The Dance
THE DANCE
The lion is most handsome while looking for food.
—RUMI
July 1982
“Do you think they’re happy?” Beanie asked, as they watched an ABC special commemorating the one-year anniversary of the marriage of Princess Diana and Prince Charles.
Mercedes, sipping her tea in her striped pink pajamas that her “patron” had gifted her from the Beverly Hills Hotel, shrugged. “I think they chose well,” she said, blowing on her tea. “There were rumors that Prince Charles had a torrid affair with Camilla Parker Bowles and might still be involved,” Mercedes said, off the cuff.
“Do you think Princess Di knows?” Ella asked.
Mercedes smiled smugly. “The wife always knows,” she said.
Beanie wasn’t sure, but Ella completely agreed. “Just like Grace Khan,” she said. “Grace has to know about her husband.”
“Who?” asked Mercedes.
“Harvey Khan’s wife,” Ella told her, explaining that Harvey Khan was the president of Sylvan Light, and he was having a torrid affair with his secretary.
Beanie shot Ella a look. Mercedes caught it.
“I won’t say anything,” Mercedes said, claiming that she knew few people to tell. But that wasn’t good enough for Beanie. If Mercedes wanted to know more, then she had to share more.
Quid pro quo.
“Fine,” Mercedes said. “Ask me anything you want.”
“Okay,” Beanie said. “Are you and Ollie Burns having an affair?”
“Yes,” said Mercedes.
“Well, that was easy,” said Ella, smiling.
“Your turn,” Mercedes said, turning to Ella, who looked at Beanie, who gave a small nod.
“Okay,” Ella said, folding her long legs under her. “Stilettos—that’s Beanie’s code name for Harvey Khan’s secretary because she always wears the highest heels—has been having a hot affair with Khan for almost two years. And she’s, well, head-over-stilettos in love with him. And he with her. At least we think he is. But she’s like thirty-five, and he’s like older, much older,” Ella said, getting up to make some Sanka.
“How much older?” Mercedes asked, a bit too curious for Beanie’s comfort.
“Sixty-seven,” Ella said, explaining that she had access to everyone’s real birthday through her job in Accounting. “Though he tells people he’s sixty-three.”
“Why doesn’t he leave the wife?” Mercedes asked, presuming of course, that he wanted to.
Ella turned to Beanie, who considered the question and the questioner. Maybe she was being too harsh on Mercedes Baxter. After all, Mercedes was just trying to get the score like anyone else. And she had told them the truth about her affair with Ollie Burns. Why not share the wealth? she thought as she leaned forward, punctuating the confidentiality, and explained that Harvey Khan was a gambler, highly leveraged, and it was his wife’s money.
Mercedes, both impressed and thoughtful, wondered aloud how Beanie could possibly know such details. Beanie just smiled, not revealing that she and Debbie Hawks, the veteran receptionist who had befriended her on day one, traded information daily, filling in the blanks for one another so that neither would ever be caught by surprise.
“I make it my business to study people,” was all Beanie said.
Same, Mercedes thought, but remained silent.
“Get to the good stuff,” Ella told her.
“Okay,” Beanie said. “Stiletto’s real name is Rose Liu. She was a secretary at Twentieth when Khan brought her over to Light in the late ’70s. Ever since, she lived for the guy, totally devoted, and he for and with her, at least three days a week—”
Mercedes raised her eyebrows, enthralled.
“—on Bedford, just around the corner from the agency in a sweet little setup that he pays for. Meanwhile, he and his wife have a house in Bel Air, up Stone Canyon, and a spread out in Malibu, which is where she stays normally. So, three nights a week he tells her he’s at the Stone Canyon house—”
“But really he’s with the rose?” Mercedes asked, less a question and more a puzzle she was working.
“Yeah,” said Beanie. “Until recently, when someone told Grace that they saw Harvey coming out of an apartment on Bedford with a gorgeous Asian woman every single Tuesday. Now Grace is no idiot, and to your point, she could only turn her back so many times. She knows her husband. She knows his secretary.”
Mercedes nodded as Ella took over, adding that Grace couldn’t pretend not to know what her friends suddenly knew. “So, now, Grace is on the warpath,” Ella said, “stopping by Harvey’s office unannounced, staying in Bel Air, sending in Cheryl, their daughter, for drop-ins. And apparently refusing to pay his latest debt unless he ends it with Stilettos.”
“It’s a standoff,” said Beanie.
“It’s a dance,” Mercedes corrected her, with what Beanie thought was a summation born of experience. “Getting back to your original question, does the wife know? Of course the wife knows. And the husband knows that the wife knows. So, it’s just a dance between suspicion and confirmation separating those who stay married and those who don’t.”
Beanie had the feeling that Mercedes understood the dance better than most.
“This isn’t about fidelity, ladies,” said Mercedes. “It’s about power. And subtext. Grace Khan let this continue until she’d had enough. Perhaps she sensed his feelings for his secretary were getting too strong. Or perhaps she felt that his secretary was getting too comfortable. But when facts become public and truth can no longer be covered by subterfuge, then it’s time to remind people who’s in charge.” With that, Mercedes stood, said goodnight, and went to bed.
“I think she’s gonna be a great roommate,” Ella said.
“Me too,” Beanie told her, trying to believe it.
The next day Mercedes, who was floating for Stu Lonshien, the CEO of the agency visiting from New York, stopped by Khan’s desk, introducing herself to Rose Liu, and dropping off a chopped salad from La Scala.
“I noticed you work every day through lunch,” she said, “and I thought you might be hungry.”
Rose smiled. It was a lovely gesture. “Thanks, what do I owe you?”
“It’s fine,” said Mercedes. “You can buy me lunch another day.”
A few days later, Mercedes offered to run packages to the mailroom for Rose.
“I’m going there anyhow,” she said. The next day she asked if she wanted the extra copy of People magazine that had been left for Stu. By the end of the week, the two were having drinks after work at Hernando’s Hideaway, a bar up the street in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
Mercedes never broached the subject of Harvey Khan, she just got to know everything there was to know about Rose, her family, where she came from, which designers she liked—every single thing except who she was fucking. Mercedes shared bits of her own story as well, growing up in England, never knowing her father, and the fact that she was a very private person who selected friends carefully.
Rose, who felt similarly, liked her immediately. They were the same age, sophisticated, and well-traveled.
The next week Mercedes, who was floating on Cushman’s desk, dropped off a bottle of Giorgio perfume. “A late birthday gift,” she said, remembering that Rose’s birthday had just passed. Rose, in turn, invited Mercedes to a screening that Mr. Khan had gifted her because he was out of town.
That weekend the two of them made a day of it shopping on Rodeo Drive, and having a late lunch at the Bistro Garden before they went to Twentieth Century Fox to see a screening of a new movie, Arthur. After the film, they walked a bit down Pico Boulevard, talking about the likelihood of a shopgirl like Liza Minnelli marrying a rich man like Dudley Moore, and if fairy tales like that were even possible. And that’s when Mercedes told Rose that her life was anything but a fairy tale, confessing that she’d had a brief affair with Ollie Burns and was trying desperately to end it.
Rose understood and told her that she would never judge, and then confessed her own love affair with Harvey Khan.
Mercedes was impressed, less with the confession and more with the accuracy of Beanie’s details. Rose told her she loved Khan, but his wife was an alcoholic, in and out of rehab and relentless.
“He’d divorce her, but it’s complicated,” she said, explaining that Grace wanted Khan to fire her.
“No!” said Mercedes. “You can’t leave. We’ll figure something out.”
A week later Mercedes had a plan and a solution. “Ollie is going in for back surgery,” she told Rose, confidentially. “He was going to let his secretary, Beanie Rosen, run things, but she really isn’t qualified,” Mercedes said. “I mean, she’d kill me for saying that, since we’re roommates, so you’ve got to keep it between us.”
Of course Rose agreed and listened as Mercedes explained that Rose should fill in for Ollie, who’d be out for at least two months, and she would fill in for Rose on Khan’s desk. That way, Harvey’s wife would see that Rose was gone and take her foot off the gas. And Mercedes would be the eyes and ears to let Rose know when it was all clear. After all, Mercedes was an executive floater, so it made sense. There would be no suspicions.
Rose looked at Mercedes like she was an angel, a savior, more than a friend: a sister. “How are you going to get Ollie to hire me over your roommate?” Rose asked.
“Let me work on Ollie,” Mercedes told her, knowing that it would take a few blowjobs, and perhaps an overnight to rework the plans.
It was the overnight she dreaded most. His West Hollywood apartment—crammed with knickknacks of country-western heroes—was a claustrophobic dust trap, an homage to his great-auntie Dale Evans, who’d been married to Roy Rogers. Mercedes hated everything about it, but there was a brass ring in sight, and to get that she’d suffer through his stories and the music and the small man with big dreams for the two of them.
Three weeks later, Rose Liu temporarily took over for Oliver Burns who was out on sick leave while Mercedes Baxter was asked to float on Harvey Khan’s desk. No one blinked an eye except Beanie Rosen.
“I thought I was going to fill in for you?” Beanie asked Ollie when she visited him after surgery.
Ollie, on heavy pain meds, explained that this made more sense as he had decided he was going to hire Beanie full time as a floater.
Beanie, elated, finally saw her way out and up. She would float from desk to desk until someone powerful and smart and fearless recognized how good she was. Happy with this plan, she wished Ollie well and went back to work as a secretary, temporarily, for Rose Liu.
Meanwhile, on the first floor Mercedes kept a lookout for Grace Khan, dutifully letting Rose know when she or her children came by. Since her goal was to calm the storm, Mercedes was formal, polite, and deferential to Mrs. Khan, accommodating her, making sure she was comfortable. It was all about recalibrating the scales. Meanwhile, when Grace wasn’t there, Mercedes would let Rose know and Rose would come downstairs and spend precious time with Harvey in the apartment they kept around the corner. And Mercedes would make sure they weren’t interrupted.
It was a sweet setup, and the best part was, after a month, Grace no longer suspected a thing. Believing Harvey had moved on, Grace’s visits became less frequent. They settled back into a routine of mutual understanding and separate lives. For his part, Khan was not only relieved but elated.
“It was,” he said, “a genius idea.” There was no longer drama nor guilt, and all debts were paid. And he was still able to see his Rose on the side. More and more he began to rely on Mercedes, appreciating her thoroughness, her professionalism, and her discretion.
And then one Sunday night in early November, just before Ollie was supposed to return from his sick leave, Harvey suggested that Mercedes come to Stone Canyon and help him prepare for a board of directors meeting the next day. She came to the grand Arts and Crafts stone house around three o’clock, served him dinner at seven, sat with him dutifully listening to Sinatra, and then took him upstairs and fucked him like he hadn’t been fucked in quite a while.
“He likes oils,” Rose had told her, so Mercedes rubbed them all over her body and then his.
Who knew? he thought, surprised and turned on that this prim English girl had such a wild erotic lust inside of her. Unlike curvy Rose, Mercedes was small, athletic, built more like a gymnast. He liked the newness of her, the fact that she was so proper on the outside and wanton on the inside. He had grown tired of Rose and her tears, and the associated drama. This one, this Mercedes Baxter, is low maintenance, and smarter, he thought. She’d befriended Grace, and Grace liked her. Trusted her. He trusted her too, he decided. And he preferred this new arrangement. He could still have his cake, and Mercedes would be his icing. And the best part was, Grace was happy, and the purse strings, once again, became unconditional.
In early November 1982, Ollie Burns, a loyal Sylvan Light employee for almost fifteen years who took pride in every company signing and every extraordinary deal, was fired without cause, as Rose Liu was promoted with a significant raise to become the new head of Personnel.
“We’ll still see each other,” Khan promised Rose. Though they began seeing each other less and less.
Mercedes Baxter was not only a cunning opportunist, but an expert strategist; someone who survived by sniffing out the holes, using them for leverage, and then filling them in afterward without leaving a trace. Much like Lucille, she had climbed her way out of the two-up two-down, becoming whoever she needed to become to reach the next level in the game of life.
It didn’t matter that Rose had devoted her life to Harvey Khan, that Ollie had devoted his to Sylvan Light, or that Beanie had devoted hers to becoming an agent. They were casualties of a war Mercedes had waged against a world that had shorted her from the get-go. It was a game of musical chairs, beautifully conducted with all the players scrambling for different seats. And when the music stopped, Mercedes had found a new patron, Rose a new position, and Beanie a new boss.
Citing that she needed to be closer to work, just in case Harvey needed her, Mercedes Baxter moved out. She gave no notice but left the furniture, agreeing to sell it to the girls at a discount, if they paid monthly.
“Wow,” said Ella, “we lost a roommate and gained a Betamax.” And then it occurred to her, “I never got to ask if she was fucking the patron.”
“She was fucking the patron,” said Beanie, adding, “She fucked everyone. Including us, and I’m going to let her know that I know.”
“I know what you did. We all do,” Beanie whispered.
Mercedes, who was standing to the side of the food truck, turned to find Beanie standing a tad too close. Several inches shorter, and many pounds thinner, Mercedes moved away.
So Beanie inched closer. “Ollie Burns loved this agency,” she hissed. “He gave his life to it, it’s all he cared about, and you stepped on him and shredded him and left him with nothing. You used him,” Beanie continued. “Like you used me and Ella, Rose, and, I’m guessing, that patron who you cleaned out from your soup to his nuts.”
The man at the window handed Mercedes two hard-boiled eggs. She thanked him and walked away, never acknowledging Beanie Rosen or her blistering words.
“I’m onto you,” Beanie shouted, as others, curious, turned. “We all are.”
Mercedes never looked back.
In retrospect, Beanie wished that she had said something smarter, more pointed, but anger and frustration had tripped her up. She had wanted to imply that she might just tell Rose the truth, and then perhaps Rose would tell Khan, and Khan would see her for who she was. But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t. And she felt silly standing at the food truck having made a scene. But now all gloves were off. She had made an enemy, and though she wasn’t threatened per se, she realized with a sad and sickening clarity that no obstacle at Sylvan Light would be more challenging to her future than Mercedes Baxter, who understood the dance from the first step to the last.