The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty by Amanda Filipacchi Read Free Book Online Page B

Barb’s routine in bars, how she takes off her disguise in the middle of conversations with men who show no interest in her. And then she walks away. It’s very spunky and sexy. The way Georgia writes about her, she sounds incredibly interesting.
    I’ll return the laptop tomorrow. I’m tempted to make a copy of the photos of Barb—especially the gorgeous ones—but I know I shouldn’t. Still, they seem too beautiful to part with.
    These people must never know I’m the one who found the laptop. First: they’d be angry I took so long to return it, especially poor Georgia. And secondly and more importantly: according to the journal, Barb will never date a man who has already seen her physical beauty.
    I have to think of the best way to meet them. There is an obvious way, but as I’ve learned detrimentally late in life, the obvious path is not always the best one.
    I’m glad I’m writing down my thoughts. Despite my many attempts to keep a journal, I’ve never been able to stick to one for long. Life gets in the way.

Chapter Five
    B efore meeting Strad for coffee, Lily makes very little extra effort with her appearance because there is not much that can be done. In fact, Lily has often noticed—and others have agreed with her—that in her case, the less done the better. Lipstick only emphasizes the ugliness of her lips. Mascara does the same disservice to her eyes, drawing attention to their unfortunate proximity to each other.
    She feels that her best hope today with Strad is her talent, her music.
    They meet at The Coffee Shop in Union Square (she tells me all about it later). They sit at a table in the back. They make small talk. He congratulates her again on her success without lingering on the topic.
    So she decides to probe. She says to him, “I was very influenced by your words a while back when you said that music’s most noble ability is to beautify the world.”
    He looks at her blankly, nodding vaguely. Then he talks about other things—movies he’s seen.
    She persists. “The kind of music I’ve developed, does it approach in any way what you were talking about?”
    “When?”
    “When you said that beauty—I mean music’s—highest purpose is to beautify the world.”
    “Hmm, I don’t remember that conversation.”
    She blinks, confused. She doesn’t understand how he cannot remember. Or is he lying, out of discomfort? Yes, perhaps he remembers it perfectly and feels embarrassed about having said he’d marry any woman who could create that kind of music. Maybe he doesn’t want to be held to that statement.
    In an anxious attempt to understand his feelings, she murmurs, “You said that one should strive to create music that alters people’s perception of reality, music that beautifies reality. I always kept that in mind.”
    He shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. I mean, I’m glad you were inspired by what I said.” He laughs and bites into his toast.
    Lily stares at him, her heart sinking. She can tell with absolute certainty that he’s not pretending. He genuinely doesn’t remember. That’s how unimportant that conversation was to him. And here she’s been worrying that perhaps she hasn’t created exactly the kind of music he had in mind, that perhaps she hasn’t executed his vision in quite the right way to please his discriminating sensibility.
    But maybe there’s still hope, she thinks. Just because he doesn’t remember uttering those words doesn’t mean they might not be true.
    Gently, she says, “It’s funny that you don’t remember, because you seemed to feel pretty strongly about it at the time. You even said you’d fall in love with—and marry—any woman who could create that kind of music.”
    “Did I say that? Is that why you composed your recent music?” he asks, and immediately bursts out laughing. He puts his hand on her wrist. “I’m kidding; I flatter myself. But seriously, I can’t believe I said that music’s highest purpose is to beautify