“Well?” Kevin had asked just two weeks earlier at Lincoln Center. “How’s freedom?”
“Everyone keeps telling me how half of publishing’s been fired.” She sat down by the fountain. “But secretly I know they all think I deserved it.” She’d never known how powerless, how utterly defeated, she could feel—as if she had to prove her competence to everyone. “I wouldn’t have gotten fired if it hadn’t been for …”
“Your overweening tastefulness?” He sat down next to her. “Your authors are going out of their minds, I have to tell you.” He swung his legs against the ledge of the fountain. “It would have helped if you’d let on what life was really like at Regent—if only you’d been less discreet.”
“It’s always been a problem of mine.”
He beat his fists together. “It’s horrible without you, Louey. I’m taking my vacation as soon as possible.” He took a breath. “And they promoted me.”
“Kevin!” She grabbed his arm. “That’s wonderful! At least now you won’t be at the beck and call of some cheap floozy.”
“I was worried they’d give me a straight man.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” She gazed into the foamy water, shielding her eyes. “I’m so glad my authors have you taking care of them.”
“You aren’t mad?” She stared, then put an arm around his shoulders. “Then you don’t mind if I put pictures of naked boys on all the covers, right?” He ducked a punch. “Just testing.” He took a deep breath. “So …”
She waited. “What?” He wouldn’t meet her eye. “What, Kevin?”
“It’s …” He watched a stream of overdressed young concertgoers pass. “Have you called Clay?”
She still could feel the cool hand on her shoulder as she’d turned to find him standing in her office on the verge of tears her last day.
“Every time I tried to mention him—”
“I went into a coma.” She sighed. “I just keep seeing—”
“Louey.” He covered her hand. “It’s not his fault.”
“I wrote him.” She studied her feet. “But I can’t bring myself to call him. What would I say: Hi, Clay—I’m so sorry about wanting you wiped from the planet, can we be friends a century from now, once I’ve forgotten how to spell Mia’s name?”
“That’s v-i-x-e-n.”
“And what if I don’t get a job? I won’t be much good to him then.” She blinked. “Or anybody.”
“I won’t listen to such talk.”
The thought of never working on a book again was too painful to bear. She rose to her feet. “Do you think a girl could get arrested just for leaping into the fountain?”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
She laughed, striking a pose as if preparing for a dive. “I know one way to find out …”
He took her outstretched hand. “Going somewhere?” He squeezed hard. She smiled, starting to slip her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go. “Without me?” he asked, holding fast.
Several weeks at her new office increased Louey’s elation; rather than confirming her worst fears, she learned there was a decent way to work. For the first time she looked forward to going to the office, going out with agents, authors. This was what it really meant to be an editor: to help books come to life. It was as if she had been freed from prison. She never dreamed she’d get to work with people she respected, people she could learn from, even like. It was a miracle.
Clay’s unfinished manuscript lay unopened in a corner of her office. She tried to call, but each time she picked up the phone she saw the shame contort his face as he looked first at Mia and then at her. The postcard had been faceless; talking to his voice seemed utterly impossible. Nor had Clay had the nerve to call her, either—though nearly the day after she’d mailed the card, she had gotten a note wishing her good luck finding a job. Now chances were he wouldn’t even finish working on his book. No, that was silly; surely he’d have found another publisher by now, an editor impressed by his connections, soaking up his charm! He was charming, she thought. Still, there was something that kept Clay from seeming smug or arrogant like other pretty, rich boys.
Odd that she hadn’t run into him walking down the street. Well, maybe not so odd; he took cabs everywhere—a cab for every mile she walked.
Her phone rang, startling her. She answered, cheerfully greeting a new author. In a minute she had turned from Clay’s manuscript and soon forgotten all but the work at hand.
“Is this the most fabulous brother the world has ever known?” Louey put her pencil down, surprised.
“Hello? Hello?” He tapped the phone. “Mr. de Mille?”
“I’m ready for my close-up.”
“Is this my retarded baby sister?”
“John-John?” She hadn’t heard his voice in years, it seemed. She straightened several papers on her desk. “How are you, Danny?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Peachy,” she said, “that’s how I am, if you must know. How was your trip?”
“Endless. But enough about you. What are you doing to prepare for my imminent visit?”
“When?”
“Friday. And I’m bringing someone, so you’d better mind your manners.”
“Someone? Is this a mystery sweetheart? A biological twin? No one told me.”
“Afraid you’d embarrass yourself, as usual.”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“I met her in—no, that was someone else. Japan, I think—or was it Guam? Her name is Carole. You’ll love her. Just don’t drool all over her in gratitude.”
“She gets more than enough of that from you, I bet.”
Friday arrived and he appeared at seven on the dot, a sweet-faced Asian woman in tow. Carole seemed to thrive on giving Danny a hard time, which instantly endeared her to his sister.
After a dinner that left them all slightly dazed with overindulgence, her brother’s girlfriend insisted on going out to get dessert. Brother and sister lay inert on the floor as Carole bustled out of the apartment.
“She’s wonderful.” Louey raised herself on one elbow. “How much are you paying her?”
“Millions,” he said fondly. “You should have one of your own, you know. Seeing anyone?”
Her stomach lurched. “No,” she said, swallowing. “No one since—”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, until her brother rose from the floor and plopped himself on the couch.
“Since—?” he prompted.
“Since Mia,” she managed, watching his face.
He studied her calmly; as far as she could tell, his expression hadn’t changed. “I was wondering if you’d ever tell me.”
“I didn’t think—”
“I’d understand? Louey.” He shook his head. “I want you to be happy, girl.”
“You do?” She was suddenly on the verge of tears, it seemed. Danny raised a hand as if to stop the flow, which finished her. She covered her brimming eyes.
He put an arm around her shoulders, caressing her hair. “You okay?”
“I just—” She tried to stop her eyes from spilling over. “I just wish I could get over her.”
“You deserve better.”
“It doesn’t exist.”
“Why? Because she was beautiful? Because she didn’t know a good thing enough to hold on to it?”
“She loved me.”
“Honey—” He tightened his hold. “Mia wasn’t in full control of her own emotions, much less anyone else’s. She certainly wasn’t capable of giving you real love.”
“How do you know?”
He sighed. “Sweetheart, I saw her with you all those years. You were like her—her toy, something she used to brighten up her days. The two of you acted like children, oblivious to the rest of the world.”
“Isn’t that what being in love is?”
“But it wasn’t the same for her. She loved being with you, I’m not saying she didn’t, but she was barely capable of taking care of herself, much less
being there for someone else. And there you were, willing to give up anything for her. She just didn’t deserve it.”
“I think she did.” At this the buzzer rang, and Danny got up to let Carole in. Her arms were full. Louey rose to take out dishes for dessert.
“Louey, why did you break up?” her brother said. His girlfriend glanced at him.
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, holding back another outbreak of sobs.
He came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Do you think it’s fair that after all you meant to each other, one day she could just say hit the road and that was that, no explanation necessary?” She shrugged; he shook her gently. “I’m not saying Mia meant to hurt you, I think she was just scared by how deeply you felt. I think that maybe what you had together wasn’t what you thought it was. You were so innocent, you know. Your first time in love—”
“What makes you say that?”
“Don’t be a dope.” He took a dish of ice cream from Carole’s hands. “I’m your brother, I know these things. Maybe it was just physical. Maybe it wasn’t really love.”
“We were friends for a long time first.”
“You were something, but I don’t know if it was friends. You were under each other’s spell. But there was always something vaguely unnatural about it.” He grimaced, stopping her objection. “I don’t mean that way. There was just this possessed quality about you both, this hypercharged air when you were together, as if you turned into completely different people.”
“Unlike lizard-face and me,” Carole interjected.
“Right,” he agreed. “Now we’re as boring as two old flannel shirts. We couldn’t be on good behavior with each other if we tried.”
“Well, that’s wonderful for you two,” Louey said, “but not everyone experiences love that way.”
“More’s the pity.” He took Carole in his arms, giving her a squeeze. She swatted him on the nose.
“Ratbag,” she said affectionately. “Now isn’t it time we all see how fat we can get?” She poised her spoon and beamed at Louey, looking so angelic Louey had no choice but to obey.
After they had left, Louey lay awake and listened to the music on the street, accompanied by the sound of car alarms. It amazed her that her brother had such strong opinions on a subject she’d thought he’d been utterly oblivious about. Imagine his not feeling anything but love for her. She pulled the covers tightly around her. Imagine thinking Mia wasn’t good enough for her, she marveled, dropping off to sleep.
The next day Louey walked into her office only to find her phone ringing insistently. I haven’t even taken off my shoes, she thought, picking up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Louey?”
“Is this my favorite art director?” No sooner had she greeted the familiar voice from her former office than Louey heard such unexpected news her heart stopped. Dead: Kevin was dead? He couldn’t be. Her friend had insufficient details to prevent the phrase from echoing mindlessly: Kevin dead? She hung up finally, bolting to the bathroom.
The publicity director stood before the mirror, toying with her hair. “You all right?” she asked, seeing Louey’s face.
“I just heard some bad news.” Louey stood by the sink uncertainly. At last the woman left, and Louey stared into the mirror.
“Better now?” Later in the day, she looked up to see the publicity director in her doorway. Better? thought Louey, nodding. She stared at the pages on her desk, wondering why they usually seemed to have meaning. What else mattered but that he was suddenly, forever, without warning, gone?
The next few weeks she went around the office in a daze. Her friends both in and out of work quickly found out what had happened, but they seemed bewildered that she was so shaken by it, so unable to smile or come up with her usual sarcastic quips. She couldn’t read or sleep; she couldn’t seem to do much of anything. Surely her shock would fade, she thought. It had to lift eventually. Yet each new day she felt as shaken and bewildered as before.
She’d been barely ten the day her mother told her that her father wouldn’t be returning from the hospital where he’d been for several weeks; she hadn’t cried then, certain that she’d see him soon—why on earth was everyone acting so strange about it? She’d been lucky, she saw now, to lose a father at so young an age, before she’d known what she was truly losing. Now, years later, she was suddenly consumed with fear—her mother could die as abruptly as he had; her brothers—anyone. She felt so paralyzed she wondered if she’d ever make it through a night without awakening in tears.
Clay was in the Village late one evening when he saw her walking down the street across from him, an odd expression on her face. He felt almost ill, seeing her so unexpectedly. Hurrying to make the light, he called her name. She didn’t answer. He rushed to catch up with her, placing himself directly in her path. She looked at him blankly, moving to step past him.
“Louey?” he said, reaching out to take her arm. Something must be terribly wrong: she stared as if she’d never seen him before. “Are you all right?”
“Clay.” She spoke his name in amazement, as if she’d forgotten he existed. “I’m—” To his surprise, her eyes filled.
“Louey”—he clutched her arm—“what is it?”
“It’s—Kevin died.” At this, she turned a crumpled face away from him, dissolving into tears.
“You can’t—what happened?”
She told him, haltingly, as a new outburst overtook her. Before he knew what he was doing, he had taken her in his arms. She was damp and warm, and he tightened his hold on her. Every tremor pierced his body. What if he never let her go?
“When did it happen?”
“A month ago.” She moved out of his arms at last, turning a blotched face up to him. “I still wake up each morning thinking he’s alive, before it dawns on me.” She wiped her face, hands trembling, and explained that Kevin had gone on vacation, “to celebrate his promotion.” Her eyes rounded, glistening. “On the way to his parents’ house, a drunken driver hit his car, killing him instantly. I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “I just know he’s still alive.”
“I wish he were.” He hooked his arm through hers.
“I keep thinking it’ll stop bothering me so much.”
“You can’t expect to put it out of your mind just like that.” He led her a few steps. “I was going to get a drink—will you come with me?”
“Well …”
“Come on, what were you planning on doing, just walking around aimlessly, hoping to get hit by a car yourself?” He tightened his hold on her, chilled by his words. She seemed so fragile suddenly.
“Okay,” she said at last. “Sure you don’t mind?”
“Don’t be insane. I’d rather be with you than anyone in the world.”
She blinked, trying to smile. “So how have you been? I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“I’ve been okay. I wish you had called me about Kevin.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to stop thinking about it. Everyone around the office keeps looking at me strangely, like, Oh, that, aren’t you over it yet?”
“People just don’t know how to react. I’m sure they’re concerned for you.”
“It’s the most amazing thing. It’s as if my friends are embarrassed for me.”
They reached the bar. “Try not to take it personally.” He steered her to a dark corner. “Death makes everyone uncomfortable.” He ordered drinks, sitting down across from her. How strange it was to see her under these conditions, looking so lost.
“Do you know,” she said, “you were the only person who just put your arms around me? All my other friends just stood by, looking uncomfortable.”
“They don’t know how to react.”
“But you did.”
He took a drink, wanting to brush the hair away from her flushed face. It was true that for months he’d longed to take her in his arms, but seeing her so wretched he’d just acted, wanting only to console her. “I liked him,
too, you know.”
“He was—” She ran a finger down the surface of her glass, tears threatening again. “He was such a joy to have around. God, he used to—he could always make me laugh. Sometimes it seemed as if he’d love me no matter what I did.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t the only one of your friends who feels that way, Louey.” This was too close to a confession of his own, too tawdry, and he swallowed, emptying his glass.
“Sometimes I think he was the only one.” She tilted her head back as if she were drinking water.
“Easy. You don’t want to get sick.”
“Why not?” She motioned for another round. “This must be great fun for you, watching me cry.”
“I just want you to be happy, Louey.”
She was silent, playing with her straw. “That’s what my brother said.”
“Hasn’t your family been any help to you?”
“They don’t understand why I’m taking it so hard; he’s not family, after all.” She laughed joylessly. “I think they’re offended that I should care so much about a stranger.”
“I’m sure it’s hard for them to see you in such pain.”
“You, on the other hand, must be used to it by now. First Mia and now Kevin. What a swell date.”
“The worst.” He squeezed her hand as she talked on and drank as if completely unaffected by the alcohol. It was so strange just sitting here with her, a miracle his presence could help at all.
Without warning, her eyelids began to droop: she was on the verge of passing out, he realized. He didn’t know why he was sober himself. Taking her hand, he led her to the street and hailed a cab. After they got in, she nestled drowsily against his shoulder, falling asleep. It stung his eyes, though he felt happier than he’d thought possible. At his apartment, he lifted her easily in his arms—she was so tiny!—and carried her upstairs. His apartment was warm; he struggled briefly with his conscience, then deposited her on the bed and stripped the pants from her dispassionately. Finding an oversized T-shirt for her, he unbuttoned her shirt, averting his eyes as he slipped the T-shirt over her and pulled the other off. Before he went to make the couch up, he sat for just a minute in the chair across from her, studying her sleeping face. Why should the sight of her curled up against his pillow fill him with such happiness? He couldn’t get up from the chair for fear it was the last time he would ever get to feel this way.
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