by Lynn Steward
“Yes, but I’m not counting.”
“Good. You’re wonderful.”
“Thanks. You too.”
Excited by the thought of the coming weekend, Dana hung up and was about to prepare dinner when the phone rang again.
“Johnny, you really have to ease up!” Dana said to herself as she reached for the wall phone in the kitchen.
“Dana, it’s Alan Rudnick. I was about to leave for the day when I got a call from Tom Silver, Brett’s attorney.”
“Is anything wrong?” Dana asked.
“Probably not, but Silver wants me to meet with him and Brett. I think you should be there as well.”
“What do they want? I thought everything was agreed upon and signed.”
“It was, but they can ask to modify the agreement at any time until the decree is issued by the court after a year of separation.”
“Modify? Is that what Brett wants? To change the agreement?”
“That’s my guess. Silver won’t give me any details, but he says that he and Brett want to revisit, as he put it, some of the language. Translation? They want to modify the original separation document.”
Dana sighed heavily. “I really hate the idea of seeing Brett right now, let alone listening to some complaint from his lawyer. This is coming out of the blue, Alan. Why would Brett suddenly ask to change things given that Matthew caught him red-handed with Janice?”
“It happens all the time,” Rudnick explained. “Time has passed, Brett’s probably not worried any longer about scandal now that his partnership with Davis, Konen and Wright is secure, and he thinks—just guessing here—that he might have been too generous with you. But what the specific catalyst might have been is anybody’s guess at this point.”
“Okay, but I’m really going to be busy in the next week or so. It’s not a good time.”
“Not a problem. I’ll hold them off until you can find a day to come into my office. And try not to worry about the matter, Dana. We’re still holding a strong hand, and I’m not inclined to advise you to change anything based on what we know. For now, we’re simply agreeing to listen to what’s on Brett’s mind.”
“Thanks, Alan. I’ll be in touch when I know more about my schedule.”
“Always a pleasure, Dana. Goodnight.”
Dana hung up and wondered how Brett could have the audacity to cause her more grief after what he’d done. After a few moments of reflection, however, she was no longer puzzled. Brett was a shrewd man regardless of his personal behavior. He was also under the spell of the very crude and opportunistic Janice Conlon. The latter pretty much said it all.
Dana put the matter out of her mind and went upstairs to read. When the time came, she was prepared to be as tough with Brett as she needed to be. She’d come a long way since sitting in the Sacred Heart Chapel bordering Mount Street Gardens. Her conscience was clear.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dana returned home at lunchtime on Thursday to give medicine to Wills since his stomach had been upset for the past two days. The vet had prescribed antibiotics and canine antacid tablets to relieve his symptoms. While she was there, she ate a light lunch and received the early afternoon mail delivery. There it was! Another letter from Father Macaulay. Dana glanced at the clock and saw that she had time to spare, so she opened the latest news from London and sat on her couch, eager to see what her unofficial spiritual advisor had to say.
Dear Dana,
Your last letter was the most upbeat one you’ve sent. You’re going to design clothes for the store, you’ve taken up riding, and you feel that life is currently very good. I’m so happy to hear of these positive developments! Most of all, I’m glad that you don’t feel guilty about being happy. A majority of people go through life carrying around guilt, feeling that they never quite measure up to the expectations of others or, more importantly, themselves. In your case, however, it sounds like you’re making sound decisions, ones that you’re not second guessing. If all of my parishioners were like you, I suspect I’d be out of a job and could take up golf or spend more time singing. Yes, I’ve found a new pub that allows me to sing my heart out, and the people there are so much fun to be with. When I take off my collar, I’m just one of the mates, a regular bloke as my friend Niles puts it when we have a pint.
Unfortunately, I broke a finger the other day while working out at the gym. I jammed it while having a go at the hanging punching bag. I was taking out my frustrations since a parishioner recently told me that I sounded a little too happy and optimistic in my sermons. The woman, who is about sixty years old, said that Catholic priests should behave with more decorum. She also said that if I continued to preach as I do, she would report me to my bishop. She’s not really a bad soul but has a reputation as a troublemaker, so I’m not concerned. She is a distraction, however, and it’s a fact of life, I suppose, that no matter how wonderfully things seem to be going, there’s always something or someone that attempts to detract us from the course we have set for ourselves. I even doubted myself briefly, wondering if I were being a little too glib in some of my sermons. I’m afraid the English mindset tends to gravitate towards a very reserved, almost gloomy, perspective of life sometimes.
I do hope to hear about your riding as you progress. I did some riding myself when I was younger, but alas, the time just isn’t there anymore. I hope you continue to thrive, and as always, I look forward to your next letter.
All my best,
Father Charles Macaulay
Dana thought it uncanny that Father Macaulay’s experiences matched hers so well, at least in spirit. He was doing well, but just as in her own life, he had his detractors, as well as occasional doubts. How wonderfully human he was. She decided to take a few extra minutes before returning to the store in order to write a reply. So many of his sentiments resonated with her. She sat at her secretary, got out her stationery, and didn’t have to think twice about what she would write. Her thoughts flowed effortlessly to the paper.
Dear Father Macaulay,
I am so happy whenever I see one of your letters in the mail! I’m delighted you found a new pub. A pub for you and trails and horses for me.
I’m sorry to hear about your thumb, but what you said about the annoying parishioner certainly resonated with me. I’m still happy and working on my career, but Johnny and my mother continue to call me almost every day under the pretense of checking up on me, and each time they try to make decisions for me and determine my future. It’s as if they’ve sealed me in a box with their delivery instructions written on the outside. I wish they’d step back, but I’m beginning to realize that they probably won’t until I’m farther along in my decision-making. As of now, I simply can’t live up to their expectations, as you so well put it.
My mother, whom I love dearly, can be especially infuriating at times. She has always been a proactive, outspoken woman, and I admire her for that, but she needs to stop attempting to micromanage my life. She recently gave me a rather stern lecture, vehemently protesting my horseback riding on the grounds that it’s dangerous. She then proceeded to tell me why my idea of a private label for B. Altman wasn’t worth pursuing, advocating instead that I immediately join the House of Cirone without giving my own ideas a chance to succeed. I’m thirty years old and still have to answer to my family! Father, if I weren’t in love with New York so much, I would be seriously tempted to move away for a few years. I could be very happy in London, for that matter, where I could still work in fashion while enjoying the arts and the rich culture of England. I do love the rhythms of New York, however, and will stay where my heart flourishes most.
Another thing that my mother is now confronting me with, since my divorce will be final at the end of the year, is finding another husband, settling down, and having children. She acts as if it’s a simple matter of replacing one man with another, which is surprising since she is a very modern woman in her own way. But just because Brett is no longer in my life doesn’t mean that I have to run out and find an upwardly mob
ile man, which is what my mother and some of my friends have urged me to do. I have plenty of things to keep me busy and fulfilled, as we have previously discussed.
All this having been said, I must confess that my mother’s mention of children did strike a nerve in me. Before we separated, Brett and I had finally started to discuss the possibility of having a family. As career-driven as I may be, I do want children some day, and I suppose my mother knows that. But first things first. I need to recover from Brett’s infidelity and establish myself, whether it’s with B. Altman or the House of Cirone. Only then will I start to consider the idea of family and children. I’m sure that, as a parish priest, you encounter people rushing from one relationship to another. I hope and pray that my wanting to take things slowly is the right course.
My friend Mark is taking me to his friends’ horse farm on Long Island this weekend, where I will hopefully learn to trot, now that I have been taught the basics of how to sit on a horse and stay calm while it’s walking. I’m very excited and will tell you about it in my next letter.
Please tell me more about your new pub, and I hope your finger will mend quickly.
Sincerely,
Dana
Dana folded the letter, put it into an envelope, and sealed it. She would mail it on her way back to work. As she walked along the streets, she could think of little else except the coming weekend at Judd’s and the samples that Irwin would complete the following week. Slowly but surely, she was finding her way.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I have good news, Amanda,” Mark said over the phone. “I’ll be joining you at Judd’s this weekend. You’re still going, I presume.”
“Of course! That’s terrific, Dad. I’m almost finished with exams and will be able to concentrate fully on my riding. Maybe on Monday we can ride to the Chelsea Inn. I think the terrace is open for lunch.”
“I wish I could, honey, but Dana and I have to be back at work on Monday morning.”
“Dana? Did you say Dana?”
“Yes, I did. I’d like to introduce her to Judd and Margaret. His wife will welcome someone to talk with. I’m sure she’s tired of hearing Judd and me talk about the markets.” There was an ominous silence on the line.
“Amanda?”
“Did you think of asking me first?”
“Asking what?”
“Come on, Dad! Ask me whether or not it would be all right to bring Dana to Muttontown.”
“I don’t need your permission, Amanda. I thought we’d discussed this. If you’re going to give my relationship a chance, then it means you’re going to try to get to know who Dana is. It goes without saying that I can’t live two different lives, one with you and one with Dana. That should be obvious, especially after our talk Friday night.”
“It feels like you’re pushing her on me, Dad. It’s too much too fast. How am I supposed to focus on my riding while making an effort to get to know your girlfriend? You’re asking a lot.”
“For the record,” Mark said, “Dana was reluctant to accept my invitation when I asked her to go this weekend. She doesn’t want to come between us, and that alone speaks volumes for who she is. I reminded her, though, that you’d be busy with Paul most of the time. I just want her to see what a great place Judd has and maybe do some riding with her. Is it too much to ask that you both be on the same grounds together, especially if you don’t have to spend any significant time with her?”
“You could have waited!” Amanda shot back. “I’m not ready to deal with her!”
“Her name is Dana,” Mark said, “and I’m not asking you to deal with anything. I’m expecting you to behave like an adult and be pleasant when you’re together. Just like you are if you meet a friend or business associate of mine when we’re running around the city.”
“Those are two-minute interruptions, not a weekend. I don’t want her to spend that much time with us. At least not yet. Besides, I don’t want her watching me practice. I’ll be nervous. That means you’ll have to entertain her while I’m in the arena with Paul, and you won’t see how I’m doing. Then we’ll have nothing to talk about over dinner. Don’t you see what’s happening? Things are changing already, just like I said they would.”
“And I can still be there with you. Margaret will be happy to spend time with Dana while I’m watching your practices.” Mark paused, trying to be patient. “We’re talking in circles, Amanda. I think you’re being stubborn. I’m disappointed that you’re breaking your promise to try to get to know someone I care about.”
“If you wish to date, that’s fine, but if you want to be with your girlfriend this weekend, I think you should stay in the city. I don’t want Dana at Judd’s.”
“Will you at least consider the idea of her joining me?”
“What I want is for you to consider my request.”
Frustrated, Mark took a deep breath. “I will, honey. That’s only fair.”
Several moments passed before Amanda said, “Thanks. Love you, Dad.”
“And I love you. That’s never going to change.”
Mark could tell that his daughter was holding back tears. “Finish your exams, and I’ll see you over the weekend.”
“Okay, Dad. Bye.”
Mark was out of his office for most of the afternoon. When he returned, he sat quietly for a few moments, thinking of his earlier conversation with Amanda, knowing that he had a decision to make.
He could indeed understand his daughter’s feelings about someone new in his life, but Amanda was nineteen, which was old enough to handle his having a relationship, even a serious one. Even more importantly, Amanda needed to realize once and for all that he and her mother were never going to get back together. That being the case, she couldn’t expect him to forego all female companionship for the rest of his life, nor was it feasible for him to live a double life, always keeping any woman he was seeing in the shadows. With Dana, the necessity to be open was all the more pressing since he loved her company. She understood him so well, but it was more than that—and more than the fact that they shared the same tastes in so many things. At a deep level, their thoughts were aligned in a way that was rare in any relationship. And they both possessed an energy and zest for life, a willingness to take chances and explore. Life had taught him not to pass up opportunities, and keeping Dana in the background wasn’t an option, just as he’d explained it to Amanda. Sooner or later, his daughter would see how happy Dana made him, and he felt certain that, in the long run, Amanda wouldn’t begrudge him that happiness. It might be tough on her in the short term, but he was confident that she would come around once she had time to sit down and talk with Dana. Meanwhile, she was capable of tolerating Dana’s presence on Judd’s large estate for a mere forty-eight hours. It wasn’t as if the three of them were going on vacation together.
Mark decided that there was no need to change his plans to bring Dana to Muttontown. He was her father, and his wishes had to be respected. Amanda admired her father’s determination and leadership, and this was an instance when she would have to see these qualities demonstrated in his personal life.
He sat at his desk and laughed. So much angst over a weekend at Judd’s! It was a tempest in a teapot. As he’d told Dana, Amanda would be busy. Hell, she would be so absorbed in her jumping that Dana’s presence would be the last thing she would be thinking of. No, going to Judd’s with Dana was the perfect decision. Everything was going to work out.
Mark finished his day’s work without giving the matter another thought.
`
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Patti and Andrew had lunch on Thursday at Charleston Garden. Andrew didn’t want to sit with Patti so as to avoid thinking about Jack, but she spotted him as she put her tray down on a table near the colonnade, so he sat in an adjoining chair with his usual charming smile. Besides, trying to avoid thinking about Jack had proved impossible except when he was drinking after work. Alcohol and casual conversation with strangers were the only things that allev
iated his pain, however briefly.
Andrew asked Patti about her work with the Altman Foundation in order to steer conversation away from Jack. She related how she was preparing her quarterly report for a board meeting the following week.
“You seem in unusually good spirits,” Andrew noted. “The job with the Foundation obviously suits you.”
Patti shrugged and smiled. “I do enjoy my job, although the budget crunch every quarter is daunting,” she said. “But, most of all, I love it here. And Jack seems to be so much more relaxed in the last couple of days. He’s been swamped at work for the last few months, but I think Hartlen Response has turned the corner in its New York operations. Jack says he’s solved problems with his suppliers and that we’ll have more time together from here on. He looks tired, but he seems content for the first time since we moved to the city. He even suggested that we take a vacation in July.”
Andrew had been looking down at his plate as Patti spoke enthusiastically of her domestic situation, but he looked up abruptly after her last comment.
“Really? A vacation?”
“Yes! I told him I’d like to go someplace tropical. It’s been a cold winter, and even though I’m getting used to the weather here, I think it would be romantic to rent a bungalow somewhere in the Caribbean.”
Andrew put down his fork and took a sip of water at the word “romantic.” His right hand experienced a mild tremor, and he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“Are you okay?” Patti asked.
Andrew regained his composure and smiled. “Fine. You might have heard that I was sick a few days ago. It’s been hard to shake, but my doctor says I’m good to go. I’m glad to hear Jack’s doing so well, too.”
“Running a family business is never easy, but opening the office here in New York put so much pressure on him, not to mention Hartlen Response becoming part of a consortium to handle oil spills more quickly and efficiently. He now has to coordinate with several other companies, but in the long run, Hartlen Response will have far greater exposure and might even be on the world stage one day. Jack says we’ll be doing a lot of traveling in the coming years.”
