Guy took his arm away but seemed otherwise undaunted.
“Could we go somewhere and talk in private?” he asked.
“It’s not convenient.” I never intended to have a private talk with him, so I was still just being polite. When does civility stop being a good thing and become a way of never saying what you mean?
He leaned in toward me without touching.
“So did you read the book?” he asked.
“I read it,” Priscilla broke in. “You left it in my room, not Jane’s. I read as much of it as I could stomach.”
Guy stood very straight.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You, young man, have a filthy mind. And I was just beginning to warm to you. You have lovely manners and you can be very ingratiating, but something prurient lies beneath the surface—I can tell you that.”
“I can see where an old lady might think so,” Guy said. His veneer was crumbling. Priscilla didn’t say a word. “Jane will have to read it. It’s Jane’s opinion I wanted, not yours. Everyone knows that you’re a negative old bitch with very little nice to say about anyone. I wouldn’t be inclined to listen to you.”
I thought Priscilla might fall over. She wasn’t used to being talked to that way. Guy, after delivering his speech, seemed at a loss. In our antiquated little hothouse atmosphere, our manners held everything together. We all stood for a moment, saying nothing.
Then Isabelle appeared at the door. Her thick dark hair was pinned up and she was wearing a wraparound dress that emphasized her curves.
“What’s she doing here?” Guy asked.
“You know her?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“I knew her. A long time ago.”
Miranda came over to us.
“Who’s that?” she asked. “I didn’t invite her.”
“That’s Isabelle,” I said.
“The baker?”
“The baker.”
“Who invited her?”
“I did.”
“Why on earth?” Miranda asked.
“Because I wanted her here.”
When I turned around, Guy was gone.
“Was I ever wrong about him!” Priscilla said, and moved away toward Teddy and Vee.
When Isabelle walked across the room, every male eye was on her. She smiled and kissed me. I introduced her to Max.
After a few more minutes, Max turned to me. “You ready?”
I nodded. I’d been ready for longer than I cared to think about.
Max led me toward the center of the room where Teddy, Vee, Priscilla, Duke, Winnie, Charlie, and Dolores had congregated. I didn’t see Guy, but I knew he was hovering somewhere, maybe watching from the upstairs landing.
Max laced his fingers through mine.
“Everyone,” he said, “we have an announcement.”
Chapter 38
Post
So that’s the end of the story.
I can’t tell you that I lived happily ever after, because I’m still waiting to find out, but I have great faith that I might.
The fallout from the announcement of my engagement to Max was gratifying. Because we made it in the middle of the party, everyone, even those who felt otherwise, had to pretend they were happy for us. That was one benefit of our social structure, and though it might be crumbling, it had yet to collapse entirely.
In Miranda’s dash to be the first to hug me, she came at me with such force she knocked me into Max and the two of us would have toppled into the fireplace had Isabelle not put out a steadying hand.
Guy disappeared from the party and we have never seen him again. I did take a look at his manuscript and I didn’t mind the pornographic parts so much, but the book was poorly written. I had Tad mail it back to him with a short note.
After the party, just before bed, Priscilla knocked on the door to my room. She sat on the edge of my bed and took my hand.
“Jane dear, I think you are making a mistake. You hardly know this man. Do you know that in New York literary circles he’s known as a chronic womanizer?”
“I’ve heard,” I said.
“Listen, I think the best thing would be for you to come home with me. You can give this thing some thought. It’s so sudden.”
“Priscilla, it’s the furthest thing from sudden. It’s taken fifteen years.”
Priscilla pulled her flowery peignoir close around her body. The negligee was too young for her, but in her mind, it wouldn’t be right to wear something dowdy when she was visiting.
“It’s just that you know so little about men. You’ve always been so incompetent in that department.”
“Priscilla, listen to me. I am not incompetent when it comes to men or anything else. I never want to hear that again. Do you understand?”
She pulled back.
“I didn’t mean…” she stammered.
“Do you understand?”
“Well, yes,” she said.
“You were wrong about Guy,” I said. “He wasn’t the man you thought he was.”
“No, he wasn’t,” she said. “I admit it. I was wrong. I worry about you, Jane. You’re like my own daughter.”
Later, as I was falling asleep, I thought that perhaps it was best that Priscilla had never had children.
Guy and Dolores disappeared from the island. Neither of them said goodbye to anyone. Later we heard from Littleton that they were living together in an apartment in the South End. Dolores wanted Guy to marry her. She told her father that she was fiercely in love with Guy, but Guy keeps telling her that she isn’t the one.
Guy is often seen at “literary events” around Boston. Now that I’m with Max, we spend more time out and about, but we have yet to run into Guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was avoiding us. I haven’t seen Guy’s novel in print, nor do I expect to. Still, anything can happen.
Dolores gave up the pursuit of my father for true love, which I think is the most admirable thing she did the whole time I knew her.
Miranda felt betrayed.
“I don’t know how I ever let that vile woman into our lives. I was so nice to her. It just goes to show you,” Miranda said.
“Show you what?” I asked.
“You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.”
Not long after that, my father fired Littleton. Our new adviser handles the Fortune family money so skillfully that we are well on our way to having our principal restored.
At the end of the summer Miranda and Teddy went back to Palm Beach. Miranda called to complain that it was too hot and too early in the season for Florida. They no longer had Dolores to fetch and carry for them. Also, without Dolores, they had no one to whom they could feel superior, and this was a great loss to them. It is not nearly as satisfying to feel superior when you don’t have someone inferior around. It is so much more difficult to feel superior in a vacuum.
Winnie and Charlie went into couples therapy after they returned from the Vineyard. From what I know about therapy, which isn’t much, therapists usually work on both parties. Problems in relationships don’t come from just one. In Winnie’s case, it was different.
“Dr. Mangeles says I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent to blame,” Winnie told me over the phone. “I hardly think that’s possible. Do you think that’s possible, Jane? That’s almost one hundred percent.”
“Listen to the doctor,” I said. “Just do what she says.”
“Do you think it’s all my fault?” Winnie pressed.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“All I wanted was a straight answer,” Winnie said, and she hung up. Winnie deserved a straight answer. Maybe I would have been a better sister if I had given her one.
Jack Reilly finished his novel and found an agent. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s published by next year. He has also established his organization—Good Out-of-Season Homes for the Homeless (GOSHH). He says he’ll fund it with the proceeds of his book.
&nbs
p; Max and I had a small wedding on the beach in Hull at the end of the summer. The only guests were the Goldmans, Isabelle, and Jack Reilly. Isabelle was my maid of honor and wore a slim blue silk dress that accentuated everything good about her figure. Jack couldn’t stop looking at her. He wore jeans and a dinner jacket. I think Isabelle got a kick out of him.
As for Max’s house, the house of his dreams, with its stream and its swing and all that other bucolic stuff, we sold it. Yes, I know, if I loved Max, I should have loved his house—on principle—but I wanted a home of my own, something we chose together.
We bought an apartment on Commonwealth Avenue, two blocks from the Public Garden. I’ve given it a classic contemporary look. It’s new, clean, and uncluttered and very different from the house where I grew up. Max, as it turns out, is not as interested in his environment as that Vanity Fair article led me to believe. He was more than happy to give up the farmhouse so that I didn’t have to squeeze into his dream.
Sometimes we meet Charlie and Winnie for dinner and I often go to visit the boys, but otherwise we stay away from the Maples as much as we can. There’s still a little tension about Lindsay. I’m not sure why, except that things didn’t turn out as well for her as she might have hoped. She left Wheaton and is finishing college at Keene State in New Hampshire. She and Basil got married and the Maples rented a white clapboard house for them on a tree-lined street near the center of town. Charlie says that Lindsay is pressuring Basil to get a job, but Basil says it wouldn’t be good for his art. I guess the lesson there is that you should never fall in love when you are suffering from a head injury.
Glenda Buffington and I have started a writing program for battered women. That, in addition to my other foundation work, keeps me very busy. Joe Goldman is threatening to do a documentary about us, but so far we’ve been able to put him off. I still shun the limelight—perhaps more than I should. Glenda came into the office one day and gave me one of those hideous bookmarks with a quotation on it. It said: “A ship in the harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I get it.
You don’t have to hit me over the head.
Well, maybe you do.
I started reading Post on the beach the day Max asked me to marry him. After that, I got distracted, but I finally finished it. It’s a very good book and I applaud Max for taking on such a challenging subject. Still, I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Duet for One.
Max is almost finished with his new book and he is dedicating it to me.
And all I can say about that is—it’s about time.
Acknowledgments
I am extremely lucky in both friends and professionals, many of whom I am fortunate enough to claim as both. I am deeply grateful to my literary agent, Gail Hochman, for the innumerable ways in which she has supported me in both my life and my work. Thank you to my film agent, Amy Schiffman, who was there from the very beginning. Thanks to David Fox, a lawyer with unfailing good sense. Many thanks to everyone at William Morrow/HarperCollins: specifically, Carolyn Marino, my editor, who made this experience so painless and positive, and Jennifer Civiletto, whose attention to the brass tacks of the process was invaluable.
To those who were willing to read early drafts and give emotional support, I give thanks: Jeff Steinberg, Jonathan Bates, and Carole Merritt. Thanks to Myra Morris for listening to me kvetch. I also want to thank my writers’ group: Buffy Shutt, Susan Cartsonis, B. J. Robbins, and Denise Stewart.
I am very grateful to Elinor Lipman for her generosity of spirit and for both emotional and technical support. And thanks to Sally Brady, mentor and teacher. Also to Laura Rappaport, who got me to finish.
And to my family, who are nothing like the Fortunes—thank God. My mother, Barbara Horowitz, my sister, Wendy Ribeiro, and her family, Jeff, Kimberly, and Ricky.
Lastly, I’d like to thank Leo Kelley, who has changed my life and makes sure I enjoy it.
About the Author
Laurie Horowitz began her career as a lawyer in suburban Boston before moving to California, where she became an agent at Creative Artists Agency. She now divides her time between Santa Monica, California, and the Bitterroot Valley in Montana.
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The Family Fortune Page 27
