Summer in the City

by Irene Vartanoff

  “I’m almost done. I sent Bev out to sit in the walled garden to avoid the dust.”

  “Good idea. Maybe I should change the locks.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny. You’d never turn your back on a friend,” he said, giving her a knowing glance before resuming his hand sanding.

  He had her pegged. She was a sucker and always would be. “That doesn’t mean I want to put up a druggie.”

  “Harsh words, considering you were one not long ago.”

  “That’s why I don’t trust her,” she replied.

  “Be reasonable, kiddo,” Louis said, putting his back into the sanding.

  She ought to leave the room before she was covered in a layer of dust. She could not resist defending her attitude.

  “Despite the melodrama, Bev surely has access to funds and could afford her own place. She could stay with her mother in Ft. Lauderdale for that matter. Bev didn’t have to come up here and throw our lives into turmoil.”

  “We don’t know the whole story,” Louis insisted. He stopped sanding. “There. Done.” He rubbed a tack cloth over the whole area, then started picking up tools.

  “I’ve already put a coat of primer on the other hole. Both sides. It’s latex, and it’ll dry fast without a lot of fumes.”

  “Good. I’ll get the vacuum.”

  As he wound up electrical cord, she asked, “Have you seen Rona?”

  “Nope.”

  “Darn it. She promised to come over and talk to Bev today.”

  “She’s probably too distracted by her own problems.”

  Louis was right. Rona was inwardly focused at the moment. Susan said no more, not wanting to give a hint about what Rona had finally told her the other night.

  “She told me, you know,” he said. “About Edward. She called me after you and she talked.”

  Susan felt a rush of relief that it was out in the open. “You were right about what was troubling her.”

  “What do you think she should do about Edward?”

  The way he asked, she wasn’t convinced that Rona had told him everything. She made a noncommittal response. “Is there a reason to hurry?”

  “Not unless he’s secretly dying or something.”

  She gave Louis a horrified glance. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. She decided not to comment on that suggestion. Rona would be shattered.

  They were done with the cleanup, and he'd painted both sides of the second patch. She was pouring him some iced tea when Rona suddenly walked in.

  “Let’s discuss your accusations of drug abuse, Susan,” Rona said in an aggressive tone.

  “Mine,” Louis said. When he told Rona what he had seen and what he believed, she lost her attitude.

  “Poor Bev,” she said. Rona had always liked Bev and had befriended her from the first moment the young student had been assigned as her assistant. Susan had been Rona’s roommate at the time and knew how happy Rona had been with Bev. Rona had been all set to mentor Bev into a solid future as an academic, not seeing what Susan saw, that Bev was marking time. Bev stayed in the university setting to keep an eye on Todd, Susan believed. Sure enough, Bev threw it all over for Todd once he finished medical school. Instead of a career, Bev wanted and got a lavish wedding.

  Rona hadn’t liked it. She’d thought that ditching a promising career for marriage to some man was a big mistake. Susan understood that thoroughly materialistic Bev would enjoy spending Todd’s income and basking in his professional glory. For years, that was exactly what she did. What had gone wrong?

  “I don’t think it’s as dire as you believe,” Rona said. “You didn’t see Bev the first days she was here. She cried all the time, and she didn’t answer her phone.”

  “You think that sitting in front of the TV all day and then yelling into the phone are improvements?” Susan asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, I do,” Rona said in her firm teacher’s voice.

  “Come on, you’re not an authority on depression. If anyone is, it’s Susan,” Louis protested.

  “I know Bev. She’s had a blow, that’s all. Perhaps she isn’t the ideal houseguest at the moment, but basically, she’s all right.”

  “What about the drugs?” Susan asked.

  “You haven’t found any stashes of drugs, have you? Bottles, syringes, spilled powders, stuff that looks like basil, that sort of thing?” Rona asked lightly.

  She gave Rona an exasperated look. “No. And don’t tell me to search Bev’s things, because I won’t.”

  “I will,” Louis said.

  “You don’t need to,” Rona said. “I gave her some of my Valium. Obviously, in her current state, it makes her hyper for a bit instead of calming her.”

  They both stared at Rona in shock.

  “That’s a bad thing to do, sharing prescription medications,” Susan finally said.

  “Not to mention illegal,” Louis chimed in with disapproval clear in his voice, too.

  “It was only a few,” Rona dismissed. “She’s healing on her own. You two are alarmists.”

  “So we should just wait, and Bev will be all better? That’s fine for you to say, but I don’t want her living with me,” she protested.

  “Why not? You used to be friends.”

  “I’m not sure I can tell you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rona asked.

  Rona and Louis knew almost everything she had ever been through. Almost. It wasn’t that she hesitated to tell them something so personal. As much as she despised Bev, she did not want to be directly responsible for smearing Bev to her friends. Even though Bev richly deserved it.

  “Forget it. We have some lingering issues over what happened at Nancy’s wedding.”

  “I would, too, considering how Todd behaved.” Louis said, “Bev should have kept him in line and never let him mess with that bridesmaid.”

  “It was disgusting,” she agreed, once again allowing them to think that was the origin of her grievance against Bev.

  Rona urged her to have patience and stick it out for a few more days. “I’m sure Bev will recover completely. She’s already regained a lot of her spirit if she’s yelling at people.”

  “I guess I can stand it. If we’re agreed that nobody needs to babysit Bev after all, right?”

  Rona nodded.

  Louis appeared a bit more reluctant. Finally, he nodded, too. “No more drugs. You promise?”

  “Since both of you are so against it, I won’t give her any more,” Rona agreed.

  “Good. What’s the plan tonight?”

  “Actually, I’m busy tonight. I’ve got a date with Jack,” Rona started. She saw Susan’s doubtful expression and responded. “He’s called often and I’ve been neglecting him.”

  “I told you he asked me out for a drink last week, trying to find out what you were doing,” Susan said.

  “Would that I knew that myself,” Rona said.

  “How come he didn’t ask me out?” Louis complained, obviously not serious. “I thought we were buddies.” The tension in the room had lightened.

  “He probably thought Susan could be more easily persuaded to give him some juicy details.”

  “Then he doesn’t know Susan.” He turned her way. “I’ve already guessed that you’re hiding a couple more secrets, kiddo, but you’re welcome to keep them. For now.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  She snorted, and Rona laughed.

  “Before you vanish again, how about a change of subject?” Susan said. She’d heard quite enough about Bev’s and Rona’s and even her own emotional problems. “Do you have time tomorrow to take me clothes shopping? Remember, I’ve got a book party coming up next week.”

  “That’s right.” Rona explained to Louis, “Susan met a guy and she’s going out with him Tuesday night.”

  “It’s a book party,” she insisted.

  “You two are going alone? You’re dressing fancy? He’s not gay? Bet he thinks it’s a date,” he said.

  Annoying man.
/>   Rona smirked at Susan.

  “Okay, okay. Maybe it’s a date.” She caved under their smug assurance. “I’ll never get a second one with him if you don’t help me dress with more city polish. So will you please take me shopping tomorrow?”

  “If you don’t spend the whole time complaining about Bev.”

  “Deal.” That was easy to promise.

  “Hey, what about me?” Louis protested.

  “You, Mr. No Drugs, can come back and check on Bev while Susan and I are shopping.”

  “I would have anyway,” he surprised them by saying.

  ***

  Shopping with Rona was like being in a tornado. First she insisted that they be in the correct neighborhood when the stores all opened at nine-thirty a.m., even on a Sunday. Then she swept them in and out of stores all over the fashionable SoHo, NoHo, Tribeca, and other downtown shopping areas. Although Susan was in normal sizes now, some stores catered to the petite or the young and didn’t have anything she should wear regardless of her new dress size, Rona said. She passed them by. Susan looked longingly at some truly outrageous designs meant for fifteen-year-olds, but docilely let Rona drag her elsewhere. Not once did Rona take her to a branch of a store that could be found in a mall. “There’s no point,” she explained. “We’re looking for sophisticated, not dowdy or tacky.”

  It seemed as if they raced from one store to the next. Rona scanned whole racks of clothing incredibly fast, then pushed on. Occasionally, they’d return to a store because Rona had found a piece to complement an item they hadn’t bought the first time around. After a couple of hours, Rona was still obviously filled with energy, but Susan was beat. They had bought enough. She now had several bags of clothing that she liked, all Rona-approved.

  “You’ll look like a million bucks in any of those,” Rona said as they sat in a corner café, taking a break.

  “I am shocked to admit that I agree with you,” she replied, toasting Rona with her water glass. After all their walking around, she thought she was safe having a French pastry to go with it.

  Rona shopped much faster than Susan ever did and more purposefully. The strategy was clear enough: go after a look rather than be seduced by whatever was in the stores. Where Rona got the look, Susan didn’t know. “What I don’t understand is the wide range of prices for items that are essentially the same thing.”

  “Because we’re shopping at the designer ready-to-wear level. That’s a big step down from haut couture, of course. The days of dressing entirely in a single designer’s clothing line are long gone,” Rona lectured. “Nobody wears only Dior or Prada. Even if you have favorites, you vary the looks by blending pieces from other designers. Each designer has a somewhat different price point. So a short jacket from Dolce & Gabbana might cost significantly more than a similar piece from Stella McCartney.”

  “Or a lot less.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I couldn’t bear to do this often, you know,” Susan remarked.

  “Only women with a clothes shopping addiction can, honey,” Rona responded.

  They had parted after more advice from Rona about the folly of dating at all, considering Susan’s marital status. She wasn’t willing to hear it.

  She filled the rest of the weekend by taking in a Sunday concert at Lincoln Center, and then doing laundry and writing in her food diary in the apartment’s walled garden. Bev continued to oscillate between being a screaming banshee on the phone and a quiet, TV-watching lump the rest of the time. She didn’t throw her phone again. Maybe Rona was right about Bev coming out of it on her own.

  At work on Monday, Susan forced herself to check with Linda as usual. She received the usual grunt. It could have been screaming, so she went to her desk relieved. This wasn’t the PMS week, evidently. Or maybe it was merely the lassitude of summer. She pushed through the deliveries quickly that morning. The weekend had seemed packed, making her forget what she had been on the trail of last week. Once her routine tasks were accomplished, she started pulling up files and making comparisons.

  What she found was strange. She had no idea what the figures meant yet. The way the company reported the expenses of each book was not consistent. Publicity and marketing costs ascribed to some books were six times what they were for others.

  This puzzled Susan. Why was there a thirty thousand dollar advertising budget assigned to a genre romance that was released in a series of six monthly titles that all had the same cover design? Where could so much money have been spent? Or was the budget spread over all the titles in the series that month? If so, why was the thirty thousand dollars charged to that one book?

  She had to think about this. Maybe she would ask Elizabeth what it meant. Or try a few discreet questions of the individual editors. Meanwhile, at the next editorial meeting she would listen carefully if anybody mentioned advertising dollars.

  Feeling that she had put in a good day’s work, she left the Coquette Books office with a lilt in her step. She decided to buy some fancy bath accessories. She wanted to pamper herself before her date. Or maybe she should make a lunchtime appointment at a day spa. Only, what if she got talked into some procedure and ended up with a patchy red face at the party, the way Samantha did once in Sex and the City? That would be bad. It was the same situation, too, come to think of it. A book party.

  Chapter 12

  She came home Monday to Bev screaming at her husband on the phone. The forced roommates exchanged few comments beyond practical questions and answers. She didn’t go anywhere Monday night because she wanted to be rested for Tuesday. She spent most of the evening in the walled courtyard, writing in her diet diary and using her laptop to research accounting practices for publicity costs.

  On Tuesday, she slipped by Bev on the phone screaming at her sister. Then, she spent extra care with her book party ensemble, a dress in deepest navy blue that was glamorous without being pushy. The sheer genius of the cut was what carried the classic boat-necked style. Her shoulders were slightly on display, and then the fine silk fabric skimmed the rest of her feminine silhouette lovingly, ending at mid knee. She added silver sandals, a contrasting evening purse in patent leather, and some sparkling bits of jewelry, and felt well turned out.

  When she emerged from her bedroom, Bev spoke up from her usual seat on the couch.

  “Big occasion? Where are you going?”

  “To a book party.”

  “Is the author famous?”

  She could see Bev making calculations. If the book party was a glamorous event that she could get bragging rights for attending, somehow she would finagle being taken along. Susan was determined that her night with Michael would not be ruined. She searched her mind for the most boring kind of writer she could think of. Of course.

  “A poet.”

  Bev lost interest. Then she perked up. “Who’s going with you?”

  She decided to act like a politician and not answer questions she didn’t like. “I’ve got to go now. Don’t wait up.”

  She slipped out the door, then leaned back against it in relief at having escaped. As she did, she could hear Bev on her cell phone again. Good.

  Michael Sheppard was waiting for her with a cab at the curb. He was wearing a tux and looked so marvelous she nearly tripped on the front steps. He surged up them to steady her. His hand felt hot on hers. She looked down at him. He looked up at her. Time stopped.

  Someone breathed. It felt so unnecessary. She floated down the steps, his hand still holding hers. Michael put her into the taxi and climbed in after her. The driver slowly accelerated.

  A minute later, Michael broke the silence. “Would you like to skip this party and come to my apartment right now?”

  Yes, but I’m not going to, she thought. She said nothing.

  “It was worth asking,” Michael sighed. “Excuse the crude proposition, but what the hell just happened?”

  “Instant…something?” She was beginning to shake a little from the receding adrenaline high. To be glad she had not ad
mitted to feeling it.

  “That’s never happened to me. Never.” He cursed. “I’m usually in far better control of myself.”

  “Do you need control?” She asked it lightly, but she felt far from light in spirit. Something had happened. Something important.

  “Has that ever happened to you before?” he persisted.

  Now it was her turn to sigh. “I don’t remember. Maybe I don’t want to at this moment.”

  “Fair enough. We don’t need to beat this to death right now,” Michael said. He took her hand and kissed it, a hard press of his lips that she felt all the way down to her toes.

  He held her hand all the way to the party. The hand on which she used to wear her wedding and engagement rings. The hand that now sported a fun cocktail ring instead. Who was she fooling? Him or herself?

  Of course, the book launch was an anticlimax. She tried her best to be impressed by the baroque décor of the party space in a midtown hotel. Elegant. There was hardly an inch not lavished with heavy gilt or crystal. She made an effort to concentrate on the glamorous people who attended. They were elegant, too, garbed in what had to be expensive designer clothing. A relief she had been brought up to par by Rona. She recognized a few celebrities from the entertainment industry, including some television personalities and a soap opera actor who long ago had been an action movie star. He was tall, with plenty of presence. The entire time, she thought about those intimate moments with Michael. How he had looked at her. How she had felt. He appeared to be similarly detached from the swirling scene around them.

  She regained some of her enthusiasm for the book party when Elizabeth Winsor introduced Donna Warshevski to the crowd. The beer heiress was a little shorter than Susan, but about the same age. Her Midwest heritage was written on her open, trusting face, despite her designer gown and discreetly expensive jewels. She gave a short, gracious speech about the author of the evening, ending with “I’m delighted to be the publisher of such an honest, uplifting story.”

  When they met in the receiving line, Susan tried not to gush, but she couldn’t resist telling the other woman how much she admired her. “It’s so wonderful that you’re using the money made from selling alcohol for good purposes.”