We need you here, Charles, they explained, looking more than ever like Siamese twins to him. We're going to have to make the best of a difficult situation. But they didn't sound any happier than he did, and they were desperately groping for a solution.
Why? Why do anything we don't want to do? Charlie said suddenly, feeling a strange rush of freedom. He had already lost everything he cared about when Carole left. He had no wife, no ties, no family, no home anywhere, and all his belongings were in storage. All he had now was his job, and he hated it more than he had ever hated anything he'd ever done. Why stay? He suddenly couldn't think of a single reason to be there, other than his contract. But maybe a good attorney could dissolve it. A thought had just come to him while they were speaking, and he was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of liberation. He didn't have to be there. In fact, if he took a sabbatical, they might be relieved not to have to pay him. Maybe I should just leave, he said practically, looking completely unemotional about it. But the senior partners were far more concerned about losing him than he was about leaving. Besides, they had no one else to run the office, and neither of them wanted to do it.
Maybe a leave of absence, they said cautiously, watching to see his reaction. But he looked happier than he had in the entire seven weeks he'd been there. It was precisely what he'd been thinking. He had realized everything he needed to know now. They didn't own him. He could leave anytime he wanted. And he suddenly didn't care what happened. Eventually, he could always go back to London, even if he left them.
I think a leave of absence is a great idea, he said, smiling at them, feeling almost diz2y with excitement. It was like skydiving, like floating free in the air, completely unfettered and unchained. I don't mind if you want to fire me, he said almost nonchalantly, and both men shuddered in answer. Given the contract they had signed, if they fired him, they would have to pay him anyway for two years, or he could turn around and sue them.
Why don't you just take a few months off ' with pay, of course. They were willing to pay almost anything just then to avoid their constant battles with him. He was driving them both crazy. Give yourself time to decide where you want to go from here. You might even decide that we're not so wrong after all, after you give it a little careful consideration. If only he would agree to play by their rules, they could live with him. But for the moment, to Charlie anyway, that seemed out of the question. You can take up to six months, Charles, if you need it. We'll discuss everything again when you're ready. He was a good architect, after all, and they needed him, but not if he was going to swim upstream and challenge every decision they made about every building. But he nonetheless had a feeling that they had something up their sleeves and weren't being totally honest with him, and he couldn't help wondering if they had ever really planned to send him back to London. He could always go back on his own, of course. But now that he was here, he thought he might spend a month or so traveling to other cities, maybe Philadelphia and Boston. And after that, he wanted to go back to England.
I'd like to go back to London, Charlie said honestly. I don't think the New York office will work for me, even in six months, or after a long vacation. He didn't want to mislead them. The atmosphere here is very different. I can do this for a while, if you need me to, for a short time at least. But I think having me here is counterproductive.
We've thought of that too, right now anyway, they said, looking relieved. As far as they were concerned, in his years abroad he had become a renegade and a misfit. He had worked independently for too long, and gotten too many European ideas to allow him to readjust his thinking even now that he had left there.
Even Charlie realized that there was always the possibility that he would eventually be able to compromise with them, for a while anyway. And maybe after six months off, he would feel ready to face New York again, but he doubted it. It was too uncomfortable for him, and he couldn't do any of the work here that he was known for. But six months would give them all time to think, and figure out where to put him.
He couldn't help wondering, too, if they were right in another sense. They had implied that he was overwrought and exhausted after his problems with Carole. And maybe he did need some time to recover. Leaving his job, and taking time off, was the wildest thing he had ever done. He had never done anything like it before. He barely used up his annual vacation, and hadn't taken any significant time off since college, nor had he ever wanted to do that. But in the situation he found himself in, it was suddenly very appealing. He had a contract with the firm, and yet he knew he had to get away from the New York office before it drove him completely crazy.
Where will you go from here? they asked with concern. As disappointing as his return had been for them, they had always liked him.
I have absolutely no idea, he said honestly, trying to relish the uncertainty of his situation, rather than be frightened by it. There was nothing for him here. But there was nothing for him in London at the moment either. And he didn't want to risk running into Simon and Carole. It was easier to stay in the States for a while longer. Maybe I'll go to Boston, he said vaguely. He had grown up there, but had no relatives in the area anymore. His parents were long gone, and most of the people he knew were from his childhood, and he hadn't looked any of them up in ages, and didn't really want to. Particularly now, precariously half out of a job, and with a sad tale to tell them about Carole.
He thought about skiing in Vermont for a week or two, traveling for a while, and then flying back to London, before he made any permanent decisions. He had no plans for the holidays, and he was completely free. He still had quite a bit of money in the bank, after the divorce, and with his salary he could afford to be easy on himself for the time being. He could even go skiing in Switzerland or France, after he went back to London. But he also realized that he no longer had a home there. He had no home anywhere, and his belongings were on a boat on the Atlantic somewhere on their way to storage. But whatever he decided to do in the end, he knew it was a lot more appealing than being squeezed to death in their New York office.
You'll stay in touch, they said as he came around the desk to shake hands with them. They were enormously relieved by the tone and the outcome of the meeting. For a brief time, they had been afraid that he was going to give them a great deal of trouble, and he could have. According to his contract, he could have insisted on staying there, and they realized now that the battles with him would have been endless.
I'll be in contact with you about what we do when the leave is over. They had agreed on six months, and although he didn't yet know what to do with it, he was determined to use it and enjoy it. But he seriously wondered if he would ever be able to work for them again. Not in New York, in any case, and he sensed that, despite their agreement with him to send him back after a year, there was some kind of stumbling block about London. He felt as though they were just humoring him, and he wasn't far off the mark, although he didn't know it. Dick Barnes had his old job now, with a slightly different title, and the senior partners of the firm genuinely liked him. He was far more tractable and easy to get along with than Charlie.
He couldn't help wondering, as he packed the few things in his desk, if he would ever return to Whittaker and Jones, in any capacity, in any city. He was seriously beginning to wonder.
He said good-bye to everyone late that afternoon. Everything he had with him was in his briefcase. He had already given them all their files back. He had nothing to work on, to take with him, to read, no deadlines, no projects, no blueprints. He was free now. And the only one he was sorry to leave was Ben Chow, who looked at him with a broad smile just before he left the office.
How did you get so lucky? he asked under his breath, and they both laughed. Charlie felt almost euphoric as he thanked the two partners and walked out, not entirely sure if he would eventually quit, be fired, or was really just on a long vacation. But whatever it turned out to be, for the first time in his life, he wasn't even worried. He knew they would have destroyed him artistica
lly if he'd stayed there.
What now? he asked himself as he walked back to his apartment. He had told them he'd vacate it in the morning. The cold air and the snow in his eyes sobered him. What was he going to do? Where would he go? Did he really want to go skiing, as he had said, or should he just fly back to London? And if he did, then what? It was going to be Christmas in a week, and he knew that being in London over the holidays would only make him miserable thinking of Carole. He'd want to reach out to her, or at the very least call her. He'd want to buy her a gift and then see her to give it to her. He could feel the whole carousel of agony begin to turn again just pondering the question. In some ways, it would be easier not to be there.
It was hard not to remember that it was going to be their first Christmas apart in ten years. She had even flown to London to be with him for his first year there before they were married. But not this year. This year she would be with Simon.
The skiing idea sounded good to him, and he called and rented a car for the following day as soon as he got to his apartment. He was surprised to find one still available, everyone wanted cars for the holidays, to visit relatives and carry presents. He rented it for a week, and asked for maps of Vermont, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts, and he figured he could rent ski equipment once he was there. He felt like a kid running away from home as he sat on his couch, thinking of what he'd done. A noble career had just gone right out the window, and he wasn't even sure it mattered. It was utterly and completely crazy. He wondered if he was finally losing his mind after the stress of the past year, and he thought of calling friends in London just to bounce it off them, but he had lost touch with almost everyone. He hadn't wanted to share his grief with anyone, and he had been exhausted by the questions, the probing, and the gossip. Even their sympathy had been exhausting. In the end, it was easier to be on his own, and he had also figured out that most of them were seeing a fair amount of Carole and Simon, and he didn't want to hear about that either. So he just sat there alone, wondering what Carole would say if she knew he had just left the firm, for several months, if not forever. She would probably be stunned, he thought, but on the other hand, the beauty of his situation now was that he didn't owe anyone any explanations.
He packed his bags that night, tidied everything, threw a few things out of the refrigerator, and was ready to roll at eight o'clock the next morning. He took a cab downtown to pick up the car, and as he passed the department stores, he could see the brightly lit Christmas windows. He was glad now that he was getting out of town. It was going to be hard watching everyone else in the office celebrate, listening to their plans, hearing them talk about their wives, and families and children. He had none of that now. He had no one. He didn't even have a job. A year before, he had been a man with a wife, a house, a job, and all the trappings that went with a ten-year marriage. But suddenly, he had none of that. He had a rented car, and two bags, and a handful of maps of New England.
The car's got snow tires, the man at the car rental explained, but you'd better put on chains if you go too far North. I'd say anything north of Connecticut, he advised, and Charlie thanked him. Spending Christmas in New England? The man smiled, and Charlie nodded.
I think I'll be going skiing.
There's lots of snow this year. Don't break anything! he warned, and then wished Charlie a merry Christmas as he left. Charlie had already asked him if he could return the car in Boston. He thought he might ski for a while, and then leave the car there, and fly from Boston to London. He had no reason to go to New York, not for now at least. Maybe in six months. Or maybe never.
He loaded the white station wagon quickly and drove across town. It was a decent car, and there would be plenty of room for skis if he decided to rent them. For the moment, there were only his two bags in the back, and the chains they had provided. He was wearing blue jeans, a heavy sweater, and a ski parka he had brought with him. And he was smiling to himself as he turned the heat on. He flipped on the radio then and started singing.
He stopped and bought a cup of coffee and a danish before he headed to the FDR Drive. He glanced at the map as he took a sip, and then he started the car again. He had no idea where he was going. North, just as he had said to the man. To Connecticut ' then Massachusetts ' maybe Vermont. Vermont might be the right kind of place to spend Christmas. He could ski right through the holidays. People would be in good spirits. And in the meantime all he had to do was drive, keep his eye on the road, watch the snow, and try not to look back over his shoulder. He knew now, more than he ever had before, that there was nothing there, nothing to reach back for, or even take with him.
He was singing softly to himself as he headed out of the city, and he smiled, looking straight ahead. All he had now was the future.
Chapter 3
IT WAS STARTING to snow as Charlie crossed the Triborough Bridge and carefully made his way to the Hutchinson River Parkway, but he didn't mind. It felt more like Christmas somehow, and he felt surprisingly festive as he drove north and began to hum Christmas carols. He was in remarkably good spirits for a man without a job, and he still couldn't believe what had happened. He played it over in his mind again several times, and wondered inevitably if his days with Whittaker and Jones were over. It was hard to guess what would happen in the next six months, but he had already thought about traveling, and maybe even doing some painting. He hadn't had time to even think of doing something like that in ages. But the prospect appealed to him now. He might even teach architecture for a while, if the opportunity presented itself, and he had an idea in the back of his mind about traveling around Europe, and visiting medieval castles. They had fascinated him since college. But first he was going to ski in Vermont, and after that he was going to go back to London and find himself an apartment. It felt like a turning point to him. For the first time in a year, he wasn't reacting to what had been thrown at him. He had made a choice and he was going to do whatever he wanted.
The snow began to collect in drifts, and after three hours on the road, he stopped in Simsbury. There was a small cozy-looking inn that advertised itself as a bed and breakfast. It was the perfect place to spend the night, and the couple who owned it seemed delighted to see him. They showed him to their prettiest room, and he felt relieved again to have abandoned the depressing studio apartment. In fact, his entire stay in New York had been relentlessly unpleasant, and he was delighted that it had ended.
Going to see your family for the holidays? the woman who showed him to his room asked pleasantly. She was heavyset and had dyed blond hair, and there was something very warm and friendly about her.
Actually, no, I'm on my way to go skiing. She nodded, looking pleased, and told him about the town's two best restaurants, both within half a mile, and asked if he'd like her to make reservations for dinner. He hesitated, and then shook his head as he knelt to light a fire with the kindling they had provided.
Ill just grab a sandwich somewhere, but thanks anyway. He hated going to nice restaurants by himself. He had never understood people who did that. It seemed so lonely somehow to be sitting there drinking half a bottle of wine, and eating a thick steak with no one to talk to. The very thought of it depressed him,.
You're welcome to eat with us, if you'd like. She eyed him with interest. He was good-looking and young, and she wondered what he was doing on his own. It seemed odd to her that he wasn't married. She guessed that he was probably divorced, and was sorry her daughter hadn't come up from New York yet. But Charlie had no idea what she had in mind for him, as he thanked her again, and closed the door behind her. Women were always more interested in him than he realized, but he was usually unaware of it. And he hadn't thought of anything like that in years. He hadn't had a date since Carole left him. He had been far too busy mourning. But now, having divested himself of all the responsibilities in his life so unexpectedly, he was suddenly feeling better.
He went out for a hamburger later that night, and was amazed to see how high the snow was. There were several fee
t on either side of the carefully shoveled driveway, and he smiled to himself as he drove away from the little bed and breakfast. It was so beautiful here, he would have loved to share it with someone. It was odd to be alone all the time, to have no one to make comments to, or share things with, or talk to. He still hadn't gotten used to the silence. But he sat alone as he ate his hamburger, and took a bag of sweet rolls with him for the morning, and the hotel had promised to provide him with a thermos of coffee. They had offered to make breakfast for him too, but he wanted to get an early start, provided the snow would let him.
It was a clear, quiet night when he went back to the little inn, and he stood outside for a minute, looking at the sky. It was incredibly beautiful and his face tingled in the cold air, and then suddenly he laughed out loud, feeling better than he had in years, and he wished that he could have thrown a snowball at someone. He made one round, firm ball of the crisp white snow, just for the hell of it, and tossed it at a tree. It made him feel like a kid again, and he was still smiling when he went upstairs to his bedroom. It was warm, and the fire was still burning brightly. And it suddenly began to feel like Christmas.
It was only when he got between the clean sheets on the big canopied bed, under the down comforter, that his heart began to ache again, and he wished Carole was there with him. He would have given anything to spend a night with her again, and it made his soul ache just thinking that he would never again do that. She would never spend another night with him, he would never be able to make love to her again. Just letting his mind run over it made him long for her, but he knew as he lay staring into the fire that it was pointless. He couldn't keep doing this to himself, and he couldn't go on pining for her forever. But it was so damn hard not to. It had been so good for such a long time, and he still wondered at the flaw in him that had allowed him not to see what was happening when he had begun to lose her. Maybe if he had seen it then, he could have stopped it. It was like torturing yourself for a life you had been unable to save. The fife he had lost was his own, the victim was their marriage. And he wondered if he would ever feel the same about anyone again. He wondered how she could be so sure of herself in going off with Simon. He couldn't imagine ever trusting anyone that much again. In fact, he was sure he wouldn't.
The Ghost Page 5
