CHAPTER 17
Joe
The minute the People magazine issue landed, and the world saw that dazzling photo of Cate walking into Aureole on my arm, she became a full-blown sensation—and not my latest fling. The paparazzi camped outside her apartment and the Wilbur Swift store, following her all over the city, while reporters and morning shows blew up her answering machine with requests for interviews.
I could tell Cate hated everything about the attention, but she handled it with grace, following my advice about not running or trying to hide and instead just going about her business. She attributed all the hoopla (as she called it) to the quote in the People article from a “Kingsley insider” confirming a “committed relationship.” Obviously, that whipped some folks up, but I told her it was more than that. After all, the press and public had never been this frenzied over Margaret.
When I pointed that out to Cate one night, she looked surprised. “And why is that?”
“Because she’s not you,” I said, thinking that Margaret was the type of girl everyone expected me to be with—but Cate was the kind of girl everyone wished they could be. “And, I mean—have you seen yourself?” I smirked, putting one palm on her ass as we stood at my stove together, making pasta.
“C’mon. Be serious,” she said, brushing off my compliment along with my hand. “Do you think it’s because we’re such an unlikely match?”
“Unlikely? How so?”
“You know,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable. “We have pretty different backgrounds.”
“They’re not that different,” I said.
“Compared to you and Margaret, they’re pretty different,” she said.
I shrugged, wishing I hadn’t brought up Margaret in the first place and vowing not to do it again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! My mother saw the People magazine,” I said, changing the subject.
“She did?”
“Yeah. I guess her hairdresser showed her or something…. Anyway, she told me you appeared to have ‘understated elegance.’ ”
“That’s nice,” she said.
“Yeah. She really wants to meet you,” I said, testing a noodle and determining that it was ready. “And that’s far from a given. Believe me.”
Cate looked thoughtful, then asked if my mother had ever met Phoebe.
“Nah,” I said, as I turned off the burner and put on my oven mitt.
“Why not?” Cate asked, following me to the sink as I poured the pasta into a colander.
“Because I knew my mother wouldn’t like her.”
“And why is that?”
“Because Phoebe lacked substance,” I said.
“How so?” Cate pressed.
“I don’t know…. She was just a little shallow. She only really cared about fame and money and her designer goods,” I said, remembering how she was always shamelessly trying to get freebies.
“I like designer goods, too,” Cate said with a shrug. “I mean…I work for a fashion designer.”
I shook my head and said, “It’s not the same thing.”
“If you say so…” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Yes. I say so. And my mother will agree,” I said. “She’s going to love you.”
Cate looked down, blushing. “Even though I didn’t go to college?”
I obviously knew she hadn’t gone, but it was the first time she’d ever said the words aloud, and I hated that she looked so embarrassed.
“Cate. You had a different path. You’re self-taught and self-made. You’ve traveled the world. Shit, you speak fluent French. That’s more impressive.”
“More impressive than what? A Harvard degree?” she said. “I don’t think so….”
“Well, I do,” I said. “And I know my mother. Can she be a snob? Yes. Absolutely she can. But she knows substance when she sees it. And more than anything, she values strength of character and authenticity, and you are drowning in both.”
Cate gave me a small smile, looking dubious, then said, “Okay. But there’s something else I need to tell you….”
“What’s that?” I said.
She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “It’s really embarrassing.”
“You can tell me,” I said softly. “Whatever it is…”
She swallowed, then met my gaze, her cheeks an even deeper shade of pink. “Well, in addition to, um, not going to college…I actually…didn’t finish high school….”
“Oh,” I said. It wasn’t at all what I expected—and I had to admit, I could see why she was so embarrassed—but I did my best to reassure her. “That’s okay, honey. Who you are matters to me—not how much formal schooling you’ve had. You can be educated without degrees.”
She shook her head, looking so miserable, like she might cry. “I don’t know, Joe. I really don’t think your mother will see it that way.”
“Yes. She will. She knows that some of the world’s most successful people…didn’t finish high school,” I said, stumbling a bit as I did my best to avoid the words dropped out.
“Name one,” she said. “From this century.”
“I can’t come up with examples like that…but there are plenty…. Pretty sure John Travolta’s one…. And my mom loves that guy. She saw Grease, like, ten times. It’s the first video she bought when we got our VCR.”
“So because your mother likes Grease she’s going to be okay with me being a high-school dropout? I don’t think so,” Cate said, but at least she was smiling. “Your family represents pedigree and good upbringing to the vast majority of people in this country. I hardly think your mother is going to be okay with this.”
“Look. You left home for a bigger opportunity, right?”
“Well…yeah…among other things…”
I wanted to ask about those other things but assumed it was money and didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable. “Well, how is that different from Travolta?”
“He’s a tad bit more successful than I am.”
“He’s more famous. Not more successful.”
“Oh my God, Joe. Be serious,” she said with a laugh. “Yes, he is!”
“Okay,” I said, trying another angle. “Do you regret your career in modeling? All the experiences you had because of it?”
She hesitated, then said, “Well…yes and no…”
“Hey! The answer better be no!” I said. “We wouldn’t have met if you weren’t a model.”
She nodded, then said, “I know. I’ve thought of that…and I really was able to see the world because of that job. Places I never otherwise would have gone. But still…everyone should graduate from high school.”
“Okay…so go get your GED,” I said with a shrug. “It’s never too late to go to college, either, if that’s what you want. And if you don’t, that’s fine, too. You have a great career and you’re smart as hell. At the end of the day, it’s really just a piece of paper….”
“Again. I really don’t think your mother will agree.”
“Yes, she will. It’ll all be fine.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to make some big announcement. But if it comes up, we tell the truth. And if she doesn’t like it—”
“Which she won’t—”
“Then her loss,” I said, raising my voice a little.
“You don’t mean that,” she said.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I absolutely do.”
She stared at me for a few seconds before thanking me in a whisper.
I shook my head, then said. “You don’t have to thank me. That’s just basic shit…. Loyalty 101.”
“Maybe,” she said with a small smile. “But I can still thank you.”