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woman must be yet another one of the strange affectations of the very rich, which she had discovered two days ago, when Janey had called her up and asked if she wanted to go to the Polo.
“Darling,” Mimi said, as if she were pulling herself out of the grave, “do you know how many polo matches I’ve attended in my life?” And for a moment, Janey had been afraid she was going to decline. But in the next second she said in a schoolgirl voice, “But one must do what has to be done, so of course I’ll go with you.” It would have all been perfect, except that on Friday Mimi called up and said that Selden was going to be out this weekend, and did she mind if he joined them at the Polo? There was nothing to do but pretend she couldn’t think of anything better, when in actuality, she couldn’t have imagined anything worse. And then Mimi had suggested they meet for lunch beforehand, without Selden, so they could talk about him. Selden was the last thing she wanted to discuss, especially when all she could think about in the man department was Zizi. But as she and Mimi really didn’t know each other well, Selden was a good jumping-off point from which to move on to more interesting gambits, specifically conversations about all the other people they did know in common, such as Comstock Dibble.
Janey was sufficiently versed in social politics to know that, until she knew Mimi better and could fathom her motivations, it would be a terrible mistake to reveal the truth about her affair with Comstock Dibble; however, she wasn’t above a vague inference that at some point, Comstock had come on to her, and everybody knew that when it came to women, he couldn’t be trusted. Comstock Dibble was on her mind, due to the very disturbing letter she’d received that morning. The letter had been forwarded from New York City with the rest of her mail; it had probably originally been mailed just before Memorial Day. It was from Comstock Dibble, suggesting that they had some business to conclude about her “screenplay,” but as far as Janey was concerned, the business between them was finished, and the missive was nothing more than a pathetic attempt on the part of Comstock Dibble to scare her—although why he was persisting in his fright campaign, Janey couldn’t imagine. In any case, she meant Comstock to know that she couldn’t be threatened, and she thought the best way to achieve that end was to pretend that she didn’t know a thing about it and, even if she did, couldn’t have cared less.
And so, continuing with the theme of the day, which seemed to be “mild subterfuge,” she squinted fiercely into the binoculars, and followed Zizi’s sublime form as he lifted his arm and swung his mallet with a ferocity that sent the polo ball skid-ding to the opposite end of the field. It was too soon to reveal her true feelings about him, and so she asked innocently, “Who is he?”
“He must be that polo player Pippi was going on about,” Mimi said. “She seemed to think he was interested in her.”
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“But if he’s so interested, where is she?”
“She had an audition.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s one of those men who makes all women think he’s interested,” Janey said, thinking that this rule applied to every woman but herself. Studying Zizi’s face through the lenses of the binoculars, she recalled every word of their conversation, and decided that it had felt far too real and genuine to be his usual flirtation.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Mimi said. “One can’t marry a polo player.”
“Why not?” Janey asked fiercely.
Mimi laughed. “In the first place, they haven’t any money. And in the second, they travel all the time”—she held out her hand for the binoculars—“so it’s like being married to a juggler in the circus . . . Well, maybe not quite. He
t r a d i n g u p
53
woman must be yet another one of the strange affectations of the very rich, which she had discovered two days ago, when Janey had called her up and asked if she wanted to go to the Polo.
“Darling,” Mimi said, as if she were pulling herself out of the grave, “do you know how many polo matches I’ve attended in my life?” And for a moment, Janey had been afraid she was going to decline. But in the next second she said in a schoolgirl voice, “But one must do what has to be done, so of course I’ll go with you.” It would have all been perfect, except that on Friday Mimi called up and said that Selden was going to be out this weekend, and did she mind if he joined them at the Polo? There was nothing to do but pretend she couldn’t think of anything better, when in actuality, she couldn’t have imagined anything worse. And then Mimi had suggested they meet for lunch beforehand, without Selden, so they could talk about him. Selden was the last thing she wanted to discuss, especially when all she could think about in the man department was Zizi. But as she and Mimi really didn’t know each other well, Selden was a good jumping-off point from which to move on to more interesting gambits, specifically conversations about all the other people they did know in common, such as Comstock Dibble.
Janey was sufficiently versed in social politics to know that, until she knew Mimi better and could fathom her motivations, it would be a terrible mistake to reveal the truth about her affair with Comstock Dibble; however, she wasn’t above a vague inference that at some point, Comstock had come on to her, and everybody knew that when it came to women, he couldn’t be trusted. Comstock Dibble was on her mind, due to the very disturbing letter she’d received that morning. The letter had been forwarded from New York City with the rest of her mail; it had probably originally been mailed just before Memorial Day. It was from Comstock Dibble, suggesting that they had some business to conclude about her “screenplay,” but as far as Janey was concerned, the business between them was finished, and the missive was nothing more than a pathetic attempt on the part of Comstock Dibble to scare her—although why he was persisting in his fright campaign, Janey couldn’t imagine. In any case, she meant Comstock to know that she couldn’t be threatened, and she thought the best way to achieve that end was to pretend that she didn’t know a thing about it and, even if she did, couldn’t have cared less.
And so, continuing with the theme of the day, which seemed to be “mild subterfuge,” she squinted fiercely into the binoculars, and followed Zizi’s sublime form as he lifted his arm and swung his mallet with a ferocity that sent the polo ball skid-ding to the opposite end of the field. It was too soon to reveal her true feelings about him, and so she asked innocently, “Who is he?”
“He must be that polo player Pippi was going on about,” Mimi said. “She seemed to think he was interested in her.”
18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:22 PM Page 54
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c a n d a c e b u s h n e l l
“But if he’s so interested, where is she?”
“She had an audition.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s one of those men who makes all women think he’s interested,” Janey said, thinking that this rule applied to every woman but herself. Studying Zizi’s face through the lenses of the binoculars, she recalled every word of their conversation, and decided that it had felt far too real and genuine to be his usual flirtation.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Mimi said. “One can’t marry a polo player.”
“Why not?” Janey asked fiercely.
Mimi laughed. “In the first place, they haven’t any money. And in the second, they travel all the time”—she held out her hand for the binoculars—“so it’s like being married to a juggler in the circus . . . Well, maybe not quite. He
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