Three Old friends…Three Summer Dreams
Susan Bailey’s sensible plan for her summer is to share a Manhattan co-op with her dear friend Rona Wong, work an unpaid senior intern job for a romance publisher, and experience the Big Apple’s glamour and culture. But Susan can’t keep evading the truth about her crumbling longtime marriage, or forget that her husband back in Ohio wants her to have a romantic fling. Susan has no intention of doing so, until she meets Wall Street mathematician and younger man Michael Sheppard…
While Susan struggles with surprising new desires, college professor Rona is devastated by the renewal of her secret love affair with Senator Edward Thorsen—twenty-five years after their adulterous liaison ended in heartbreak. Then Bev Feinstein arrives unexpectedly from Boca. Surprises, secrets new and old, and tangled relationships among three old friends play out against the background of second chances one summer in the city.
Also by Irene Vartanoff
Temporary Superheroine
Captive of the Cattle Baron
Crisis at Comicon
SUMMER IN THE CITY
Irene Vartanoff
Dedication:
To old friends
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, organizations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design by Book Graphics.net
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
Copyright © 2015 by Irene Vartanoff All rights reserved.
Published by Irene Vartanoff
www.irenevartanoff.com
P.O. Box 27
Gerrardstown, WV 25420
ISBN 978-0-9861252-7-0
ISBN 978-0-9861252-6-3 (ebook)
Chapter 1 June 2004
“What’s up with your marriage?”
Susan Bailey squirmed. She was having a drink with her lifelong friend, Rona Wong. Susan had just arrived in Manhattan from Ohio for the summer, and they were at a Thai restaurant celebrating.
Susan wore a pastel blue pantsuit at which Rona had shuddered, and drank orange juice to Rona’s straight-up martini. Rona had draped her more slender figure in a thin summer dress of a subtle, off-maroon color. Casual, yet chic.
The eatery was filled with similarly self-possessed New Yorkers jammed together with barely elbow room between tables. They didn’t appear to mind being crowded, but Susan, used to suburban living, found the lack of privacy awkward.
“It’s complicated,” she said. She cast a glance at the nearby diners. “Maybe I can explain it better when we’re alone.”
Rona looked blank for a second, then herself seemed to notice the other diners only a foot or two away on either side. “No one gives a damn, honey. This is New York. You’re among strangers.”
Susan didn’t want to reveal the sickly state of her twenty-eight year marriage in a crowded restaurant. This wasn’t the right moment to confide in Rona, even though Rona could advise her. Years ago, Rona had an affair with a married man.
“I’d forgotten what it’s like here. It’s been twenty-five years since I lived in this city,” Susan said, looking around at the crowded restaurant and animated patrons.
“That long ago,” Rona sighed, contemplating her drink.
Referring to that summer was a mistake. It pained Rona to remember. Susan wouldn’t ask her about an affair. Rona had suffered enough.
“Remember your apartment on West 8th Street?” Susan asked.
Rona’s smile returned. “Ah, those were the days. No hot water in the kitchen, and strangers on the stoop every night.”
“Mailbox break-ins on the first of the month.”
“Cats that did their business on the roof right outside our windows.” Rona laughed.
Susan laughed, too. Her first taste of Manhattan life had happened a million years ago, to another person. She wasn’t a young woman anymore, afraid to be alone while her husband was overseas. She was a middle-aged suburban housewife who had a whole summer to explore who she was today.
And have an affair.
After they had given their dinner order, Rona said, “I could be eating Thai food every day. Jack wants to move to Thailand.”
“Jack is the latest boyfriend?”
“If you can call a sixty-five-year-old man a boy.” She sipped at her drink. “He’s got this obsession with living in Asia. He wants me to retire and go with him.”
“As in marry?”
“At our ages, what for?” Rona replied. “Jack is long divorced, with grandchildren,” she continued. “What do either of us need with marriage?”
Rona had turned down many proposals over the years. She’d never talked seriously of marriage after that one time twenty-five years ago.
“You’re the department chair now. Do you want to retire?” Considering how hard Rona had struggled to attain that position, it would be unlike her to walk away from it easily. And now there was no more mandatory retirement to force her out.
“I could stay another twenty years if I liked.”
“You’d be eighty then. Would you want to keep working that long?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Jack retired early. Your own husband retired early, right? What are Rick’s plans? Does he want to travel? Play golf?”
“He spends all his free time in his home lab, inventing things.” She blew out a breath and continued, “No different from when he was working, except now he never leaves the house.”
Rona gave her a sharp look. “You’re okay with that?”
She shrugged.
Rona looked unconvinced.
Susan didn’t want explain about the doldrums into which her marriage had fallen, so she asked, “Are you teaching any classes this summer?” As a full professor and the chair of her department, Rona was in no way obligated to teach year round.
“Only one session. I knew you’d be here.”
“Wonderful. We can do things together.”
Their food arrived, and they started eating. Susan’s plate presented a silent challenge. Her newly slender figure wouldn’t stay that way unless she was moderate with her portions. She divided the huge helping of noodles in half, resolving to take some home in a doggie bag.
With a wicked look in her eyes, Rona asked, “Are you ready to start your summer internship tomorrow?”
Susan grimaced in embarrassment. “I feel awkward about it. Interns are usually young students, not middle-aged women. But it’s the chance of a lifetime. I get to work at Coquette Books.”
“Why publishing instead of computer forensics? You’re so good at digging up dirt.”
“It’s a unique company, an upstart among the old conservative firms. The founder inherited an Indiana beer fortune and set out to conquer the New York publishing scene. They specialize in romances.”
“You aren’t seriously considering pursuing a publishing career, are you?”
“Thanks for not saying I’m too old to bother.” She pushed a strand of straight blonde hair back from her forehead, contemplating the extra food automatically. Then she firmly placed her fork on the rim of her plate and looked away from the nervous distraction.
“Think of it as taking back a dream. I wanted to work in publishing when I was younger. Instead—” Sh
e stopped. “You know.”
She’d met Rick. They'd married and settled in Ohio. She had worked as she could, but mostly had spent her time raising her children and making a home.
She didn’t refer again to the summer she stayed with Rona while Rick was in the Middle East. “Now that Nancy is married and living in Chicago, I have time on my hands.”
“It was a wonderful wedding. You pulled it off,” Rona sighed.
“Thank you. Nancy is totally the most beautiful young woman who ever lived.” Both of them smiled at the maternal excess. She had spent many months arranging her daughter’s lavish wedding last August. It had gone well despite some sticky moments.
“She’s happy?”
“She and Matt are a good pair, although we already knew that because they lived together before. The new condo is fine. Her job is going great. Who would have thought we’d have a daughter who wanted to be in finance?”
They both smiled, remembering when Nancy was a little girl eager to be a gymnast, and then a marine biologist, and then a veterinarian.
Rona said, “Why don’t you search for a serious job, using your computer forensics skills?”
“After the last time, when I was accused of being a snoop?”
“You saved that company millions because you found the embezzler. They should have given you a nice bonus.”
Susan sighed. “It’s hard for a middle-aged woman to get a real job where I live. There’s a glut of us stay-at-home-moms trying to jump back into full-time employment.”
“At least you should have gotten an internship in the same field.”
“I don’t have the financial training. Anyway, it was the right moment to try publishing.”
Knowing Susan had a big day ahead of her, Rona soon had the waiter packing their leftovers. Even this late at night, there were new customers waiting for their table.
Walking back in the cooling evening was pleasant. The constant noise of the city was slightly less now. She breathed in the June night air. She had managed the first step, leaving Ohio.
“You’re lucky to be here all the time, Rona. You’re the quintessential New York woman. Chic, cultured, a professional success story, taking advantage of all the city has to offer.”
“Single,” Rona added dryly.
“Eligible.”
“Not young.”
“Possessing the sophistication that youth lacks.”
“Okay, okay. I lead a charmed life in paradise.” Rona smiled. “Maybe a couple of months without central air conditioning will wear down that naïve Midwestern optimism.”
“Not a chance.” She stopped and twirled around, her arms held out wide as she yelled to the city, “I’m here, New York! I’m going to rule this town!”
“You go, girl!” Rona whooped.
Shades of Mary Tyler Moore. Susan felt free for the first time in a long, long while.
They stopped at Rona’s downstairs apartment to find linens for the night. They could barely squeeze through the entry door because of coats, tools, and posters hanging behind it. Even the short hall had stacks of papers and magazines. The small living room was a sea of piles. Piles on tables, piles on chairs, piles on the floor. Mostly papers. Piles of arty souvenirs lay on top of the papers. Randomly dried flowers, small craft pieces, antiques, and more. Compulsive collecting was turning into hoarding. In prior years, Susan had stayed in this one-bedroom apartment on a foldout couch, but now that would be impossible.
She didn’t hide her instinctive reaction quickly enough.
Rona said, “Apartments in New York are tiny. You have a huge house.”
Susan forbore to argue. “Linens?”
“In the bathroom.” Rona pointed, then gave her a sideways hug. There wasn’t floor space to be closer. “You do understand.”
“No, I don’t,” Susan said, “But I love you anyway.” She edged into the bathroom and grabbed some sheets and towels from the shelves.
Rona had filled a clear wine glass with a deep maroon liquid and was settled on the only free space on her couch. “Call me if you have any problems. Later this week, we’ll work on your ‘I’m from Ohio’ wardrobe.” Rona shook her head. “I don’t know how you could have found uglier new clothes.”
Tit for tat, but in the most loving manner.
She waved goodnight to Rona and made her way to the charming old elevator with its brass fittings. Rona never changed. Dear, dear Rona who had given her everything.
Who even now was calling her. The cell phone chirped when she was barely off the elevator at her floor.
Rona said, “Call Rick. Tell him you arrived safe and sound. Tomorrow we talk about what’s going on with your marriage.”
Rona clicked off, having managed to stun Susan without giving her a chance to argue.
Who was she kidding? Her best friend knew her inside out. Of course Rona suspected something was up.
It was nice that someone cared, because she didn’t know if she did anymore. She and Rick had been through hell too often. She was tired, tired of trying. Maybe he was, too. They didn’t hate each other. She couldn’t muster the energy to prop up their marriage after it had suffered repeated blows. Plus, she was the one to blame for many of their low moments.
She would not call Rick. She’d fend off Rona’s questions as best she could. She didn’t want to talk about everything that was wrong in her life. She had come to New York for the summer to consider new directions.
She finally unlocked the door and went inside. “Ahh.” At last, her own place. She found an old-fashioned light switch and turned on the ancient overhead fixture. The living room was completely empty. There wasn’t even a box she could sit on. The bedroom had a ragged hole in the wall two feet square that connected it to a much smaller room, maybe an office. There was a futon in the bedroom. Nothing else. In the bathroom, she found another hole, about one foot square. Through it, she could see the kitchen clearly. She allowed herself a shudder. Could be worse.
In the kitchen, she put the box of leftover Thai food into the tiny, empty bar fridge. She and Rona had not thought to stock it with any food. Rona mostly ate out. And drank when she was home, it looked like. Oh, dear. Thai noodles for breakfast, to be eaten with fingers.
She dragged her suitcases, which they’d stashed in the foyer when she’d arrived, into the bedroom and started to unpack them into the tiny closet. She’d brought her own hangers. She almost stripped off her travel pantsuit, but noticed in time the windows didn’t have any shades and looked directly into the living room of the apartment across the street. It wasn’t a wide street. Despite the trees, the view was distinct. Best to undress in the bathroom.
The bathroom had no shades either, and what was worse, had none of the old translucent glass typical of bathrooms in a landmark building. It wasn’t the original bathroom, of course. Like the kitchen, it was an old, cheap retrofit when a much larger apartment was subdivided. The bathroom wall was only a few feet from the next apartment window, but it could have been worse.
A few seconds later, showering in the dark, she realized it was. The showerhead produced only a clogged drip.
She could fix that. Tomorrow, she’d buy plastic sandwich bags, vinegar, and toothpicks so she could soak and pick at the showerhead. Or she’d buy a plumber’s strap wrench, a new showerhead, and some Teflon tape, and replace it. Tomorrow, she’d find a discount store and get some cheap furniture to sit on. Tomorrow, she would go to work at a publishing company. Tomorrow, her new life would begin.
***
An hour later, she was still tossing and turning on the futon. Had Rona ever slept on it? Had anyone? She could feel every bit of the parquet floor immediately beneath it. Even a sleeping bag would have been better.
Maybe only young girls could sleep on a futon. Maybe she was too old for this adventure.
Nearly thirty years of marriage, decades of living in a pleasant suburb in a spacious house, filling her life with her family, attending the occasional cultural event in Clev
eland or Cincinnati, all of that was about to fall apart. Again. Time to decide what she was going to do. She was here on this torture futon to find out before it was too late. Even the futon was part of the back-to-reality experience. It was past time to determine her future.
Still, tomorrow she would order a bed from Macy’s.
Chapter 2
Microwaved Thai noodles weren’t the worst breakfast Susan had ever had, but close to it. At least the restaurant had packed a fork, because there wasn’t one in the utterly depressing and substandard kitchen. She would shop for food that evening. And forks.
Mindful of Rona’s criticism, she wore the least colorful of her new outfits to her first day on the job. A nice navy blue with white. Rona’s fashion sense was indisputable and if she said Susan looked like a tourist, then she did.
It didn’t help. The proof was when the receptionist at Coquette Books gave her a sneer in passing. Her new boss, Linda Hull, looked downright hostile during their initial meeting. Although perhaps Linda’s hostility wasn’t related to Susan’s suburban clothing style.
“Let me make one thing clear.” Linda said in a hard-edged voice, her eyes narrowed angrily. “This job is not going to be arriving late, leaving early, and long lunches.”
Susan hoped she didn’t look as bewildered as she felt. Used to rising early, she’d arrived at seven-thirty a.m., long before anyone at the Coquette offices. She had been waiting for Linda to show up for an hour and a half.
Linda continued her orientation, or more accurately, her series of threats. Not that Linda was physically imposing. She was short, thin, and wiry, with straight, chin-length graying hair that fell from a center part and did nothing to hide her long horse face. She wore a too-loose black dress that had no flair, and she had a distinctly mean mouth. She emphasized her statements by angrily pounding the point of a pen into a notepad in front of her.
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