Nothing Left To Want (6 page)

For a long, long time she was the person I most admired in the world.

I guess it made my mother envious, so she would try and rip her down in front of me. Years later, when Aunt Georgia and I fell out, I started believing her and, for a little while, it made my mother and me close. That’s the way it goes in our family. We aren’t very affectionate but we can always bond over hating one another. Back then, though, when I was ten, Aunt Georgia was my aunt, my buddy and my fairy godmother all rolled into one. I think she even loved me for a while. We looked alike, and I certainly loved her, and a full-on lonely kid’s devotion can be pretty heady.

I hate her now and she hates me, and if I don’t make it onto my feet, then I’ll bet if she does cry at my funeral, they will be crocodile tears of joy. But once upon a time she taught me how to become my own kind of Kelleher and reinvented the alphabet for me. Like Annie Sullivan, Helen Keller’s beloved teacher, Aunt Georgia taught me how to master the weird Braille of being a Kelleher.

Chapter 7

When I walked outside of Buckley the day before my birthday, there was a crowd of my classmates standing clustered around, pointing at someone. I looked over at the curb and wanted to die right that second. Third in the usual line-up of stretch limos and Range Rovers was a bright red antique truck with my beautiful aunt in the driver’s seat.

She caught my horrified eyes with her own, raised one eyebrow and gestured me over to her. I looked over sideways at the power group of alpha girls who ran Buckley to see if they were laughing at my aunt in her wacky truck. They weren’t. In fact, they were eyeing her with obvious admiration written plain on their faces.

It made me feel excited, different. No one at Buckley had ever noticed me, except to maybe nudge me aside in the hallway, or mutter 'dwarf' and, of course, point at my totally hated insulin beeper and laugh. I wasn’t a dwarf, I was just small for my age, and in any other place in the world I would have looked normal.

But Buckley is a New York school for the kids of the very rich, and very rich men started marrying super models in the seventies and so, nowadays, all their kids are Amazons and, by comparison to my five foot-six ten year old classmates, I did look like a stupid dwarf. At least I had a pretty face and blond hair like everyone else, but by ten I was beginning to think no one would ever notice my good points since my head only came up to other people’s shoulders.

So, having my aunt stared at by the girls I wanted to be, made my head come up and I even bounced a little on the way to her crazy truck. Aunt Georgia leaned over and opened the door for me. “Get in, Carey, I’ve made an appointment for you with my PS at Bendel’s and we’re already late.”

She didn’t wait for me to close the door but, grinding the gears, peeled around a limo, clipping its bumper. When the driver honked, she rose up one long perfect finger, sporting a huge ruby, and showed it to him.

I heard the Buckley girls laugh and one of them called out, “Go, Georgia, go Carey!” Aunt Georgia laughed out loud.

I asked her curiously, “How do they know your name?”

She looked over at me, nearly running down a pedestrian and said, “Carey, everyone knows who I am. Everyone knows who you are. Don’t you know that by now?”

“
No, Aunt Georgia, as a matter of fact I didn’t think anyone knew my name.”

She didn’t answer right away. She was busy knocking over a fire hydrant and cursing at the stupid city officials who had “put the damn thing right in the middle of the street.”

A few minutes later, she screeched to a stop, the wheels on my side of the truck up on the pavement, and gestured to the startled Bendel’s doorman.

“
Well they do. People know who we are, and they like to look at us, so I say we might as well give them something to look at.”

“
Is that why you’re driving this thing?” She was pulling me through the tall glass doors.

“
Oh, the truck - isn’t it fun? I bought it online, of all things. I just got it this morning; thought you’d get a kick out of it. I’ll give it to you for your birthday if you want it. Maybe you can use it up in the country.”

I stared up at her pretty face, waiting for the punch line. There wasn’t one.

“
Uhm, Aunt Georgia, you know I’m like only ten, right? I don’t have a license.”

She rolled her eyes at me like I was hopeless and called out a greeting to the amazing looking girl who was rushing towards us. “Pippa, there you are. So sorry, darling, that we are late but can’t be helped. This is my niece, Carolyn, and it’s her birthday. I am going to place her in your capable hands and run up to three for a massage.” She looked down at me. “Carey, this is Pippa. She is going to be your new PS. I picked her especially for you. I’ll catch up with you at say … ” She glanced at her oversized Tag Heurer. “ …. oh, let’s make it five, that should give you two plenty of time. And, Pippa, she is starting from ground zero, so be basic, just the ABCs today, all right?”

Assuming Pippa's obedience, she flashed us a vague smile and headed towards the elevators. Pippa and I stood silent for a minute, watching the flag of her blond hair as she strode forward, seemingly impervious to the admiring looks from the other more conventional women standing around her.

I stared curiously at my new babysitter, or 'store nanny', as I thought of her. She must have been six feet tall and about six inches wide, she had a long fall of frizzy red curls and the whitest face and reddest lips I had ever seen on anyone except on clowns. She was wearing a bright orange boucle suit that barely skimmed her hips, and her shoes had turquoise heels which were at least six inches high.

Everything about her was startling and I was most surprised to see a redhead wearing orange since that was one of the few things my mother had ever mentioned to me. She had said that redheads needed to “live in black, otherwise they are hideous”.

I didn’t think Pippa was hideous. I wasn’t sure what I thought but it wasn’t hideous. I decided she looked like a party and, wanting her to like me, I told her so.

She grinned at me. “Thanks, kid, I try, so … ” She gestured around us. “ … first time?”

I followed the direction of her hands and finally noticed my surroundings: fairyland, a castle, and one that, unlike my mother’s scent mistakes, smelled like heaven. I craned my neck back and looked up. Hundreds of feet above me was a round white ceiling. From there, all the way to the black marble floor under my feet, white and silver staircases curved down with little bright-colored alcoves hanging out over them.

The main floor where we were standing was like a giant art studio but, in place of paintings, there were silver mannequins draped in fantastic concoctions. Set discreetly back were long, curved, black and white marble counters with a few glistening items set out that made my mouth water. All around Pippa and me milled beautiful blond women, closely followed by brighter-colored younger women who were, I guessed, their PSs, whatever that was.

I inhaled the mixed scents of expensive perfume, leather and rare fabrics, and grinned at Pippa. “I think I love it here, and what is a PS?”

Pippa laughed and put her long fingers on my shoulder. “It means 'Personal Shopper', or you could just say I am one of the keys to your new kingdom, Miss Carey Kelleher.” At my expression she knelt down on mile long stick legs and stared intently at me. “Your aunt has brought you here so that you can start building your very own signature style, Carey. I am going to love helping you do that.” She put her hand up and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “You’re just like a little doll, and that dimple is to die for - a petite heiress. This is going to be fun. I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

I still didn’t understand her. “Aren’t I here to pick out a present for my birthday?”

Pippa shook her curls, stood up and threw out her hands again. “A present? No, Carey, you are here for a whole new look, which I guess is a present, a great present that will define how people view you from now on.”

I was totally lost but I didn’t want my new friend to think I was stupid, so I said shyly that I wouldn’t mind a pair of platforms because a lot of the girls at school were wearing them, and would she mind helping me pick out a pair that Aunt Georgia would like.

I was a little worried because, though I was used to grand spaces, I could tell this was going to be way beyond my twenty dollar a week allowance and I didn’t want Aunt Georgia to think I was greedy.

I told Pippa all this and she threw her head back and roared. “A pair of shoes, greedy? Carey, look around you. Look at everything in this store.” Obediently I followed her instructions. She watched me carefully. “See anything you like so far?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I like everything here, Pippa.”

“
Good, Carey, that’s a start. We are going to work on finding you everything that works for your look but, Carey, don’t you know, if you wanted everything in the store you could have it? Gawd, if you wanted the whole building, you could have it. You’re a Kelleher girl. Nothing is out of reach. Now, let’s start up on four with foundations and build you from there, okay?”

Two hours later, when I met up with Aunt Georgia for a late tea in the small dining room she used off the main restaurant, I was a new woman, a Kelleher woman. Pippa had laughingly acceded to my request to wear one of my new outfits; the rest were being sent to 800 Fifth Avenue, two blocks away. Pippa had said that my 'look' should be timeless but trendy, “a duchess with an edge”.

I still had no clue what she was talking about, but I loved my ivory ruffled Chloe blouse with the tiny blue bows covering the buttons and the blue-grey suede riding pants that made my short legs look stretched. My 'perfect, tiny feet were now shod in a pair of four inch Loubotin cream and blue pumps, and my school ID was no longer in my Buckley backpack but laying at the bottom of my first Chanel bag, a tiny cream-quilted number.

My face was shining like a diamond from excitement; at least that is what Aunt Georgia told me when I flew into her arms, hugging her with deep appreciation.

“
Look at you, Carey Kelleher, look at you. A beauty, a little queen. Your daddy is going to be so pleased with his girl.” She gestured me to the empty gilt chair at our table. “So, it looks like Pippa did a perfect job teaching you the ABCs and has gotten you off to a wonderful start. Did you like her?”

“
I loved her, Aunt Georgia. She is my best friend and you are my best aunt forever.”

She smiled, and reached into her own larger Chanel bag, and brought out three small black plastic squares that she placed on my empty bread plate. “These are from your father. He thought it would be nice if I gave them to you after our little shopping excursion here so that you would understand what they meant.” She raised her teacup to me in a toast. “Happy Birthday, Carey K.”

I picked them up curiously.

Aunt Georgia nodded, smiling. “The three 'Bs', Carey darling, Bendel’s, Barney’s and Bergdorf’s, your ABCs. Get it?”

Credit cards. They were my very own black credit cards to my first three major stores. There it was in raised silver print: my name, Miss Carolyn Kelleher. I grinned at Aunt Georgia, unzipped my little bag and put them inside.

I raised my cup to her. “I love them, Aunt Georgia, and, yes, I definitely get my ABCs. It’s like 'The Sound of Music' too.”

Aunt Georgia’s forehead would have wrinkled if Botox hadn’t stopped it, but she did look confused. “The Sound of Music? The movie? The play? What are you talking about, Carey?”

It was my turn to laugh. “The movie, Aunt Georgia. I’ve watched it like a billion times and there is a song in it.” I began singing it out loud to her: “When you know the note to sing, you can buy most anything.”

Aunt Georgia smiled in slow appreciation and raised her cup to me again. “Spoken, or should I say 'sung', like a true Kelleher. Well, well, well. Let’s toast to you, Carey.” Looking at me appraisingly, she added, “Let what has begun here today continue to grow. A new reign of terror by one of us begins and, if I’m not wrong - and I’m never wrong - one day soon you’re going to be the most exciting thing this town has seen in years.”

Part 3

Diamond Girl

Chapter 8

It smells like a hamster’s cage in here. I don’t know if it’s the rats or me. I don’t know if it should matter to me; it won’t if nobody comes soon.

Everybody can say what they want then. They always do anyway. At least I won’t have to read it or listen to it anymore. I won’t have to hear my mother’s shrill disappointment or her fucking threats, and I won’t have to hear Daddy’s silence. The wet underneath me is making me cold and I’d roll away if I could. If Milan or Christy was here, they would keep me warm. We always used to spoon, the three of us, when we were sad or cold. Milan first, me in the middle because they said I was their little bear - their care bear - and Christy’s long form pressed against my back, with her face in my hair.