Market Street

by Anita Hughes

  “You’re very good at what you do,” Cassie said as they waited for a table.

  James blushed and smiled at the same time. “I love that people have the confidence to turn over a space and let me create something magical. Your mother is so passionate, it’s contagious.”

  Cassie laughed and followed the waiter to a table by the window. “She’s like a gale-force wind. You can’t be running the other way or you’ll be blown over.”

  “I think our mothers are similar. Mine is a corporate attorney.” James pulled out Cassie’s chair. “It’s probably why I picked a fiancée from the South: someone who knew how to relax and drink peach daiquiris.”

  “You’re engaged?” Cassie consulted the menu. It was the first time she had eaten out since she was sick and the choices looked too filling: gnocchi in Alfredo sauce, steak tenderloin with roasted potatoes. She glanced out the window at Union Square and suddenly felt exhausted. She wanted to be in bed with a bowl of Aidan’s chicken tortellini soup and a stack of plain saltines.

  James adjusted his glasses and stared at the menu. “We’ve been together since Northwestern. Emily is from Atlanta and she’s an interior designer in Chicago.”

  Cassie ran her fingers over the entrée selections. The French onion soup looked the easiest to swallow. She seemed to have a permanent lump in her throat that made it impossible to eat steak or chicken.

  “We planned a summer wedding at her parents’ home in Atlanta. A giant tent, dance floor over the pool. Swans floating on a man-made lake.” James took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But we hit a bump in the road at Thanksgiving.”

  “What happened?” Cassie asked.

  “I got the job designing Emerald in September. It was a big deal for me: once you start designing in different cities you get a national reputation.” He paused and took a sip of water. “I asked Emily to join me but she was in the middle of a project. In the beginning I’d go home every weekend or she’d come here and we’d play tourist.” James stopped and signaled the waiter.

  “I met her in Atlanta for Thanksgiving; her parents host a huge dinner. I had to get back here, so Emily stayed on for a few days,” James continued after the waiter took their order.

  “A few days later I saw some Thanksgiving weekend photos posted on her Facebook page. There was a whole album of her and Percy Bingham. They went to elementary school together. He’s head of an accounting firm in Atlanta, belongs to the same tennis club as her father.”

  “Oh,” Cassie mumbled.

  “She called me frantically apologizing. Said someone else posted them, they were just kidding around like when they were children. I don’t think Percy had his hand up her shirt and his tongue down her throat in the first grade.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Cassie sipped a glass of water.

  “We’ve patched things up, but it’s not easy to gain back the trust. I check her Facebook page every day. I watch her cell phone bill to see if she calls any numbers in Atlanta. She keeps telling me she loves me, that it will never happen again, but I can’t erase the image of Percy sucking her face.”

  “You’re still getting married?” Cassie scraped butter on a piece of Melba toast.

  “The wedding is not till August.” James smiled. “Hopefully by then the image will have faded. Sometimes I feel like a fool, but Emily has a lot of wonderful qualities. Long-distance romances are hard and I blame myself for taking this job. I hope when we live in the same city things will return to normal.”

  Cassie let the waiter put the bowl of French onion soup in front of her. The smell of onions made her stomach turn. She pushed the plate away and nibbled another piece of toast.

  “If you don’t like the soup, you can share my salmon,” James offered.

  “No, thank you. I’m just not hungry these days.” Cassie shrugged.

  “Your mother told me you were sick. You’re staying in the city while you recover.” James ate another bite of salmon.

  “My husband had sex with his student.” The words came out before she could stop them. “Her boyfriend jilted her. Molly asked Aidan to come to her apartment to read a paper and they did it on the futon.” Cassie stared out the window.

  “I’m sorry.” James put down his fork.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you. Please don’t say anything to my mother. Aidan has never been her favorite person. I haven’t been out in public since it happened, and I just feel…” She stopped. Her hands were shaking and her lips trembled.

  “Like everybody knows,” James finished. “When I went back to Chicago at Christmas I thought the whole town read Emily’s Facebook page.”

  “That’s it.” Cassie nodded. “All these women have perfect lives and they see through me like an X-ray.”

  “You didn’t do anything. You’re the same person.”

  Cassie smiled. “I’m trying to be the same person. I keep thinking I’ll run into Molly, which is silly. She lives in Berkeley and she’s not the type to shop in Union Square. But she’s like Hamlet’s ghost, hovering over my shoulder.”

  “Are you going back to your husband?” James cut a piece of salmon.

  “I want to go back to him, I miss him.” Cassie dipped her spoon in the soup. “We’ve been married for ten years. He has a sixteen-year-old daughter I’ve helped raise, not always a pleasurable experience.” Cassie laughed.

  “But you don’t know if you can trust him?”

  “I don’t know if I can trust myself to trust him.” Cassie frowned. “Even if he is a choirboy now, I’ll wonder why he’s home late, or who he sees at the gym. I found a cupcake doily in his lunch box and I went crazy.”

  “You’re protecting yourself from getting hurt again.” James ate a bite of salmon.

  “I want things to go back to the way they were.” Cassie nibbled Melba toast. “Nothing tastes good. I used to love French onion soup.”

  “The solution is to eat dessert first.” James grinned. “Why don’t I ask the waiter to bring Fenton’s lemon custard soufflé?”

  Cassie pushed the soup bowl away. “I’m sorry to ruin our business lunch. Tell me about the art you commissioned. My mother said it’s fabulous.”

  “I found an artist in Sonoma, he uses the side of a barn as a canvas.” James signaled the waiter. “He paints murals of outdoor markets. I’m driving up there on Monday. Why don’t you come with me? I could use another set of eyes.”

  “Could we visit a dairy I’ve been talking to?” Cassie watched the waiter replace her bowl of soup with a fluffy yellow soufflé.

  “Of course, and there’s an antique store I’d like to visit. I’ll pack a picnic.” When James smiled he looked like a schoolboy.

  “You’re right.” Cassie ate a spoonful of soufflé. It tasted sweet and slipped down her throat. “It’s much easier to eat dessert.”

  * * *

  Alexis was standing in front of the Fresh counter on the first floor, spritzing her wrist with perfume. She waved as Cassie and James descended the escalator. “We just finished yoga and I thought I’d see if you’re ready to go home. Derek is sweet enough to hold Poodles while I sample these delicious new scents.” Alexis wore orange tights and a purple leotard. She had taupe ballet slippers on her feet and her hair was pulled into a ponytail.

  “Only you could walk into Fenton’s half-naked and look better than any other woman in the store.” Cassie grinned. She studied herself in the makeup mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were pale but she felt a little better. The lemon soufflé had been the first thing that tasted good all week.

  Alexis took Poodles from Derek. “We should go home, Poodles needs his nap. Unless you’d like to stay.” Alexis looked pointedly at James.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce you.” Cassie blushed. “This is James Parrish, the interior designer.”

  “I heard you’re a boy genius.” Alexis smiled.

  “Hardly a genius,” James replied. He turned to Cassie. “I better get back to work. Shall we say ten o’clock on M
onday? I’ll pick you up.”

  “That would be great.” Cassie nodded, avoiding Alexis’s questioning gaze.

  * * *

  “You didn’t tell me he wears glasses,” Alexis said as they drove home.

  “I didn’t remember.” Cassie gripped the dashboard as Alexis took a sharp turn onto Sacramento Street.

  “He reminds me of Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral, before he got soft and middle-aged.” Alexis pulled into the garage. “Getting out was good for you. You have a little color in your cheeks.”

  “Thanks.” Cassie nodded. “The emporium is coming to life.”

  “Did I hear you planning a date with James?” Alexis asked casually, scooping up Poodles and opening the car door.

  “A business trip. We’re going to drive up to Sonoma and look at some art.” Cassie slammed her door. “I’m married, Alexis, and James has a beautiful southern fiancée.”

  “I’m just saying”—Alexis opened the door to the kitchen—“you have a little color in your cheeks.”

  * * *

  Cassie climbed up to the third floor and collapsed on the bed. She missed her own bedroom, her view of the garden, her sock drawer with socks of every length and fabric. She wanted to slip on fuzzy slipper socks and climb under her down comforter.

  It had been fun to go to Fenton’s, to see the emporium take shape, but suddenly she felt like there was a weight flattening her chest. She picked up her cell phone and saw six missed calls from Aidan. She dialed his number and was about to hit SEND when the phone rang.

  “Where have you been?” Aidan asked before she could say hello. “I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

  “I left my phone here. I was at Fenton’s.”

  “You have a whole closet of clothes here,” Aidan said tightly.

  “I’m going to help with the food emporium while I’m staying with Alexis,” Cassie replied awkwardly.

  “So your mother can point out how terrible your husband is? You don’t have time for the emporium, Cassie. We talked about that.”

  “I have time at the moment,” Cassie replied. “And I haven’t told my mother about the affair.”

  “It wasn’t an affair. It was one mistake.” Aidan’s voice was low and firm. “I want you to come home. I can’t open a bottle of red wine because you’re not here to help me finish it.”

  “I want to come home.” Cassie lay down on the bed. “Just not yet.”

  “Why don’t I come into the city for dinner tomorrow night? We can try one of those restaurants your mother raves about. I’ll wear a suit.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make you wear a suit.” Cassie laughed. “I’m not really up for eating out yet. Maybe next week.”

  “Okay, next week.” Aidan paused. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” Cassie hit END. She curled her body around the embroidered pillows. She just said no to a date with her husband, when there was nowhere else she’d rather be than in their bed, feeling the weight of his body against her.

  9.

  Alexis stood at the dining-room window, peeking through the silk curtains. She balanced a porcelain coffee cup in one hand and Poodles in the other. She wore navy leggings, a knee-length sweater, and gray UGG slippers.

  “You’re like an UGGs catalog. How many pairs do you own?” Cassie walked up behind her. She had spent a half hour in front of the mirror, dressing for the trip to Sonoma. She finally settled on a pair of pencil-thin black slacks, a yellow sweater, and a pair of Alexis’s black leather boots.

  “One of Carter’s clients is an investor. I have more UGGs than an Australian cowboy.” Alexis put her coffee cup on the sideboard.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your leather boots. My mother only sent me Prada and Gucci. I don’t think that’ll work in Sonoma.”

  “Today’s the big date.” Alexis turned around. “You look very stylish.”

  “It’s not a date. And I’m dressing for the potential vendors we’ll be meeting.” Cassie scowled.

  “Then you look businesslike and stylish.” Alexis grinned. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to make the emporium a fabulous success.”

  “Mother wants the grand opening to be April thirtieth. She thinks everyone moves as fast as she does. What are you doing at the window?”

  “Looking to see what kind of car James drives. You can tell a lot about a guy by his choice in automobile.” Alexis ducked behind the curtain. “Silver Audi, I approve. Doesn’t feel like he has to drive a BMW to be manly. Doesn’t think he has to buy Japanese to be intelligent.”

  “You sound like you’re in high school.” Cassie shook her head.

  “If my husband was home more I could think about other things: running up to Tahoe for a weekend’s skiing, sharing fondue at Fleur de Lis, making love in our own bed. I’m tired of Skype sex, it’s so one-sided.” Alexis walked to the foyer and stood at the front door. “Maybe I’ll e-mail Aidan and ask him to send over the recipes for his soups. I could hunker down with Pia and make soups all winter.”

  “You’ve never mixed anything in your kitchen except coffee and cream.” Cassie giggled.

  “Be good.” Alexis watched Cassie walk down the stone path. “I’ll wait up.”

  * * *

  James jumped out of the car and opened Cassie’s door. He wore navy slacks and a white button-down shirt under a Shetland wool sweater. His hair was parted to the side and flopped over one eye.

  “I brought a picnic.” James peered out the car window. The sky was dark and clouds hung low over the bay. “Soft cheese, fresh baguettes, and rice pudding. All foods that don’t require chewing.”

  Cassie blushed. “I hope it doesn’t rain.” Suddenly she was embarrassed she’d told him about Aidan’s transgression.

  James saw her cheeks redden and tried to change the subject. “Alexis has quite a house. Like an English manor in an Evelyn Waugh novel.”

  “Alexis’s husband runs a hedge fund. He just broke the nine-figure barrier. He’s traveling in some European country that has the square footage of a postage stamp and half of California’s gross product. Alexis is pretty lonely.”

  “Why doesn’t she get a job?” James maneuvered the car onto the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Cassie looked back and saw the outline of San Francisco, the tops of buildings hidden by fog.

  “Carter’s not too keen on the idea. I told Alexis she should join a charity, but she doesn’t want to be bossed around by a bunch of aging debutantes. She does a lot of yoga.”

  “Emily loves to cook. She makes a lot of southern dishes: pan-fried chicken, corn bread, peach cobblers. Somehow she manages to stay rail thin; she inherited a fast metabolism,” James replied.

  “My husband spends a lot of time in the kitchen. He makes the best soups,” Cassie said. Suddenly she didn’t want to talk. She watched the hills and redwood trees of Marin turn into the countryside of Sonoma.

  “I’m sorry,” James said when the silence stretched on. “I didn’t mean to talk about your husband.”

  “It’s my fault. I want to concentrate on the emporium but I can’t get Aidan out of my head.” Cassie shrugged.

  “Hamlet’s ghost.” James grinned. “I brought a bottle of Chardonnay for our picnic. That will help blur the images.”

  “We have an appointment at Bridges Dairy Farm at eleven.” Cassie took out a pen and notepad from her purse. “It’s a family-owned dairy in east Sonoma.”

  Cassie watched the vineyards slip by outside the window: miles and miles of green and purple grapes. She turned to James. “How did you end up as an interior designer?”

  “My parents live in a high-rise in Chicago. My father’s an architect. He wanted me to be an architect; my mother wanted me to be an attorney. Growing up, I spent weekends and summers on my grandparents’ farm.” James maneuvered the car off the main road, down an unpaved lane.

  “When my parents started fighting over my career, I told them I wanted to move to the farm.” James laughed. “That set
off a family war. I finally agreed to go to college and I discovered I loved designing buildings: not the hard exteriors, but the warm insides. I loved creating spaces that made people happy. Designing restaurants seemed natural. People are happiest when they’re eating and drinking.” He pulled up in front of a white farmhouse.

  James jumped out of the car and opened Cassie’s door. The outside air was frigid. Cassie wished she’d brought a thick coat and a pair of gloves. There was a picture of a cow on the front door and a black-and-white doorbell.

  A blond man answered the door and a petite woman with blue eyes stood next to him. A girl with blond pigtails jumped behind them, as if she was waiting for a clown at a birthday party.

  “Come in.” The man ushered them inside. “This is my wife, Selma, and our daughter, Jenny.”

  “Would you like to see the cows?” the girl asked. She was about ten years old, with a snub nose and a face full of freckles.

  “Not quite yet.” James grinned. “I bet the cows are the stars around here.”

  “Our cows won five gold medals at the county fair.” Jenny nodded proudly. “Would you like a glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies? I made them myself.”

  Jenny disappeared into the kitchen and Cassie and James sat in the living room opposite a bay window overlooking the cow pasture.

  “We own over twenty acres.” Selma followed her gaze. “We have two hundred cows, and they’re free to graze in the pastures. We don’t use antibiotics and all their feed is organic.”

  “It sounds like just what we’re looking for at Fenton’s.” Cassie smiled.

  “We’re very excited about our new line of products.” John squeezed his wife’s hand. “We produce churned butter with sea salt imported from France. And we just started a line of yogurt with cream on top that sold very well at the farmers market.”

  “Try the milk. It’s from Ollie, my favorite cow,” Jenny interrupted, placing a tray and two glasses on the coffee table.

  “Did you milk her yourself?” James took a cookie and dipped it in the glass of milk.

  “My dad says I’m not old enough. Ollie is my best friend. Would you like to meet her?”