Alexandra Waring
Page 68
(“Fascinating,” Jessica said, “how love and romance without alcohol adds up to love and romance.”)
But while her own life had changed so much for the better, Jessica couldn’t help but worry a little about Alexandra. But not professionally, because Alexandra was so wildly popular with the public that Jessica couldn’t help but be (only on bad days, mind you) a little jealous. Restaurants were always calling up newspapers to tell them what Alexandra ate in their establishments (and they reported it); designers were always calling DBS to see if Alexandra would like to preview their collections; and the major magazines were forever hounding Alexandra for interviews—and when she gave them, she invariably landed the cover. Alexandra’s inquiries from young people were so numerous, DBS printed a sixteen-page booklet she wrote called “So You Want to Be in TV News” which DBS sent out by the hundreds each week.
Physically speaking, Alexandra had never looked better. She was eating well and sleeping well, exercising religiously, and as a present to herself bought a small farm in Somerset County, New Jersey, where she tried to get to on weekends. But the externals of Alexandra’s life were not what worried Jessica—the externals of Alexandra’s life had always looked great.
“I think you need to talk about it,” Jessica said one Sunday night after their movie was over.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jessica,” Alexandra said, getting up out of her chair, picking up the popcorn bowl and walking out of the room.
Jessica, wrapped in an afghan on the couch, got up to follow Alexandra down the hall to the kitchen, afghan trailing behind her. “You can’t just pretend it never happened.”
“Yes I can,” Alexandra said, walking over to the kitchen sink.
“But you shouldn’t,” Jessica said.
Alexandra banged the popcorn bowl down on the counter and turned around to look at her—as if the next thing to be banged down on the counter might be Jessica’s head. She put one hand on her hip and raised the other, started to say something but then stopped. Then she dropped her hand and sighed. “Look, Jessica,” she said, “it’s all over and done with—life goes on.” Then she turned around and started washing out the bowl.
Jessica sighed and, after several moments, still wrapped in the afghan, she walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and dropped down into it. To Alexandra’s back she said, “And I don’t think this new attitude about your love life is very healthy.”
“What attitude is that?” Alexandra said without turning around.
“This, from-here-on-in-it’s-only-applause-and-genetic-engineering-for-me attitude,” Jessica said. “I mean, Alexandra, who are these guys you go out with? Tim thinks you’re ordering them out of a Brooks’ Brothers catalog.”
Alexandra turned off the water and turned around to look at her.
“Alexandra,” Jessica said, making a terrible face, “they’re all in finance.
Alexandra had to laugh a little then. Then she sighed, smiling, walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Look, Jessica,” she said, “all I know is, if I don’t talk about it, then it can never be used against me. I have no desire to get more hurt than I have been already.”
“But I don’t want to see you shut down, Alexandra Eyes,” Jessica said softly.
“I’m not shutting down,” Alexandra said.
After a moment, Jessica said, “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.” Jessica said.
Alexandra’s eyes stayed focused on the table for a long while. And then she said, eyes still down, “If I could have told Gordon the truth, about Cassy, we might have had a chance.” She paused. “But when I couldn’t tell him, I knew what was wrong between us had nothing to do with Cassy.” She raised her eyes. “Gordon knew it was mistake too—he didn’t say it, but I knew he felt it too.” Her eyes started to glisten as she smiled at Jessica. “We both have a much better idea of what we need, and neither one of us comes very close to the fitting the bill.” She laughed, one tear dropping to her cheek. “But like the best disaster-marriages in the making, we did at least look good, didn’t we?”
“But Alexandra—”
“No, no—that’s it, Jessica,” Alexandra said, jumping up from the chair, waving her hand. “I’m not talking about any of this anymore. It’s over. I mean it—I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t just drop it.”
Meanwhile, back at West End, under the reorganization of Darenbrook Communications, Jackson Darenbrook was named Co-Chairman, Newspaper, Magazine, Textbook and Printing Divisions. He was not in charge of Cassy Cochran at all (which was obvious, he always said, because if he were she would be married to him by now), and while he missed his day-to-day participation in DBS, he welcomed the chance to focus his attention on revitalizing that part of the company which his parents built and which he had been raised to care for.
As for Cordelia Darenbrook Paine, she was surprised and delighted by Jackson’s motion that she be named Managing Director of Company Relations. And that didn’t mean she was just supposed to continue trying to make the relations get along for the sake of the company. It meant that Cordelia would become a very willing and eager apprentice to the corporation and would take on a more prominent role at their southern facilities.
Jackson had become a very happy man. As his relationship with Cassy grew more secure each week, so did his familial relationships. And at Cassy’s suggestion he sat down for an hour and wrote a letter to his daughter, Lydia, every other Sunday, telling her his latest news, and a letter to his son, Kevin, every other Sunday, telling him his latest news. But Jackson did not expect answers. He just did it. Faithfully. He realized that he had been absent from his children’s lives for too long, but that over time he might yet earn a place in their lives with consistency—something he hadn’t had in his own life for years. Until now.
When the reorganization of Darenbrook Communications was complete, Jackson’s relationship with Cassy became public with a very funny and true story that Susan Mulcahy broke in Newsday. It seemed that Cassy was a member of her building’s tenant board and she had to attend a meeting to review the application of a man wishing to buy the three—bedroom apartment next door to her—for twice the going price—only to discover that the applicant’s name was Jackson Darenbrook. And so Cassy sat there, listening as the board members said that regardless of the fact Darenbrook could obviously afford to pay his maintenance fees on time, did they want a known womanizer in their building whose exploits seemed to be a regular feature of the tabloids?
When it looked as though his application was going to be rejected out of hand, Cassy spoke up, confessing that the only woman Mr. Darenbrook had been womanizing with for months had been she, that he wished to marry her, and that while, no, she was not quite ready to marry again, she did think it very likely they would down the road. And so, after Cassy (with a faint smile and scarlet face) vouched for him as a character reference, his initial application was approved for interview. Jackson then came in and charmed the lot of them, and he was allowed to buy the Irvings’ apartment.
(This was all very big news in the neighborhood. First Michael Cochran ran off to California and married a woman twenty years younger than himself, and now Cassy, their quiet, calm and lovely former block association president, had taken up with Jackson Darenbrook. What next? Henry and Cyndi Lauper?)
And so, with their relationship public, it was promptly and forevermore implied in the industry that Cassy Cochran had slept her way into the job of president of the DBS television network. But since, as Cassy pointed out, everybody had always accused her—and practically every other attractive woman—of sleeping her way into every managerial job she had held in the industry anyway, she didn’t much care. She did care, however, very much about what her son Henry thought. And Henry thought Jackson was a pretty good guy and went next door sometimes to hang out when he was in New York, and sometimes stayed the weekend with his mother and Jackson in the house they bought together in upstate Connecticu
t, not far from—surprise, surprise—the Petersons.
When Alexandra returned to West End after her tour, it became apparent to Cassy that while Alexandra wasn’t avoiding her, she certainly wasn’t going out of her way to see her either. And since, after the miniseries was sold, Cassy’s office was moved up to the third floor of Darenbrook III, that was exactly what Alexandra had to do in order to see her—go out of her way.
Finally, while having a bi-weekly review breakfast meeting with Alexandra one morning at Sarabeth’s Kitchen, Cassy sighed, dropped her fork, put her hand on the table and said, “I can’t stand this, Alexandra. We have to get past this!”
“Past what?”
Alexandra’s eyes were on her plate. After a long moment, she put her fork down, raised her napkin to her mouth, looked around, lowered the napkin, turned to Cassy and said, “I wanted to marry you more than I wanted to marry Gordon.”
Cassy blinked.
“I realized it in Detroit,” Alexandra said. “Actually, I don’t think I ever not wanted to marry you. If you’ll excuse the double negative.” She raised her eyes, catching Cassy’s expression
“Don’t even think it,” she said quickly, raising her hand as if to stop Cassy’s thoughts. “My reasons for wanting you at DBS haven’t changed. We need you there—and I need you there—more than ever. Besides,” she added, dropping her eyes yet again, “I’m tired of living on a flat earth where I seem to force everybody I care about over the edge.” She looked at Cassy. “I don’t want you to disappear again. I really don’t. But I need some time. to adjust”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” Cassy finally managed to say.
Silence.
Alexandra was looking at the front door of the restaurant.
“London must have been awful for you,” Cassy said.
Alexandra shrugged, her eyes following some people coming in.
Cassy nodded. And then, after a moment, “It—even if I—” Cassy began. “It wouldn’t it couldn’t have worked anyway. You know that. Us, I mean.”
Alexandra laughed to herself, bringing her eyes back to Cassy. “You mean, did it escape my notice that we would have been a little out of step with the universe of TV Guide? No, Cassy, it didn’t.” She leaned forward to add, “And not to downgrade a compliment or anything, but I’m not sure I was really prepared to destroy my career and alienate my family just for the pleasure of your company.”
Cassy winced.
“Sorry,” Alexandra said, falling back in her seat. “That just came out.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“But I’m not angry, not really,” Alexandra said. “I’m hurt. And feeling a little humiliated, I think.” She paused, looking around before continuing. “And I get scared, I think,” she sighed, “that if I wait to find a someone I care about as much as I care about you, I might end up spending my life alone. And I don’t want that, Cassy,” she said, her eyes starting to glisten. “But I just don’t think I could commit on anything less. I don’t think I could use someone like that, no matter how much I might want a family of my own—a family that’s connected to my family back home. Because I do want that, Cassy…”
“I know you do,” Cassy said.
“But nothing I do or feel seems to add up to anything,” Alexandra . finished. She lowered her eyes to the table. “I don’t know, maybe when time starts running out on me I’ll be able to get on with it. Maybe when children shift to the priority I won’t care so much.”
Not long after her breakfast with Cassy, Gordon came to Alexandra’s apartment. They talked for a long time, they cried for a while, and then, holding hands, she walked him to the front door. They kissed. And then he left.
The Saturday that Gordon and Betty Cannondale were married, Alexandra spent the day at her new farm wallpapering her kitchen.
Jessica was there to help. And Jessica was there to listen.