“It’s really Melina’s enterprise, you understand,” Janie replied softly, daring to look directly at him. His eyes were so blue! She had let her gaze linger, and she felt herself become transfixed, mesmerized, the way she used to feel when looking at the sun-dazzled sea for too long.
He smiled at her, amused. “Ah, Melina warned me you were too modest, my dear,” Alain told her. “A lovely attribute in a woman.”
“Well, I’ve enough pride for both of us,” Melina interjected. “You should see Janie’s concepts for this shoot we just completed, Alain. They’re fantastic!”
“Melina, please,” Janie muttered, blushing deeply and shaking her head, “don’t exaggerate.”
“You see what I have to deal with, Alain?” Melina replied with mock exasperation. “She’s impossible!”
“So tell me, impossible woman,” Alain asked, “how did dear Zachary take the news of your defection? He must be quite furious with you two!” Alain laughed, showing his perfect white teeth. “I do wish I could have been there!”
Janie shot Melina a desperate look, but she merely shrugged her shoulders in response, leaving the decision up to Janie.
“Actually, Alain,” Janie replied hesitantly, “he doesn’t know … yet. I haven’t officially resigned from D&D. This has all just been happening so fast.”
“Ah, how splendidly absurd!” Alain cried, leaning back in his chair. “So you’re designing creative for two competing agencies? That’s really quite marvelous.”
“Melina has told you, I hope,” Janie began uncertainly. “I mean, you do understand that what I’m doing is, well, a secret?”
Alain crossed his arms and studied Janie silently for a moment. “It’s more than a secret, I think. It’s potentially something of a scandal. You are so innocent-looking, my dear, to be playing such a grown-up game.”
“Oh, Alain, please don’t lecture,” Melina broke in. “We all know perfectly well that I’m the she-devil here. Janie, as usual, is just trying to make everybody happy. And, as usual, she’s doing a damned good job.”
Alain smiled at Janie, and then leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. “I apologize. Of course, you are aware of what you’re doing. Now let’s put talk of business behind us for the time being. I’m quite tempted to order a bottle of Condrieu. What do you say, my dears?”
The lunch flew by in a golden haze of sunlight and wine and laughter. Melina and Alain seemed so at ease with each other and, in different ways, so solicitous of Janie. Just what was their relationship based on these days? Janie wondered at one point, jealousy rushing through her like adrenaline. Suddenly alert, she watched Melina’s gestures and expressions closely, monitoring each smile and glance. She studied Alain’s responses, his shrugs and laughter, and slowly she felt herself relax once again. There was flirtatiousness, there was a great deal of kidding, but this was not love. Those deep, sure currents ran through Janie so strongly, she felt she would know instinctively if someone else’s life was swept up by similar forces.
“So has Melina told you that she’s been badgering me for my business?” Alain asked Janie pleasantly as they were served demitasse cups of espresso coffee.
“Oh, no … Melina?” Janie demanded, shocked and more than a little hurt. Melina had promised that she would not pursue D&D clients.
“Don’t listen to him, Janie,” Melina replied laughingly. “I would hardly call that accidental meeting last week pursuit, Alain. And, besides, even if I did like the idea of working on some part of the Chanson account, I wouldn’t badger you for it.”
“No?” Alain demanded, his eyebrows arched. “Just what would you do for it, then?”
In a low seductive voice, she replied, “I would beg.” They all began to laugh.
“I’ll tell you what I told her,” Alain went on, turning to Janie. “You come up with something very special for the spring promotion, and I’ll entertain the idea of giving you the project.”
And at that moment, if not before, Janie’s future at D&D was decided. What could Michael and Zach possibly give her compared with what Melina had already given? She smiled at Alain. This was all she wanted: just to look at him, just to be with him.
“Something special?” Janie replied, trying to keep herself from staring too long into his gaze. It was like staring at the sun, she thought: brilliant and potentially blinding. “I don’t think that should be too difficult.”
“I can’t believe,” Louella said, breaking into Janie’s reverie right after Zach’s speech, “that you’re leaving here without another job lined up.” Janie looked back at her, startled, and perhaps for the first time registered the fact that they were no longer friends. It had happened so gradually, the slow cooling off of affection, the wearing away of common ground. When was the last time they’d talked on the phone after work? Janie tried to remember. It had been months. And it was Janie’s fault, she knew. She hadn’t kept up, she hadn’t even tried to stay in touch. Melina had stepped in, taken over the role of Janie’s best friend, and had made sure that there wasn’t much room for second bests. And how could Janie not have welcomed her? Melina was everything Janie and Louella were not: sleek, confident, moving ahead with sure, swift strides. And yet, facing Louella again, Janie felt a tug of regret. She missed Lou’s avid interest in Janie’s affairs; Melina spent most of the time talking about herself. And she felt the loss of Lou’s practical, no-nonsense opinions and advice.
“Well, I have a few irons in the fire…” Janie started to explain.
“Bull,” Louella replied bluntly. “In my experience ‘irons in the fire’ mean you’ve got zilch. What’s the deal here, Janie? It isn’t like you to go off half-cocked.”
“I just need a change,” Janie began with her usual line once again. “And I thought this would be a good time to make it. You know, the end of one year … the beginning of…”
“Is that what you told the guys?” Louella cut her off. She nodded across the room to the piano where a crowd of people, including Michael and Zach, had started singing carols. Zach had his arm around the waist of one of the younger and prettier secretaries. A glass of wine dangled from his hand.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Janie replied.
“And they bought it?” Louella demanded.
“Why shouldn’t they?” Janie asked, keeping her tone light.
“Because I think it’s only more bull,” Louella replied simply, “that’s why.”
“Excuse me?” Janie retorted. “Perhaps, Lou, you should just come out and say whatever it is you intend to say.”
“You sure you want to hear this?” Louella demanded, folding her arms across her substantial chest. She had on a red and white polka-dotted nylon dress that buttoned down the front. Where the fabric didn’t quite join at the buttonholes, bright patches of chartreuse slip flashed through. Like the Empire State Building, Louella was frequently dressed in the colors of the season. This, Janie recognized, was Louella’s personal red and green salute to Christmas.
“Just say it,” Janie replied impatiently, recalling how Louella loved to dramatize and drag out her endless anecdotes and observations. She and Janie used to talk for hours about other people’s lives; it occurred to Janie even then that it was because they weren’t really living their own.
“I’ve been at D&D since the day it opened,” Louella replied in the sure, determined pace of someone who has memorized the lines. “You know, in the beginning it was just Michael, Zach, and me. I watched it grow, from the ground up. I put in my time here. I’ve given my blood.”
“I know all this, Lou,” Janie cut in, scanning the noisy room for signs of Zach. “But what does it have to do with me?”
“So you’ll understand,” Louella plowed on, “that I feel a certain right—a responsibility, really—to protect this place. You know, I’m like the keeper of the gate here. I’ve got to know who comes and goes … and where they go.”
Janie, who was only half listening up u
ntil that moment, now glanced sharply at Louella.
“Yeah, you got it,” Louella told her. “I know about you and Melina.”
“And what,” Janie asked, trying to sound a lot calmer than she felt, “do you think you know?”
“You’re doing work for her, aren’t you?” Louella blurted out. “You’ve even visited her at her new office. I saw you down at Union Square … and that’s where she is.” Hurt and anger made Louella’s voice loud and strident. Janie glanced around the room, but everyone was too involved with partying to hear them.
“Have you actually been following me?” Janie demanded softly. “You have, haven’t you? And listening in at the switchboard to my phone conversations? Oh, Lou … that’s … that’s sad.”
“I was just doing what was right,” Louella responded truculently. “And I’m not about to apologize to you. I’ll tell you something else, Janie,” Louella went on, throwing back her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re going. You’ve changed. And I don’t mean for the better.”
“I’m sorry that’s how you feel,” Janie replied, and she did feel bad. She knew, all too well, what Louella was feeling because she’d gone through it so many times herself. In the past it had always been Janie who stood in the wings and watched people who had once fleetingly been her friends move on to the center stage of life. “I’m sorry I can’t leave on better terms with you.”
“Terms?” Louella snapped. “Is that how you’re talking now? Perhaps we can negotiate something, huh?”
“Oh, come on, Lou.” Janie sighed. “I meant friends. I’m sorry I can’t leave as your friend.”
“Let me tell you something, Janie,” Louella responded, her voice bitter. “Friends don’t leave. Friends don’t get so busy they can’t at least pick up the phone and call. Friends aren’t stepping stones to other people. They’re not waiting rooms you sit around in until you decide where it is you want to go. Friends, real friends, Janie, are people who last. They may not be beautiful. Or smart. They not be the greatest conversationalists in the world. But I’ll tell you something. In the end, when you’re lonely, when you can’t sleep, when you’re in trouble, you look around, you count up who’s there for you. Those people? They’re your friends.”
Louella didn’t give Janie time to frame a proper response. She turned quickly, strode across the room, and started to fussily refill the paper trays with candy and chips. Janie sighed, put down her glass of wine, and went in search of Zach. No, it hadn’t been easy. But now she was more than ready to go.
Chapter 18
The windshield wipers beat a steady brush-and-slide as the taxi worked its way uptown through the chill, slanting rain. Zach, silent beside Janie in the back seat, stared out at the shuttered storefronts along Amsterdam Avenue and tried to work out just what the hell he was doing. What, for chrissakes, prompted him to say at the end of their lovely dinner together at La Reserve, “It’s early still. Why don’t we go back to my place for a cognac … you could help me trim my Christmas tree.”
It was the kind of line he’d pull on one of his girlfriends, dammit, and it almost broke his heart to hear Janie reply, “You bought a tree, Zach? It doesn’t seem like you somehow.”
“It isn’t, sweetie,” he’d been forced to explain. “I was only kidding. But, who knows? Maybe we can find one on the way.” Now he tried hard to remember if he had any cognac, or Christmas decorations, or if his cleaning woman had come this week or was coming next. He shouldn’t have had that wine at dinner, he knew. Because of Walter, he never drank.
He was still trying to work out why he decided tonight would be an exception when Janie cried, “Look, Zach!” She was pointing down a side street to a row of bedraggled pines, still wrapped like mummies in their twine. They were stacked up against the plastic awning of a Korean grocery store. “Are we far from your place?”
“No, we can walk it from here,” Zach told her, leaning forward to say to the driver, “We’ll get out at the corner, thanks.”
As neither of them had an umbrella, and the unexpected downpour seemed to be worsening by the minute, it was, Zach decided as soon as they’d let the cab go, an insane thing to do. But Janie didn’t seem to mind. She chatted with the tall, gangly boy who was selling the trees, carefully testing the spring of the limbs and the span of the branches, while icy water plastered her hair against her head.
“Is this one too big, Zach?” she called over to him at one point where he was standing under the shelter of the awning, watching her with a mixture of amusement and sadness. Most women he knew hated even to get their shoes wet, and here Janie was, her hair soaked, smiling brightly at him. It was a smile that beamed, that promised warmth and uncomplicated affection. That face: it tugged at his heart. He stared at her for a second, struck by the realization that his actions that evening—his drinking, the invitation back to his place—were far from impulsive or arbitrary. What was happening to him? he wondered.
“It’s perfect,” he told her, pulling out his wallet. “Now come on, let’s get you home. You’re drenched.”
“Thank you, sir,” the boy replied when Zach had tipped him an extra five dollars, “and Merry Christmas to you and your wife.”
Zach’s apartment just off Columbus Avenue was the top floor of a brownstone that had recently been converted to a co-op. He’d purchased his place at a reduced “insider” price, but more because he didn’t want the bother of moving out than for the substantial real estate value it provided. One only needed a quick glance around the apartment to see why moving would pose something of a problem: the apartment was lined with overflowing bookcases. They ran down the front hall, rose floor-to-ceiling in the dining room, and occupied several handsome antique mahogany cases in the living room along with an eclectic but impressive array of other antiques: a Shaker side chair, a pair of late nineteenth century American Gothic tables, a signature black leather Eames chair, a Tiffany lamp, a row of pewter mugs and bowls on the mantelpiece. Janie had grown up surrounded by Faith’s passion for American antiques; she recognized originals when she saw them.
“You’re a puzzle, Zach,” she told him as he helped her strip off her rain-drenched coat. “The way your office looks, I would have guessed you lived off vegetable crates.” She ran her hand along the surface of a well-polished maple drop-leaf table.
“Yes,” Zach replied, “I’m afraid that Salvation Army look at the agency is all for show. These days, at least. I actually started collecting things, though, off the street. I used to live on the Bowery. Bought the Tiffany lamp there,” he said, leading her into the living room, “though I had no idea of its value at the time. Poor bum who sold it to me just wanted enough for a bottle of wine.”
As he had most of the evening, Zach sounded sad and tired. He went around the room turning on lights.
“Where shall we put the tree?” Janie asked gaily, hoping to break through his gloom. “I think it would be nice over there by the window. That way other people can see it when they look up from the street. What do you think?”
“I think you better get out of those soaking clothes and get dried off,” Zach replied. “I’ll go see what I can find.” He came back a few minutes later with a neatly folded white terrycloth robe and several bath towels.
“But Zach, this looks brand new,” Janie protested as he handed her the robe. The cloth was soft and obviously expensive.
“It is,” Zach replied, “one of a dozen such things I’ve been given by well-meaning girlfriends over the years. Real men don’t wear bathrobes, Janie. A point to remember, if you ever need to buy a man a gift.”
“What do they wear?” she asked, taking the towels.
“None of your business,” he replied quickly, fighting back the sort of glib answer he would have given any other woman but Janie in this situation. Like “why don’t we find out?” or “as little as possible.” He pointed down the hall and told her, “Bedroom’s on the left, bath’s on the right. Just shout if you need anyth
ing.”
From what she had already seen of Zach’s apartment, Janie shouldn’t have been surprised by his bedroom. But the bed alone—a huge New England four-poster covered with a Baltimore crazy quilt—made her stop in the doorway and stare. Time and care had gone into the arrangement of furniture and decor: the Massachusetts Federal dressing table, the gold leaf mirror above the chest of golden oak drawers, the antique Serapi rug, the embroidered throw pillows tossed along the headboard. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and tried to square the Zach she thought she knew with the man who lived in this apartment. She went over to examine the books that were stacked up on the open rolltop desk by the window, looking for clues. There were several dense-looking novels, a history of the French Revolution, and a beautifully produced, oversized book of nude photographs of women. She flipped quickly through the pages. How lovely they all were, Janie thought, sighing, pushing the book away. She stepped out of her soggy high heels, peeled off damp panty hose, then reached back and unzipped her velvet jumper. The hem was splattered with mud, sagging with dampness. She walked across the room to the closet to find a hanger, watching her reflection approach in the full-length mirror that was built into the closet door.
At some point in the hullabaloo of getting the tree back through the storm, her hair had come loose from its usual twist. It spilled over her shoulders—red and gold, a tumble of curls. She had on her favorite white silk slip, the one edged with lace at the bust and hem. She stared at herself: the slight frown above the sea-green gaze, the full lips, the pert but determined chin … and then downward. Well, her breasts really weren’t half bad: they were full enough and rather nicely shaped. But, heavens, the rest of her! She ran her hands along her hips, longing to be able to smooth them down, to remake herself, to become, miraculously, one of the sylphlike women in Zach’s photographs. But she had longed for that transformation all her life, she reminded herself. It wasn’t about to happen now.
Changes of Heart Page 14
