Lipstick Jungle

No, it’s hell, she wanted to say.

“So let’s go buy that pony, then, Mrs. Healy,” Marc said. He leaned over, and the swoop of hair didn’t budge. “How would you kids like to see the babies?” he asked.

“Babies?” Magda asked, thrilled.

“Baby ducks and baby kittens. And maybe some baby dogs as well.” He stood up. “The kids love it. I’ll have Julie, the groom, take them, and then she’ll bring them back here. Magda will want to see Prince again,” he said,

giving Wendy an intimate smile. “Her first pony. It’s a milestone in a little girl’s life. A moment she’ll never forget.”

He was right about that, Wendy thought. It was all really quite unforgettable. And she stood there wearily as her children raced past her.

“Wendy! Come on,” Shane called impatiently from the passenger seat of the golf cart.

Wendy sighed and dragged herself and her bags to the golf cart, looking back at her children with longing. She sat down on the backseat and placed her valise on her lap. It was eighty degrees and she was dressed all in black. She felt like an old Italian woman.

Marc got into the driver’s seat and lit up another cigarette. “Magda is going to do so well on Prince, Mrs. Healy,” he said, taking a sharp corner that nearly threw Wendy out of the cart. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she placed in her first show. I keep telling Shane how lucky you are—these kinds of ponies don’t come up very often.”

“How much is the pony?” Wendy asked, glaring at the back of his head.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” Shane said evenly.

Wendy gasped and grabbed onto the back of Shane’s seat for support.

Shane turned around and gave her a hard stare. “It’s really not that much, Wendy,” he said.

“It’s a reasonable price,” Marc interjected, dropping his cigarette into a cup of water as if people bought ponies for $50,000 every day. “Red Buttons for two hundred thousand—now that wasn’t reasonable.” He turned around and gave her a quick grin. “And the important thing is that Magda loves the pony. They already have a relationship. You can see that she loves that pony, and the pony loves her. How can you deny your daughter her first love?”

Wendy shook her head hopelessly. Fifty thousand dollars? It was insane. What the hell were you supposed to do in this situation? If she objected, Magda would be crushed, and Wendy would be the villain. And on top of it, this was all Shane’s doing—once again, he had set her up; engineered a situation in which she was bound to fail with her children. She wanted to put her head in her hands and cry.

Exhaustion was beginning to make her shiver. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my husband alone. Before we complete this transaction,” Wendy said, with as much strength as she could muster.

“Of course,” Marc said genially. “Your daughter’s future as a rider is at stake here. You should talk it over. But I guarantee you won’t find a better pony for the price.”

Shane looked at her over his shoulder and frowned. “What’s up, Wendy?” he asked. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah. There kind of is,” she said wearily. My husband just served me with divorce papers, locked me out of my apartment, and kidnapped my kids. And now he wants me to spend $50,000 on a pony . . .

Marc shrugged and lit up another cigarette, as he pulled up in front of a Tudor-style barn with crosshatched timbers, meant, perhaps, to resemble a stable in a royal mountain hideaway. “I’ll be in the office. First door to the right,” Marc said. “Just come in when you’re ready.”

“We’ll only be a minute,” Shane replied. He paused. “Well?” he demanded.

Wendy stared at him in shock. She didn’t know where to begin. “After all this . . . after what you’ve done . . . all you have to say is, ‘well’?”

“Can’t we just buy the pony, please? Why does everything have to be such a big deal with you?”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. Was it possible that he’d forgotten that he’d served her with divorce papers and locked her out of their apartment? Or was she simply losing her mind?

“What do you want me to say?” Shane demanded impatiently.

She paused. What did she want? I want everything to be back to normal. I want everything to be the way it was before I left for Romania. It wasn’t that great, but it was better than this, she wanted to say. “I want you to explain.”

He stared at her defiantly, like a little boy, and then turned and began walking toward the barn. Wendy ran after him, catching up with him just inside the entrance. “I don’t want to have this discussion now,” he hissed. “Not in front of these people . . .” he said, indicating the door to the office with his hand.

“Why not? What do you care about them?”

“It’s not what I think, Wendy. It’s what they think about our little girl. Why do you have to embarrass her? She’s finally got up the courage to try something new, something athletic, and you want to ruin it for her.”

“No, I don’t . . .”