or to pay the utilities. It hit me there, in that little shop, that I could just buy almost anything I wanted, within reason.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
I felt a stab of guilt as she rang it up, but that passed as we kept on shopping. Sarah’s friends knew all the best stores. We tried on lingerie made of the sheerest lace, dresses of silk and chiffon and rhinestones, jeans that hugged every curve, blazers of butter-soft suede, and shoes with heels so high I could barely walk. We tried out designer bags and modeled jewelry for each other. In places I’d never dared set foot as Jamie, the salespeople fell over themselves to help us.
At first the price tags intimidated me, and then I didn’t care. I found out I loved buying these beautiful things, loved taking them out of their shopping bags and trying them on at home, loved hanging them up in my closet and knowing they were mine forever. I felt greedy, hungry, but as if I needed more and more new things to satisfy that hunger.
It was all new to me, and it went to my head like champagne bubbles. Over the next week or so I bought clothes and shoes, mostly, but also books and scarves, bracelets, a watch. . .I got presents for Aurelie and Liza, and things for my mother and Maria, too, though I kept those in a bureau drawer for later.
Along the way I got to know Sarah’s friends a little better. They weren’t that bad. Selfish, maybe. Thoughtless, definitely. They didn’t seem to spend much time at their jobs, though they didn’t have as much money as I did, either. But they were fun. I had to admit they were fun, and besides, without them I didn’t have anybody.
Aurelie and Liza knew all the best restaurants and bars in the city. They knew a ton of people, too – everywhere we went we ran into people they knew, attractive, witty, charming men and women who laughed a lot and never talked about anything serious.
At first I worried about pulling off my charade, but it was easy. When I met one of Sarah’s friends I let them do most of the talking, though I might make a few vague comments. When I met someone new I asked them long strings of questions about themselves; I kept them talking and they were happy to answer at length. And I drank, though more carefully now. A glass in my hand gave me something to do. It helped me relax.
Sarah’s friends couldn’t go out every night, though, and the nights alone in my apartment were the ones I dreaded. Those nights were full of lonely, empty hours. Sometimes I watched TV, but mostly I read my way through Sarah’s books.
In some ways I actually missed school. Oh, not the stupid, pointless worksheets or the teachers in the hall screaming at us to get to class. I missed those occasional class discussions where that light bulb went off above my head, like “Oh, yeah, I get it”, and when I raised my hand and spoke the teacher smiled like I’d just made her year. I missed grades, too. Weird, but true. I used to love the feeling of getting a test back with an “A” on it, that big letter like a pat on the back. School was the one thing I was good at, the one thing I found easy.
I missed the structure and routine, too, but after few days I found new ones. If I wasn’t shopping or partying or at the gym, I could always go and get my nails done, or my hair, or get my legs waxed. Sarah had a whole set of beauty appointments in her day planner, and I obediently carried them out. It felt totally bizarre to have strangers doing these intimate things, pampering me in ways I’d never experienced, but good, too. For once in my life I wasn’t taking care of anybody. They were taking care of me.
Sarah's mother called every few days; she sounded more and more worried, but I couldn't bring myself to answer. I screened my cell phone calls and let her leave messages. Sarah's psychiatrist called twice and then gave up. Men called, too; apparently Sarah liked to give out her number at bars. I let them go to voicemail, too.
So for a while life was easy, and at the same time it wasn’t.
When I finished shopping or getting my