by Anita Hughes
Oliver looked up from his cheese omelet and gulped. If he didn’t take the position, he would always wonder what he had missed. But Lily’s shoulders sagged, and she looked so unhappy.
“Why don’t we go back to our hotel and look through Craigslist,” he offered.
“Our room is so hot I can barely breathe,” she answered. “And we’ve read every newspaper in New York. It’s no use, we’ll never find a decent apartment we can afford.”
“I’ve already given the Chronicle my notice.” He fiddled with his fork. “If we go back to San Francisco, I’ll end up as the food critic at the Palo Alto Gazette.”
“Maybe this isn’t the right time to open a Lily Bristol,” she said slowly. “We’ll take the money we were going to borrow to open the store and get a weekend cottage outside the city.”
“You have to open a Lily Bristol,” Oliver insisted.
“I’ll still fly to San Francisco to check on the store and make trips to Milan,” she answered. “We agreed you had to take this job, and now we have to make it work.”
Oliver’s heart melted. Lily adored Lily Bristol but she would give it up for him. He thought of everything they’d done together. Strolling along the River Arno in Florence. Eating lobster on their honeymoon in Portugal. Seeing Lily push through the pain of childbirth and being handed the most exquisite bundle. Everything that made him happy was because of Lily.
“I have an idea,” he said suddenly. He put some money on the table and took Lily’s hand. He ran into the street and flagged down a cab.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“First we’re going to check out of that fleabag motel and get a room at the St. Regis.” He climbed into the taxi. “My expense account is the best thing about this job and it’s time to use it. We’re going to drink Bloody Marys at the King Cole Bar and watch cable television. Then tomorrow, I have a surprise for you.”
“You forgot the best part.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“We’re going to turn on the air-conditioning and fall asleep under cotton sheets. In the morning, we’ll order muesli with fruit salad and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“Will we be naked when we climb into bed?” Oliver wondered aloud.
Lily reached up and kissed him. “We’ll definitely be naked.”
* * *
“Oh, Oliver, there are apple trees and a pond.” Lily waved her arms. “Louisa could have a dozen goldfish and that tiger fish she saw at the pet store.”
Lily clutched a red apple, and Oliver was reminded of the girl eating a peach at the Naples train station. Lily’s brown eyes sparkled, and a smile lit up her face.
They had taken the train to Wilton, Connecticut, and met with a real estate agent. She’d shown them a cottage in the woods and a colonial house in the center of town. Now they stood in front of a clapboard farmhouse with a sloped roof and a barn.
“So you like it?” Oliver asked.
“I love everything about it.” Lily turned to him. “The dormer windows and secret space under the stairs. And the garden! It’s like something out of a Virginia Woolf novel. But we can’t afford it.”
“Why don’t we discuss it over ice cream?” he suggested.
“There’s no point talking about it,” she sighed. “We’re just looking for two bedrooms and a shed for buckets and shovels.”
“We’ll ask the agent to drop us at off on Main Street.” He took her arm. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
* * *
“You know what Wilton doesn’t have,” Oliver said, eating a bite of chocolate ice cream.
They sat at a window table at Carvel and shared a banana split. Lily’s hair was pushed back, and she looked like the cover of his sister’s old Seventeen magazine.
“It has everything.” Lily licked her spoon. “A bookshop and a children’s clothing store and an old-fashioned pharmacist. There’s even a tack shop with a saddle in the window.”
“It doesn’t have a home furnishings store.”
“I suppose it doesn’t.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It would be a wonderful place to open a store. The locals all wear Italian loafers and drive Audis and Range Rovers. And the weekenders would spend a fortune.”
“There’s a vacant space across the street.” Oliver pointed to a brick building with black awnings. “You should open a Lily Bristol.”
“How would I do that if we lived in Manhattan?” she asked.
“We wouldn’t live in New York.” Oliver said. “We’d live in a white clapboard farmhouse with a barn. Louisa would ride a bicycle to school when she’s older, and in the summer, she’d build sandcastles at the beach.”
“I thought we were looking for a weekend cottage. How could we afford to live here full-time?” she asked. “A farmhouse in Connecticut must be expensive.”
“The agent said the owner would lend us the money himself. He wants the house to go to a young family who will fill it with love,” he explained. “And the store across the street has been empty for ages, we could get a great deal.”
“But you’d have to be in the city almost every night,” Lily said doubtfully. “Louisa and I would barely see you.”
“You could take the train in on some evenings and meet me,” he suggested. “It would be like when we were dating, except we would eat at Michelin-starred restaurants.” He took her hand. “Do you recall when we met in Naples, and I asked what you wanted to do when you weren’t getting stranded in train stations? You said you wanted to collect furnishings from all over the world and open your own store.” He paused. “You can’t stop now. You could open Lily Bristols in Paris and London and Amsterdam.”
“You’ve always wanted to live in a city, what if you hate it here? And the farmhouse needs a lot of work.” She hesitated. “You’ll spend weekends patching walls and replacing shingles.”
“I worked on my parents’ lake house every summer in Michigan.” He paused. “Remember when we stopped in the village of Spello on the way to Florence, and you asked what my ideal life would be? I said I wanted a rewarding career and a loving family and plenty of money.” He looked at Lily. “I have all that now, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re not happy.”
“Oh, Oliver, if you really think so!” She clapped her hands. “We’ll be stretched financially at first. We’ll eat ham sandwiches and sleep on foam mattresses.” She laughed. “But I’ll fill Lily Bristol with wooden chests from Cape Cod and maple furniture from Vermont. Louisa will climb trees, and we’ll lie on the porch at night and gaze at the stars.”
Oliver leaned forward and kissed her. Her mouth was soft, and she tasted of bananas and nuts.
“I forgot the most important thing.” She kissed him back. “We’ll be so happy.”
* * *
Oliver ate the last bite of sorbet and glanced around the piazzetta. For the first time since he and Lily had separated, he felt optimistic. Look at how Angela had surprised him. She was not only gorgeous, she enjoyed art and culture too.
He paid the check and scooped up his package. If he hurried, he might convince Angela to take a nap before dinner. What would she say when she unwrapped the tissue paper, and how would she thank him?
* * *
“It’s the most spectacular restaurant I’ve ever seen,” Angela breathed. “And did you look at the crowd? I swear I saw Kate Moss and Calvin Harris.”
Oliver thought the Yacht Club was like one of those E! specials about the rich and famous you couldn’t help watching. The tile floor was covered with red carpet, pewter urns held flowering orchids, and glass chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. And the view! The yachts were parked so close, Oliver could see staterooms with leopard-skin rugs and silk bedspreads through the portholes.
“Remind me never to let Louisa go to a place like this when she’s older,” he muttered, noticing a woman in a spandex dress and stilettos. “I’ve seen more clothing on Louisa’s dolls when they take a bath. That
woman may as well be wearing a Band-Aid.”
“Relax, we’re on the Emerald Coast!” Angela laughed. “Part of the fun is wearing outrageous designs and doing crazy things. I read about a movie star who got thrown out of the Yacht Club for drinking champagne out of a slipper.”
“Well, you look sensational. The dress suits you.” Oliver studied the vintage Romeo Gigli and thought the saleswoman had been right. The color enhanced Angela’s coppery hair, and the style showcased her figure. Gold earrings shimmered in her ears, and he was proud to accompany her. He remembered their predinner frolic and sighed.
“Thank you, it really was a thoughtful present,” Angela said and gasped. “Is that Johnny Depp? I heard he’s about to get engaged. I should give him my card.”
“You can’t waltz over to a celebrity you’ve never met,” Oliver protested. “And how do you know he’s getting engaged? It’s probably Internet gossip.”
“Part of my job is knowing who’s getting engaged. Or how would we get the big clients?” she asked. “I do work for one of the best florists in New York. Johnny Depp would be lucky to have Dalton Faye design his wedding. I’ll be right back.”
“You’re not really going to give him your card?” Oliver fumed. “What if he asks the maître d’ to kick you out?”
“Do you really think he would have me kicked out?” She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “I don’t want to work for someone else forever. If I don’t try, I’ll never get ahead.”
Angela crossed the room, and Oliver searched for a waiter. He really needed some bruschetta while they waited for a table. The concierge insisted the reservation be for nine PM or they wouldn’t see the fashionable people. But now his head felt light, and he had a hollow feeling in his stomach.
A couple entered through the glass doors, and Oliver noticed the woman’s silver taffeta gown. It had a tight bodice and full skirt, and she wore diamond earrings.
He looked more closely and had a clammy feeling that started at his toes and worked its way to the base of his neck. What was Lily doing at the Yacht Club, and who was the dark-haired man beside her?
He and Angela could sneak out the side door and try another restaurant. But it would be impossible to get a reservation at this hour. And if they went back to their suite, room service would take ages.
But would Angela be comfortable dining in the same room as his ex-wife? And what was Lily doing with a guy who looked like one of those Tom Ford ads plastered on the side of a bus? You hated everything about the male model: his chiseled cheekbones and smoldering eyes and Rolex watch … until you remembered it was just an ad and he probably worked nights as a waiter, like every struggling actor/model in New York.
“Oliver!” Lily approached him. “What are you doing here?”
Oliver turned and gulped. It was too late now; he had to make the best of it. And anyway, he was having dinner with his girlfriend. Lily was all dressed up for someone she barely knew.
“Lily, what a surprise,” Oliver answered. He turned to the man and held out his hand. “I’m Oliver Bristol, Lily’s ex-husband.”
“This is Ricky Perilli,” she introduced them. “Ricky and I met a couple of days ago. He owns a boutique in the marina.”
“The Emerald Coast seems like an excellent place to own a store.” Oliver nodded. “I visited a boutique this afternoon and practically turned over my life savings. I haven’t seen such high prices since I reviewed Masa. It’s the most expensive restaurant in New York, and a prawn cocktail costs two hundred dollars.”
Oliver thought he should keep quiet. He was babbling, and nothing he said made sense.
“Here’s Angela, let me introduce her to Ricky.” He sighed with relief. “She was just talking to Johnny Depp.”
“Are you sure it’s Johnny Depp?” Lily peered across the room. “That man looks too young, and he doesn’t have a pierced ear.”
“Oliver.” Angela joined them. “You didn’t tell me you invited another couple.”
“We ran into each other,” Oliver stammered. “You remember Lily, and this is Ricky. He owns a boutique in the marina.”
“We could all have a drink while we wait,” Lily said, and her eyes sparkled. “Ricky knows the bartender. He’ll make us Tanqueray and tonic with guava juice.”
Oliver had to stop this before it got worse. He signaled the maître d’ and took Angela’s arm.
“Another time. Our table is ready.” He nodded at Ricky. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
* * *
Oliver sipped ice water and leaned back in his chair. Why would Lily invite them for a drink? Perhaps she wanted to show off her date. But that wasn’t like Lily; she never cared about Oliver’s looks or wardrobe.
But how well did he know Lily now? He had never seen that taffeta gown, and how did she know Johnny Depp pierced his ear?
“You’re not listening to me, Oliver.” Angela looked up from the menu. “I just said that wasn’t Johnny Depp, it was a French actor based in Cannes. His sister is getting married next year, and he’s going to recommend me for the job.”
“I didn’t know Johnny Depp had a sister,” Oliver said, and realized his mistake. He signaled the waiter and thought he must get Angela drunk. It was the only way she wouldn’t notice his hands were shaking.
“Are you all right?” Angela asked. “You’re acting strangely, and you look a little peaked.”
How could he explain to Angela that eating at the same restaurant as Lily made him anxious? Even if he didn’t have feelings for her, there was a connection like an invisible thread.
“Is it because you’re not comfortable around ambitious women?” Angela asked, buttering a breadstick.
“What did you say?” Oliver asked.
“Ever since I said I was going to give Johnny Depp my card, you’ve been a little off,” she continued. “Some men have trouble with women who have careers. I thought you’d be different.”
“Different?” he repeated. If he had something in his stomach, he thought, he could think clearly and follow the conversation.
“Since your wife was successful, I thought you wouldn’t mind that I want the same thing,” she explained. “I’ve read a few articles about Lily Bristol, and Lily is quite impressive. She owns stores on three continents, and all her employees are women.”
“You never said you knew anything about Lily.” He fiddled with his glass.
“I didn’t really put it together until we met at the hotel.” She shrugged. “I’m not a fangirl or anything, I just admire what she’s achieved. I want the same things: my own floral business and a family.”
“A family?” Oliver looked up.
“I could never be one of those career women who comes home to a briefcase full of papers and grilled salmon from Zabar’s. I am an Ohio girl, after all. Family is important to me.” She looked at Oliver. “You do want more children, don’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” Oliver loosened his collar.
“You’re only thirty-three, and I’m sure Louisa would like a brother or sister.” She leaned forward. “All children want a sibling.”
Oliver opened his mouth and stopped. He was having dinner with a beautiful woman at the most exclusive restaurant on the Emerald Coast. Why make a fuss about the future?
“Of course.” He swallowed his gin and tonic. “Why wouldn’t I want more children?”
* * *
They ate gnocchi with garlic foam and paprika. There was goat with cheese sauce and some kind of flavorful risotto. Oliver told stories about sampling seven-course tasting menus at Per Se and eating hundred-dollar plates of sashimi at Kurumazushi.
“Tell me what I should have for dessert.” Angela handed him the dessert menu. “Something light without too much sugar.”
Oliver looked up and noticed Lily and Ricky at a table near the window. Lily was talking animatedly, and her cheeks glowed in the candlelight.
“Oliver,” Angela repeated. “The waiter would like to know what we wa
nt for dessert.”
“The tiramisu with lemon zest is excellent,” the waiter said. “I just recommended it to another couple.” He pointed in Lily and Ricky’s direction.
“Did you say they were having the tiramisu?” Oliver asked.
“Yes, but there’s more in the kitchen,” the waiter answered. “It’s our most popular dessert.”
“Is it made with cinnamon?” Oliver asked.
Lily was allergic to cinnamon; it made her eyes water and gave her a rash. Surely she wouldn’t have ordered the tiramisu. But knowing Lily, she’d forget she was allergic. She was used to Oliver ordering for her.
“I believe it is.” The waiter nodded.
Oliver looked up and saw another waiter place a silver dish in front of Lily. He pushed back his chair and raced across the room. He grabbed the dish and held it in the air.
“Oliver, what on earth are you doing?” Lily jumped up.
“The tiramisu is baked with cinnamon,” he explained. “You’ll have an allergic reaction!”
Lily’s eyes flickered, and she held out her hand. “I requested it without cinnamon. Please give me back my dessert.”
Oliver stepped forward and tripped over the rug. The bowl flew out of his hands and clattered on the floor. He slipped on custard and landed on his back.
“Are you all right?” Ricky got up from his chair and crouched beside Oliver.
Oliver wiped off his slacks and stood up. Lily’s mouth trembled, and he had never seen her so angry.
“I’m fine.” He nodded and turned to Lily. “I’m very sorry. I’ll order you another dessert.”
* * *
Oliver took off his blazer and folded it on the love seat. It was almost midnight, and the sound of laughter and music drifted up from the piazzetta.
After he had wiped off the custard, he returned to their table and tried to eat dessert. But all he could see was the horrified look on Lily’s face when he grabbed the bowl. He’d only been trying to help; how could he know Lily ordered it without cinnamon?
Now Angela was changing in the bedroom, and he wondered if she would make him sleep on the sofa. He couldn’t blame her. He’d embarrassed her in front of the entire dining room.
