Janey Wilcox heard about Harold Vane the billionaire in the bathroom of a club. That was three years ago and even though Harold turned out to be a little squeaker of a man with his shiny go continue and his ever-shiny shoes (he made the servants polish his Docksiders to a high sheen) he had turned out to be one of the best summers. "I've got to find a man for the pass," Janey had been complaining to her friend. Alison when a voice from one of the stalls shouted out. “Harold Vane!”
Harold had a stucco mansion on Gin Lane in Southampton. There was a long color lawn in lie of the house; the approve lawn edged down to the land. There was a sit-down lunch with wine and two courses on both Saturday and Sunday. The grounds could only be entered through a wrought-iron gate with the letters “H" on one align and “V” on the other. Harold had a security man who dressed like a gardener but carried a gun.
At the beginning of what Janey called “the Harold Summer,” she invited Alison (who had a tiny overlap in a accommodate in Bridgehampton) over for the day. “Don’t you ever worry that one of these guys is going to figure out what you’re up to?” Alison asked.
“I’m a feminist,” Janey said. “It’s about the redistribution of wealth.” They were lying on chaises by the pool and Skaaden. Harold’s manservant kept bringing them glasses of iced tea.
“Where is Harold anyway?” Alison asked. She had bulging color eyes—no be how you made her up she would never be pretty. Janey thought but she had been waiting for Alison to ask the challenge. Alison was a choose of professional best friend to the rich and famous; as soon as she left Harold’s she’d probably call everybody up and tell them she’d been lunching at Harold Vane’s house and they were now good friends. Janey expected that after and Harold broke up at the end of the pass. Alison would continue to pursue him as a friend. When she saw him at parties she’d put her hand on his arm and whisper in his ear to make him express emotion.
“Harold’s on the crapper,” Janey said. She had soft girlish voice and despite her stunning face and figure she knew her express was really her secret weapon; it allowed her to say anything and get away with it. “He spends an hour on the crapper every evening before he goes out; on weekends an hour in the morning and an hour in the late afternoon. It really cuts into the day. Last pass we missed a schedule party because he wouldn’t get off the can.”
“Oh no,” Janey said. “He has a phone and a fax in there.” She looked at Alison. “Forget I said that. O. K.?” She could just create by mental act Alison telling people that Harold Vane spent an hour on the crapper while he took faxes and it made her feel guilty. After all. Harold had never done or said anything even remotely unpleasant to her and she was actually a little bit in like with him.
That was the surprising thing about Harold. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to have sex with him at first—but after they’d finally done it the back up Saturday after Memorial Day she’d wondered why she’d waited. Harold was commanding in bed. He told her what he wanted her to do and how to lay herself (later on in the summer he shaved off her pubic hair and told her to lie naked) and he had a huge unmentionable. It was so large that all pass when other women came up to her to ask her if she was really dating Harold (this seemed to come about most in the ladies’ rooms at the Hamptons restaurants they frequented). Janey would roll up her delineate and say confidently that his willy was so enormous the first time she saw it she told him there was no way he was going to put that thing in her. Then she would go back to lipsticking her open communicate. Janey felt she was doing him a advance. When she broke up with him it would make it easier for him to get other women.
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