Summer in the City

by Irene Vartanoff

  “At the play,” she answered, bewildered. She had left a message on Rona’s cell and her landline, too. She’d never seen Rona like this. Rona was practically twitching with nerves.

  “You’ve filled the place with furniture. You shouldn’t have. It’s only temporary.”

  “We’ve been over this before. Twice.” Why was Rona repeating herself? Was it the alcohol? Why was she so angry? She’d seen the furnishings already. Most of them, anyway.

  “You bought a refrigerator! That’s so wasteful!”

  “I’m only renting it. It’s okay,” she tried to reassure Rona. Once again, she explained. “When the summer is over, everything will go back to the way it was. The apartment will be empty again.”

  Rona was hardly listening.

  “I came to talk to you and you weren’t here. Where were you?” Rona was repeating herself. That was alarming. Susan spoke slowly, in a soothing tone.

  “I called you on the way to the theater. I left a message on both your phones.”

  At the mention of phones, Rona turned white.

  “I don’t listen to my messages. I can’t. No more calls.” Rona put a hand to her forehead.

  “What’s the matter?” Susan asked.

  Rona put down the wine glass abruptly and headed for the door. “Ignore everything I just said. I’ve got to leave.”

  “Don’t go. Why are you so upset?”

  She couldn’t coax Rona to sit down again and talk. Rona was filled with a restless, unhappy energy.

  “No, I can’t tell you. It’s too much,” she said with an air of desperation. She ran out of the apartment, taking the stairs in a rush.

  “Rona! Wait!”

  Rona was out of sight in a few seconds. It was late at night, and more noise would wake the other tenants. Still, Susan had to do something. She couldn’t let Rona suffer like this.

  She pushed the button for the elevator. Then she remembered it was dead. By the time she got down all the stairs to Rona’s level, Rona was out of sight.

  She rang the bell repeatedly. Finally, Rona came to the door. This time, it was the normal Rona, the one she knew and loved. Rona’s face was drawn and unhappy.

  “I’m sorry. It was the wine talking,” Rona said in a monotone.

  She knew that tone of old, from the terrible weeks and months of her own despair. Gently, she touched Rona’s cheek.

  “Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

  In response, Rona’s eyes glistened with a fleeting expression of hope. Then she shut down.

  “I’m very tired. I want to go to sleep now.” Rona looked gray with fatigue.

  “All right, dear. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight. I’m sorry,” Rona said, in a small voice.

  “Forgiven.” Impulsively, Susan clasped Rona in a hug. She could feel her friend’s body quivering. Not resisting, but too strung out to respond. She stepped back, and Rona closed the door.

  Rona’s sad expression haunted her as she showered before bed. She shivered from the breeze coming through the hole to the kitchen. How strange everything was. Rona, levelheaded Rona, was acting half-crazy. Linda at work was threatening her job and her plan for the summer. Now there was Michael, who seemed to embody all the attractions of a sophisticated, mature man, and who wanted to spend time with her. She thought she knew the difference between a man who was interested and one who wasn’t. Michael was interested. Amazing.

  What a long day. She was exhausted. She would try to keep her job, somehow. Maybe after work tomorrow she would cheer herself up by visiting the Manolo Blahnik store to look, not buy. That cable TV show, Sex and the City, had made her curious.

  Chapter 7

  Over the next few days at work, Susan kept expecting the ax to fall. Surely Linda would have reported Susan’s mistake to highers-up and insisted she be banished. Apparently not. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and made an appointment to talk to Elizabeth Winsor.

  “I hope you’re not here because you’re worried about that misdirected reader’s report,” Elizabeth said as she gestured her to a chair.

  “Well, yes,” she replied, embarrassed and worried that such a trivial mistake had been reported to a high-level executive.

  Elizabeth, as usual, was dressed in subtly expensive, feminine clothes. This time, a nude summer-weight dress and delicate sandals. Elizabeth’s hair seemed more red today, too, complementing the dress. Susan squirmed all the more, knowing that she didn’t compare well in her too-suburban pantsuit.

  “Misdirected reader’s reports have happened before and aren’t a big deal,” Elizabeth said.

  “They aren’t?” Without wanting to mention Linda’s name, she wanted to know why Linda had acted as she did. Elizabeth smiled.

  “Have you ever worked in an exclusively female office before?”

  “No,” she replied, mystified about where this was leading.

  “About one week a month, this office is an emotional powder keg. When women spend a lot of time together, their menstrual cycles reorient together via their pheromones. Which means that every woman of childbearing age in this office is having PMS at the same moment.”

  Her amazement must have shown on her face, because Elizabeth continued explaining. “We’re so used to it that we shrug off the inevitable explosions. No one pays them any attention. I have a rule that no big decisions are to be made during that week. Including hiring or,” she nodded at Susan, “firing.”

  “That explains a lot,” Susan said.

  “We’re not a typical publisher. We’re a woman-owned company that is woman-run, too. We pay attention to women’s issues.”

  “It’s so wonderful that Donna Warshevski founded a publishing house that is all about women.”

  “Yes, especially since what she inherited was a beer company, not exactly a female-oriented business,” Elizabeth smiled conspiratorially. Susan smiled back. Elizabeth was so easy to talk to, and her own age. It felt as if they were friends chatting, not a lowly intern talking to the big boss.

  “I would love to meet Donna Warshevski. Does she ever come to the office?”

  “Occasionally. Is there something in particular that makes you want to meet her?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “Every book you publish seems to carry her stamp. These romances aren’t only the dreams of American women. They’re specifically the dreams of a particular woman, and she’s of my generation. That’s the fellow feeling that I get from reading Coquette romances.”

  “I’ve had the same feeling, but I never articulated it so clearly as you have,” Elizabeth said contemplatively.

  The praise was embarrassing. “It’s just my personal opinion.”

  “No, no. Your opinions as a reader are valuable. It’s my job to understand the audience for Coquette Books and to serve it correctly.”

  The chat ended cordially. She went back to her lonely desk feeling reassured and realizing she had much to learn about this publishing company. She would stick it out if she could.

  ***

  Later that day, Susan received a curious phone call. It was from Rona’s boyfriend, Jack.

  “Ah, I’ve tracked you down. I didn’t know your last name, but I remembered where you were working.” She listened blankly. Why on earth would he call her?

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  “No, of course not. Is something wrong?”

  “Actually, that’s why I called. Would it be possible for you to meet me after you get off from work? You’re an old friend of Rona’s. I need to talk to you.”

  Stranger and stranger.

  “All right. When and where?” She took down the directions and noted the time, and they said goodbye. What was it all about?

  A few hours later, at the quiet lounge in the Marriott Marquis hotel in Times Square, Jack explained. “I’m worried about Rona.”

  The waiter approached. Jack made short work of their drink order, and then returned to his theme. “She’s been
giving me all kinds of excuses about why she can’t see me. Lately she doesn’t even answer her cell phone or call me back. Do you know what’s going on?”

  As she struggled with what to say, Jack continued, “You must be wondering why I think I have the right to know. Why I think this is more than me being dumped.”

  “I’m not sure I…” she started to reply. True to the New Yorker’s manner of speech, Jack didn’t let her finish. He started talking over her.

  “Rona and I have been seeing each other for three years. It’s non-exclusive. Prevarication is not her style. So what’s up?”

  She was embarrassed by Jack’s frankness. She was also surprised, but not terribly, to realize that Rona had been lying to her about where she was going so many evenings. She gave Jack a sympathetic look.

  “Rona told me she was seeing you almost every night.”

  “She’s seeing someone else, that’s it?” Jack asked. He didn’t look happy about it.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. Seeing the pain on Jack’s face, she rushed on. “Whatever is happening does not make her happy. Rona has been wretched lately.”

  “No lie?”

  “She flies off the handle about nothing. She seems distracted, but not in a good way. She won’t answer her phone or listen to her messages, either.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “What’s stranger is that someone keeps calling her cell phone, and she won’t answer it. She just looks at it in—in dread.”

  “Is she being stalked?” Jack said, incredulous.

  She decided not to mention Louis’s idea that Rona was being blackmailed. She was fairly sure that Jack didn’t know what happened twenty-five years ago.

  “I don’t believe so. I don’t know.”

  “Yet she’s going out somewhere every night?” Jack’s return to that jealousy-inspired thought didn’t make her happy. She shouldn’t have revealed that Rona had lied.

  “Jack, even if I knew, I shouldn’t tell you.”

  Jack looked abashed at her gently delivered reproof. Upset. She knew that none of this looked good for the future of his relationship with Rona. She couldn’t offer any comfort when she herself was so baffled by what was going on with her friend.

  “I’m sorry. I care about Rona, that’s all.” He sighed, suddenly looking his full age, tired and worn by life’s disappointments, struggling to keep optimistic despite the negative signs coming at him.

  She wished there was some hope she could offer. She hardly knew Jack. This whole discussion was uncomfortable for her. She’d probably told him too much as it was.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help. In fact, it seems as if what I have said has hurt you even more than Rona’s excuses have.”

  “No, that’s all right. I was the one who asked you for the truth.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “Maybe I should have seen this coming. She never was enthusiastic about my Thailand plan.” He shook his head, seeming to make up his mind to stop probing for answers she didn’t have. “It was kind of you to see me. May I buy you another drink?”

  She smiled a little and shook her head. “I’m no drinker, as you can see.” She gestured at her barely touched glass of tomato juice.

  “Right.” Jack finished his drink and paid. Then he insisted on seeing her into a cab and paying for it, too, over her protests. He leaned down to the window and spoke in parting. “Look after Rona. She’s not as strong as she pretends to be.”

  All she could do was nod her head. She already knew that her dear old friend was headed for a crash.

  ***

  At work, Susan gained a little more confidence, although her duties did not change. The job didn’t require more than cursory competence and she was careful about that. Which left her plenty of time to explore. She took full advantage. Buoyed by Elizabeth Winsor’s tacit encouragement, she made the most of her opportunities to talk to the editorial staff. She read the latest releases and asked questions of the editors who had selected them.

  After one editorial meeting, Elizabeth asked her opinion of some of the discussion. Then Elizabeth asked her to read the manuscripts selected for publication at the editorial meeting, and give her reaction. Susan was flattered to be asked, and quickly complied. This led to certain editors being directed to have Susan read manuscripts they were thinking of accepting. She did most of the reading at work, but also got in the habit of taking one or two home each night to skim. She never could manage to articulate on paper what she liked about the books. She could only talk to Elizabeth or the editors about her opinions as a naïve reader. They seemed interested in her reactions.

  On her own, she continued her sales and marketing research, sorting and batching data to give a coherent picture of how a publishing company worked. It was fascinating but also confusing. A fun way to spend her free time when she’d done all her work but still had hours to kill at her lonely desk.

  ***

  Susan attended another Broadway play alone. She found herself thinking about Michael Sheppard, scanning the audience in case he was there. He had been so polite and pleasant and kind. Not like the macho heroes in the romance manuscripts she was reading. More down-to-earth.

  The next day, she received a piece of physical interoffice mail, most unusual. The envelope contained a nice note from Elizabeth, thanking her for taking on extra work, and enclosing an invitation for one plus a guest to a book launch party. Donna Warshevski was scheduled to attend.

  How thrilling, to meet her idol at last. Whom could she invite? Rona? She was AWOL most of the time now, and anyway, a book party would be old hat to her. Rona had always been such a feminist that Donna Warshevski’s fascinating rebellion against her inheritance wouldn’t be impressive. It was to Susan because she had led a much more conventional, traditional female life than Rona had.

  Louis? He was a sweetie, but she had never noticed that he was terribly interested in fiction or in middle-aged female role models.

  She found herself fishing out Michael’s card from her purse and calling his number. He probably would not be interested either, but it would be a neutral setting. There would be distractions. If the mutual spark from their theater meeting was still there, maybe he and she could have some kind of casual relationship, as he had suggested. Or maybe she was kidding herself.

  “Susan! You’ve made my day!” he said when she called. She explained her reason for calling, careful not to imply it was a date. Michael wasn’t interested in hedging. His reaction to the invitation was instant and flattering.

  “Of course I want to see you. Do I have to wait till this affair next week, or can we go out for a drink tonight?”

  “Whoa, slow it down,” she laughed, feeling pursued. “Let’s start with this party and see if we still…uh, if we still like each other.”

  Michael’s voice deepened. “I know what I like when I see it.” Then he let up the pressure and asked if he should pick her up in a cab or meet her at the party venue, a midtown hotel.

  As she hesitated, Michael said, “The more time we have together, the better.”

  Now she was flustered. She quickly agreed to a cab and gave him her address. Then she hung up. What had she gotten herself into? When they’d met, Michael had been so circumspect. Yet he was treating this like a date. He’d sounded…eager.

  What on earth was she doing? She wasn’t free to start a romantic relationship, and she wasn’t interested in a one-night stand. Even though Rick had urged her to have a fling. She was married and she intended to honor her vows even if Rick urged otherwise. Did otherwise, too. She should not be seeing a man who was intent on romance. Or sex. Perhaps that was what Michael wanted after all. Didn’t all men?

  She should call him back and cancel. No, that would be rude. She shouldn’t build up a major romance in her imagination merely because Michael had sounded enthusiastic about seeing her again. He was only being polite and gentlemanly, and here she was making a big deal about it. She needed to relax. Chill, as Nancy would say.

  La
ter, after she had recovered from the shock of the phone call, she bumped into Elizabeth in a hall. Elizabeth accepted her thanks for the invitation, but with a warning.

  “Please don’t talk about it to the other junior staffers. None of them were invited, and it might cause envy.”

  “Of course,” she replied, as Elizabeth waved and kept walking. Elizabeth’s concern was unmerited. Efforts to talk to co-workers had not been particularly successful. Light chitchat with girls thirty years Susan’s junior was not happening. She would not be working at Coquette long enough to change anybody’s prejudices against her age. The editors who were of her own generation had their own prejudices. They had worked all their adult lives, sent their children to daycare, and apparently resented her supposedly easier life as a stay-at-home mom. Or perhaps they simply felt they had nothing in common with a woman from the suburbs. She kept her own counsel and didn’t try hard to break through to either editor age group.

  She did keep trying with Linda, but Linda was her boss. It would be practical to have a pleasant working relationship. Unfortunately, there was ample evidence that Linda wasn’t interested.

  ***

  Rona met Edward at the same hotel where they had conducted much of their affair. It brought back so many memories. He had always met her in hotel rooms under an assumed name. He even had a special credit card he used, billed to a mythical employee at his office, for that purpose. She remembered every detail of their affair as if it had happened yesterday.

  This time, Edward had rented a suite, and Rona silently appreciated his tact. There was no bed in the middle of the room as an ugly reminder of their past. Of course, it being a suite implied that somewhere in one of the rooms lurked a bed.

  “Rona, you came. You look beautiful as always,” he said. He wasn’t smiling. He seemed in fact to be almost trembling. Rona had avoided seeing photos of him in the news, but inevitably, some had gotten past her filter. She had known his hair would be gray now. Still, seeing his age weighing down his shoulders, when the last time she’d stood this close to him he was a man in his prime, did something to her. All of his features seemed much more fine-drawn than they had been twenty-five years ago. He was seventy years old now and looked every year of it. Was it suffering that had aged him this way? Or was it simply a joke of genetics that to her eyes, Edward now seemed sensitive and sad?