look completely natural, but Virginia wasn’t so sure.
Betsy stared with concern. The only friend Virginia had told about her operation was Samantha. If Samantha were here, Virginia would have a different story to tell. But Sam had moved to California just as Virginia’s life was imploding. Sure, they tried to speak on the phone once a week, but long-distance phone calls were expensive. Their letters had trailed off, which was to be expected, really. A holiday card at Christmas was probably the best Virginia could hope for, at this point.
Virginia picked up the book Betsy had left on the bar, diverting her attention. “What’s this?”
“It’s the spring auction catalog for Sotheby Parke Bernet. Take a look; there’s a ton of great art in there.”
Virginia leafed through, pretending to consider the possibilities. “Really great.” She handed it back to her. “Are you going anywhere for the holidays?” Always a safe question.
Betsy made a face. “I’d rather go to Europe, but Cliff is insisting we go somewhere warm for Christmas. He just got us a suite at the Habitation Leclerc, in Haiti.” Betsy’s voice rose in both volume and pitch, either to make herself heard above the crowd or to impress those seated nearby. “It’s where Bianca Jagger goes, apparently. And you? I hope you get some time off.”
“Ruby and I were just talking about hitting the slopes. Maybe Tahoe this year.” As if they could afford the airfare, never mind the cost of a hotel. What a joke.
“Oh dear.” Betsy put a hand up to her lips. “I think we may have taken your skis. How awful. I can give them back if you need them.”
“What?” For a moment, Virginia thought she’d misheard. The ski equipment was stored up in their country house, in northern Westchester. Officially Chester’s country house, these days. Back when Ruby was young, they’d go up every weekend to let her explore the garden, take family hikes in the woods out back. She fondly remembered sitting under the porch, holding Ruby in her lap, and listening to the raindrops tap on the leaves.
Betsy leaned in. “Chester had a big estate sale a couple of months ago. Didn’t he tell you he’s selling the house?”
“Oh right, I forgot.” Virginia steeled herself. He hadn’t told her. Not that he was required to, anymore.
“Everything was laid out in the driveway. Pretty much everybody from the street stopped by; it almost became a kind of party.”
Virginia stiffened at the thought of the detritus of their marriage strewn across the driveway for the neighbors to pick through. The skis, the water guns, the Slip ’N Slide that Ruby had played with summer after summer. The basketball, which she’d dribbled a few times and then ignored. Their bikes, the three of them riding along, waving at neighbors like the happy family they were supposed to be, Ruby’s with metallic purple tassels streaming from the handles.
Betsy laid a hand on Virginia’s leg. “We snatched up Ruby’s skis for Libby. I probably should have asked you first.”
Strangers had come in and fingered through their stuff, offered cash. Loaded it up in their station wagons and driven off.
A familiar wave of shame and loss rippled through Virginia. Her made-up story, about how great her job was, how happy she was, was a farce. She could no longer tidy everything up, put on a brave face. If she didn’t leave now, she’d expose the truth. That, in fact, she was a failed temp, relegated to the most basic job in a grungy, dangerous place. A failing mother, struggling to make ends meet. A failed wife, a failed woman.
Right now, all she wanted was to take a long shower and wash the grime of Grand Central out of her pores. God knew what lurked in that information booth, the clerks all breathing the same stale air, customers marking up the counters and glass with their dirty fingers.
At one point that day, around noon, a single shaft of sunlight had seeped in from one of the high, half-moon windows, the only one that hadn’t been painted over, streaming in like a beam from heaven. Virginia had stared at it, transfixed, until she realized that she was really looking at all the cigarette smoke and dust particles that hovered in the air: a sparkling ray of filth, an illuminated pollution.
CHAPTER SIX
November 1974
But if I don’t have a darkroom, I can’t print my photos.”
Ruby threw herself facedown on Virginia’s bed.
Virginia watched her daughter through the mirror of her vanity while trying to clip a rhinestone onto one earlobe. Ruby had figured out early on that the best time to ask for something was when Virginia was most vulnerable. When she was rushed, like now. Or stressed, like now.
Back when Ruby was a little girl, she’d lie on the bed and watch Virginia get ready for a night out on the town, laughing with glee when Virginia touched a dot of perfume on the inside of her daughter’s pale, delicate wrist. Since then, Virginia’s daughter had lengthened and filled out into a creature she sometimes wasn’t sure she recognized. A beautiful, changeable creature with caramel-brown hair down to her waist and big hazel eyes. Not to mention the stubbornness of a bull.
Virginia’s first date since the divorce was in forty-five minutes. When Dennis had stopped by the information booth that morning—only her second day on the job—and asked her out, she’d been both embarrassed and pleased. He’d rapped hard on the glass to get her attention. Terrence and Totto had exchanged looks, and she’d quietly stepped out to chat with him, elated to be pursued by such a dashing man. When Doris inquired about him, she’d simply said, “He’s with Penn Central; we used to work together.” They had, for about ten minutes, so it wasn’t a lie.