was her duty to reflect the status of her husband in the outfits she wore. She no longer’
79
owned a pair of jeans, even designer ones. It was so annoying that she couldn’t get Tom to do the same thing. Hugo Boss chinos. That was what he should be wearing when he needed to go casual.
The pink was more attractive, it set offher tan and her blonde hair and her dazzlingly white teeth, but the navy had more gravitas, made her look older. She could be twenty-eight in that navy.
Isabelle wouldn’t hesitate for a moment, Jordan thought, jealously. She’d know exactly what to wear. She’d know before she even got to the closet.
Isabelle Kendrick was Jordan’s lunch date. Married to Sam Kendrick, she had been a social powerhouse in the city for fifteen years, and Jordan was in awe of her. She
‘ didn’t like her, of course, but that didn’t matter. The fact was that Isabelle sat on every important charity committee in LA, gave the definitive Oscar night party since Swifty Lazar had passed away, and somehow, invisibly, imperceptibly, marked out every new girl on the scene and ranked her desirability. It drove Jordan crazy; after all, wasn’t she the wife of a studio head? And Isabelle only the wife of an agent, even if he was a fairly heavyweight agent. But there was no getting away from reality, and in LA the reality was that Isabelle ruled. From Cedars-Sinai to the San Francisco Opera House, she sat on every important board. Her little soir6es were the most sought-after, reported-on dinner parties in the city. And at her big spectaculars once a season - there was the summer ball coming up at the end of this month - more business got done than at Cannes. If President Clinton came to town and wanted to eat with somebody besides David Geffen, Mrs Samuel Kendrick was the second name on his list. With her own ears Jordan had heard Isabelle chatting to the First Lady on the telephone as though she were an intimate friend. ‘Yes, Hillary, Irish salmon.’ ‘No, Hillary, I promise I’ll keep.the cholesterol down.’
80
It was all fantastic, and Jordan wanted it for herselŁ. She was Tom’s wife and she should get that respect. Well, she knew how jealous they all were of her, even the ones that were nearly as young and nearly as attractive as she was. And the older women were just green. Too bad, Jordan thought maliciously, surveying her large, firrn breasts and slimline thighs. You had your chance once, and now it’s my turn.
After all, nobody had dared to actually snub her, much though they might have liked to. It was Los Angeles, and when all was said and done, she was the wife of a studio chairman, and thus unsnubbable. Plus,Jordan had a certain survivor’s instinct that had served her very well all her life. She knew better than to try to compete with Isabelle Kendrick. No, she had to carve out a new place for herself, a complementary place, as the queen of the new generation. Jordma had started to support the more modem charities, giving nice little dances for AIDS research, sponsoring walks for the war against drugs, and throwing well-attended dinners at five thousand bucks a plate for whatever issue was in the news. Her last one had been a minor victory: An Evening to Stop the Killing, raising money for the struggle against gang warfare in South Central LA. They’d played hardcore rap music very quietly over the speakers while entertainment industry big shots sipped Dom Prign0n and toyed with their caviar and blinis. It was too bad that she hadn’t been able.to get Spike Lee to attend - or, indeed, even answer her gilt edged invitation - but then everybody knew how difficult he could be. Her Serene Highness Princess Caroline of Monaco had been guest of honour. Such a step up from that little tramp Stephanie. Yes, it had been quite a triumph, and Jordan hadbeen able to seat Isabelle next to her and bask in her approval.
There was only one aspect of that evening to mar her enjoyment of it,
79
owned a pair of jeans, even designer ones. It was so annoying that she couldn’t get Tom to do the same thing. Hugo Boss chinos. That was what he should be wearing when he needed to go casual.
The pink was more attractive, it set offher tan and her blonde hair and her dazzlingly white teeth, but the navy had more gravitas, made her look older. She could be twenty-eight in that navy.
Isabelle wouldn’t hesitate for a moment, Jordan thought, jealously. She’d know exactly what to wear. She’d know before she even got to the closet.
Isabelle Kendrick was Jordan’s lunch date. Married to Sam Kendrick, she had been a social powerhouse in the city for fifteen years, and Jordan was in awe of her. She
‘ didn’t like her, of course, but that didn’t matter. The fact was that Isabelle sat on every important charity committee in LA, gave the definitive Oscar night party since Swifty Lazar had passed away, and somehow, invisibly, imperceptibly, marked out every new girl on the scene and ranked her desirability. It drove Jordan crazy; after all, wasn’t she the wife of a studio head? And Isabelle only the wife of an agent, even if he was a fairly heavyweight agent. But there was no getting away from reality, and in LA the reality was that Isabelle ruled. From Cedars-Sinai to the San Francisco Opera House, she sat on every important board. Her little soir6es were the most sought-after, reported-on dinner parties in the city. And at her big spectaculars once a season - there was the summer ball coming up at the end of this month - more business got done than at Cannes. If President Clinton came to town and wanted to eat with somebody besides David Geffen, Mrs Samuel Kendrick was the second name on his list. With her own ears Jordan had heard Isabelle chatting to the First Lady on the telephone as though she were an intimate friend. ‘Yes, Hillary, Irish salmon.’ ‘No, Hillary, I promise I’ll keep.the cholesterol down.’
80
It was all fantastic, and Jordan wanted it for herselŁ. She was Tom’s wife and she should get that respect. Well, she knew how jealous they all were of her, even the ones that were nearly as young and nearly as attractive as she was. And the older women were just green. Too bad, Jordan thought maliciously, surveying her large, firrn breasts and slimline thighs. You had your chance once, and now it’s my turn.
After all, nobody had dared to actually snub her, much though they might have liked to. It was Los Angeles, and when all was said and done, she was the wife of a studio chairman, and thus unsnubbable. Plus,Jordan had a certain survivor’s instinct that had served her very well all her life. She knew better than to try to compete with Isabelle Kendrick. No, she had to carve out a new place for herself, a complementary place, as the queen of the new generation. Jordma had started to support the more modem charities, giving nice little dances for AIDS research, sponsoring walks for the war against drugs, and throwing well-attended dinners at five thousand bucks a plate for whatever issue was in the news. Her last one had been a minor victory: An Evening to Stop the Killing, raising money for the struggle against gang warfare in South Central LA. They’d played hardcore rap music very quietly over the speakers while entertainment industry big shots sipped Dom Prign0n and toyed with their caviar and blinis. It was too bad that she hadn’t been able.to get Spike Lee to attend - or, indeed, even answer her gilt edged invitation - but then everybody knew how difficult he could be. Her Serene Highness Princess Caroline of Monaco had been guest of honour. Such a step up from that little tramp Stephanie. Yes, it had been quite a triumph, and Jordan hadbeen able to seat Isabelle next to her and bask in her approval.
There was only one aspect of that evening to mar her enjoyment of it,
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