He called Gray the next morning to thank them for dinner, and tell him what a nice time he'd had. He had no idea where their relationship was going, or if it would last, he doubted it, but for now it seemed like a nice thing for both of them. And he was relieved to see that Sylvia wasn't trying to interfere or shut him out. He said as much to Gray, who was happy to hear Charlie so relaxed about Sylvia, and promised to have him over again soon.
“Your cooking has even improved,” Charlie teased, and Gray laughed.
“She helped,” he confessed, as Charlie chuckled.
“Thank God.”
“Don't forget to call Mother Teresa and invite her out to dinner,” Gray reminded him, and Charlie paused for a minute, and then laughed hollowly this time.
“I think we all had a lot to drink last night. It sounded good, but it doesn't sound like such a hot idea in the bright light of day.”
“Just ask her. What's the worst that could happen?” Gray said, sounding like an older brother, as Charlie shook his head at the other end.
“She could call me an asshole and hang up. Besides, it would be awkward when I see her again.” He didn't want to expose himself, although he had nothing else to do at the moment. There was no other woman in his life, and hadn't been for months. He was tired these days, and imperceptibly slowing down. The chase was not quite as much fun. It was easier going to dinner parties and social events alone. Or spending an evening with good friends, like Gray and Sylvia last night. He enjoyed that more than the effort he had to put into dating, and courting someone to wind up in bed with them. He'd done it all before too many times.
“So what?” Gray commented about Carole possibly hanging up on him. “You've lived through worse. You never know, this could be the right one.”
“Yeah, sure. I could sell the Blue Moon and build her dream center in Harlem, and maybe then she'd agree to go out with me on a date.”
“Hell,” Gray laughed at him, “no sacrifice is too great for love.”
“Don't give me that. What did you give up to be with Sylvia? The cockroaches in your apartment? Give me a break.”
“Give her a call.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, to get Gray off his back, and a few minutes later, they promised to talk again soon, and hung up.
Charlie was determined not to call her, but the thought of her haunted him all afternoon. He went to his office at the foundation, then to his club, had a massage, played squash with a friend, and called Adam to thank him for the concert, but he was in a meeting. Charlie left his thanks on voice mail, and wondered what had happened between Adam and Maggie that night. The usual, probably, Adam had dazzled her with his fancy footwork, poured a gallon of champagne into her, and she wound up in his bed. He still felt sorry for her when he thought of her. Despite her outfit, there was something sweet and innocent about her. There were times when Adam's behavior with women, and lack of conscience about it, made his skin crawl. But as Adam always pointed out, if they were willing, they were all fair game. He hadn't knocked anyone unconscious and raped them yet. They lay down at his feet adoringly, and what happened after that was between two consenting adults. Charlie just wasn't so sure that Maggie had been quite as adult as she looked, or as practiced at his game. She wasn't looking for implants or a nose job. All she had wanted was a better seat at the concert. Charlie couldn't help wondering what she'd had to give up in exchange. He thought about it as he left his club after the squash game, took a cab home, and told himself he was getting old. Adam's morality, or lack of it, and the way he treated women, had never bothered him before. And as Adam always reminded him, anything was fair in the pursuit of sex and fun. Or was it? Somehow it no longer sounded quite as amusing anymore.
It was nearly six o'clock when he walked into his apartment, listened to his messages, and stood staring at the phone. He wondered if she'd still be in her office, or in group, or maybe she'd gone home. He remembered that he had her card in his wallet, took it out, looked at it for a long moment, and then called her, feeling nervous and foolish. She was the first woman he'd ever met who made him feel as though he was doing something wrong. He wanted to apologize to her for his indulgences and privilege, and yet that same privilege had allowed him to give her a million dollars so she could continue saving the world. He felt like an anxious schoolboy as he heard the phone ring at the other end. He was suddenly praying she wouldn't be there, and was about to hang up, when she answered, sounding out of breath.
“Hello?” She forgot to say who she was, but he knew her voice immediately. He had called on her private line.
“Carole?”
“Yes.” She didn't recognize his voice.
“It's Charlie Harrington. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all,” she lied, rubbing her shin. She had just rammed it, dashing for the phone. “I just got out of group. I ran down the stairs when I heard the phone.”
“Sorry. How's my little friend?” He was referring to Gabby, as Carole knew immediately. She smiled and said she was fine. He asked how things were going at the center, if there were any new developments, and Carole found herself wondering if he was going to be checking on them constantly for the next year. It was a little unusual to hear from the heads of foundations who gave them grants. She wondered why he'd called. “I don't want to make any promises we can't live up to, or raise false hopes, but you mentioned that there were other programs you wanted to implement, and other grant proposals you might want to explore. I wondered if you'd like to do that over lunch or dinner with me sometime.” He had taken the coward's way out, he knew, hiding behind the foundation, but at least he'd called. There was a long pause.
“To be honest, we're not ready to make any more grant requests. We don't have the staff to man the programs I want, or even to write the proposals right now, but yes, actually, I wouldn't mind picking your brain to see what you think of our plans.” She didn't want to head in directions the foundation wasn't open to, and waste a lot of energy and time.
“I'd be happy to listen and give you an honest assessment of where our interests lie. For a later date of course.” It would be tough asking the foundation board to give her more money, when they had just granted her a million dollars. But talk was cheap. “We couldn't really do a lot for you until next year. But it's a good thing for you to think of now, so you can plan your attack accordingly, at the beginning of our next fiscal year.”
“Whose side are you on?” She laughed at him, and he laughed as he answered her, more honestly than she knew.
“Yours, I think. You're doing a great thing.” He had fallen in love with her child abuse center, and if he wasn't careful, he knew he'd be falling in love with her. For a week or two anyway, or if they were lucky, maybe more. Love never lasted long with him. Fear was a more powerful emotion for Charlie than love had ever been.
“Thank you.” She was touched by the kindness of his words. He sounded sincere to her. She let her guard down slowly as she listened to him, and he was a good connection to have.
“When would you like to get together?” he asked her casually, pleased with the way the conversation was going. He had given her the option of lunch or dinner, so she didn't feel pressured by him. That was usually a good first move. And maybe the last one in this case. There was nothing in her voice to suggest that she was interested in him. She probably wasn't, but he'd get a better sense of it when they met and talked over a meal. If she had no interest whatsoever, he wasn't going to stick his neck out and make a fool of himself with her. But so far so good.
“I can't really get away at lunchtime. I always stay here and eat a banana at my desk, if I get that far. Most of the time, in the middle of the day, I'm in group. And I meet with clients one-on-one in the afternoon.” She had taken a big chunk out of her day for him when he had come to take the tour, but she didn't want to make a habit of it, even for him.
“What about dinner, then?” He held his breath. “Tomorrow maybe?” He was going to a deadly dinner party and would gla
dly cancel it to be with her.
“Sure,” she said hesitantly. She sounded a little confused. “I'm not sure I'll have all my ducks in order by then. I have a list of programs I want to start, it's in rough form, and it's around here somewhere. But I can tell you what I have in mind.” That was all he wanted from her, and not about the programs she was starting, but she had no idea. He sounded as offhand as she.
“We'll just talk about it, and see what we come up with, talking it through. That works better for me sometimes, doing it free form. A brainstorming session with food. Which reminds me, where do you like to eat?”
She laughed at the question. She rarely went out to dinner. By the time she got home at night, she was exhausted. Most nights she didn't even have the energy to go to the gym, which she liked to do too. “Let's see. My usual haunts? Mo's hamburgers on 168th Street and Amsterdam… Sally's spareribs on 125th, near the subway stop on my way home… Izzy's deli on West 99th Street and Columbus …I only go to the best places. I don't think I've been to a decent restaurant in years.” Charlie wanted to change that, and other things in her life, but not all in one night. He wanted to go easy with her, until he knew the lay of the land.
“I'm not sure I can compete with Mo and Izzy's. Where do you live, by the way?”
She hesitated for a minute, and he wondered suddenly if she was living with someone. She sounded as though she was afraid Charlie wanted to drop by. “On the Upper East Side, in the Nineties.” It was a respectable neighborhood, and he got the feeling she was embarrassed to admit it. He wondered suddenly if Gray was right, and her background was more traditional than her ideologies would suggest. She was very dogmatic about what she believed. He had expected her to say that she lived somewhere on the Upper West Side, not on the East Side, but he didn't question it, or push. He could sense her skittishness. Charlie knew women well, he'd been doing this for a long time. A lot longer than Carole, who didn't have the faintest idea how experienced he was, or what he had in mind. Given even a hint of encouragement, which she hadn't given him so far, he wanted to change her life.
“I know a nice quiet Italian place on East Eighty-ninth. How does that sound?” he offered.
“Perfect. What's it called?”
“Stella Di Notte. It's not quite as romantic as it sounds. It means Night Star in Italian, but actually it's a play on words. Stella is the owner, she does all the cooking, and she weighs about three hundred pounds. I don't think they'd ever get her more than an inch or two off the ground, but the pasta is fantastic. She makes it all herself.”
“It sounds great. I'll meet you there.” Charlie was a little startled by her suggestion. He hadn't expected her to say that, and more than ever, he now suspected that there was a man living at her place. He was determined to find out.
“Wouldn't you rather I pick you up?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I'd rather walk. I'm cooped up here all day, and I live on Ninety-first. I need the exercise, even for a few blocks. It clears my head after work.” A likely story, he said to himself. There was probably a handsome thirty-five-year-old, lying on the couch, watching TV with the remote in his hand.
“See you there then. Seven-thirty? Does that give you enough time after work?”
“That's fine. My last group is at four-thirty tomorrow, so I can be home by six-thirty. I assume it's not fancy or anything?” she asked, suddenly sounding nervous. She almost never went out, and never dressed. She wondered if he expected her to wear a little black dress and pearls. She didn't own either, nor did she want to. He looked the type, but this was work. She wasn't going to get dressed up for him. She'd rather have gone to Mo's in that case. She wasn't about to change her lifestyle for him, no matter how much money the foundation had to give them. There were some things she no longer did, and never would again. Dressing up was one of them.
“It's not fancy,” he reassured her. “You can even wear jeans if you want.” Although he hoped she wouldn't. He would have loved to see her in a dress.
“If you don't mind, I will. I won't have time to dress. I never do anyway. What you see is what you get.” Apparently. Jeans and Nikes. Oh, well. So much for the dress.
“I'll do the same,” he said quietly.
“At least you can wear your watch in that neighborhood,” she chuckled at him, and he laughed.
“That's too bad. I pawned it yesterday.”
“What'd you get for it?” She liked teasing him. He seemed like a nice guy. In spite of herself, she was looking forward to dinner with him. She hadn't been out to dinner with a man in nearly four years. And that wasn't about to change, except for one business dinner with him. Just one, she told herself.
“Twenty-five bucks,” he answered her question about the watch.
“Not bad. See you tomorrow night,” she said, and hung up a moment later. And suddenly, after she did, a bolt of lightning ran through him that terrified him. What if he really was insane? Maybe the jeans and running shoes were about something else? What if the gorgeous six-foot Viking with the heart of Mother Teresa didn't have a man living with her? What if he was even more obtuse? What if she was gay? It hadn't even occurred to him till then. But anything was possible. She was clearly no ordinary girl.
“Oh, great,” he said to himself as he put the card back in his wallet, and called the restaurant to make a reservation. Whatever she was, he would know more tomorrow. And until then, all he could do was guess and wait.
11
CHARLIE GOT TO THE RESTAURANT BEFORE CAROLE did. He had told no one he was meeting her, not even Sylvia and Gray. There was nothing to tell them yet, except that he was having an informal foundation dinner with her, since he had used a ruse to get her there. It wasn't a date. He had walked to the restaurant himself. It was a longer walk for him, but like her, he needed the air. He'd been anxious about it all day. And by then, he really was convinced she was gay. It was probably why he'd gotten no reaction from her. Usually, women responded to him in some way. Carole hadn't. She was all business, and had been, both times they met. Professional to her fingertips, although she seemed warm with everyone else, especially the kids. And then he remembered how friendly and congenial she and Tygue had been. Maybe there was a man in her life, and it was him. All he knew by the time he got to the restaurant was that there was a knot in his stomach, which was unfamiliar to him, and she was a complete mystery, and maybe still would be after they had dinner together that night. He wasn't at all sure that she was going to open up to him. She had seemed sealed tight, like a shell, which only seemed more challenging, along with her very impressive brain.
She was totally different from the socialites he pursued normally. They dressed, they danced, they smiled, they went everywhere with him, they played tennis and sailed, and for the most part they bored him to extinction, which was why he was having dinner with Carole Parker that night, who appeared to have absolutely no interest whatsoever in him, and he didn't even know if she was gay or straight. And he had lied to get her there. The whole thing was absurd.
Carole arrived five minutes after he did, and joined Charlie at the corner table Stella had given them. She looked smiling and relaxed as she walked in, in a pair of white jeans and sandals and a crisp white shirt. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she had woven it quickly in a braid. She wore no makeup or nail polish. Her nails were short, and everything about her looked crisp and clean. She had a pale blue sweater draped over her shoulders, and it occurred to him that with what she wore, she would have looked perfect on the Blue Moon. She looked like a sailor or a tennis player, she was a long, lean, athletic-looking woman, and her eyes were a clear bright blue, the same color as her sweater. She looked like a Ralph Lauren ad, although she would probably have hated him if he said it. In her heart, she was more Che Guevara than anything as prosaic and fashionable as a Ralph Lauren model. She smiled at Charlie as soon as she saw him.
“I'm sorry I'm late,” she apologized, and sat down, as he stood up to greet her. It was onl
y five minutes, and it had allowed him to compose himself as he waited for her. He didn't want to order wine until she got there, and they figured out what they were eating.
“No problem. I didn't notice since I no longer have a watch anyway. I thought I'd spend the twenty-five bucks I got for it on dinner,” he said, smiling at her, and she laughed at him. He had a nice sense of humor. She hadn't bothered to bring a handbag with her, she had her key in her pocket, and she didn't need to carry a lipstick since she didn't wear any. And surely not for him. “How was your day?”
“Busy. Crazy. The usual. What about you?” she asked, looking interested. That was new for him too. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had asked him how he was, and actually seemed as though she gave a damn about it. This one did.
“Interesting. I was at the foundation all day. We're trying to figure out how much we want to spend internationally. There are some very good programs in dire need in developing countries, but they have a hell of a time implementing them once they get the money. I had a conference call with Jimmy Carter today, on that subject. They do a lot of really great work in Africa, and he gave me some good advice about how to get through the red tape.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said, smiling at him. “Projects like that make me realize how small our scope is here. Mine, anyway. I'm dealing with kids in a radius of forty blocks of me, sometimes less. It's pathetic when you think of it.” She sighed as she sat back in her chair.
“Not pathetic. You're doing great work. We don't give a million dollars to people who aren't doing impressive work.”
“How much does the foundation give away every year?” She'd been wondering about that since she met him. His foundation was greatly respected in philanthropic circles, and it was all she knew about him.
“About ten million. You kicked us up to eleven, but you're worth it.” He smiled at her, and then pointed to the specials. “You must be starving if all you eat is a banana for lunch.” He remembered what she'd said. They both ordered the gnocchi because Charlie told her it was fabulous and Stella's specialty. She was serving it that night with fresh tomatoes and basil, and in the lingering warm weather of Indian summer, it sounded perfect to Carole too. He ordered a bottle of inexpensive white wine, and once it was served, she took a sip.
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