“Yes,” Jane nodded dutifully, but Martine could see that the subject didn’t thrill her.
“The Boston Penrods?” Martine prodded.
Jane nodded again.
“Well, this is just marvelous!” Martine enthused, though she could sense Jane’s unhappy reaction to her discovery. But why in the world should the girl be displeased? The Penrod fortune was as old and probably a great deal more secure than the Chansons’. This lovely, gentle child was an heiress! If she and Alain married, it would mean the joining of two wealthy, revered families. It would, Martine realized with mounting joy, look like a social coup on Martine’s part! She could already imagine spreading the news to all her Paris friends. Where would the wedding be? Boston or Paris? Either one would be acceptable to Martine. Boston was the only city in America that Martine considered halfway civilized.
“My dear,” Martine added as they started to walk back down the path toward Alain, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that my son has found you. He seems so happy. It’s been years since I’ve seen him looking so relaxed.”
“I doubt it has anything to do with me,” Jane replied quickly, looking away from Martine across the darkening back lawn. “He obviously loves it here. It was good for him to get away from business worries for more than a weekend.”
“And you?” Martine demanded gently. “Has it been good for you?”
“Oh, yes,” Jane replied promptly, but Martine heard the hesitancy behind her words. “It has been a delight.” But still Martine detected the undercurrent of doubt in Jane’s tone, and she noticed how, once they’d sat down again beside Alain, Jane rarely met her son’s gaze. And yet—oh, his feelings were so patently clear—he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And he talked of nothing else.
“Jane is a superb artist, Maman,” he was telling her. “And not just commercially. She’s done some beautiful sketches of the house and vineyards. Jane, darling, did you bring your sketchbook to show Maman?”
“No, Alain, it’s still at the lodge,” Jane replied, and turning to Martine she added, “They’re nothing, really. Just little thumbnails of spots we might want to use in the brochure.”
“She’s ridiculously modest, Maman,” Alain said. “I tell you—and all her colleagues agree—she’s enormously talented.”
“I’m curious, my dear,” Martine said to Jane, “why you decided to go into commercial work. Surely you didn’t need to … and it can’t be that artistically rewarding.”
“Actually, I did need to,” Jane told her simply, “for many reasons. Mostly because I wanted to make it on my own. I needed to prove to myself that I was something—someone—besides a Penrod. I guess it’s difficult to understand, but…”
“No,” Martine told her, “I do understand.” Martine, after all, had felt the same drive to prove herself. Born with all the advantages a wealthy, established Bordelaise family offered, Martine had never been content to sit back—as all her sisters and friends had done—and play out her life as wife and mother. Martine, too, had needed to prove herself if, as Jane had put it, only to herself. Chanson International had been her proving ground, just as the advertising agency was Jane’s. Yes, she understood what Jane Penrod meant, and it worried her. Because deep in her heart she knew—with the surety only a mother can feel—that Alain didn’t understand. And that he never would.
Chapter 34
“Janie,” Zach exclaimed, smiling stupidly down at her, “good to see you.” He hardly knew what he was saying and realized he looked like a grinning idiot. Good to see her? It was marvelous! If even for a brief moment during this deadly dull cocktail hour before the graphics awards dinner. Both Bliss & Penrod and Dorn & Delaney had been nominated in several categories and, though Zach despised these professional affairs, it would have looked bad if the agency wasn’t represented. Since Michael’s oldest daughter was graduating from elementary school that night, Zach had volunteered his services. He had admitted to no one, including himself, that he had really gone with the hope of running into Janie. He hadn’t seen her since her return from France, though they’d talked on the phone.
“It’s good to see you, too, Zach,” she replied, smiling back, and then looked questioningly at the woman beside him. She was a redhead, tall and pale-skinned, with the tough, carefully made-up beauty of a fashion model.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Zach muttered. “Jane Penrod, Elise Marshall.”
“Hi,” the tall redhead said, smiling with her perfect teeth. Her eyes were pale blue and not at all warm, Janie thought, at least not toward her.
“Hello,” Janie replied, “nice to meet you. Are you a model?” she added, knowing that fashion models doted on recognition and that one could never go wrong asking a woman that question. “You look somehow … familiar.”
“No,” Elise simpered, “I’m not, though everybody assumes that for some reason. I’m a head flight attendant. You’ve probably met me with Zach before,” she added, taking his arm possessively. “We’ve been together for years just about.”
For one brief moment Zach struggled with the almost overwhelming desire to shake himself free of Elise. He stared at her—then Janie—and realized the awful truth: Elise looked familiar to Janie because she looked’—just a little but not nearly enough—like Janie. Over the last few weeks he had taken up with her again, dating her when she was in town, calling her long distance wherever her flight schedule took her. She was easy enough to be with. She was a decent cook and an adequate lover. But, he realized now, the real reason he was seeing her was that in certain lights and at particular moments she reminded him of the woman he really loved. Janie. He loved Janie. God, he loved her…
“Zachary.” Alain Chanson came up and slipped his arm around Janie’s waist. “What on earth are you doing here? And in a tuxedo, no less?”
“We’re nominated for some stuff,” Zach responded with difficulty. His tongue felt suddenly thick and useless, and his heart felt like lead. He looked from Janie, radiant in a dark blue sequined strapless dress, to Alain and came to the same conclusion as Liz Smith in Newsday: they were in love. “For some of the work we did for you, as a matter of fact,” Zach added, trying desperately to regain his composure. “So what are you doing with the competition here?”
“Oh, I love to see my agencies fight over me!” Alain replied buoyantly, squeezing Janie’s arm. “Why do you think I’m here?” he added, smiling across at Janie. “I’m reduced to following this woman around like a little lap dog. I go where she goes, and she insisted we attend this silly affair tonight. Where are you sitting? Perhaps we can switch tables and all suffer through this together?”
“I don’t think the sponsors would like that,” Elise inserted dryly, pulling Zach closer.
“I doubt they’d give a damn,” Zach retorted, glancing over the sea of tables and the people in evening dress. “We’re somewhere over there. Wait, here’s the ticket,” Zach added, looking down at his printed stub. “Table five. And I think there are two empty seats. Why not join us?” he said, his gaze coming to rest again on Janie. She gave him a look he couldn’t quite read—sadness, regret? Did she know what he was going through, how his heart was aching and his thoughts a total confusion? Yes, she probably did, he decided. She probably felt terribly sorry for him, and in that instant he regretted his decision to invite them to the table. But by then it was too late.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Elise hissed at him as they led the way arm in arm toward Table 5. “You promised me there wouldn’t be any business talk tonight. And besides which, I don’t like that woman, that Jane whozzits. She’s cold as ice.”
“She’s not,” Zach retorted. “She’s really a very sweet person. And we won’t talk business, I promise. Janie and I are friends. We go back a long way.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Elise hissed. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of. Listen, Zach, I could tell as soon as you saw her what was going on. And if you think I’m going to sit still while yo
u start to put the moves on some old love of yours, you can just—”
“Shut up,” Zach snapped. “Just … be quiet. Listen, if you want to know the truth, I asked them over because Alain is a client, okay? Do you understand that much? Alain is an important client who happens to also give Janie’s small agency a bit of work from time to time. I’d rather he didn’t—you can understand that, I suppose? And in order to make nice with him I asked him to sit with us when he expressed some interest in doing so. It’s business, pure and simple. And if you don’t like that, Elise, you can leave right now.”
“I thought you just said it wasn’t business,” Elise began. But then she thought better of it and said, “Okay, okay, baby. Don’t get all upset. I can’t stand it when you get in one of your moods. I’ll be quiet … and good … and sweet as honey. Okay? I’ll be whatever my Zachary wants.”
The awards dinner was being held in one of the huge, cavernous ballrooms at one of New York’s newest and largest hotels. Over one hundred round tables filled the windowless room. Between the ventilation fans that whined overhead trying to keep a trickle of air circulating and the clinking and chattering of the large assembly, it was almost impossible to hear what anyone—except the person seated to your immediate left or right—was saying. And as things worked out, Elise sat on Zach’s left, Janie on his right. He resolved from the start that he would speak to Janie as little as possible, sparing himself whatever pain he could.
He turned to Elise resolutely and said, “What do you bet we’ll be starting with a chilled fruit salad, followed by some iceberg lettuce heavily coated with a cheesy dressing? Dinner will be chicken—either doused in brown gravy or smothered with mushrooms—rice and carrots. Dessert: a puddinglike chocolate mousse or pecan pie with a sugary melting mound of ice cream on top.” Just as Zach finished his speech, a waiter placed a bowl of chilled fruit salad in front of him.
“How did you know?” Elise asked seriously, looking down at the fruit the waiter set down in front of her. “Were you on the menu committee or something?”
“No, it’s just that I’ve been to so many…”
Zach started to explain his joke wearily when Janie leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Ten to one we’re blessed with iceberg lettuce next with Roquefort dressing.”
“Double or nothing,” Zach replied with a laugh, “you get two uneatable tomato wedges with it.” He made the mistake of meeting her gaze as he spoke and immediately regretted his folly. If her familiar smile held him, her gray-green eyes captivated him entirely. He’d forgotten—or at least tried to suppress—how funny she could be.
“You’re looking well, Zach,” Janie added softly. Zach glanced past her to see Alain conversing gallantly with the matron to his right. He could hear Elise introducing herself in her best flight attendant announcement voice to the man on her left. He allowed himself a moment to study Janie: the golden red hair piled up on her head, the luminous skin, the lips so soft and full it would be difficult for any man not to think about what it would be like to kiss them. But for Zach who had kissed them, it was impossible to think of anything else. He forced himself to drop his gaze, and unfortunately for him it came to rest on Janie’s cleavage. Dark blue sequins glittered against the creamy rise of her breasts.
“You’re looking well, too, Janie,” he said, aware that his voice sounded shaky. His eyes met hers, and he again caught that sense of sadness in her gaze. “But nobody has to tell you that anymore, I guess.”
“You can never hear it enough, Zach,” Janie replied with a gentle smile. “Especially from the person who told you first. Now, tell me about Elise. Oh, don’t worry,” Janie added when he started to turn to see if his date could hear them, “Fred Wilson’s got her ear for now and, knowing him, he’ll talk it off until the awards ceremony. She’s … lovely, Zach. How does she rate on your old scale?”
“I don’t rate women anymore,” Zach replied simply, realizing the truth of the statement only as he said it. When had he stopped that long-established practice? he wondered. When he realized subconsciously that no one would ever measure up to Janie? “I just … try to be happy.”
“And are you?”
“Some of the time, yes,” Zach replied. Like right now, he wanted to add. Like whenever I talk to you on the phone. All told, that would probably add up to around thirty minutes out of the last couple of million. “And what about you? How does it feel to be living a dream come true—isn’t that what the papers are calling it?”
“What papers?” Janie laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken to reading the gossip columns, Zach?”
“No…” he countered lamely, “that’s just what people are saying. Louella, for one. She can’t get enough of the story.”
“Oh, how is Lou?” Janie asked eagerly.
“She’s fine. We’re all fine. We’re all the same, Janie. You’re the only one who’s … changed.”
“You think for the better, Zach?” Janie asked in a lowered voice. Her eyes caught his again, held them, demanded a real answer. Feigned breeziness wouldn’t do. His gaze came to rest on her lips again. He ached to kiss them. He longed to pull her into his arms. To hell with this crowd, with Alain, Elise. He yearned to tell her, I love you, Janie, I need you.
But, he reminded himself abruptly, she wasn’t asking about him. Dammit, when was he going to learn? If you loved somebody, you had to let them go—find their own way, make their own mistakes. After years of trying to change and reform his father, Zach had finally faced that difficult truth. The same lesson applied to Janie. The worst thing he could do right now, he told himself, was to tell her she was wrong about Alain Chanson. He wasn’t a dream come true. He was a handsome, smooth, charming enough man who would love Janie for all the wrong reasons. He would want to mold her into the vision he had of what a wife and mother should be. And then he would want her to remain the perfect model woman he had created—never changing, never growing.
Alain had confided to him once after a long, pleasant client dinner, “Yes, Zach, I screw around—as you in America so delicately put it. I take whatever is offered. But, honestly, I am looking always for the woman who will be my wife. Someone honest and pure. Someone to raise my children, to continue the Chanson lineage.”
“Sounds like you’re looking for some kind of breeding mare, Alain,” Zach had scoffed. “I can’t imagine a duller dinner companion.”
“I’m not looking for laughs,” Alain had replied seriously. “I’m looking for someone to share my philosophy of what marriage and family should be. Someone I can protect and adore. Someone—this will sound a bit idealistic, I suppose—but someone in whom I can entrust my seed.”
“Idealistic, yes,” Zach had answered him honestly, “and chauvinistic. What about the woman’s life? Her background? Her heritage? She’s going to be bringing her own personality and needs to this thing, too, you know. Your marriage setup sounds pretty one-sided to me. How are you planning to cope with her opinions? What if she won’t be content with just the wife and mother role? What if she wants more?”
“What more?” Alain had demanded. “There’s absolutely no job more important in this world for a woman to perform. My wife will know that, Zach. When I find the right woman.” And, from all appearances, it seemed that Janie was that person.
Usually so cavalier and noncommittal about his affairs, Alain had gone out of his way to make it clear to the media that Janie and he were an item. Where before he had shunned the paparazzi, he now seemed to take genuine pleasure in their being photographed together. You couldn’t open up a magazine or newspaper these days without a glossy close-up of “Alain Chanson, heir to the Chanson Wine Fortune, and his glamorous new companion, Janie Penrod.” As for Alain, who had once made a point of ducking in and out of the city in a single day, he was spending an inordinate amount of time in Manhattan. Doing what? Lunching with Janie at Lutece. Waltzing her off to Ballet Theater gala fund-raisers. Catching a late bite at Chanterelle. And the more
Zach read about them together, the more he heard of their rapturous affair, the angrier he felt.
No, he told himself as his gaze traveled over the crowded, noisy room, it wasn’t anger. It was jealousy. Simple, undiluted, and unstoppable jealousy. It was a blinding, all encompassing feeling—and he knew that if he didn’t control it, he could easily shatter the hopes of the one person he really wanted to make happy in this world. A shudder—almost a physical jolt of pain—passed through him.
“Are you all right, Zach?” Janie asked. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, “considering this uneatable rubber chicken. No, I was just trying to think of the best way to tell you that…” But in the end he didn’t have to lie to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The master of ceremonies tapped his water glass, signaling for silence. “Welcome to the fifteenth annual Excellence in Advertising awards…”
The awards and acceptance speeches seemed to drag on forever. Zach, who had to wind his way up to the lectern three times, made his thank-yous as short and succinct as possible. Janie followed his example when the Bliss & Penrod name was called.
Zach felt his face flush when she said, in closing, “And I’m especially grateful for having been given the opportunity to learn from two of the finest—and craziest—men in our industry. Thank you, Michael … and Zach.”
“She is something, isn’t she?” Alain said, leaning toward Zach as they applauded Jane’s speech. “I’m grateful to you, too, Zach. For discovering her.”
It took every ounce of Zach’s self-control to simply nod and smile. He watched Janie work her way back through the crowd to their table. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. She seemed to be looking at him, she seemed to be walking toward him … but at the last moment, her gaze shifted to Alain as she sat down again at the table. Alain leaned over and kissed her temple, and Zach wrenched his gaze away from them, turning a frozen smile on a room that had grown suddenly dark.
Changes of Heart Page 27
