by Nancy Krulik
Stella rested a gentle arm on Alana’s shoulder. “No. He’s fine.” Stella reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a torn piece of the newspaper. “Check this out,” she said quietly.
Alana looked at the piece of newsprint. “Page Six?” she asked Stella.
“Look at the picture.”
Alana did as she was told. There was a photo of a bunch of rich, society types at a party in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There was Connor, in a designer tuxedo, laughing and smiling with an older woman. She scanned the caption: MRS. BARBARA STANHOPE SHARES A JOKE WITH HER SON, CONNOR, 18, AT THE BENEFIT FOR THE COSTUME COLLECTION OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM.
Alana blinked hard and then read the copy again. “He-he-he’s a Stanhope?” she murmured feebly.
“Looks that way,” Stella replied gently.
“But that’s impossible,” Alana insisted. “I’ve been in that apartment a million times. I’ve never once seen his picture anywhere. And Mrs. Stanhope never mentioned having a son when I spoke to her on the phone. Only a daughter, Catherine.”
“I don’t know about that,” Stella said. “All I know is there he is. And that’s from this morning’s paper. The party was probably the family event he had to go to last night.” She stopped for a minute, watching as Alana took it all in. “‘It’s not that big a deal, ’Lan. ‘Stanhope’ is just a name. That’s all. He’s still the same Connor.”
“Yeah, Connor Stanhope,” Alana said, spitting the words out.
“So he’s got rich ’rents. Big deal,” Stella insisted.
“Snotty, class-conscious, rich ’rents,” Alana corrected her.
Stella shrugged. “It’s not like he chose them,” Stella said. “But he did choose you. And you chose him.”
“But why would he say he was a handyman? Why would he want…” Alana’s head was spinning. She was feeling dizzy and kind of sick. “I…I…need to sit down,” she murmured.
“Why don’t we go over and sit on the steps for a minute?” Stella asked, gently leading her to the front of the school building.
“Um…no. You keep working. I think I need to be alone for a minute.” Alana walked over to the steps and sat, her eyes never once leaving the newspaper article in her hand. Thoughts began circling in her brain. No wonder Nicolette was so friendly to Connor. He wasn’t a stranger. He was part of her family. In fact, he’d probably been the one to walk her after his sister had gone off to Yale. But now that he was out of high school and living in the Village, Mrs. Stanhope had had to hire someone.
Alana’s mind was racing now. She thought back to that time he’d taken the orange from the bowl and just started eating it. She’d wondered why he would take food from someone he worked for. But he didn’t work for them. Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope were his parents…. His parents.
No. It couldn’t be true. It had to be a mistake. Maybe he’d been a waiter or something at that event, and the reporter had gotten it wrong. Or something else. There had to be an explanation. And boy, would he laugh when he found out what Stella had been thinking. Quickly she reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the number.
“Hi. Connor here. I’m so bummed I missed your call. Leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back.”
Alana frowned as her call went straight to his voice mail. His voice sounded so warm and genuine. Not at all like the voice of a liar. But then again, faking people out was what liars did best, wasn’t it?
“Hi, Connor.” Alana struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “Can you…um…give me a call? I need to talk to you about something.”
A light rain was starting to fall when Alana emerged from the subway at Columbus Circle. The grayness of the day fit her mood. It had taken Connor three hours to call her back, but when he had, he assured her that he’d meet her anywhere she wanted. She chose Columbus Circle because it was midway between them. Nobody’s turf. And it was out in the open. Very public. She’d be a lot less likely to scream or cry there.
A yellow cab pulled up at the end of the block, and Connor hopped out. Alana rolled her eyes. A cab. Of course he’d taken a cab, she thought ruefully. He could afford it.
Or maybe not. Alana struggled to hold on to hope. Maybe he’d just heard the urgency in her voice and decided to splurge so he could get to her sooner. It was possible. It had to be possible.
“Hey,” Connor said, giving her a big smile and reaching over to kiss her.
But Alana wasn’t about to be kissed by him. Feeling his lips on hers would make it almost impossible for her to get the information she needed. She couldn’t resist his touch, and she knew it.
He looked at her quizzically as she pulled away. “Are you all right?”
Alana bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Connor, what’s your last name?” she asked him in a cold, clinical voice.
He seemed surprised for a moment and then peered helplessly into her eyes. “I have a feeling you already know the answer to that one,” he said quietly.
The knot of emotion that had been trapped in Alana’s throat slipped down into her stomach with such a force that she almost lost her balance. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him.
“I tried to, I really did,” Connor swore.
Alana looked into his eyes. He was telling her the truth. She knew that. But she didn’t care. She was too angry. Too hurt. “What? You didn’t get the chance? We didn’t spend enough time together?” she demanded. “We’ve been together practically every day for the past few weeks. And it’s not like you didn’t find time for…for…” She struggled with the words, trying to block his kisses from her mind.
“That’s not it,” he said, trying to explain. “It’s just that the time was never right. I couldn’t figure out how to admit to you that I’m related to the snobs who give their dog bottled water and don’t offer any to you. That my parents are people who communicate with you through notes instead of face-to-face. Although that one didn’t surprise me. That’s pretty much how dear old Mom and Dad communicate with me, too.”
He stared at the confused look on her face and tried desperately to make her understand. “Don’t you think it’s odd that they don’t have any pictures of me anywhere in that apartment?” Connor asked, his words spilling out at such a speed that Alana could barely understand him. “They can’t stand to look at me. Not even a photograph. I’m the big mistake. The one who will never make anything of himself. Not like Catherine. Perfect Catherine. The college soccer star. Division One. The top of the tops. Her photos are on display everywhere. But me? They just pull me out of the woodwork when there’s some big event. You know, show the neighbors we’re still one big happy family. Except, we’re not. They hate that I’m not interested in college, that I don’t want to go to business school and become a money man like my dad. It makes them so mad, they can’t even stand to look at my picture, never mind spend any long period of time with me in person. Not that that’s my idea of a great time either.”
“Connor, that doesn’t—,” Alana began.
But he was on a roll, unable to stop and listen to her. He had a need to make her realize what it was like for him. Why he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about his family. “You should have heard my old man when I told him I wanted to be a photographer. ‘You’ll starve,’ he’d said, ‘and I can’t watch that happen.’ So he and my mom basically x-ed me out of their life; even bought me my apartment so they wouldn’t have to live with me.”
Alana sighed. Well, that explained how Connor could afford to live in the Village on a handyman’s salary. Only he wasn’t a handyman. “Why would you tell me you worked at the Beresford? How could you lie to me like that?”
“I never told you that. Not once,” Connor insisted. “You just assumed that.”
“Because you were fixing the curtain rod when I met you,” Alana recalled.
“I was the one who broke it. A buddy of mine and I were throwing a football around in the living room, and I missed. A mistake. Not the first I’v
e made in that house, or in my life, as my father was quick to point out. But I promised to fix it since my parents don’t really trust hired help.” His voice was bitter and angry now.
“Hired help like me?” Alana demanded.
“No. Not like you. I didn’t mean it like that.” He rubbed his forehead in frustration and fear. “I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. Alana, believe me, my parents aren’t fit to walk on the same planet as you.”
“You could have told me,” Alana insisted stubbornly.
“I was afraid to,” Connor said.
“Afraid?”
“Yeah. I mean, when was I supposed to bring it up? When your friends in the pizzeria were making fun of that woman in the park for spending more on her dog food than on charity? Or maybe Friday night, when you were going on and on about rich people who get their dogs from fancy breeders instead of picking up strays at the pound?” Connor stopped for a minute and stared at her. He needed to make her see. “Those people you were talking about were my parents. Or people just like my parents. And you hate them. I didn’t want you to hate me, too. I didn’t want you to think I was a spoiled brat. I’m not, really. I mean, how can you be spoiled when your parents don’t support any of your decisions?”
“Are you kidding?” Alana demanded. “They bought you an apartment so you wouldn’t have to worry about making a living. You could just go and do your photography. Do you have any idea how many artists would kill for that? To not have to have a day job?”
Connor gasped, and a look of pain came across his face. The idea that Alana had supported his parents was visibly painful to him. All he could manage was a feeble “Point taken” in response.
Alana instantly felt awful. She knew it was more than money and a place to live that Connor was craving from his parents. But right now she was too angry, too hurt…
Connor regained his ability to think in a moment and looked her in the eye. “How can you take their side in anything? You know how easy it is for people like my folks to throw money at a problem. It’s nothing to them. Like spending money at a private dog-training school…remember? You really looked down your nose at that sort of thing. So how could I have told you?”
Alana took a deep breath. She felt as though she were drowning. There was something to what he was saying. She had been pretty cold and judgmental about the people whose dogs she walked. And maybe someday she’d be able to understand how he’d felt when she’d talked about them that way. How personally he had taken it. But she wasn’t ready for that kind of introspection; not now. All she knew at this moment was that he’d lied to her about who he was. And that made her wonder what else in their relationship had been a lie.
It was raining harder now. Alana was glad, because Connor couldn’t tell if it was rainwater or tears flowing down her cheeks. But Alana knew, and she was powerless to stop the burning, salty water from racing down her cheeks.
“Boy, you must have gotten a good laugh out of my trying to save you money,” she snarled, refusing to soften despite the fact that Connor’s relationship with his parents was the stuff nightmares were made of. If it had been any other guy telling her the story, she would have been there for him, trying to make him feel better about his family and his life. But she was too hurt. And her feelings were still too raw for her to feel anything but anger. “A trip on the ferry. Boy, you must have found that hilarious.”
“I didn’t suggest we do that. You did,” Connor reminded her. “I would have taken you anywhere, done anything, if it would have made you happy.”
Alana stopped for a minute, realizing he’d just used the past tense to describe their relationship. It probably hadn’t been on purpose, but Alana knew it was the right tense to use. “What’d you do after you got home, invite all your rich friends over for caviar and Chardonnay and tell them how you pawed me on the Staten Island Ferry?” she demanded.
That last one hit him like a slap across the face. “Pawed you?” He stood there, staring at her, his face turning white and pained. “Alana,” he murmured helplessly. “I would never…you know me better than that.”
“No, I don’t,” Alana told him, the words getting caught in her tears. “I don’t know you at all. I don’t think I ever did.”
And with that, she turned and began walking back up Broadway, toward her home. She heard him calling after her, but she never turned around.
Sixteen
Alana made two phone calls that evening. The first was to Mrs. Stanhope, telling her that she could no longer walk Nicolette. She didn’t offer much of an explanation other than to say that her schedule was too busy, what with college applications and SATs coming up. What else was she supposed to say—I can’t risk running into your son? She wasn’t even supposed to know the Stanhope’s had a son. And if people like that found out that their wayward son had been dating their dog walker…well, she could only imagine their reaction. And frankly, she didn’t want to cause Connor any more trouble. Despite it all, she owed him at least that.
The other call was to Stella, of course. Her best friend was the one she always turned to. Stella was the one person Alana could count on to always understand.
Until today, that is. In fact, Stella acted as though Alana were the one who was wrong. “Are you nuts?” Stella asked her. “You find a guy who is so perfect for you, and you dump him because of who his parents are?”
“No, not because of who his parents are,” Alana insisted. “Because he didn’t tell me who his parents are.”
“Okay, that was majorly lousy of him,” Stella allowed. “But do you blame the guy? If those were my parents, I’d want to separate myself from them too. The Stanhopes treated you like crap—leaving you those stupid notes and making you cut steak into little pieces for their precious dog. If you were Connor, would you want someone you were just getting to know—just falling in love with—to think you were related to them?”
“Come on. I’m not that judgmental.”
“Yeah, you are,” Stella told her. “And so am I. We’re kind of reverse snobs. And we’re also lucky. We have parents who are human. They would never just cut us out of their lives because we were following our own dreams instead of the ones they had for us. Hell, the only reason his mother probably dragged him to that party at the Met was because it would be easier than explaining what a ‘disappointment’ her son the photographer was to her. Come on, Alana, you know it’s easy for us to be honest about where we come from. Our ’rents are pretty great.”
“But he should’ve known that I…,” Alana began feebly. She was running out of things to say. Why was Stella defending Connor? Just a few weeks ago she was warning Alana to be careful before jumping into a relationship. What had changed?
And then it hit her. Leo. Stella had totally fallen in love at first sight. So now she had no problem with someone jumping into a relationship headfirst. She had a whole different outlook on love now. But this wasn’t the same thing. Leo was honest, upfront. A genuinely good guy. All the things Alana had thought Connor was.
“Look, you have to do what feels right,” Stella told her. “And I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to be plenty mad at him. But break it off? That was a pretty radical move, ’Lan.”
Alana refused to be dissuaded. “This isn’t the end of the world,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as Stella. “I was spending too much time with Connor anyway. I should be focusing on getting my semester grades in shape. They’re the last thing colleges see before acceptances. And now I’ll have more time to dedicate to working at Helping House and down at the dog shelter where Leo works.”
“Okay, Alana,” Stella said quietly. “Whatever you want. It’s your decision. And I’ve always got your back. Leo does too. We’re there for you.”
Alana was true to her word. From that moment on she was the hardest working girl in New York. The most natural place for her to put her energy and time was Helping House. So whenever she wasn’t walking Noodles, Frisky, or Curly, she burie
d herself in her work with the families who were currently living there.
Amazingly, hanging out with the folks at Helping House really did take her mind off her troubles. Compared to what those people had seen, losing a boyfriend seemed pretty small. Besides, Alana was amazed at how distracting playing board games with the little kids could be. Monopoly could be all-consuming if you let it be. And boy, some of those kids were good at buying and selling real estate. The mini Donald Trumps whipped her butt in the game more than once!
When she wasn’t going directly to jail and not collecting two hundred dollars on the Monopoly board, Alana busied herself teaching some of the Helping House moms how to knit. It was something Alana had learned as a kid from her grandmother. Actually, she’d never really gotten past the scarf stage, but that seemed to be enough for the struggling women who were taking refuge at Helping House. They didn’t seem to care what they were making as long as their hands were busy and their minds were occupied for a while. Alana knew exactly how that felt.
While the mothers at Helping House were grateful for Alana’s attention, they were all quite aware that Helping House was doing as much for Alana as she was doing for the organization. They also knew that the lonely seventeen-year-old was far too dependent on her work there. And after a few weeks, they told her so.
“You know, sooner or later you’re going to have to face whatever’s goin’ on,” Becky, one of the mothers, told Alana one afternoon during a knitting session. “You can’t hide away in here forever. We all have to go out there and move on sometime, kiddo. You’ve spent the past three weeks here with us every day. That’s not normal. You’re a kid, Alana. Go out and enjoy life.”
Becky’s comment shocked Alana. Three weeks? Had it really been three weeks since she and Connor had…broken up? God, she hated the sound of those words. But that was what had happened, and she had to call it what it was.
