She found the family gathered in the large living room-it had a high ceiling with crown molding and she supposed a real estate agent would call it a "great room" but it was no comparison to the scale of the great room at the home in Woodside. Helen was making a list and the words "flat screen" were issuing from Justin's mouth. He eyed her grocery bags as she went past them into the kitchen. It was much, much smaller than she was used to, but there was still plenty of space to cook meals for a family of four. The table was spacious and occupied the eastern corner of the condo with a large picture window that would let in all the morning sun.
She was finally stumped by the lack of cookie sheets, so she thought she could make do with the griddle pan, which was oven safe. It only took two minutes before she had an audience of three.
"Are you making cookies?" Justin looked hopeful. His stomach growled in spite of the generous first-class airplane meal they'd been served.
"Yes I am, oatmeal-applesauce."
"Cookies?" Julie echoed. "Is there milk?"
"Yes."
"Cookies." Helen gave a tired laugh. "I could kiss you."
"They're vegetarian," she said inanely as she stirred the applesauce and oats. How many cookies would it take before Helen really meant it? She'd make cookies every day if she thought it would work.
As eager as she was to roll up her metaphorical sleeves and tackle perfecting the role of the iconic Mame Dennis, Helen found herself spending almost all of her time the next several weeks working with the two co-producers, Patrick May and Casey Milk. They interviewed costume, set and marketing designers and asked for drawing mock-ups from their favorites. They also negotiated and finalized the venue. The St. John Theatre was about a block from the Olympic, but slightly more modern. With just over eight hundred seats, it was equal in size to the Olympic as well, and they all felt that they had every chance of matching the run numbers for Look the Other Way. Trevor flew back to New York for Thanksgiving week and met with them several times. Otherwise he participated via video conference.
Her hours were routine, though, and that meant every day in November she came home to the kids, and did her best to take away as much of the sting from the sudden move as possible. She tracked down an indoor skateboard park for Justin and bought him a pass. And though there was a waiting list, Julie was in the queue to volunteer for a community garden. Truly, they had made very little fuss considering how unhappy they were, so she cut them extra slack when it came to time on their computers and the phone with California friends.
What she marveled at still was how different the condo felt. It wasn't just that the kids were there, and they squabbled and watched videos and left abandoned plates and dirty clothes anywhere they fell from their hands. There was something else at work. Home had always been in California, and for so many years she had found it at the end of a plane ride. Now it was a short cab ride and she was where she could relax and talk, laugh, think about something other than the theater because she had an intelligent and interesting woman to talk to. Laura made cuisine and culture in Sopot, Poland, sound fascinating-for the first time, Helen could feel the itch of wanderlust. How fun it would be to see the world with someone as inquisitive yet practical as Laura.
Midtown was draped in holiday lights and it seemed like an almost magical time. She'd triumphed over the depths of despair over her age because she had, well, moxie. Moxie and money, she reminded herself. As far as her career was concerned, she had again listened to her heart, her gut even, and it would all work out. That is, if none of the ten thousand little details went wrong.
The best part of most evenings was watching Laura make dinner. It was still like watching a dance performance. She'd contribute some small part of the labor-tonight it was dicing cold roasted carrots so they could be repurposed into a tomato sauce that was bubbling on the stove-but mostly she'd watch Laura. She'd seen Laura make pasta a dozen times already and it was still a miracle. It looked like such a mess, then knead-roll-pat-cut et voila! There were fistfuls of noodles.
"So we decided to go with the original play's décor time frames, after an intense debate about whether we should try to modernize parts of the production."
"I'd miss it if it weren't the Roaring Twenties at the opening, I think," Laura observed.
"That was part of our discussion. We're going to sell tickets to lots of people who've never seen the original or the movie, but for the critics and older audience it will be very familiar. It's a fine line between freshening something up to keep it sharp and losing the tie to its history. Besides, I love those goofy chairs where Mame hoists the guests up and down."
Laura grinned as she molded her dough into a ball. "One of my favorite scenes. But then I don't think there's a scene I don't like. I'm certainly hoping I know someone high enough up in the production company to get opening night tickets."
It was Helen's turn to grin. "Just so you know, the first of January I go on a diet. Seriously. Mame wears those gorgeous long lines and I won't get the vocal control I need if I'm wearing a girdle. Ugh," she added. "Gym tomorrow. I don't suppose you want to go to the gym, do you?"
"I can't go to the gym for you," Laura's expression was deadpan.
"No, silly, I mean join me. It would be less boring. And I've just realized I haven't asked you lately if you're okay here."
"Helen, you asked me while we were making pies on Thanksgiving. The answer is still yes, I'm doing just fine. But I wouldn't mind some gym visits."
She abruptly wanted to tell Laura about Karolina. She'd told Cass the news that they'd broken up. Cass's reaction had been sympathetic, but she'd admitted that at first glance, Karolina hadn't seemed interested in more than an uncomplicated good time. Laura didn't even know that Karolina existed and somehow that seemed wrong.
"Here's trouble," she said as her phone rang. As she answered the call she said to Laura, "I was just thinking about Cass and guess who's calling?"
"Tell her yes," Laura said.
Without preamble, Helen said, "Laura says yes."
"Doesn't she get sick of feeding me?"
"We worry about you putting on some pounds. You've lost it all again."
"Nervous disposition."
"But it's not good for you. You need some fat armor because the cold and flu season is upon us."
Cass's tone grew more acid. "I didn't call to get a lecture. But yes, I'd love to come for dinner. Tell me she's made pasta."
"She has. So why did you call?"
"P.R."
"As in I need some?"
"You do. You haven't been seen in a hot spot or in the company of the Bee-yoo-tiful People for weeks now."
"I'm so happy being at home," Helen said.
"Who cares if you're happy? I have a series of theater tickets for you, a couple of pairs, and a couple of sets of four. Say yes to every fundraiser cocktail party invite you get since you do have time to go now. And I think you should have a party. Invite some very A-list gossips and wow them and send them off to tell all their blogging friends that you are the woman who puts the shine on Broadway."
"You mean like a holiday party?"
"Whatever you want to call it. Two weeks from now."
"Can we haggle about a date when you get here?" The doorbell rang. "Hang on, I have to get the door."
"Sure."
Helen peeped through the security glass, then yanked the door open. Cass hung up her phone and was shedding her coat even as she crossed the threshold.
Ignoring Helen, Cass made a beeline for the kitchen. From the doorway Helen watched Laura greet her and they chatted, then Laura said something that Helen didn't follow, but Cass laughed. They looked...very comfortable.
Taken aback by how unwelcome the thought was of a budding romance right under her nose, she said to Cass's back, "I'll go get my calendar."
One thing she didn't like about the condo was her office, actually the small formal dining room, just off the living room. When the movers had delivered the printer and files it ha
d quickly become a hodgepodge of school papers at one end of the table and the middle completely covered with folders and portfolios related to Auntie Mame. There was no other place for it and the situation had no solution beyond moving or asking Patrick and Casey if they would move their production offices-the official home of Wisdom Productions as well-from New Jersey to Manhattan, and let her move in. But it was made all better by stopping to inhale the mild scent of the carnations that Laura had brought home from the market and arranged in the foyer.
When she returned to the kitchen Laura was smacking Cass's hand away from her cutting board, which appeared to have slices of a rich blue cheese. They couldn't be dating. Cass's days were far too busy, and Helen knew where Laura had been every night-here. With a clang she realized that after they'd settled in, Laura had not gone back to a schedule where she got days off. She's your employee, Helen told herself. You're treating her like family which is good and she seems happy and all, but it's totally unacceptable. She's not your sister filling in while you're in a pinch. Besides, you're not in a pinch anymore.
And she's not your sister. She's a friend and nice people don't take advantage of friends or employees. Annoyed, she decided it really didn't matter what label she used to describe Laura. Laura deserved a private life. Even more annoyed, she decided Laura and Cass would make a lovely couple.
Workouts at the gym with Helen turned out to be good for Laura physically, but emotionally they took a toll. All around them were hard bodies of every shape and size, and a lot of women seemed to find the gym a social mecca where flirtation was more or less commonplace. She didn't get a lot of second glances because, like Helen, she dressed to work out in ordinary sweats, old T-shirts and a ball cap on her head. No slinky, sweat-slimed Spandex for either of them. What made it so hard was that Helen was devastatingly sexy in a sweaty T-shirt and a faded hoodie. Her skin glowed with energy and her eyes were bright with determination. Just the real woman, completely alive.
This was bad, she told herself. She'd devoted herself to making sure everyone was happy and she spent all her time in a state of ecstatic dread. Helen seemed not to notice anything strange in her demeanor at least. She was sure she'd given herself away when they'd been making pies for Thanksgiving. Helen had fed her a bite of filling for the apple pie and her stupid nipples had hardened and she'd blushed. Granted a blush didn't show on her the way it would on a white woman, but it had been a hot flush she had felt burning in her cheeks and along her neck.
She'd been saved by the oven timer, and if she didn't stop staring at Helen doing yoga she was going to blush again.
It was a long, long way to the land of Calm, Cool and Collected. Cab rides several times a week, coffee and breakfast every morning, dinner almost every day, a trip to Helen's day spa for facials, late-night chats over some sliced fruit and a bit of cheese-she loved every minute. Tonight they were all going to see Wicked. At least when the kids were around her reaction didn't seem as intense. She had some propriety left in her.
Towels still wrapped around their necks and bodies steaming in the cold street air, Helen once again proved her mastery at calling cabs. A drizzle had started and the dank smell was one of her least favorite realities of New York in the winter. She didn't mind snowdrifts, steady rain or even treacherous iced streets, but the mix of human and animal waste, exhaust and half-wet grime made her feel slightly ill.
"When are you going to take a day off?"
Laura blinked at the abrupt question. "It hadn't occurred to me. I spend a lot of time reading during the day, which I love. Plus it's a ten-minute walk to some of the best restaurants in the world. I've met up with some people I used to work with, had lunch-I do get out, Helen. Don't worry about it."
"Oh. Well, if you wanted a night out, certainly, we can cope."
Laura smiled. "I'll keep it in mind." Was Helen tired of her being around? Had she figured out Laura was enjoying the company just a little too much?
"Are there any restaurants you think Julie would be safe eating at?"
"Yes-that's partly why I've been making the rounds, and also to set up some tours for Justin. He's really interested in cuisine. I don't think it's a passing fancy."
"I don't either. He's been watching Alton Brown at night and the other day he said he wants to take more organic chemistry. A year ago I would have said he was my drifter. Julie has always wanted to remake the world. She wants to create solar cells and stack gardening-I don't know what that is. Something about growing plants in the equivalent of little apartment buildings that went upward instead of sideways. She's so imaginative."
The cab turned the last corner toward home. "Well, I think she could eat safely at two or three places for a special occasion, especially if we book ahead and explain the need. They're the kind of places that would plan a daily special that happened to accommodate her but would appeal to a wide customer base."
"That sounds wonderful." Helen suddenly looked stricken. "Not that we're bored with your cooking."
Laura laughed. "I didn't think that was the case."
The cab pulled up in front of their building and Laura scrambled out. Helen was checking her phone and glancing at her watch. Laura left her full access to the hot water for a shower and checked her cupboards to make sure she had her dinner ingredients. They were eating early so they could get to the theater early.
It seemed like only a few minutes later that Helen was calling that she was on her way to the rehearsal studios they'd rented. Laura went to the door to lock it after her and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the weak feeling in her knees from the mingled aroma of Helen's shampoo and light perfume-almonds and cherries and notes of apricot.
She shook herself out of her daze. The smell of her post-workout body was going to kill what lingered of Helen. Besides, she wanted to be done with her shower before the building's twice-weekly housekeeper arrived.
With five minutes to spare she finished drying her hair, then checked her email until the housekeeper, Fan, knocked. Laura didn't know any Vietnamese, but she was pretty sure that Fan was the name the woman gave to keep from hearing her real name mangled. They communicated mostly by miming, including many nods and smiles.
Grateful that she'd acquired cookie sheets, she slid one with scattered slivered almonds under the broiler and set the timer.
"Lady please?"
She turned to find Fan holding a dress still in a dry cleaner's wrapping.
"For cleaner?"
Laura shook her head. "No. I don't think so."
"Okay be thanking you." Fan hustled away again.
Laura decided Helen must have been thinking about what she'd wear to the theater tonight and left the dress out. She checked the almonds and realized she hadn't given her own wardrobe much thought. It wasn't as if it was a date, but she was going to be seen in public with a very beautiful woman. She didn't want to embarrass Helen, and her beloved Dolce & Gabbana jacket had been seen many times. Maybe she ought to spend her afternoon at Bloomingdale's.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"It's not that often I forget I'm watching a play," Helen said to Laura at intermission. "This is a dazzling production."
"It is, isn't it? I heard so many good things about it I was afraid it was overhyped, but no, it's wonderful. So many beautiful layers to the story, friendship and persecution of difference-but it doesn't get lost in those elements either. Like coq au vin isn't about chicken or wine."
Helen laughed. "How apt. You should be a theater critic who describes everything in terms of food. I think more people would understand."
Laura gestured at the crowd surrounding the merchandise sales counters. "I think I want a T-shirt. I'll be right back."
Helen watched Laura work her way toward the counter and wondered if the black, form-fitting jacket was new. The clean lines with touches of iridescent sequins at the collar and ends of the sleeves looked great over the tailored amethyst slacks that showed off her curvy hips.
Her reverie was broken when Juli
e followed after Laura saying, "I want one too." Julie had had a lot of fun dressing up for the theater, focusing on her makeup with a little black dress of her own and stack heels that didn't make her ankles look too wobbly.
Left alone with her suit-and-tie wearing son, she smiled at him, aware that she'd been seen and there were a few phones out and pointed their way. "Is it okay being out with your famous mom?"
"Kind of annoying, but I don't really mind."
"You look very Cary Grant." She patted his suit jacket.
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'd rather dance like Fred Astaire."
"Keep cooking and you will." He gave her a puzzled look and she added, "When Laura cooks it's almost like she's dancing."
He still looked confused but she was saved from further inane remarks to her son by the arrival of a producer she had once worked with when the twins had been perhaps a year old. She introduced Justin, agreed he was very tall and yes, time did fly. Justin was polite and casual. A theater critic horned in, asking for some inside details about Auntie Mame, and she let slip the name of their newly chosen set designer, Henri-they were all named Henri-which sent him away quite happy. Cass would be proud.
They were all settled in their seats again when she remembered to check her phone, which she had, of course, set to silent. Cass had texted about a fundraiser at the Tom Kat for Feed-Kids, a charity that underwrote meal delivery to extremely ill children and their families. She loved the cause, but the idea of a soirée later that evening was a bit tiring.
"How would everyone feel about making a brief appearance at a party after the play?"
"If it's not too late," Julie said. "I know it's not a school night, but I don't like staying up late like you guys."
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