* * *
THE NOVEMBER AIR was cold at 6:00 A.M. The forecast said it would warm into the fifties with rain in the evening, but right now it felt like snow. Charlie wore gloves and a wool New York Giants hat against the cold. In the pouch at the front of his sweatshirt, he’d stuffed cotton mittens and a wool OntAmex hat for Natty.
He crossed Park Avenue, enjoying the rare opportunity to saunter leisurely across the deserted street. Weekend mornings were a magical time in Midtown, when he felt as if he had the magnificent city all to himself. A few cabs trundled home the casualties of a Friday night gone on too long. A street sweeper moved toward him like some sort of wounded animal. There wasn’t another pedestrian in sight.
Crossing Fifth Avenue at the library, Charlie jogged across 42nd Street and then up Broadway through Times Square. He entered the Milford Plaza on 45th Street and looked around the lobby. Natty was nowhere in sight. He went out the Eighth Avenue entrance and walked to the corner to see if she’d gone out that door. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only six twenty-five. He was early.
“Hey, soldier. Looking for a good time?”
Charlie laughed and turned to see Natty a few feet away. She wore a dark-blue warm-up suit with the top zipped all the way up and the collar raised. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets. Charlie was right—she hadn’t brought gloves or her Spider-Man hat.
“Hi, Nat,” he said, pulling the mittens out of his pouch.
“Hey, Charlie.” He handed them to her and stretched the hat over her head. Natty thought he might kiss her, but he smiled and stepped back.
“Ready?” he said.
“Gotta do at least five miles to work off that dinner from last night.”
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll show you what heaven is like for a runner in New York.” They went north on Eighth Avenue, running at a slow pace to warm up and so they could talk easily. At Columbus Circle, they turned back down Broadway. Several joggers were headed into Central Park, but Charlie knew that wouldn’t be as exciting for Natty as the streets of Manhattan.
As they ran through Times Square, Natty recounted Mabel’s reaction to the New York prices, and Charlie laughed. They ran east on 39th Street, which was dark and cold, with no direct exposure yet to the morning light. Natty filled him in on their bus tour and was effusive in her praise for their dinner at Tavern on the Green. It was an experience the women would remember for the rest of their lives. Charlie was glad he’d added it to their itinerary. He knew that Tavern on the Green would make the women from West Virginia feel like high society.
Crossing Park Avenue, he showed her the Dietrich Delahunt & Mackey building on the next block south. He was staying in one of their corporate apartments.
“How come not in Manara…”
“Mamaroneck,” Charlie prompted. “No sense going up there. Ellen’s in Florida playing tennis, and I had a meeting here yesterday afternoon.”
“Good meeting?” she asked.
Charlie hesitated, not wanting to get into it. “No, not really,” he admitted.
“Anything to do with Redemption Mountain?”
“Not entirely. Things are changing in the company.”
They ran up First Avenue so Charlie could show her the United Nations building, then he led her onto 48th Street headed west. “C’mon,” he said, surging ahead of her, “let’s work up a sweat.” Natty responded easily, as he knew she would, settling comfortably into a more aggressive pace.
They turned right onto Lexington, and the wider avenue gave Natty the opportunity to see the height of the skyscrapers. By the time they reached 57th Street, they were both breathing deeply. They now had to dodge some morning dog-walkers and a few joggers wearing headphones. They ran down Fifth Avenue, slowing to a more leisurely pace so Natty could enjoy the stores and the opulence of the famous street. Charlie pointed out Tiffany’s and Trump Tower, and Natty peered into several parked limousines to see if any celebrities could be seen behind the dark glass.
Suddenly Natty dashed across Fifth Avenue, dodging several cabs, and jogged down a side street. Charlie stopped and watched her slow to a walk in front of a basement shop. It was a chic beauty salon with a French name. He waited for her on the corner. “I just wanted to see when they opened,” she said. “But they got a little sign that says BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.” Charlie nodded, not wanting to tell her that a beauty salon off Fifth Avenue was probably a little out of her price range.
“I was planning on getting something done with my hair while I was here,” Natty said, pulling off the wool hat.
“Your hair looks fine,” said Charlie truthfully.
Natty laughed. “Yeah, like a mop somebody washed the gym floor with.” She pulled the hat on again.
Charlie laughed as he reached into a pocket for his cellphone. He stopped walking and put the phone to his ear, smiling at Natty. “Hello, Carlos,” he said. “I need a little favor.” After another minute, he folded up the phone. “C’mon,” he said to Natty. “I’ll show you Rockefeller Center.”
They walked down Fifth Avenue at a leisurely pace. “You’ve got a nine-thirty appointment at the Carlos Marché Salon. He’s a good friend of mine. The salon is on the first floor of our building, the one I pointed out. A car will pick you up in front of your hotel.”
Natty wrinkled up her nose. “A car?”
“The salon has its own limo for customers.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. It sounds a little ritzy. Maybe I’ll just skip it.”
“You know how hard it is to get an appointment there on a Saturday morning?” Charlie asked playfully.
“But, Charlie, I only got fifty dollars in my pocket. After that, I’ll be walkin’ around Times Square with a tin cup if I want another coffee at Starbucks.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Charlie. “Carlos owes me.” He wouldn’t bother to tell Natty that fifty dollars was about the minimum tip for a stylist at Carlos’s salon.
“Oh!” said Natty, reaching into a pocket of her sweatpants. “I almost forgot. This is for you.” She handed Charlie the extra ticket to Les Misérables. Charlie had planned to work for most of the day, then to meet Natty for dinner after the show. But it had been a couple of years since he’d seen Les Mis, and the thought of seeing Natty’s reaction to the incredible show was too exciting to pass up.
“That’s great,” he said. “I can’t wait to see it again.”
“Again?” Natty squinted at him curiously. “How many times you seen this show?”
“This’ll be the fourth.”
“It’s that good?”
Charlie smiled. “It’s better.”
They walked through Rockefeller Center, stopping for coffee and bagels to go, at a cost that Charlie refused to reveal. While they ate, he gave Natty a brief history of Rockefeller Center, pointing out the different buildings and the famous artwork on their façades. They stood at the railing of the ice rink, watching a lone maintenance man skate around the ice while pushing a wide shovel. He waved to them and did a graceful spin.
They walked by Radio City Music Hall and down the Avenue of the Americas to 45th Street. When they reached the corner of Broadway, Natty could see the awning of the Milford Plaza. She pulled off her mittens and hat and handed them to Charlie. “Here, save these for next time, okay?”
“How about tomorrow? Same time. We’ll go downtown. I’ll show you the Brooklyn Bridge, the most beautiful bridge in the world.”
“Sounds great, but we’re leaving at 9:00 A.M. Driving straight through going back.” She looked at Charlie, thinking how nice it would be to spend the whole day with him on Sunday instead of going home.
He smiled and reached out to brush aside the ever-present lock of hair that fell across her forehead. “We’ll have dinner, after the show?”
“Sure,” Natty said, looking at her watch. “Uh-oh. Gotta get my shower, so I don’t miss my limousine.”
“See you later,” called Charlie, turning to walk back to Park Avenue.
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Natty walked a few steps toward the Milford Plaza, then turned to watch Charlie trot east across 45th. She wondered if he had any idea of how special the morning had been for her. Running the streets of Manhattan with this wonderful, handsome man, sharing coffee and bagels, talking, and walking through Rockefeller Center on a Saturday morning—a morning she would remember for a long time to come. She spun around and started walking toward the hotel. Nah, Charlie wouldn’t know anything about stuff like that.
CHAPTER 31
Natty stood on the sidewalk as the limousine pulled away from the curb. She wished she had a camera to take a picture of it. The kids would never believe her! She wasn’t sure she was in the right place until she saw the elegant silver lettering to the right of the main entrance. In small script it said Carlos Marché Salon, and, under it, New York and Paris. The large glass doors were emblazoned with black lettering: DIETRICH DELAHUNT & MACKEY, ENGINEERS, NEW YORK, SAN FRANCISCO, WASHINGTON, D.C., BEIJING. She looked at the sign and felt the familiar insecurity she often experienced when she thought about the life that Charlie led.
In the lobby, she spied an elegant wooden door with a polished metal plate identifying it as the salon. Inside, Natty thought she’d entered a museum. Colorful paintings adorned fabric-covered walls, and expensive-looking tables held elaborate wood carvings. To her right was a small waiting area with thick white carpeting and black furniture. A credenza held an assortment of beverages.
One of the two uncomfortable-looking chairs in the waiting area was occupied by a woman with long black hair, wearing large sunglasses, a suede jacket, and blue jeans tucked inside tall leather boots. Talking softly into a cellphone, she looked up briefly, then back at the floor. Natty was sure it was Demi Moore, who’d starred in her all-time favorite movie, Ghost, but, then again, maybe it wasn’t. New York was filled with women who looked like movie stars.
To Natty’s left, a thin black woman, her long hair cascading around her shoulders in tight braids, sat behind a wide mahogany table, with a telephone and a leather-bound appointment book. She smiled at Natty as she pressed a button on the phone. “Carlos Marché Salon,” she announced. She began to speak French. Natty waited, wondering what she should do next. Her first instinct was to turn around and find her way back to the hotel.
Then, without a sound, a woman appeared from around a corner and stopped in front of Natty. She was attractive, in her late forties, with shoulder-length brown hair with gold highlights—serious hair, Sally would call it. The beauty of her face was accentuated by her makeup. Natty felt plain next to her. The woman wore tight black leather pants, a white blouse, and a tan vest, and had an air of authority about her.
“Hello, Mrs. Oakes,” she said, “I’m Tina. I’ll take you back to Mr. Marché’s studio now.” Maybe Demi Moore stopped talking into her cellphone and looked up again at Natty, this time with more interest.
They walked down a hallway, past several closed doors. From behind one door, Natty could hear the sound of a hair dryer. At the end of the hallway, Tina pulled open a heavy door. The floor of the room was covered in thick white carpeting, except for a small tiled area under a styling chair. A man seated at an antique pedestal desk spoke on a cordless phone. When he saw the two women, he hung up immediately and rose to greet them.
He was probably in his early fifties, Natty guessed, with closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Just a few inches taller than Natty, he had the physique of a gymnast. He wore a beige cashmere sweater that contrasted perfectly with the most beautiful light-brown skin Natty had ever seen. As he approached her, his mouth opened in a dazzling white smile that finally put Natty at ease.
“Hello, Natty,” he said, with a trace of a Caribbean accent. “I’m Carlos Marché.” He ushered Natty to the chair and stood a few feet in front of her, his eyes moving from her face to her hair. Finally, he reached out with both hands and held her hair away from her neck. “So,” he said, letting her hair down again, “you’re going to the theater this afternoon.” He winked at Tina. “And then to dinner with our friend Charlie.”
“First time I ever been to a show,” Natty admitted. “First time in New York. So I thought I’d get something done with my hair while I was here. Maybe just a little trim, you know, don’t need anything fancy.”
Carlos took a half step back, studying Natty’s hair for a few moments more, a serious look on his face. “How much time have we got?” he asked softly, glancing at Tina.
Natty answered. “Well, the show starts at—”
Carlos came forward a step, shaking his head to interrupt her. He took both of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Natty, do you trust me?” he asked.
“Sure I do.” She laughed. “You know this stuff a lot better than me.”
“Okay, that’s good,” he said. He turned to Tina, who was already poking at her PDA with a metal stylus. “I’ll need Javier for color, then Monica for nails.” He smiled at Tina. “And you’ll do makeup.”
Tina smiled at Natty with raised eyebrows. It was apparent that she was getting the A-Team of the Carlos Marché Salon.
* * *
CHARLIE MADE DINNER reservations at a restaurant near the theater. It was classy without being stuffy and served a menu that Natty would be comfortable with. The reservations were for eight o’clock, which would give them plenty of time to head up to the atrium at the Marriott Marquis for a drink first. She would enjoy looking down at Times Square. At one o’clock, he pulled on a gray houndstooth jacket over a black wool jersey and started out for the Imperial Theatre. As he dodged the usual midday traffic, his cellphone vibrated.
“Hi, Charlie. Is this a good time?” It was Ellen.
“Yes, Ellen, your timing’s perfect.”
“I’m on the beach at the Boca Raton Club. Linda’s gone back to the room. It’s hot here. How’s everything in New York?”
Charlie told her about the meeting with Lucien and Mal. She listened intently as he broke the news of the management coup at DD&M. Then he told her about his imminent posting to China. “They want me as far away as possible,” he explained.
“Charlie, China was what we wanted all along, wasn’t it?”
He had to smile at Ellen’s use of the word we. “Yeah, China will be good,” said Charlie absently.
There was a long pause before Ellen spoke again. “Is your friend in New York this weekend?”
Charlie hesitated. “Um, they’re going to see Les Mis this afternoon and then to dinner at Tavern on the Green,” he lied.
“So you won’t be seeing her?”
Charlie stopped on the sidewalk. “I don’t know,” he said vaguely. “Maybe for a run tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, she’s a runner, too.”
“Sort of.”
Ellen waited a few seconds to see if he had any more to add. “Okay, Charlie, I’m going to go. Don’t forget about Thanksgiving. We’re all set for Vermont. Scottie and Jennifer are both coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Charlie softly.
“Good, okay. Love you, Charlie,” said Ellen, before clicking off.
“Damn,” Charlie said to himself, as he closed the phone. Lying to Ellen was becoming too easy, and he hated it.
* * *
THE IMPERIAL THEATRE was filling up quickly when Charlie walked down the center aisle to find his seat. The travel agent had secured a block of tickets center right. His seat was in the row farthest back, next to the travel agent.
He watched as the rest of the group filled in the empty seats in the two rows in front of him. They were smiling and enjoying themselves. Most of them waved to him as they found their seats. Before Mabel sat, she took a quick look at the back of the theater, then smiled at Charlie. There was an empty seat next to her.
The lights blinked and Charlie glanced at his watch. Natty was nowhere in sight. Charlie read his Playbill to see if he recognized any of the names in the cast. Then the houselights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. Charlie looked up to see an us
her leading a slight figure to the one empty seat. The theater was dark now, with the curtain open and the spotlights trained on the stage. It was a woman—a small woman—or a girl, he was fairly certain, a little taller than Natty. Her hair was very short and cut like a man’s, a golden—almost white—shade of blond.
Charlie’s eyes kept darting back to the woman. As the stage lights came up, she turned to Mabel.
Charlie could see the delicate profile. He smiled to himself. He should have known. Carlos Marché wouldn’t play it safe with Natty Oakes. He’d bring out every ounce of her beauty and put it on display for the world to see. That’s what he did for a living. Charlie turned back to the stage and tried to focus on the greatest play in the history of musical theater.
The familiar strains of “One Day More” announced the approach of intermission. Charlie watched Natty and the women from Red Bone applaud vigorously as the houselights came up, then he rose to let a few women pass through to the aisle. “’Scuse me, Mr. Burdan,” Mabel’s cousin said hurriedly, “my bladder’s about to burst, an’ nat wouldn’t be a pretty sight.” He sat down again and perused his Playbill as the seats emptied.
Charlie shifted his gaze and noticed that Natty was still seated. He watched as she looked to her left, then down at her lap. She hesitated before turning around to face Charlie.
He rose from his seat slowly, his eyes transfixed on the woman before him. It was obviously Natty but so incredibly transformed that for an instant he thought it must be someone else. Her hair was shorn like a man’s, in a long, ragged crew cut, and colored in a shade of light blond that seemed to glow in the dim light of the theater. But it was Natty’s face—the first time he’d ever seen her with makeup—that made Charlie’s heart pound.
The dark sweep of her eyelashes made her blue eyes sparkle, and her pale-pink lips shone with gloss. She wore a short black dress with a high neckline and a matching long-sleeved jacket. Then Charlie noticed that she was wearing earrings—small, dangling silver chains—as well as a thin silver choker. He took a breath as the realization hit him. Yes, of course it was Natty. And she was absolutely stunning.
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