Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  I nodded, listening to chairs scrape the floor when the other guests at our table got up to ravage the desserts. “I’ve seen you around the office, but I don’t know where you work.”

  “In the corporate division,” she said. “I’m the GM’s new assistant … I just started last month. I help Ned sometimes, too.”

  A waiter offered espresso. I shook my head, remembering when Ned had forced me to serve him coffee. “I hope Ned treats you all right,” I said as the waiter filled Celeste’s cup. “He’s a master of wielding his power in the most infuriating ways.”

  She picked up her cup and took a sip. “I’ve never gotten that impression.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. The only Stone News employee I’d ever heard gripe about Ned’s personnel-management skills was me. “Natali,” I repeated, to change the subject. “Doesn’t that mean Christmas in Italian?”

  She smiled over her espresso. “It’s very close … Christmas is Natale.” She put down her cup and checked her watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late … I was invited to another party tonight, so I better get going. But in case I don’t run into you again before the holidays … Buon Natale.”

  I couldn’t attempt to pronounce that as well as she had. “Same to you,” was all I said, and then she grabbed her coat and her purse and made her way through the crowd dancing in the middle of the room. I was alone at the table now, and my nose was suddenly assaulted by the scent of cologne that offended me much more than Alex’s Acqua Di Gio.

  “Here’s my little runaway,” Fabian said as he slid onto the seat beside me. “I thought we’d never see you back in New York after you stormed off to Dixie in such a huff.”

  I raised my chin. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Clearly,” he said, “I didn’t smack you hard enough.”

  I edged away from him, remembering my photo on Nocturnal—the one of me accidentally knocking Virginia on her back—and all the online Savannah-bashing it had sparked. I felt like grabbing Celeste’s leftover espresso and tossing it in his face, but that sort of thing would only have made an attention-seeker like him feel important and give him material for his blog.

  “I’m beyond hurt,” he continued in a faux whiny voice. “I haven’t seen you since you came back, and you’ve been ignoring me all night. I was hoping for your season’s greetings … but maybe I’ll just have to catch you under the mistletoe.”

  “Well,” I said, “I guess you need mistletoe. I guess the only way a person like you can get intimate contact with another human is through trickery. Or a credit card.”

  “Still petulant, I see. Do I have to discipline you again?”

  I shooed the air between us. “Go away. That seat is for someone with a real job.”

  He yawned. “I do so enjoy clever banter … but only when it is, in fact, clever. You’re boring me to death. But your stud of a brother has once again piqued my interest.”

  He nodded toward Ned, who was chatting with Heather as he downed another drink and laughed too loudly. Caroline and Virginia kept shooting him chastising glances from a nearby table, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I hear Junior’s been having a hard time running Daddy’s company,” Fabian said. “And he’s so broken up over his divorce. He’s just a hot mess, isn’t he?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “He isn’t.”

  Fabian’s pewter-gray eyes widened. “What is this? Are you defending him?”

  I supposed I was, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I knew how it felt to be Fabian’s victim, and what kind of person would I be if I let him prey on somebody else?

  “You disappoint me,” Fabian went on. “I assumed your refusal to dish about Ned this summer was due to a financially motivated sense of loyalty to the Stone family … but now I’m sensing you’ve softened toward that lout. It’s distressing.”

  The music stopped. Somebody tapped a microphone and asked for attention. Guests started heading to their tables, carrying cookies and tarts. The woman who’d been sitting beside me earlier returned and asked Fabian for her seat back, and I was relieved when he was gone. I watched him cross the room and join his photographer at their table, and then I heard Ned’s and Caroline’s names through the speakers.

  Everybody clapped. Ned rose from his seat and so did Caroline, and they walked to the front of the room, where Ned picked up a microphone.

  “Good evening,” he said, squinting at the spotlight that had just been turned on him. “First of all, my sister and I want to thank everyone for joining us tonight. I know we usually have our Christmas party closer to the office, at…” He dropped the microphone, sending the most grating noise through the speakers that made people cover their ears. Then he bent down, grabbed the mike, and tried to pick up where he’d left off, but it took him a moment to remember where that was. “As I was saying, I know we usually have the Christmas party at…”

  He looked at Caroline for help. She mouthed two words to him.

  “The Hilton,” he said. “That’s right. But we thought this venue would be better, because … I don’t know…” He looked out the window and jerked his thumb in that direction. “You can see the damn bridge or whatever.”

  That was probably supposed to be a joke, and a few people laughed. But Caroline tensed up, and when I glanced at Virginia, I saw she had, too. And Fabian was focused on me with the smuggest expression that screamed What did I tell ya? Hot mess right there.

  “Anyway,” Ned continued, “I’m happy to report that despite a slight dip in the ratings, Stone News is doing well … and I’d like to share some related figures with you.”

  But he didn’t. He froze and his eyes went out of focus. Then Caroline whispered to him, and he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and clumsily scrolled through it.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “the figures I intended to discuss have slipped my mind. So please give me a moment to find them in here…”

  I waited through an awkwardness that felt eternal. Guests were talking in each other’s ears, and I supposed Caroline couldn’t take it. She snatched the microphone from Ned’s hand and began rattling off figures like they were written on invisible cue cards.

  Ned cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, and then he just stood there as Caroline finished his speech while he delivered a convincing performance of not being humiliated at all.

  “We appreciate everything that each of you does for Stone News,” she said at the end, “and we’re looking forward to a successful New Year. Please enjoy what’s left of the party.”

  Everybody clapped and went back to dessert, and I rejoined my conversation with my co-workers while the band started up again. It was a half hour later when people started slipping into their coats and filing out of the room, and I took out my phone to call Tony.

  Caroline plopped into the empty chair beside me. “Have you seen Ned?” she asked.

  Not since he made an idiot of himself in front of his entire staff.

  I glanced at the guests saying good-bye to Virginia, who was poised at the exit like a queen with her subjects. Then I looked back at Caroline and shook my head.

  “Fuck,” she said. “I’ve looked all over but I can’t find him. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice—or anyone else’s—that he’s royally smashed … and since he drove here from the office, I’m terrified he might try to drive back to his apartment. We don’t need a DUI scandal … or another death in the family.” She rubbed her eyes. “Anyway … I’ll go and see if he’s outside.”

  She started out of her chair, but I grabbed her sleeve to stop her.

  “Stay here, Caroline. I’ll look for him.”

  She was halfway up. She stared at my face for a moment, like she was waiting for Gotcha or Just kidding or Oh, please. Did you think I was serious? But when none of those things came, she sank back into her seat and exhaled a sigh.

  “That would be helpful, Savannah. I’ve had such a long day.”

  “I’m
sure,” I said as I grabbed my coat and put it on. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been to memorize all those figures. I was quite impressed.”

  “Oh. Really?” she said. “Thanks.”

  I tossed my phone into my purse. “If you give me your cell number, I’ll call when I find Ned. I guess you’ll just wait here until then?”

  She nodded and gave me the number. Then I slung my bag over my wrist and went out to the cobblestoned street, where I traversed Fulton Market in the cold. Eventually I ended up on a pier with docked boats and a few couples snuggling in the cold. I was freezing and my feet were cramping inside the narrow toes of my pumps, but I kept going and found Ned.

  He was on the pier, leaning against its railing as the wind blew through his dark hair. He stared straight ahead at lit-up buildings in Brooklyn and at boats cruising the water, and he didn’t notice me lingering a few feet away. I called his name, his head snapped in my direction, and then he turned toward Brooklyn again.

  “Why are you stalking me?” he asked, his breath turning to steam when it met the air.

  I moved closer and stopped beside him. “Caroline asked me to find you. She was worried you might drive yourself home, and … you’re in no condition for that.”

  “Oh,” he said. “You noticed? I guess that means you liked my speech.”

  I looked down at slabs of wood beneath my feet and back at him. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  “Sure it wasn’t. And Caroline doesn’t need to worry … I don’t intend to drive tonight. I know my limitations.”

  I supposed he was referring to more than his current inability to pass a sobriety test. “She’s waiting for you at Bridgewaters,” I said.

  He nodded, walked past me, and stopped short on the pier. Then he turned around and came back. “Why did you lie?” he asked abruptly in a very demanding way. “About the speech, I mean.”

  I sighed. He’d caught me. “I guess it was because … there’s no reason to rub it in.”

  “But you are a liar, though. You never got sick from The Lambs Club … right?”

  I’d almost forgotten about that—lunch, Kitty, Mr. Perfect Charlie Beckford.

  “Have you ever even been there?” he pressed.

  “No,” I admitted. “I just … said that.”

  Ned did nothing but look at me. Then he nodded again, jammed his hands into his coat pockets, and stared out at the water for a while. He seemed to be thinking, and I stood there quietly and let him figure things out.

  “Good of you, Savannah,” he said after a long moment, keeping his eyes far from mine.

  Six

  It was Friday and almost noon, and I’d just finished editing a stack of articles. They were in a neat pile on my desk as I stared at my monitor, deciding to use the minutes before lunch to start my investigation. Then I braced myself and typed in Edward’s name, and an endless list of links appeared. I’d just clicked on the first one when I heard footsteps behind me, and I quickly hit the X at the top of the screen. But I wasn’t fast enough.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Kitty said.

  I spun around in my chair. “I’m not slacking … I promised not to do that again, and I haven’t.” I picked up the articles and held them out to her. “I’m all caught up.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t what I meant. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to read that trash about your father.”

  I rested the articles on my lap and kept my eyes there. “I know … but I just thought I might find some … clues … ideas … I don’t know. Maybe that sounds stupid, but the PI didn’t figure anything out … so I thought I’d try.”

  “There’s a new PI. He was hired this morning … Caroline just told me.”

  I nodded, deciding to change the subject. I didn’t want Kitty to worry that I’d start using editorial-assistant time for the Edward Investigation. “Can I treat you to lunch today?” I asked.

  “I appreciate the offer,” she said, “but I’m meeting Charlie at Tocqueville.”

  We’d been too busy since Monday to discuss Charlie, but now was the perfect chance and I grabbed it. “You’re so modest, Kitty. When you first mentioned him, you didn’t say he was Charles Beckford of ABN … or that he’s even more stunning in real life.”

  “I guess you figured it out on your own. And I really don’t view him as Charles Beckford of ABN … I just see him as the kid who had the best grades in chemistry class.”

  “Considering how successful he is,” I said as I swiveled in my chair, “I assume he had the best grades in everything. And he seems very nice … gracious, too.”

  “Gracious toward Ned, you mean?”

  “Toward everyone,” I said, “but especially Ned.”

  She glanced down at an opal ring on the finger where her wedding band used to be, and she slid it back and forth over her knuckle. “I must admit Ned was equally sportsmanlike. Or maybe he was just indifferent. Considering what he did during our marriage, I tend to believe he always has been.”

  I wanted to tell her what I’d seen in Ned’s face after she stormed out of The Plaza that awful night last summer. But it was between them, and it was complicated, and their marriage was officially over. There was no point in picking at a sore she’d been trying so hard to heal.

  “You shouldn’t believe that,” was all I let myself say. “And Ned wasn’t indifferent when he met Charlie. I think it hurt him to find out that you have someone else in your life.”

  Kitty looked at me for a moment before she reached down to pluck the articles from my lap. Then she straightened up, clasping the stack to her chest.

  “Well,” she said, “that’s an experience my ex-husband and I have in common.”

  *

  Stone News had its own commissary. It was a wide space with indirect lighting and people dressed in white who served up steaming plates of daily specials. I’d been there only a few times because I usually went out with Kitty or strolled around Midtown by myself—but now that she was busy with Charlie and it was Arctic outside, I decided to take the elevator down to the tenth floor and have lunch on my own.

  I ordered a salad that came inside a foam box and sat with it at a table where someone had left this week’s edition of The Village Voice. I flipped through its wrinkled pages and speared lettuce leaves with my fork, alternately reading and eating and employee-watching. I saw the receptionist from Femme sitting with a guy from Accounting, some chatty reporters on their way out, and Celeste Natali at a corner table by herself.

  My phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and read Tina Mae Brandt on the screen.

  “I’m just leaving the Hominy Grill,” she said when I picked up.

  I smiled at my best friend’s Charleston accent. “You’re in your car, aren’t you? Put your seat belt on. I can hear the beeping thing that always goes off when you don’t wear your seat belt.”

  The noise was replaced by a classic country music station’s call letters and an old Toby Keith tune. It brought up a warm memory of Tina and me as kindergarteners, sitting in the back of Mom’s car and listening to the same song. I didn’t have those I-miss-Charleston moments as much as I used to, but they still popped up once in a while.

  “I ate a bowl of she-crab soup for you,” Tina said.

  “I miss that. And I miss you. I can’t wait until you and Mom get here on Tuesday. I talked to her last night, and she’s excited about Christmas in New York.”

  “Me too,” Tina said. “I have so much to do before we leave, though. But I crossed one important task off my list: I sent out my college applications a few weeks ago. Did I tell you?”

  She hadn’t, and my suspicions about why made my heart sag. “You didn’t. Should I take that to mean you haven’t applied to any schools in New York?”

  “Well,” she said guiltily, “when you suggested I apply to schools up there … all I promised was to give it some thought.”

  “I know. But I was hoping you might give this city another try.”


  She sighed. “I’ve only applied to local colleges, Savannah. New York is your home now … but it can never be mine. I love my job at the homeless shelter so I’m going to work and take classes part-time like I planned … and I want to be here for Raylene while she grows up. Time goes by so quickly, and she’ll be a teenager in a few years … and I think it’s important for a girl to have a big sister around. Don’t you?”

  I thought of everything waiting for Raylene: her first date, her first kiss, her debutante ball. There was high school and football games, yearbooks and proms and visiting college campuses. And Tina was right—those things were better with a big sister.

  “There’s nothing more important,” I said. “You’re right to stay in Charleston … and I’m sorry for being selfish. You’ve made the best decision.”

  “You’re not selfish … and thank you for supporting me. I’m sure you agree that I need to guide Raylene with the wisdom I’ve gained through my vast experience—with men, that is.” She let out her husky laugh. “I’ve been using that experience to guide myself, too. I went on a date last Saturday night.”

  That was her first since she’d left New York. “What happened?” I asked nervously.

  “Nothing,” she said. “He took me to dinner at 82 Queen, and then I went home.”

  “Who is he?” I asked. “He obviously has good taste … in dates and restaurants.”

  “He’s the executive director of the shelter. His name is Bryce Newell, and—”

  I gasped. “Is he one of the Newells who lives south of Broad?”

  “Yes,” she said with a twinge of pride in her voice.

  Go Tina. The Newells were one of the most prominent families in Charleston, and they owned a majestic antebellum mansion that had been handed down through several generations.

  “Well,” I said, “have you introduced him to your lovely stepmother? She might suffer an unfortunate stroke when she sees how well your life is going.”

  Tina giggled. “There haven’t been any introductions yet, since Bryce and I have only been on one real date. But I’m seeing him again this weekend, and we just shared our lunch break. He was with me at the Hominy Grill,” she said. “Listen, I have to go … my phone is dying. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”