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Chapter 17

Jacqueline Bennett Carter

New York City, May 2015

Jacqueline Bennett Carter gently patted her hair. Back when she couldn’t afford to dye her hair, it was dark brown, almost black. Now, it was an auburn brown with red highlights. She had made this change years ago, a subtle stab at the fountain of youth, which turned out to be a successful gamble. “Darling, show me the screen, please. I need to check my frame,” she instructed Kennedy, who flipped the screen out from the back of her camera and reversed it to face Jacqueline. Jacqueline was seated in her study, and she reclined lazily against the armrest of her bouclé couch. She reached behind her for her glasses and pulled them out to look at the screen. When she was satisfied, she placed pillows behind her back, pushing herself upright and toward the edge of the couch as she sat at attention before her daughter.

It had been several weeks since she touched base with Kennedy on the project, but she had full faith that it was being executed as expected. Kennedy had flown back east, claiming that she needed to go up to the Vineyard house to get some B-roll, but before that she wanted to film Jacqueline’s testimonials for the video. Jacqueline had rolled her eyes when Kennedy had emailed the house manager asking for her room to be made up.

B-roll for a nine-minute movie was so unnecessary, but she agreed to let it all happen. She supposed Kennedy had been conditioned to overachieve, though, and, thanks to Jacqueline’s influence, had always loved anything to do with film. As a girl, Kennedy, in her desperate little way, would watch movies with Jacqueline from the doorway of her mother’s bedroom, waiting to be invited in. If and when Jacqueline noticed her daughter, she would allow the girl to join her and provide her with an education on cameras and angles, on narrative and on technique. Asher wasn’t interested in connecting in this way over art and craftsmanship, but Kennedy was, so Jacqueline taught.

“Okay, Mom, so we’re almost ready. Are you?” Kennedy asked her, finger hovering over the record button.

Jacqueline took a dramatic look around, craning her neck for emphasis. “Who is we , pumpkin?” she asked, highlighting that they were, in fact, alone.

Kennedy averted her gaze, embarrassed, and fumbled with the notes on her lap. She was such a timorous girl, which was why Jacqueline was more naturally tolerant of Asher. She didn’t like who he was either, but she had always made the most of her lot in life. Though her son was a simpleton, he performed so much better under pressure.

Kennedy cleared her throat. “Mom, can you tell me when and how you met Dad?” she asked.

Jacqueline tossed her hair behind her shoulders and checked her posture. She paused for a moment, remembering which version of the story to tell.

The real story couldn’t be recorded on camera. She knew that, but a different, better version had been invented, and that’s what she would share. That version didn’t include Jacqueline’s being a waitress. It also didn’t include her being an escort.

The real story was that early on in her New York experience, a girl from her acting class, a curly-haired blonde from Virginia named Donna (which was definitely not her real name), told Jacqueline that she could make some extra cash by going out on dates with older men.

Jacqueline walked up to a conversation before class had started one day, where Donna was balancing a slim cigarette between her lips, waiting for a light. She paused to look at whom Donna was speaking with and recognized two other young women, one actively doing modeling work and another who was gunning for a role on Broadway.

“Do you know how many dumb rich men live in the city?” Donna asked, oozing nonchalance.

The shorter girl, the Broadway actress, sighed. “Well, sure, but what happens when we get famous?”

Donna shrugged. “It’s not like they know who you really are. You make something up.” She inhaled and looked at Jacqueline. “You interested? Guys love variety,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

Jacqueline flushed uncomfortably. “So what are we talking about exactly?” she asked, wanting Donna to clarify.

“It works like this: These guys, they just want some company. They’re looking for a little relief from their stressful lives or wives and whatnot. They do a little coke, or maybe weed ... they really just want to talk, mostly, and you just sit there and listen. You build a little client base and you’re basically an entrepreneur. The money, it helps.”

Money was indeed getting tight, but Jacqueline felt like she knew how this story ended and politely declined. She made an excuse to go inside to class, but she remained distracted through the whole thing as she tallied the way that her expenses were piling up against the nonexistent opportunities. She approached Donna after class to learn more.

Donna smiled a wry little smile and put her arm in Jacqueline’s as they strolled down Fortieth Street together. “I’m sure you’re going to be great at this. You’re so good in class. It’s basically an acting exercise. You build a character, or a few if that’s your thing, and that’s who these guys meet.” Donna paused to look at Jacqueline. “No offense, but if you want to do this, you’re probably going to need to get some new clothes,” she said.

Jacqueline smoothed out the pleats of her mid-length skirt and looked down at the printed silk blouse she was wearing. “Why?”

“Oh, come on, all productions need costumes,” Donna said, grinning. “Look, part of what you’re selling is an experience, a fantasy. If you dress the part, it’ll be easier.”

Jacqueline nodded. So she needed more money then. Of course. Jacqueline, still a virgin but at least aware of the mechanics of what she was being asked to do, asked Donna if she would be expected to “spend the entire night” with these men.

Donna laughed. “You’re such a Pollyanna! You only have to do what you want to do. We mostly just hang out with them at parties, sit on their laps, and let them buy us things. If you want, you can sell those things for cash. And they might leave a little ‘tip’ at the end of the night. They’re probably married but just want the company of a young woman who’ll listen to them and tell them they’re smart and funny. We’re not doing anything beyond that, unless you want to.”

Jacqueline was hesitant, but since she was also broke and needed a way off an ever-spinning hamster wheel, a relentless cycle of hard work, she agreed to accompany Donna on an outing. Jacqueline’s new chosen name was Wanda, short and to the point, sounding enough like Donna that she thought it might be a good fake name. Wanda was from Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, a place Jacqueline had never visited. Wanda was twenty years old and smoked Virginia Slims cigarettes so she always had something to do with her hands. Wanda wore her hair feathered and sported fluffy, fanned-out false eyelashes. It was, indeed, just like an acting experiment.

At the end of the night, Wanda had received seventy-five dollars from a stout, balding man who’d taken a liking to her, and also a promise to be invited to the next party. She decided this was something that she could do, so she reduced her overtime at the diner, left work in enough time to regularly attend her acting classes, and did nights with Donna as Wanda or Camille or Marlene, all personas that she liked to try on for size.

Remarkably, this new revenue stream helped to keep Jacqueline’s dreams afloat, at least temporarily. And she grew to like it. This kind of work, not unlike acting, had an expiration date. Once you were no longer young and beautiful, the party was over, but since she was both at the moment, she decided that she would have fun. She got a safety-deposit box at the bank so that she could store her cash. She also opened a bank account but only kept enough money in there so that she could write small checks. She was learning fast about city life.

Just over ten years later, she was on the cusp of thirty. By the time that Jacqueline first encountered William Carter Jr., she’d been struggling in New York City for a decade and she hadn’t booked a single acting job. But she was still doing escort work with Donna and had shed the small-town stench she once feared she’d never be rid of. In fact, instead of becoming famous, she had become worse than ordinary, scraping together tips for a pack of cigarettes and on the verge of aging out of Hitchings House if she didn’t figure something out. And fast.

Approaching “too old” for a women’s dormitory, though, was less of a concern when she knew that her youth was still a currency that she could use outside of those walls. She was charming, sexy, and mysterious, even when she found herself almost perpetually exhausted. On top of all that, the years she spent at the University of Life in New York City had made her very smart, and she knew a good mark when she saw one.

He always came into the diner alone, armed with the Wall Street Journal under his arm and a frown on his face. She resented that she knew who was a regular and who was not at the diner. It meant she was a regular too, that the venue had really become her place of full-time employment. When she observed William Carter Jr., she saw that he didn’t engage with another soul in the diner and barely engaged with her, always leaving the minimum amount of tip required. She’d noticed early on that he didn’t wear a wedding ring, so she assumed that he was either concealing a relationship or simply single. He looked to be at an age, though, where a man should be in want of a wife. Usually with regulars, there was some sort of rapport, but with this one, there was only formality. On some level, she thought this was a comfort, especially since he was such a cheapskate with his tips. This kind of guy wouldn’t be asking her when her shift ended, hinting that they should spend her nonworking hours together. The patron she would eventually come to know as William Carter Jr., bland but respectable.

One Thursday evening, well after the dinner rush, William entered the diner. There were only a few other people eating at the time, including a family with two loud, young children. Two older white ladies were in the process of spiking their coffee with Baileys. Since it was later and slow, Jacqueline was handling the place herself, which she preferred most days. William ordered his typical eggs and a coffee, which he ate day or night, and unfolded his newspaper without so much as a glance at Jacqueline. Nearby, the children played a rowdy game with their action figures while their parents ignored them, deep in their own conversation. Jacqueline spent time casually surveying the customers, on call if they needed her but not wanting to hover. She snuck glances at a script that she was reading, trying to do some at-home learning now that she could no longer afford to attend regular acting classes.

The children soon began mock sword fighting with their silverware. They got up from the table and made use of the empty space. William looked over at them as if to will the brats to sit back down and be quiet, an unsuccessful, feeble attempt at mind control.

The children crashed around the diner, knocking and banging on anything that made a noise, a spirited rebellion against the rules of the adult world. Around 11:30 p.m., they were back in their booth, clearly tired, dejectedly tossing their toys back and forth to one another when Jacqueline went to go refill William’s coffee. When she arrived in front of William, she found him hypnotized by what was going on over at the table with the children. At first, she made no move to interrupt his daze, simply hanging near him to observe what he was so transfixed by. She followed his eyeline to watch the smaller of the two children walk a toy soldier to the edge of the red rectangular table and simply push it off. The plastic man collided with the floor, and when it hit the surface, William flinched. It was a clear reaction, though, and when he noticed Jacqueline standing nearby, he attempted to comport himself as if it didn’t happen.

“More coffee?” she offered.

“Sure,” William said, and she noticed that the hand holding the coffee mug was shaking. With her back now to the table with the family, she heard the children sending their toy sailing off the surface to the ground again and noticed William flinch for a second time and close his eyes. She cocked her own head to the side.

“Are you okay?” she asked, the question flying from her mouth.

William didn’t answer. He instead cleared his throat and said, “Do you mind distracting me for a little while?”

Dollar signs sprouted into Jacqueline’s eyes. She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that, but for the right price, right now, she was open. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, being cautious.

William gestured to the empty booth seat across from him, inviting her to sit. “Can you?” he asked.

Jacqueline looked briefly over both shoulders, deciding that it was both late enough and dead enough that she could skirt the rules just this once. William’s body had a slight tremor, and she resisted the urge to reach out her own hand to steady his. She slid into the booth, sitting opposite him, and watched him drag his eyes away from the table with the rambunctious family.

“Friends of yours?” she asked, eyebrows raised, head inclined toward the table he insistently stared at.

“Hardly,” he said with a gruffness. “I wish they’d get those kids under control.”

She smiled. “They had three cups of hot cocoa each, so that’s not likely anytime soon. They’re tired, sure, but too wired.”

William grunted in response. Jacqueline waited for him to say something else, confused as to why he’d ask her to sit down. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a full minute while William Carter Jr. stared at his hands flat on the table. “I just hate to hear crashing. I hate when I see things falling,” he said finally, still not looking up.

“Are you military or something?” Jacqueline asked.

William raised his eyes to meet hers and shook his head. “No, just don’t like it.”

Jacqueline shrugged. “Hard to have quiet in a city like this,” she said.

“Hard but not impossible,” William offered with a wry smile. “I’m William Carter Jr.” he said, still not moving his hands from the table.

“Jacqueline,” she said, echoing his formal tone. An odd man, he was.

“So what are you? A student?” William said, sizing up Jacqueline’s youth.

“I’m an actress,” she said, jutting out her chin defensively.

“Oh yeah?” William asked, sitting up straighter. Jacqueline swallowed, knowing what question would come next. “Have I seen you in anything?” he said curiously.

“This diner,” she said, folding her arms.

“That bad, huh?” William said, sitting back against the red vinyl booth and sliding his hands from on top of the table to clutch them at his sides. The kids sent their toys flying off the table for the tenth time.

“It’s been slow,” Jacqueline replied deferentially.

“Success sometimes is,” William agreed.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“Well, I guess that depends on the day,” he said. “I’m an entrepreneur in global real estate.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Jacqueline asked, her real estate knowledge limited to the terms of her boardinghouse lease.

“I provide people with housing, and with the materials to build housing in other countries,” William replied. The family he was facing put on their coats to leave. The father held up two twenties, more than enough to cover the meal and Jacqueline’s tip, and left the money on the table. Jacqueline swiveled her body to wave goodbye.

“Your work sounds impressive,” she said, turning back to William.

“It will be,” he assured her.

“What do you mean by ‘It will be,’ Bill?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “It’s actually just William,” he said.

Jacqueline respected this. She was never Jackie, the discount version of her luxury name.

“Right, sorry. You hardly ever meet full namers these days,” she replied.

“It’s the one part of myself that I share with my father,” he said.

Jacqueline nodded. “And where’s he?”

“Boston. We’re ... not close,” William finished.

Jacqueline nodded again. “I know how it is.”

“It’s not like—he didn’t abandon us or anything. It’s just complicated.”

“Sure,” Jacqueline said noncommittally.

“My father ... he was a janitor, and then he was a groundskeeper and worked at my school,” William said.

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Jacqueline said, waiting for the gotcha.

“No, it’s not, in theory. It’s just that, well, now my life is very different. I—well, you know how if you’re going somewhere and you need to get there fast, it’s easier to get there if you aren’t carrying anything?” he asked, holding her gaze.

She frowned. He was getting kind of tongue-tied. “Okay,” she said cautiously.

“I couldn’t carry anything. I’m trying to do something that’s kind of ... crazy. I want ... I want to make a billion dollars.” As the words left William’s mouth, he sat a bit straighter, jutting his chin out defiantly.

Jacqueline started laughing, waiting for him to join in. When he didn’t, she realized that it wasn’t a joke.

“Well, why do you need a billion?” she asked, still astonished at the number. The sheer scale of so much money seemed unfathomable. Who actively pursued a billion dollars? Why would anyone ever need that much money? She had never heard anyone say that number out loud before. It sounded absurd.

“I think something happens when you get a billion dollars. A million dollars won’t save you from a lot, but a billion might,” he said.

“What do you need saving from?”

“Don’t know yet,” he said, shrugging, “but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Jacqueline considered this. It was a staggering amount of money to think about: one billion dollars, but at the same time, she could also use some saving at the moment.

For the first time, William left her a handsome tip that night, as she predicted he might. She thought about their interaction and his earnest pursuit of something that seemed unnecessarily excessive. Somehow, though, her time with him made her feel energized. She was after something impossible too.

Jacqueline liked to remember what was real before she said what wasn’t. The truth could be a terrific anchor for fantasy, what every great actress knew. Sitting in front of a camera, Jacqueline looked her daughter in the eye and with total confidence said, “Well, I met your father at a fundraiser, as you know.”