“That should be fun,” Coco said.
“My mother is crazed over it. She didn’t believe it at first, but she checked it out with a few other people, who knew all about it and confirmed it. She came to my office to tell me. It’s good for her to know that rabbis aren’t all saints either. But Tamar is a piece of work.”
“What are you going to do? Did you tell her you know?”
“Not yet. I want to talk to my lawyer first. He was gone for the day by the time my mother left my office. She alternately cried and raged for two hours.” He smiled at that. “My day was shot to hell. I’m not surprised, and yet I am. I never thought she’d do something like that, she’s such a moral person, and so meek. I couldn’t imagine her cheating on me. It’s been going on for nearly a year. It certainly says how miserable she must be with me.” He felt guilty about that too, as though everything was his fault.
“I think she’s miserable with herself. It’s hard to be miserable with you.” He always made her feel better about life, not worse.
“She doesn’t think so. I never thought I’d say it, but I do want her to move out now, and leave the kids with me. She can have visitation, but I want custody. She says she doesn’t want custody and I do, although can you imagine my being alone with four kids?” That was a tall order and he worked hard and long hours. “We have a part-time nanny now anyway. We have ever since she’s been depressed. And apparently, not as depressed as I thought. Her rabbi boyfriend is strict Orthodox. She loves that. My mother’s friend said he’s a nice guy and deeply religious.” Sam knew more about him now than he wanted to, thanks to his mother. He had looked him up on the Internet after his mother left his office. Rabbi Israel Seligson was a good-looking man. And old enough to be Sam’s father, and Tamar’s. Maybe that was what she was looking for. He no longer knew. He wondered if he had suggested law school to her, but she had mentioned it before. It would be a big status symbol for her to be a rabbi’s wife, more so than being the wife of an accountant, or even an investment advisor.
“Are you hungry?” Coco asked him, to distract him.
“Yes, I want a ham sandwich and a shrimp cocktail,” he said, glaring at her, and she laughed.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse. She betrayed me, Coco. She lied to me. We haven’t had sex since David was conceived, which was almost two years ago. But still, she slept in bed with me every night, and she was having an affair with him. How does that work with all her religious principles? And his?”
“Maybe she thought it was okay because she wasn’t having sex with you. There’s no telling how people justify things to themselves. Look at Nigel. At least she wasn’t doing it with him in your bed while you were at work.”
“Who knows? Maybe she was, when the nanny took the kids to the park. Anything’s possible.” Coco knew that was true. She felt sorry for him. He felt abused, and he wasn’t wrong. It had turned out that Tamar was human, even if not exciting. “I don’t know how I’m going to look her in the eye all weekend and not say anything. I want to talk to my lawyer first. At least my mother won’t give me a hard time about a divorce now. She thinks she should be stoned in the street.” Whatever happened next, it was a hard way for a marriage to end, feeling cheated, lied to, and used. She’d been there herself.
Coco made a salad for both of them, and put some chicken on a plate, and Sam left at eleven, after venting for several hours.
“Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?” he asked as he left, and she looked regretful.
“I can’t. Evan and Jack invited me to dinner with some of their friends. Anytime next week is fine.”
“I don’t know what’s going to be happening next week. It may be explosive. I don’t want to make plans yet. Have fun tomorrow,” he said, kissed her cheek, and left. She read for a while afterward, thinking of him off and on, and then went to bed. There was no question in her mind, or his. Sam had some rough times ahead.
Chapter 19
Coco was impressed when she got to Evan and Jack’s address. They had an elegant brownstone in the East Seventies. Evan was in his early thirties, and Jack in his late forties. They had a spectacular home and exquisite taste, with impressive art and beautiful furniture. The floor set aside for their daughters would have been heaven for any little girl. They were three and four, and there were murals of ballerinas in their rooms and a big playroom with a view of the garden. The girls came downstairs with their nanny in little pink smocked dresses, with matching bows in their hair, to curtsy and shake hands with the guests. They were beautifully behaved, sweet children. Evan had already suggested that Bethanie come to play some afternoon.
The guest list was as impressive as their home. They moved in elite social circles. Jack was on the boards of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Opera, and the New York City Ballet, while Evan was involved with MoMA. Coco learned in the course of dinner that they had been together for ten years, and she already knew they were stable, successful, interesting people. There were several couples at the impeccably set dinner table whose names she recognized: a famous female writer, who was Ian’s main competitor; a famous literary agent and his wife, a successful artist; and a well-known art collector, Charles Bartlett, whom they sat next to Coco, and was easily the best-looking man in the room. He was fascinating to talk to and had homes in London, Sardinia, Tuscany, Saint Bart’s, and a triplex apartment in New York, decorated by Jack, and a plane to circulate between them with ease. He was originally an oilman from Texas, was one of the most famous venture capitalists, and was somewhere in his mid-forties. He’d been married and divorced twice, first to a famous actress, and then to a major Russian ballerina. Coco felt totally out of her league sitting next to him, and was glad she had bought a new dress for the occasion. It was a black lace Oscar de la Renta. She had been afraid it was a little too revealing but her dinner partner seemed to enjoy it, and the other women were so well dressed that Coco was glad she had gone a little overboard with a new dress to impress her hosts.
Despite his myriad houses in fabulous locations, and famous art collection, part of which he had just lent to the Tate in London, Charles was surprisingly unassuming, fun to talk to, and had a great sense of humor and the ability to laugh at himself. She had to force herself to tear her attention away and make an effort to speak to the man on her other side, who was a well-known artist. But Charles Bartlett was clearly the most interesting guest. And when they moved back to the living room for coffee, he came straight to Coco and sat down next to her.
“I hope it’s not rude to say, or upsetting, but I knew your father. We did a few deals together. He was a wonderful man, and I met your mother too. I felt terrible about what happened. You must have been just a kid then.” He was so compassionate when he said it, that she was deeply touched, and he won her heart immediately.
“I was in college. It was awful. I moved to London afterward, but I was pretty lost for a while.”
“I’m so sorry.” He changed the subject then, and had her laughing again a little while later. He stayed close to her for the rest of the night, and by the time the evening ended, she felt as though she had a new friend. Almost as soon as she got home, Evan texted her. “Charlie Bartlett wants your phone number. Okay to give it to him?”
She appreciated his asking, and texted back immediately. “Perfect, no problem. Thank you for a fabulous evening. So much fun. See you Monday.”
Charlie Bartlett called her the next morning and invited her to brunch at the Carlyle. They walked through Central Park afterward and he left her reluctantly when he put her in a cab to go home.
He called her again on Monday, and invited her to a gala dinner at the Metropolitan Museum that she had frequently read about but never been to. He had lunch with her in SoHo when he dropped by to see the new offices, and took her to dinner at La Grenouille on the weekend. It was a full-court press with a massive bou
quet of red roses, and every evening she spent with him was more fun than the last one. He had to go to London and Dubai the following week, but as soon as he got back, he took her out to dinner again, and invited her to see his incredible Fifth Avenue triplex that made her parents’ apartment look like a hovel in comparison. She was impressed that when she went to his apartment, somewhat hesitantly for a drink, he didn’t try to get her into bed. He treated her like a very attractive woman he was smitten with and courting, but not like a piece of meat that was his for the grabbing. He was a total gentleman and she loved the little bit of Texan drawl he still had. It was a challenge to keep her head and not fall head over heels in love with him. He was everything any woman could have wanted and more. His obvious fortune far exceeded hers so he wanted nothing from her. He was kind and funny, intelligent, and had a great time with her. She hadn’t had a bad moment with him yet, and he kept coming up with more fun things to do. He knew about every play, every exhibit, and every new restaurant in New York. She was working hard in the daytime, and playing hard at night with Charlie. She wanted to ask him where he’d been all her life while she wasted her time with sleazeballs like Nigel and Ed, and cripples like Ian. There was nothing wrong with Charlie Bartlett, and he felt the same way about her. She was starting to ask herself if this could be happening, and if it was real. It was almost too good to be true, and if it wasn’t real, his performance was seamless. He appeared to be the perfect man in every way.
He waited two weeks to kiss her, and when he did, it was both gentle and searing at the same time, and quickly became highly addictive. They did a lot of kissing and groping and wishing after that, but Coco didn’t want to rush into anything. She wanted to savor each moment and let it unfold. He was in no rush. He wanted things to happen the way she wanted them to, however that was. She had never been around a man as easy to get along with, and so eager to make her happy, whatever that meant to her.
Sam sensed something different about her, and questioned her about it when they had dinner.
“What’s up? I saw you on Page Six twice last week.” Everyone in the city read it, about the movers and shakers, and the high-end local gossip. “How do you know Charles Bartlett?” Sam was impressed.
“He’s a friend of Evan, my investor.”
“He’s got a great reputation in the world of finance. He’s supposedly a pleasure to do business with, and an honest guy.”
“He’s an incredibly nice man. He knew my father. I think I’ve really met a great guy this time. I’m taking it slow. We’ve been out a lot.”
“That doesn’t sound slow to me.”
“What’s happening with Tamar?” They hadn’t spoken in a few days, and the last time they had, things were stressful for him, which was no surprise, given the situation. He had confronted her about the affair with the rabbi, and she admitted it. She was in love with him. Enough so to give up custody of her kids.
“Amazingly, it sounds like she’s really going to let me have custody, with reasonable visitation for her. The rabbi must not want four children under five underfoot. But she wants a lot of spousal support, and possibly a settlement. I can’t believe it, but it’s down to that now. I think she may move out soon. I’ll have to prepare the kids.” His whole life had unraveled in a matter of weeks, and she felt like hers was just starting again. She felt reborn with Charlie. He made her feel like a very special fairy princess and as she thought it, she heard a familiar ring in her head. Someone else had made her feel that way…Nigel…and Ed in the beginning…and Ian…She wanted to be sure this wasn’t a replay of all the mistakes she’d made before. But it didn’t seem like it. He seemed perfect in every way.
She and Sam talked for a while, he was tired and irritable, and stressed by his negotiations with Tamar over money while still living with her. She wanted a hefty sum for having given up five years of her life. His mother had declared war on her, on Sam’s behalf, which complicated matters further. The baby had an earache and had kept him up all night, and Nathan had stomach flu. Tamar was doing nothing to help him with the kids. They were his problem now. In her mind, she had already left.
“Sounds like real life to me,” Coco said gently, but the good news in her life was that Bethanie had just been checked at Sloan Kettering again, and had come through with flying colors, with no sign of leukemia at all. The treatment had worked. Everything else in Coco’s life was insignificant compared to that.
She and Charlie had been dating for a month when he invited her away for a weekend at his house in Saint Bart’s. It was a loaded question, and she understood the implication, but they had seen a lot of each other, and she was dying to sleep with him. She accepted, and they were planning to go down on Friday morning on his plane. They were going to spend a night on his boat, which was docked in Antigua and he hadn’t mentioned to her. It was a two-hundred-and-fourteen-foot sailboat he’d had built by a famous shipyard in Italy, and was the envy of experienced sailors. He was taking her to a party in Palm Beach on Sunday night, and they were flying back on Monday morning in time for both of them to go to work. It all sounded perfect. On her lunch hour she bought a white silk dress at Chanel in SoHo to wear on his boat. It was just going to be the two of them all weekend, until they went to Palm Beach for the party, which was going to be a big event. She had a new dress for that too. She’d been doing a lot of shopping lately, for their busy social life. It was easy for him. He either wore suits or black tie. The lifestyle was familiar to her, although it wasn’t what she would have chosen to pursue on her own. She was happy with a simple life, doing things with Bethanie or Sam and his children. But it was exciting being out with Charlie. He made her feel beautiful, sophisticated, and young.
She spoke to Sam on Thursday night, before she left. She didn’t tell him where she was going, he had enough problems these days with Tamar and a divorce, she didn’t want to bother him with her new social life and budding romance. She had a faint suspicion he wouldn’t approve. He was negative about everything these days. And there was an unreal quality to her relationship with Charlie. Her parents hadn’t lived that way, even though they could have. They didn’t like to show off, and Coco never had either. But it was fun being with Charlie, it was all so glamorous and exciting.
“Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night? The nanny will stay late if I need her to,” Sam asked her.
“I can’t, I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Another black-tie event on the Bartlett circuit?” he asked, sounding a little snide about it, or maybe just jealous that she was having fun and he wasn’t. Nothing about his life was fun at the moment, neither his battles with Tamar about the spousal support she wanted, nor his kids, who seemed to be constantly sick now that the two oldest were in preschool and brought every bug home to the two younger ones. Sam had had a cold for two weeks, and a bout of stomach flu himself. He was run-down and tired, and discouraged. “I seem to be in purgatory at the moment,” he commented, and she laughed.
She didn’t answer his comment about what she was doing on Friday night, and felt guilty and like she was letting him down when she hung up. Theresa was going to babysit for Bethanie for the weekend. It didn’t seem fair that she was leading the life of a fairy princess and Sam was the drudge in his, with Tamar badgering him for money, in love with another man, his mother kibitzing from the sidelines and putting her oar in, and his four children constantly sick. It was definitely a nightmare, and a little too real. And Tamar made no pretense of helping him at all.
* * *
—
Charlie picked her up in his Bentley on Friday morning, and drove her to Teterboro in New Jersey where his plane was waiting. It was a Gulfstream, which comfortably accommodated a dozen people, and could travel long distances without refueling, so he used it to go to Europe frequently. There were two flight attendants to serve them, and they had a hot breakfast waiting. The captain and copilot were pleasant and professi
onal. They took off twenty minutes after they got there, while Charlie and Coco had breakfast, with The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal neatly folded next to them.
They flew directly to Saint Martin, where his boat picked them up to take them to Saint Bart’s, avoiding the ride on the terrifying puddle jumper that usually landed there. The boat was beyond fabulous, with every imaginable comfort and filled with priceless art. A Rolls was waiting for them with his houseman driving in Saint Bart’s, and they went straight to his house, which had a magnificent view of the ocean, and an enormous pool.
He had given her her own room, so she would have privacy, and enough space for her things, and they could move at the pace that seemed most natural to them. There was no pressure on her at all, although they both knew what would happen that weekend and why they were there. They had waited a month for this. The house was filled with flowers, and her room was as well. He opened a bottle of champagne for her when they arrived, and they sat by the pool for a little while, before they went to put bathing suits on, before having lunch at the pool.
He sat admiring her, as she looked at him, and an odd question popped into her mind. He made everything so easy for her, and himself. He was a man who liked his comforts and the fruits of his huge success.
“Does this ever seem unreal to you, Charlie?” she asked him and he smiled.
“No, why would it? It’s my real life and the way I want it. Some of us are lucky enough to live the way we choose. I have no encumbrances, no children to worry about, and this is the way I want to live.” She wondered if he ever felt guilty about indulging himself to that degree, or missed going to McDonald’s, or riding the subway or doing the things that other people did. Her father had built a successful empire and amassed an enormous fortune, but she couldn’t imagine them sitting by the pool, surrounded by servants, waited on hand and foot, with their own plane, and a yacht in the harbor. At a certain point, it became excessive, and she wondered where that line was for him, or if it even existed.
All That Glitters Page 24
