"Don't you like it?"
Nicolette stared at the ring Miguel had just slid on her index finger: 14 karat white gold, with an 8x6 mm oval-cut emerald, encircled with quarter-karat diamonds. It was exactly the same ring she had pointed out to him yesterday in McCarties.
"Yes, it's fine."
"Just fine. Nothing more?"
"What do you want me to say? It's magnificent? Unbelievable? I know it wasn't but $1,500-hardly reason to swoon, now, is it?"
"You can't be pleased, can you? You say you want a ring, this particular ring. So I get the damn ring, and you act as if I'd pulled it out of a box of Cracker Jacks. If you don't want it, take it back. Get whatever you want. I'm tired of trying to please you." Miguel stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Nicolette sat by the french window, moving her hand slightly from side to side, watching the flickers of green fire from the heart of the emerald. Once, long ago, a new ring would have sent her giggling with delight into Miguel's arms. Once, she thought bitterly, I wouldn't have had to drag him into McCarties. When they were first married, he brought home the little red boxes almost every week...diamond necklaces, pearls for her ears, rings encrusted with precious gems. And his largess hadn't been limited to jewelry; furs, tickets for the opera, silver boxes engraved with her initials...he had heaped treasures at her feet, the offerings of a besmitten lover to her, his princess, his delight, his goddess.
Where had that ardor, that passion gone? What was the matter with him?
She stood up and walked across the room to stare at herself in the full length mirror. She was still beautiful, still desirable. She tilted her head back, admiring the milky curve of her throat, and raised her arms above her head in that slow, langorous stretch that had been her trademark pose when she worked as a model. Turning, she smiled over her shoulder at her reflection, licking her lips, moving her hands down to trace the outline of her slender body: the trim waist, the full hips. Kicking the folds of her silk kimona aside, she admired her legs, still tanned and shapely.
"What's wrong with you, Miguel?" she said aloud. "I'm perfect. Everything you could want. What's missing?"
There was a tap on the door. "What?" she snapped.
"Your coffee, Ms. Herrera."
"Bring it in."
May trotted into the room, her round little face wreathed in a smile. "Good morning! How are you this lovely morning?"
"Fine, thank you. Just leave the tray on the table, please."
"Yes, m'am. There's some really good orange marmelade for your toast this morning. It tasted to me like sweetened sunshine. Oh, Mrs. Landers gave me a spoonful for my toast. I hope you don't mind."
Nicolette shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing tastes good to me anymore," she said.
"I'm sorry." May frowned. "Are you sick? Do you have a cold or something?"
"No. The doctor has given me a clean bill of health. There's nothing wrong-he says."
"But you think he's wrong, don't you?" May began making the bed, flinging the top sheet back to smooth the bottom. She worked quickly, with energy.
"Something's wrong. I don't know if it's physical or...or mental."
May stopped plumping a pillow and gave her mistress a worried look. "My mama always said if you think you're crazy, you're not, because really crazy people don't think anything's the matter with them. I wouldn't worry about it being anything mental-the doctor probably just missed something. I bet you're anemic, 'cause you're sort of pale-looking. At least to me."
Nicolette murmured, "Perhaps so," and sat back down with a cup of coffee to watch May flit about the room, picking up clothes, scraping empty cigarette packs into the trash, emptying ashtrays, returning shoes to the closet. "I declare," May said, picking a gray cashmere sweater off the floor to hang up, "You sure have some pretty clothes. And I've seen whole department stores with fewer things than you've got in this one closet! It must make you happier than a pig in mud to think about all the wonderful things you have!"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Miss Nicky, I hope you won't think me forward or anything, but sometimes it seems to me as if you're not really as happy as you might be. Not that I mean you're unhappy-I'm sure you are. Just, just, you don't seem as happy as you ought to be."
"No, May, you're quite right. I am not happy. Not at all. I used to be, and to tell the truth, I'm not sure why I'm not. I have everything I want. Everything."
May sat on the window seat, facing Nicollette, and chewed on her bottom lip, as if trying to decide whether to continue the conversation. Finally, she took a deep breath and blurted out, "Miss Nicky, I hope you won't get mad at me, 'cause I sure don't want to make you mad, but I...I think...I mean, I believe...well, it's really no surprise to me that you're not happy. I've worked for you for almost three years now, and I believe I know what the trouble is."
"Then you know more than several doctors and at least two respected phychiatrists," Nicholle laughed. "All right, Dr. May, Suppose you tell me what my problem is."
"I think you're a chocolate bunny?"
"What?"
"You know those Easter bunny rabbits. They look like they're solid chocolate, but they aren't. They're just empty shells."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're hollow inside. No matter how much stuff you get, it doesn't change the emptiness inside you. I don't know why you're empty-maybe nobody filled you up with love when you were little; maybe you paid more attention to being beautiful outside and not enough to getting beautiful inside. Whatever it was, it's there-nothing but a great, big, empty space inside."
"I have everything I want!" Nicollette snapped. "What do you mean by empty space? My days are full, my calendar is full, my life is full. There's nothing I want."
"I'm sorry." May said quietly. "I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought it was something you might want to think about."
"That will do for you today," Nicollette said. "I'm busy. A chololate bunny-how ridiculous!"
"Yes, m'am." May took the coffee tray and backed out of the room.
Nicollette stretched out on the bed, staring up into the canopy. "Cheeky little thing! Trying to tell me there's an empty space in my life. Ridiculous!"
The morning was slipping away. She needed to shower and get ready for lunch with Laurel. As she headed for the bathroom, she noticed that she felt strange. Almost weightless. As if...as if...no, it was a foolish thought. The power of suggestion. Laughing, she pressed her index finger against her rib-and felt the skin give way as her finger slipped between two ribs. She stood motionless, staring at the place where he finger had gone in, knowing that what May had said was true: she was hollow. Nothing but a shell enclosing a vast, empty nothingness.