Riverside Park

by Laura Van Wormer

  The school bus was coming. The driver slowed and stopped at the edge of their driveway and Teddy pushed past Emily to get down the stairs first. “Cool!” he declared with wide eyes, promptly running around to the back of the truck to climb up and look into the flatbed.

  Shifting her backpack, Emily got up on her tiptoes to peek inside the driver’s side window.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Amanda said. “Miklov has his own wheels now.”

  Miklov grinned. “Do you like it, Emilee?”

  “The seat’s all torn up,” Emily observed.

  “Em,” Amanda said under her breath.

  “I put in new seats,”Miklov explained. “I only own for one hour.”

  Emily caught her mother’s expression while turning back to her coach. “I think your truck is very nice just the way it is, Mickey-Luck.”

  He beamed.

  “Trucks are supposed to be beat-up,” Teddy announced, elbowing his sister to try to see in through the window. “It’s a guy thing. Can we go for a ride, Mickey-Luck?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go another time, Teddy,” Amanda said, looking at her watch. She wanted Howard to take a look at this truck before she allowed the children in it. “You’ve got homework and then dinner and then your father’s calling to talk over your social studies project.”

  “Blech,” Teddy said, “who needs social studies?” He looked up shyly at his coach. “I bet I could be a mechanic if Mickey-Luck would let me work on his truck with him.”

  “At least seet in the seat, Teddee,” Miklov said.

  Teddy dropped his backpack on the ground. He had to use two hands to press in the button on the door handle. With a squeal and a bang the door opened. Miklov helped him up. The steering wheel was big and thin, and while Teddy couldn’t turn it much, he pretended to with great dramatic flair and sound effects.

  A piece was missing out of the truck’s dashboard, Amanda noticed, or perhaps a piece of the dashboard remained and it was the rest of it that was missing. Amanda supposed it depended on one’s perspective.

  Emily by now had lost interest and was running up the hill to see Ashette.

  “Come on, Teddy, we need to get moving,” Amanda said. “Thank you for stopping by to show us your new truck, Miklov.”

  Miklov bent over from the waist to pick up Teddy’s backpack and when he came back up Amanda found his face significantly closer to hers. He was smiling, his eyes happy; she could smell mouthwash and some kind of aftershave. She thought of what her parents had said and, indeed, she could see genuine affection in Miklov’s eyes, but not the love her parents had spoken of. She and Miklov were comrades in this distant outpost; theirs was a friendship that had developed after spending so many hours thrown together with the children. He was very lonely, but now with his truck Amanda imagined he would shortly have a girlfriend because now he could finally leave the herd of soccer moms to go where the eligible young women were.

  “Pro-gress, you know,” he said.

  “Yes, I do and you’re doing very well,” she acknowledged, dropping her eyes to her son. “We are happy for you, aren’t we, Teddy?”

  “Mickey-Luck rocks,” he acknowledged. “I’m hungry.”

  They said goodbye and started up the hill, Teddy running ahead. Physically he took after Amanda and at eight looked somewhat like a colt. The doctor said he would be quite tall, perhaps as much as six-foot-three. Emily was sturdier, like her father, and unfortunately about as graceful. Ballet had helped with the latter, however, and it was her endurance that made her a valuable player on the soccer field.

  Miklov honked as he drove away and they all turned to wave.

  In the kitchen the children helped themselves to graham crackers and milk and settled down with their books at the kitchen table. Amanda went into the study to put Howard’s mail unopened in his desk drawer. Then she picked up the phone to call him. Maybe he was in a better mood today.

  Howard didn’t pick up on his cell phone so she called the agency. “I don’t know what to tell you, Amanda,” Gretchen, her husband’s assistant, said to her, “because he’s not here and I’m not sure where he is.”

  “If he doesn’t have anything on his schedule he could be touring bookstores.” Her husband was well-known to do this, to pause at the window of one bookstore and then spend hours touring bookstores all over midtown to check out what was selling, what was placed where in the store and, most importantly, to get a sense of how his authors’ books were being sold and in what quantities. Amanda crossed her left arm to support the arm holding the telephone. “Is something wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “It’s just been really crazy around here today.”

  “It is always very crazy there,” Amanda reminded her, looking out the bay window. There were birds in the dogwood tree near the window. She hoped the cat didn’t get them. “Is there anything I can possibly assist you with?”

  Gretchen dropped her voice. “He’d kill me for talking to you. Kill me first and then fire me.”

  Amanda’s stomach tensed. “What is it?”

  “I think there’s some kind of trouble at the bank. They called and he got pretty upset. I think that’s where he might be. At the bank.”

  Howard was a fanatic about the agency books. He must be at the bank screaming from the rafters about some kind of error the bank made.

  “I’m sure he’ll sort out whatever it is,” Amanda said, thinking how upset Howard would be that Gretchen had spoken of it. She tried to turn the conversation into a neutral one again, half joking that Gretchen might want to get some Dove chocolate in anticipation of Howard’s return because it tended to have a sedative effect on her husband. She compared notes on Christmas shopping and they speculated on the chances of snow.

  “Are you talking to Daddy?” Emily asked from the doorway.

  “No, darling,” she said, hanging up, “he’s going to call us a little later.”

  “I want to tell him about my math test.”

  “You’ll get a chance a little later,” Amanda said, steering her back into the kitchen.

  “Why can’t Dad live with us all the time?” Teddy asked. The remains of graham crackers floating around in the glass of milk in his hand was disgusting and Amanda couldn’t look at it.

  “I’m working on it,” she told her son.

  “It’s Mickey-Luck!” Teddy suddenly cried, slamming his glass down and bolting from the table.

  The young Czech was standing at their back door, smiling through the glass, with Ashette barking and dancing around him in glee. When Teddy opened the door Miklov held out a large package wrapped in white paper and tape. “I forgot your gift!” he called to Amanda. He laughed, moving the package high over his head so Ashette couldn’t get it. “She knows it is steck!”

  “I love steck!” Teddy declared.

  The next thing Amanda knew Miklov was staying for dinner and she found herself smiling as she prepared it, pleased to have such a grateful and enthusiastic guest joining them.

  15

  Celia Talks to Jason

  WHEN JASON CLOSED the office door behind him Celia said, “You don’t have to lock it.” His expression, when he turned around, was not a happy one.

  “Here’s the iPod,” she said quietly, putting the box down on the desk. He made no move to get it. “It was very generous of you, Jason, but I thought I explained before—”

  “I told you, I didn’t buy it. Somebody gave it to me and I already have one.” And then more forcefully, “I wanted to give it to you. What’s wrong with that? It didn’t cost me anything. It’s not like a Christmas present or anything.”

  “Jason,” she said, crossing her arms and sitting down on the low filing cabinet. In the next moment she remembered their history with this cabinet and moved behind Mark’s desk to sit. When she looked up she could plainly see Jason was thinking the same thing. “I was wrong to do what I did with you.”

  He gave her a look of disbelief. “Why? I c
an handle it.”

  “You more than handled it,” she told him and Jason’s face instantly brightened. “It’s time for you to have a real relationship. You know, have a girlfriend.” He was starting to scowl. “Look, Jason, I don’t want to be emotionally involved with anyone right now. And I think you do. So you should get a girlfriend.”

  “I’m not emotionally involved with you,” he said.

  “But we’ve become friends, and that is an emotional attachment,” she said. “And I don’t do, you know, the other—” she gestured weakly “—with a friend. I just want us to be friends.”

  He hesitated. “You acted like you liked it.”

  She felt her face burn. “Yeah. But—” What was she supposed to say now? Why didn’t he just leave? Go away? And why was his erection getting bigger? “Anyway, take the iPod. You can give it to someone for Christmas.”

  “I’m not going to give you anything anymore,” he said. “So why can’t we just—” He shrugged. “You know.”

  “I can’t do that anymore, Jason. It was wrong.”

  “Why is it wrong?” he asked, stepping forward. “You don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  She heard a belt buckle and looked up in alarm. Jason had undone his belt and was pulling down his zipper.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she nearly yelled.

  “I know you still want to do it,” he said, moving around the desk.

  “Stop it,” she said, looking away.

  “I know you do,” he said, pulling himself out of his pants.

  “What if someone comes in and sees you like that?” she demanded.

  “I locked the door.” He reached for her hand. “Come on.”

  She yanked her hand away from him and violently pushed her chair back. “I’m not kidding, Jason, stop it. Zip up your pants and stop being an asshole.”

  After a moment he turned his back to her, zipped up his pants and did up his belt.

  “I know it’s confusing,” she said miserably, looking down at the floor. “That I was doing it and now I don’t want to do it. And I know you don’t get it but I get it now. I’m too old for you and I shouldn’t have done it.”

  He turned around and she saw that he was crying. Crying!

  “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry but I do.”

  “Oh, Jason—”

  “I know what I said before but I do care. I’m in love with you, Celia.”

  She didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to make it any worse for him.

  He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffed and then looked at her again. “You don’t—?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. No.”

  He stumbled over to the door.

  “Jason, your iPod—”

  He turned around to swipe it off the desk. Then he unlocked the door, hesitated and turned to look at her. “I’m never coming back here. Ever.” He threw the door open with a crash and left.

  16

  Howard Scrambles to Form a Plan

  “I’LL CALL HER as soon as I get off with you,” Howard lied to Gretchen while he walked through the cars stalled on Fifth Avenue. He had no intention of talking to Amanda until he had some idea of how he was going to meet the next hurdle of this financial mess. Then he would be calmer and would call her. And after he successfully made it over this hurdle he would, he swore, sit down with Amanda and tell her everything.

  His visit to the bank had badly shaken him. The personal banker who had been so nice while extending him large credit lines was no longer very nice. He told Howard he had to pay a big hunk of money by December twentieth or there was going to be tremendous trouble. When Howard explained there was a cash-flow problem that would soon work itself out, the personal banker said that’s good, so Howard could pay something today out of the agency account at the bank, which currently had over three hundred thousand dollars in it. Howard explained this was not his money, but money that belonged to his clients, and the personal banker sat back in his chair and said the account had the name of Hillings & Stewart on it, did it not? That it was his company, was it not? Howard quietly explained that if the personal banker touched a penny in that account he would see his personal ass in prison on charges of extortion and racketeering.

  No, the meeting hadn’t gone so well. Still, Howard had gotten an extension until the middle of January. Now he needed to get the Hillingses to examine the agency books before then.

  He’d been walking the streets for hours now, trying to clear his head and get some sort of plan of action together. With the extension he should be able to scrape together the agency Christmas bonuses. His employees also expected to be paid for the week between Christmas and New Year’s when the office would be closed. He had his family gifts to buy and the endless envelopes for their households’ workers to fill with cash.

  He entered the front door of The Pierre Hotel and headed for the bar. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the lighting but he spotted Kate Weston sitting around one of the low tables in an overstuffed chair. There was a glass of white wine and a glass of water in front of her. Kate had just been promoted from editor in chief to publisher of Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe. He kissed her hello, congratulated her again, and then apologized for being late. She told him he was not late, but in fact early, and Howard ordered the same as she was drinking, a glass of Chardonnay and a glass of ice water.

  “Aren’t the lights something?” Kate asked him once he was settled.

  “What lights?” he complained, pushing his glasses higher and looking around. “I never can see a damn thing in here.”

  She laughed. “I meant the Christmas lights, Howard. On Fifth Avenue.” She leaned forward. “Hello, Howard, are you there?”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. She was an old friend. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  She leaned a little closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t like the novel you sent me. I hope you’re not upset with me about it.”

  “Of course not,” he said, picking some nuts out of the dish and popping them into his mouth. “Why would I be upset when I was counting on you to offer me three hundred and save me the time and trouble of having to go out to everybody with it?”

  “It’s not that it was badly written,” she said.

  “So you said.” He washed the nuts down with the water.

  “I’m sorry, Howard, but I just hated it. I didn’t like the narrator and I hated reading it.”

  Howard looked at her and then burst out laughing. He had to. What else could he do? “Thank you for such a highly detailed editorial review.”

  She was laughing, too. “I just don’t know what it was about her writing, but I had Mark read a few pages, too—”

  She was married to Mark Fiducia, a prominent editor at another house.

  “And I’m afraid it didn’t go over very well with him, either.”

  “There is a school of thought, you know,” Howard said, “that says your feelings of revulsion might indicate the presence of brilliant artistic talent.”

  “Well, as long as she works her artistic talent somewhere else—”

  They both cracked up again. He assumed Kate was as tired as he was. Everybody in publishing was tired all the time because nobody ever had a chance to read anything until night, which only kept the anxiety of everything everybody had left to do pricking the edge of any sleep they managed to get.

  When Howard had quit his job as an editor he had imagined that running his own agency would mean more control over his time and workload. In a sense that had been true—so long as he wasn’t very successful. As soon as his first book hit the bestseller list (which had been right away since it had been one of Gertrude Bristol’s), the insanity had begun. And the thing was, if worked sucked now, he only had himself to blame, whereas in the old days at Gardiner & Grayson he had always had a slew of scapegoats to blame for wreaking havoc in his life.

  Today was one of those days Howard hated his boss a
nd wanted to quit.

  “So let me tell you why I really wanted to see you,” Kate told him. “I’m desperate for a big book to sell at the London Book Fair. You represent Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres, don’t

  you?”

  Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres was one of the most popular actresses in the world. Her mother had been a huge Hollywood sex symbol and her father was some kind of Scottish peer. Georgiana’s childhood had been well-documented in the press since she was the object of a custody battle that lasted for years and involved all the best elements a drama could offer: beauty, wealth, power and sex, acts of implied depravity and acts of Parliament, glamorous Beverly Hills mansions and romantic Highland castles.

  Georgiana grew up to be somewhat of a blond blue-eyed bombshell like her mother, except with a degree of class and acting ability her mother had never possessed. She was very successful as a movie actress early on and when she got married the general opinion was that Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres was showing amazing resiliency from her deeply troubled upbringing. Her mother was institutionalized because of the ravages of drug and alcohol abuse, and her father was a famous eccentric whose estate now depended upon the kindness of his daughter to exist.

  There had been some sort of scandal about Georgiana having an affair with a woman while shooting a movie and then her marriage blew up. It was unclear for a while what she was doing or who she was sleeping with. Then, out of the blue, she was linked with Alexandra Waring, the DBS News anchorwoman, and while the women readily acknowledged they were “best friends,” it seemed pretty clear they were lovers. That relationship seemed to be over now and Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres was supposed to be running around with a cameraman or something.

  “Vaguely,” Howard said. “She wrote a storybook when she was seven years old that we still handle—”

  “Which is still in print.”