Summer in the City

by Irene Vartanoff

  “That’s all right.” Susan politely pretended to believe the lie. At loose ends for the day, she quashed her disappointment and carefully ate a moderate breakfast. The apartment didn’t need cleaning, though she had bought supplies and even a small vacuum. After sending an email to Nancy, she decided to take a bus up to Central Park and stroll around amid the weekend crowds. Many of the park’s roads were closed to motor vehicles on weekends and filled with roller skaters, bicyclists, and skate boarders as well as pedestrians. Anyway, it was first on her list of public monuments to visit.

  She had not told anyone, but part of her visit to New York included a tourist pilgrimage that made sense only to her. Kyle had not lived to be taken on a visit to see this wondrous city at an age when he could have comprehended it. She had looked forward to showing him the museums, the Staten Island Ferry, Central Park, and more. She had delayed too long, caught up in the bustle of being the mother of an active young boy. There hadn’t seemed to be any rush. How wrong she had been. There had been no time at all, if only she had known it.

  Now, strolling in Central Park, she gently regretted those lost emotions she had hoped to see reflected in Kyle’s face. Moments of awe at the huge buildings, moments of amusement and amazement at the follies in the Times Square area. They never would happen. It shouldn’t have been this way. She had traveled a hard road to accept the awful truth. Now she had to keep her commitment. Honor Kyle’s memory by living her life fully.

  She picked up her pace, trying to emulate the New Yorkers walking so briskly, determined to banish her regrets with the effort. Time to live in the present.

  As she took the path past the zoo, she realized she had been flinching a little every time a lone man came toward her. No more. She would not let the fear of being groped again stop her from enjoying every possible second of her New York summer. If someone tried something, this time she would scream.

  Chapter 5

  Rona hadn’t recognized the phone number, but she’d recognized Edward’s voice from the first syllable. Good god, it had been twenty-five years. Twenty-five long, lonely years since his ultimatum had shattered the fragile crystal of their love affair to smithereens. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Susan and Louis. They both knew about her affair with Senator Edward Thorsen. With a married man whose powerful place in politics and society dictated that he should stay married to his society wife. Especially to such a well-connected, wealthy woman whose close relatives were also his major political supporters.

  Not that Rona’s own position at the time had been any less delicate. She was an unmarried woman striving to rise in academia, at that time still a boy’s club so notoriously hostile to women that any sign of weakness would have meant the end of her career. She was Chinese American, too, a representative of yet another outsider group that the white male academics didn’t want despoiling their sacrosanct halls.

  Of course with her experience and her Ph.D. she could always have taught at some Podunk school and kept a roof over her head, but her chance to shine in the spotlight of one of the most respected universities in America would have been finished. She would have been finished. She'd been fiercely ambitious. She hadn't wanted to throw all her hard work away. Especially for a man who would not marry her.

  She'd understood Edward perfectly when he said he had too much to lose. He was a politician. Back then, the taboo against divorced politicians was only beginning to be broken. Nelson Rockefeller had outraged the country in the early 1960s by divorcing his longtime wife and breaking up his lover’s marriage. It had killed his presidential hopes. By the time Rona met Edward, the world had changed a lot, but Edward, deeply conservative himself, was not convinced that his political career could survive a divorce.

  How could he have said it in a phone message? How could he have said the exact words best calculated to rip her heart to shreds? No simple “Hello, sorry to have missed you.” No careful introduction. Just the bald truth. “My wife is dead. I’m free.”

  She poured another glass of wine. She was holed up in her office at the university where no one would look for her on a Saturday, and no friends would call and disturb the silence. Of course her cell was turned off.

  How had this bottle come to be so conveniently here? These days it seemed as if she always had a bottle of something available wherever she happened to be. She drank it down quickly, savoring the sweet bite. New York was the perfect city for a drinker. She could go home in a cab completely sloshed if she wanted. No threats of DUI or DWI or DRUNK hung over her head. Not that she ever allowed herself to get sloshed in public. Or even in private. She got lit, but she never went beyond what she could handle. Louis would back her up on that.

  She’d seen Susan’s expression of concern. Susan had said nothing because Susan, bless her, knew about a woman’s weakness. Susan knew how a broken heart could send a woman seeking the darkest of tunnels. Yet dear, sad Susan still seemed determined to conquer her own pain, despite all she’d suffered. Although something was up with Susan and Rick. There was a story to be dragged out of Susan sometime soon.

  She laughed an unhappy laugh, sinking into her chair and propping her long legs on the desk itself. Susan wasn’t alone in her struggles. Susan had a husband. Susan had a daughter. Who the hell did Rona have? An indifferent brother living in Massachusetts, and a half-crazy mother who was still fixated on finding her a husband. At her age? Pitiful.

  What was she going to do about Edward? He was free.

  ***

  Susan’s hope that her job would eventually become less like exile in Siberia didn’t last. On Monday, Linda was as unpleasant and dismissive as usual. Although Susan continued to offer, it seemed that no one else needed an extra hand from the summer intern. The lower-ranking editors had no interest in her because she was old enough to be their mother. They were either silently contemptuous or overly awed. The higher-ranking editors, who were nearer her age, claimed to be too busy. Surely that was all it was? Not some secret hostility to her because she had spent her life as a suburban housewife, supported by a husband rather than sharing the financial burden by working full time?

  None of them actually knew her. Unless she started a conversation, no one spoke to her. Calling it conversation was pushing it. More like, ask a question or three, until she annoyed the editor enough to know it was time to say a cheery goodbye and retreat back to her desk. Her desk in a hall.

  This situation could get depressing if she let it. She was determined not to. There were some bright spots in her days. Elizabeth Winsor, the editor-in-chief, remained friendly if she encountered Susan. She’d received an email from Elizabeth this morning inviting her to attend an editorial meeting later this week. It was quite an honor. Maybe a friendship would come of this.

  One area of her work never offered her a rejection or an indifferent glance. Her computer. She had found fascinating files and databases with information about the inner workings of Coquette Books. Some were open files, and some were hidden. In the past, during the many nights when she could not sleep, she’d taken to learning about the possibilities of her computer. Here was something she could do to extreme without gaining weight, spending a fortune, or losing her mind.

  Although she could have accessed emails between executives or editors at Coquette if she’d tried, or even remotely accessed their PCs, she wasn’t interested in anything personal. She had found sales figures. Marketing budgets. The results of reader polls and consumer research. Statistics on the numbers of hits that the company’s various websites received.

  Careful questioning of the editors had elicited that they themselves had limited access to the various databases that Coquette Books had doubtless paid large sums to customize to its needs. Surprising. So she had forged her own access. When there was nothing else to occupy her work hours, she played around with the Coquette files.

  ***

  Rona told Susan she was busy every night that week. A hot date with Jack. A seminar to teach. A sick friend to visit. Anoth
er date with Jack. She did not invite Susan to join her. It was clear Rona wanted to avoid spending any significant amount of time with her. It wasn’t a personal rejection. Poor Rona was obviously miserable over something. If only Rona would explain what was bothering her.

  Susan’s daily lunchtime shopping trips continued. She also treated herself to a long evening at Macy’s, going through everything in regular sizes on floor after floor. It was a paradise of choices. What a thrill to be able to try on so many clothes that fit. A cheap thrill, since she didn’t dare to buy much for fear of inciting Rona’s disdain. Even so, she tried on the wildest tops and bottoms, the skimpiest blouses, the shortest skirts. She smiled at the new Susan who preened in front of dressing room mirrors.

  After a particularly gruff interchange with Linda, Susan put a lot of energy into trying on size eights in the nearby boutiques at lunchtime. Shopping had never been like this before. Come on, say it: When she was fat. When she was fat, she’d automatically bypassed the little shops with their specialized items. She had known they didn’t carry her size. The cute boutiques hadn’t changed, but she had.

  When she was in the mental hospital, no one cared if she was fat or not. It was more important to get her sane. Most of the antidepressants caused weight gain, not that she’d paid any attention. Her complacent attitude to her weight had been forcibly changed last year at Nancy’s wedding by Todd Feinstein’s ugly insults.

  She would not think about that debacle now.

  ***

  Susan had Louis over for a home-cooked meal a few days later. They planned to attend an art gallery opening. She’d had a larger refrigerator delivered, a rental, and a couch, a fun impulse purchase at Crate and Barrel. She’d even embellished some frivolous throw pillows by hand, not that she pointed them out when she ushered him inside.

  As usual, Louis was garbed impeccably, this time in a blue blazer and tan slacks, with a pristine white shirt open at the collar. Maybe Rona would give some fashion advice when she dropped off the invitations later. Susan had no clue what to wear.

  “I’ve made a simple dinner. Rona says there is food at these gallery openings.”

  “Tons of it. Don’t tell me you’ve never been to an opening before?”

  “Not a posh one in New York City.”

  “They’re all the same,” he said, showing an unexpected streak of cynicism.

  She gave him a tour of the apartment since he had never seen it before. She took him to see the bedroom first. His eyes overlooked the new bed she was so happy with and the new curtains that gave her privacy and color. He focused with horror on the cutout in the bedroom wall instead.

  “When you said you had holes in the walls, you weren’t kidding.” Louis shook his head. “That’s huge. Potentially kinky.”

  “There’s another in the bathroom.”

  “No way,” he said. “That’s sick.”

  “Rona’s redoing this place in a few months.”

  “Don’t hold your breath on that happening,” Louis warned.

  Susan showed him the other rooms and saw his wince at the hole next to the toilet.

  “You name the day and I’ll show up with my wallboard and joint compound, kiddo. This is ridiculous,” he shook his head.

  “You still have building supplies?” Louis had worked in construction during college summers.

  “I like to keep my hand in.”

  Louis was so much more accepting than Rona about her homemaker touches. He admired her choice of furnishings.

  “You’re so trendy, girl. Very bistro.” They were perched on the stools at the table, finishing a meal of scallops meunière with angel hair pasta and a salad. She had served them on fashionably retro square plates though she’d allowed herself only a small portion. It looked tiny on the huge white plate.

  “Thanks,” she smiled. “May I confess something? I find eating at this high table and sitting on a stool quite awkward, no matter how fashionable the set is.”

  “When the time comes to leave, you can put it out on the sidewalk.”

  “It might be fun to see how quickly someone snatches it up.”

  “I’d give this table ten minutes. Five minutes on a weekend.” Louis shot back. They both laughed, happily acknowledging the New York recycling tradition of trash to treasure.

  Dinner was over and cleared away when Rona came up to give them the invitations. She stayed for a drink with them, although she claimed she was booked for the balance of the evening.

  “Here,” she handed them to Louis after giving him a kiss in greeting. “This show is not going to be big. Everybody who is anybody is in the Hamptons for the summer.”

  “Good,” he fired right back at her. “With the rich people gone, maybe we peasants stand a chance.”

  Rona didn’t take the bait he had dangled to discuss the foibles of rich art collectors. Instead, she stopped still and stared at the couch. Her disapproving expression of this latest purchase was clear. Susan ignored it, offering Rona a glass of her favorite wine in a newly purchased fake crystal glass.

  “What have you done now?” Rona accused her.

  “Duh. She got a couch,” Louis said.

  “This is all wrong,” Rona said. “You shouldn’t keep furnishing this apartment as if you’re going to stay.”

  What was the message in Rona’s words? They’d gone over this before. Didn’t Rona remember? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re only here for the summer. There’s no need to get so—so entrenched,” Rona replied. She looked angry. Susan stood up a little taller, ready to defend her right to furnish the apartment.

  Louis stared at the two longtime friends squared off against each other, his expression showing his shock at the fight about to break out.

  Rona’s cell phone rang, and the tension relocated. “Saved by the bell,” he muttered.

  Rona glanced at her phone but didn’t answer it. She didn’t turn the phone off as she had done the other night. She stared at it as if it would bite her.

  “Another strange number?” Susan asked.

  “No,” Rona mumbled. Her thoughts clearly were on whoever had called.

  Susan was grateful for the change in focus. She didn’t want to fight with Rona over furniture. Time to interest her in something else. After a quick trip to her bedroom, she returned with two dresses she’d grabbed from the closet.

  Rona’s cell phone was ringing again. Rona did the same as before. She looked at the number of the caller. She didn’t answer the phone, but she didn’t turn it off.

  “What do you think about this for tonight?” Susan held up the two dresses. One was tan, and one was a deep blue. Rona eyed them absently. “Rona?”

  Finally, rousing herself, Rona replied, “Put a little white jacket on the tan one, with a big chunky necklace in a warm tone.” She turned to the apartment door. “I have to go now. Bye.”

  Rona departed, leaving them gaping after her.

  “What just happened?” Louis asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  ***

  The gallery opening was flat after the drama in the apartment earlier. For half an hour, they gamely tried to pretend an interest. She had done as Rona had recommended and found a white jacket to put over the tan dress, and a necklace of amber beads. It all came together and looked chic. She mingled with the other art patrons and tried to fake an interest in the art and in them. The art didn’t register. Louis followed her around, responding automatically to conversational forays. It was obvious that his thoughts were elsewhere, too. Finally, he turned to her in exasperation.

  “Enough of this. Can we go have a drink and talk about Rona?”

  “I thought you’ve never ask,” she agreed, relieved.

  Settled in a well-padded banquette in a quiet bar, she picked up her tomato juice and took a sip. Louis, across from her, was having a highball. Like the lawyer he had been, he started going down the list of logical possibilities.

  “Could someone be stalking Rona?
Is this harassment from another one of those idiot chauvinist professors at the university?”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Of course I did. Rona tells me everything.” Louis grimaced. “Usually.”

  “What about a former boyfriend?”

  Louis considered and rejected it. “She stays friends with them all.”

  “What about…what happened twenty-five years ago?” she asked hesitantly.

  “You mean is someone trying to blackmail her? Possible.” He pondered that.

  Susan said, “Surely it wouldn’t be important to her career anymore. Anyway, she might retire and move to Thailand with Jack.”

  Louis gave her a pitying look. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “You mean, she won’t retire? Or she won’t go to Thailand?”

  “Either. Both. Jack’s high on her list right now, but she’ll let him spin away as she lets all her men,” Louis said, with a certain amount of relish.

  She nodded, acknowledging the truth of his statement. Many men had been interested in something permanent with Rona. She never quite turned them down. Eventually, they wandered away frustrated because she wouldn’t make a decision.

  “Has she been seeing someone new?” she wondered aloud.

  “If she is, why go out with Jack every other night?”

  “Do you think she’s actually going out, or pretending to?”

  “You’re the one who lives in the same apartment building. You ought to know.”

  “I think she’s staying home and staring at her phone,” she replied.

  “Me, too.” Louis took a sip of his whiskey. “I think it’s Edward calling.”

  She looked at him in shocked dismay. “Why now?”

  “Because his wife just died, and he announced his retirement from the Senate this week.” This time, Louis gulped at his drink. “I think the bastard wants to take up where he left off twenty-five years ago.”