Chapter Twenty-seven
Warren, at least, was not a fantasy. When she woke up, he was in the kitchen, reading the morning paper and drinking coffee. From a Starbucks cup, she noted.
“Did you just get in?”
“We pulled an all-nighter. I slept on the couch in the office. Just came home to shower and change.”
“How’s the project going?”
“Terrific. We keep this up, we’ll bring it in ahead of schedule.”
“So you must be winning points with management.”
“Yep.” And he went back to reading the paper.
“Well, I’m going to dress. Gotta get to the office.”
But he was already engrossed in an article on currency shifts and didn’t hear her.
And in the shower, she was reviewing the situation.
“This isn’t good. I don’t think Warren cares if I’m dead or alive.”
Then, brushing her teeth, “He stays out all night, and then doesn’t even ask when did I get home or how was the trip, or how’s the story going.”
And, pulling on a pair of skinny black jeans, high heeled booties, and a voluminous multicolored top belted low over her hips, “Like he said, there are plenty of other girls who’d be happy to take my place. Prettier girls. Sexier girls.”
And for the many-thousandth time in her life, Gena sized up the image of herself in the mirror and found herself too broad-mouthed, too wide-eyed, too wild-haired, too many things that were too much. Except body fat, of which there was too little.
She could spray some hairspray on her hair to keep it tidier, but there was nothing to be done about the big mouth, the teeth that showed like a row of headlights when she smiled, the eyebrows that, despite plucking, waxing, threading, and everything else she’d tried, continued to look altogether too dramatic. Right on the edge of fierce, she thought. Oh, how she envied those wispy, pale girls with the delicate-looking bones, who looked so fragile. They obviously needed to be handled gently. By big, strong, manly men.
She made a face at herself in the mirror, and, for the many-thousandth time, she pulled herself together, picked herself up off the mat once more, gathered up her things, and left for work.
Warren was still reading the paper as she closed the door behind her. She’d said goodbye, but he was too engrossed to notice.
* * * *
At the office, there was plenty to keep her mind busy. Her collection of notes on Sonny and the wedding now filled more than one folder and needed careful sorting. That took up most of the morning, and then, without a proper break for lunch, only an ordered-in club sandwich and a milkshake at her desk, she began outlining the story, which she was filing under the temporary working title, “You Are So Beautiful.”
Keeping her mind busy was important, because when she didn’t keep it occupied, it kept sliding around to what would happen after work, when she went to pick Wiley up from Dog Prep. Would she perhaps run into Paul? And if not tonight, maybe tomorrow morning? Or, in any case, inevitably, sometime soon? And was she eager for that to happen? Or, as her better angels seemed to be telling her, was that absolutely a no-no?
Had she been caught in the snare of a momentary attraction—it could happen to anyone—or was there really something special, something worth holding on to, about this man? Was it only because she happened to be going through a rough patch with Warren and was more vulnerable than she should be? Didn’t she have an obligation to work things out with Warren? Think how many years there were between them. And how could there be any real attraction to Paul? She hardly knew anything at all about him. Shouldn’t relationships be built on common interests, shared values, the careful work of getting to know each other on a deep and significant level? At an intimate level?
Whoops!
“Intimate” was the wrong word. It took her right back to her sexualized fantasies about Paul, and that was just where she absolutely must not—didn’t want to—go.
This whole emotional turmoil about Paul, the moral dilemma wrapped around a preoccupation that she just couldn’t shake, had her in a state by the time she got herself uptown and to the doors of Dog Prep. And, of course, when she entered, there he was. Right as she walked in, he was picking up Sweetie Pie and chatting with Labibbah, the pretty young woman who worked at the reception desk. Paul turned as Gena came in, and he was just as attractive, standing there so casually, tall and at ease, holding Sweetie Pie’s leash with one nice hand and signing some papers on Labibbah’s desk with his other nice hand. Gena felt her cheeks burn, and she knew she was blushing with embarrassment, as though anyone, and Paul in particular, could know what her thoughts about him had been. But, of course, he didn’t know, and he merely said, “Hi,” and turned back to the papers he was signing.
She caught her breath. She put on the conventional show of nonchalance. “Hi,” she said. And to Labibbah she said, “I’ve come to get Wiley. Has he been okay?”
“He’s been such a treat. That little boy is just so much fun. And he and Sweetie Pie here are best friends. They get along like they’ve know each other forever. Wait a minute. I’ll call Nikki to get him.” And she picked up the phone at her desk and told Nikki that Wiley’s owner was there to pick him up.
In a minute, she was ready to leave, and Paul was waiting for her at the door.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“Not at all,” she said. Her heart was beating fast, and it was hard to look at him directly. “I was going to walk with Wiley for a while anyway. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”
I feel fourteen years old. This is ridiculous.
“They take really good care of the dogs there.” Paul was making small talk. Did he realize how self-conscious she was feeling?
“Yes, I can’t get over the way they’ve got it furnished, with all those little dog-size love seats and boudoir chairs, and little dining tables and chairs. And all that big open space for them to run around and play in.”
“Maybe you should do a story for Lady Fair about penthouse-type living for New York dogs.”
Now, that was just what Gena needed to get her back to normal. Paul had come onto her turf, and she felt the earth getting steady under her feet.
“It is a good idea, and actually, I’ve already started on it. And I guess I can thank Wiley—and you. Out of absolutely nowhere I suddenly acquired a dog, and I was lucky enough to meet with your sister, who started me thinking, and you introduced me to East Side Dog Prep and Day Care—if I hadn’t the brains to see what a great story it all added up to, I wouldn’t deserve to be doing the work I’m doing. I’m working on that story right now. Have been for the last week.”
Paul shook his head. “I’m all admiration, Gena. That makes three stories by you I’m looking forward to seeing in Lady Fair’s pages.”
And as they walked west on Seventy-Ninth Street, she talked about what she’d been learning about a dog’s life in New York, and gradually, by the time they reached Fifth Avenue, with the Met museum just ahead of them across the street, she’d lost her self-consciousness. There was a natural rhythm that they fell into together as they walked, and their casual chatter came comfortably, as though they were old friends. She felt as though he could put an arm around her and it would be the most ordinary gesture. Or that she could just as easily put her arm through his.
He looked at his watch. “I haven’t had dinner. And I bet you haven’t either. Why don’t we walk over to the Graydon and get something to eat.”
She wondered if the Graydon Hotel was going to become “their” place. It was a seductive idea.
“Seems I’m always starving when I see you. Sure, I could really use dinner. And tonight I have some money, so this one’s on me.”
Paul’s laugh was hearty. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you do that.”
“As long as you don’t order the steak. I’m not that
rich.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you eat like a horse. I’ll have a dry crust of bread. And some wine. As long as you let me buy the wine.”
“It’s a deal,” she said. And they turned south, and together they walked their dogs to the Graydon Hotel.
* * * *
It was another one of those sweet June evenings, with the coolest of breezes just barely touching the leaves of the trees, and the sun disappearing low across New Jersey, sending some last rays between the buildings and over the park. Gena and Paul were deep in their conversation when someone stopped at their table and a voice said, “Gena?”
She looked up and was amazed to see Sonny Gaile, of all people, and Tim with him, apparently just coming out of the hotel and passing their table on their way out.
Of course! They’re here on their honeymoon.
Before she could say a word, Sonny turned to Paul and said, “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
Gena turned to look at Paul. “Now who’s been eating canaries?” she asked.
Paul was smiling. “The world is full of surprises, isn’t it?”
She also remembered, just in time, that they were incognito, and that their wedding was a secret. So she bit her tongue and said only, “It’s great to see you guys. What are you doing in New York?”
Sonny and Tim smiled conspiratorially and Tim said, “Catching up on some culture. We like to stay here because it’s near the Met.”
And Sonny added, with a wink to Paul, “And maybe take care of a little business.”
To which Paul merely smiled and said nothing.
Good lord, Gena thought, people are so full of secrets.
“Would you like to join us?” Paul asked. “Have you had dinner? We could order another bottle—”
But Tim touched Sonny’s arm, as though to remind him they had to be going, and Sonny said, “Can’t tonight. But next time. Been great to see you.” And as he and Tim headed out to the sidewalk, he said, “Small world, isn’t it?”
Now that they were gone, Gena gave Paul a long, questioning look. Paul’s response was dismissive.
“I’ve done some legal work for them.”
“You never said.”
“I try to not talk about clients.”
She was liking this man more and more every minute.
Chapter Twenty-eight
They’d finished their dinner, and they’d finished the bottle of wine. Paul looked at his watch again. “The dog park isn’t open yet. Okay with you if we just sit here till nine?”
She thought that was a lovely idea. “Of course,” she said.
“Should I order another bottle of wine?”
“Maybe just a glass.”
He smiled. “That’s probably a good idea.”
As he signaled the waiter, she said, “I’m okay, you know.”
“I know. You sort of have a glow.”
“I guess I’m feeling good tonight.”
“Especially tonight?”
“Oh, work has been going well, people are out and about but no one is rushing, a really sweet evening, one of those perfect June evenings we get here in New York. It’s as though all the activity just quiets down a little, and you can feel the beginning of summer. I’ve had a good dinner, I’ve had a great wine, and I’m feeling good, just being here, in this nice place, with you—”
She stopped, embarrassed.
“I’m glad you said that. And I love that glow you have. Here. With me.” She blushed, and he knew it wasn’t the wine. He paused while the waiter filled their glasses again, then waited till he was gone. “Gena, when I went to pick up Sweetie Pie tonight, I was hoping I’d see you there. I’ve been watching for you these last few days, and I was really glad you came in when you did.”
He drank a bit of his wine and Gena felt a pounding in her ears. She had some wine, too.
Paul said, “That day at Harriet’s, that day she was packing and you came in to get some information about Cresteds, you thought I didn’t notice you.” The pounding in Gena’s ears got a little stronger. “You were wrong. I noticed you the minute you came in. My very first thought was, ‘What a good-looking woman!’ I figured I’d come and sit with you and Harriet, get in on the session between you, get you know you. But that damned call came just then, and it was too important to put off.”
Boom, boom in her ears.
“There was a crisis at the office, and I had to leave immediately.”
“I never realized—”
“Of course you didn’t. Afterward, I asked Harriet about you, but she was so dithery that day, she couldn’t remember a thing, not even your name. I was able to track you down through Lady Fair, at least enough to recognize some of your pieces. Harriet reads the magazine regularly, and I’ve looked through it occasionally. I’d seen the article you did on that old myth about hem lines and the stock market. Whether there’s a connection. And your long profile on the French woman who became the head of the International Monetary Fund.” He smiled at her. “You’re blushing,” he said. “That’s so sweet.”
“It’s the wine.”
“Of course it is.” They both drank a bit more. “When I ran into you on Madison Avenue, only a couple of days later, it seemed like fate—”
“Fate?”
Ding, dong!
“Well, whatever you want to call it. Good luck, at least. And we had the dogs, and a good excuse to keep walking and talking, and I was going to ask you out. But then you said there was a boyfriend, so I backed off.”
There was a long, thoughtful silence between them. Gena couldn’t take her eyes off him, and he was as intent on her. And the more he studied her face, the more she felt herself going all soft inside.
Her hand was resting on the base of her wine glass. He reached across and placed his hand—that nice hand—over hers.
“Gena, I’m not a man who moves in on another man’s girl.”
She had the oddest sensation, as though she was melting from the inside out.
“I think I may need another glass of wine for this conversation.”
“Oh, no,” he laughed. “I’m also not a man who gets a girl drunk so he can have his way with her.”
She loved his use of that old-fashioned expression.
“Have your way with me?”
“You know what I mean.” Now it was his turn to blush.
“I do. Of course. And I guess there’s some code of chivalry that says if I’m some man’s girl, then he has dibs on me and no other man can ‘move in.’ It’s an interesting idea.”
“Does that bother you?”
She relaxed a little, laughed, and said, “No, not really.”
“It’s just that there are rules about that sort of thing.”
“Why do I get the sense that you’re thinking about breaking those rules?”
He looked at her very seriously, as though sizing up how far she’d allow him to go.
“I may be way out of line, Gena, and you’ll tell me if I am, but I have a sense, just a sense, that there may be a little trouble between you and the boyfriend. It’s not that I want to take advantage of that, but if I’m right, maybe I shouldn’t just totally back off.” He was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. Then he said, “Am I right, Gena?”
He waited, and she was silent for a long minute. And another. He watched her very closely.
Finally, she answered him. “I don’t know what to say. I’m living with Warren. I’ve been living with him for several years, and we’ve been together since we were kids in high school. I wouldn’t say it’s been perfect, but—” She stopped. She realized she didn’t know how to describe how it’s been. “I guess we’re going through a rough patch right now. And I don’t know how it’s going to work out. If it works out. Lately, we’ve been not so good together. Maybe it’s me. Maybe h
e’s having to deal with some big changes in his future, and it’s making him—oh, I don’t know—edgy, critical.”
“Critical of you?”
“Maybe I don’t measure up. The way I used to. Or something.” Her gesture was dismissive. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She had never seen such deep sympathy on a man’s face.
Whatever happens, she thought, I’ll never forget that look.
There were long pauses now. “Gena, I’m going to put this in your hands. I’m facing a problem, and you’re going to decide it for me, one way or the other.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine. Am I going to need a very clear head for this?”
“Yes.” And now he was not joking. “For the last couple of weeks, there’s been this offer on the table. The firm wants me to go to Australia, in connection with the work my brother-in-law is setting up there. I thought it would be interesting, a chance to see a part of the world I don’t know, spend some time with Harriet and Russ, make some new connections.”
“How long?”
“Two months.”
Gena felt her heart sink.
“I was planning to accept the offer.”
“But what?”
“You know what. I met you.” He was dead serious now. “I won’t go if you give me a good reason to stay.”
“Wow. That’s a heavy one.”
“I know.” He’d put the course of his life in her hands. “You’ll want to think about it, of course.”
“Funny, my head is perfectly clear now.”
He laughed. “It works that way sometimes.”
She stared into her empty glass for a while. A long while.
Who Do You Love? Page 16
