Changed into her faded PJs and huddled up in her favourite chair – the dress she’d expected to be proposed to in screwed into a ball beside her bed – Bea had stared at the answer machine. ‘Go away,’ she told the grey box with its blinking red light.
‘Just meet with me tomorrow? I won’t stop calling until you say yes …’
‘Leave me alone!’
‘I’m not kidding, Bea. If I have to sit outside your apartment night and day I’ll do it …’
Tired and bruised from the mortifying family dinner, Bea couldn’t bear the thought of Otis turning up in the early hours. As sleep was unlikely anyway, contending with a belligerent boyfriend would definitely ensure she was good for nothing in the morning. Admitting defeat with grudging disappointment, she had answered the phone.
‘Fine. I’ll meet with you tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Bea – it’s so good to hear your voice …’
Oh no, Otis, your wounded puppy routine won’t work this time … ‘I’ll be leaving at five p.m. Be there before then or we have no deal.’
She should have said no last night. But Bea wanted answers – and she wanted to see his face when she challenged him. Now, facing another Otis Greene no-show, she knew it: she had clearly been wrong to trust him. He had let her down. Again.
‘Maybe you should wait a few more minutes?’
Bea turned to her business partner and best friend. His eyes were earnest behind the wide-rimmed hipster glasses he wore. ‘Maybe he should have been here twenty minutes ago. I’ve waited long enough, I think.’
Russ wrinkled his nose. ‘Ten more minutes.’
‘Five.’
‘OK, five. But he’ll be here, Bea. I know he will. Just be patient, Bea …’ He sniggered at his own joke, his laughter fading when he saw Bea’s expression. ‘Sorry.’
After three years of running a business together, you would think that Russ O’Docherty would have grown tired of his ‘be-slash-Bea’ jokes. But unfortunately her business partner (and unofficial partner-in-crime since she’d arrived in New York to study at Columbia University) was writing comedy scripts and performing stand-up in his spare time, with Bea (and her increasingly complicated life) a seemingly constant inspiration for his material.
Bea took a deep breath, the comforting scent of paper, print ink and furniture polish filling her lungs. For her it was the most delicious smell in the world: the tantalising aroma of a bookshop. For as long as she could remember, Bea had dreamed of one day owning her own bookstore. She had loved books all her life. Real books, not electronic ones. Books you could carry in your bag and read on the subway. Books you could pretend to read in neighbourhood coffee shops while people-watching. Books you could snuggle up with and lose yourself in. Books you could fill your apartment with – packed onto shelves, propping up tables and piled up reassuringly by the side of your bed. If she left home without a book, Bea felt naked, bereft. But then, working in a bookshop meant there were always new friends to make and take home.
Friends who never let her down. Friends she could trust.
Her heart contracted again and she wished hard that she didn’t care whether Otis turned up or not. But she loved him: she had loved him for five years and even though she was angrier with him today than she had ever been before, she knew the moment he swept into the bookstore his handsome face would tempt her to forgive him. Again. He knew how to get under her skin and it was this ability alone that had saved their relationship many times before. Bea couldn’t deny their chemistry – and when he arrived today she would have to fight hard to resist it again. If he ever turned up, that was.
‘I just – I’m sick of this, Russ.’
Russ slung his arm around her shoulder. ‘I know. What you need is a distraction from staring at that clock. I’ve been thinking about maybe introducing a coffee corner by the window – what d’ya think? I mean, what could be a better combination, hmm? Books and coffee: like mac and cheese, Cagney and Lacey, New York and angst. Come on, admit it, that made you smile …’
Bea shook her head. Russ knew her better than anyone and even his lame jokes had the power to break through her dark mood. ‘I like the idea. If you think we can afford it?’
‘I’ve looked over the accounts and I think it’s possible, yes.’
Hudson River Books had been a dream Bea had shared with Russ from their earliest conversations at university. It became their favourite daydream in long English Lit classes, discussions about what it would look like and debates over which authors they would stock going on late into the night; continuing in study periods and lunch breaks spread out on the lawns surrounding the campus buildings. Much of what customers saw today in the little redbrick shop on 8th Avenue had been planned years before on diner napkins, on the back of lecture notes and in countless notebooks covered in their dreams over the years. Russ often said he thought the atmosphere that many of their customers remarked upon was because it had been their passion during the early years of their friendship.
Bea felt her heart sinking as she consulted the clock again. Despite her anger, she had so wanted Otis to come through this time. Just once, to stay true to his word. For her. Accepting the inevitable, she picked up her bag and coat. ‘That’s long enough. I’ll see you later, OK?’
Russ dropped the stack of new books he was cataloguing and hurried around the maple wood counter to block her escape. ‘Wait. Just a few more minutes? I know there’s a good reason Otis is late.’
‘I can think of a great reason: he isn’t coming.’
‘Bea …’
Irritated, she held up her hand to silence him. ‘Stop defending him! All Otis ever does is make big promises he can’t deliver. He’s let me down too many times and I’ve had enough.’
‘Enough of what?’ A rush of street noise hurried into the bookstore as Otis Greene strolled in. He checked his watch. ‘OK, so I’m a little late.’
‘Twenty-five minutes late,’ Bea returned, fully intending to push past the tall, elegantly dressed man and leave.
‘Bea, let me explain. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had getting here. Roads are jammed, buses can’t get through. Finally I caught a cab but it got stuck so I had to run the remaining five blocks to get here.’
For someone who had endured such a troublesome journey, Otis didn’t seem very concerned – or out of breath. Russ smiled a little too enthusiastically between Bea and Otis, rubbing his hands together. ‘Good, good. So, I’ll get coffee and you two can – talk.’ Still grinning, he hurried out of the bookstore, flicking the OPEN sign to CLOSED on his way out.
‘Otis, I—’
‘You’re beautiful, Bea. Come here …’
He moved towards her but Bea shrank back. Otis’ smile was all the evidence she needed to approach the conversation with caution. She didn’t trust him – not like she used to, at any rate – and was determined not to let him win this time. Even if her heart was tugging at the sight of him in his smart business suit, dark eyes brooding as they held hers …
Stop it, Bea James! He has a lot of explaining to do.
‘Baby …’
‘Cut the crap, Otis. Where were you last night?’
‘I had to view a new artist’s collection. The gallery wants to take him on before the Manhattan dealers try to steal him. This guy’s the real deal: I couldn’t lose him.’ He reached out to touch her arm, but she avoided his hand. She was angry and he needed to know it.
‘And you couldn’t have called me?’
‘I was in the middle of negotiations. I – uh – lost track of the time …’
‘Do you know how long my family waited at the restaurant to meet you? Two hours. I’d worked so hard to get them all there after what happened last time. Mum and Dad had even rearranged their holiday to come – their dream American holiday they’ve been planning for years. They don’t get the chance to visit me in the US very often but they came because you asked them. Do you have any idea how mortified I was when you didn’t show up?’
Something Otis deemed to be remorse flickered momentarily across his face. ‘Bea, I’m trying to apologise here.’
‘Well, try harder. I don’t believe you, Otis! You said you were serious this time. You promised you would be there.’
‘I know I did and I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry, Bea. I’m sorry I missed last night and I’m sorry I was late today. But I’m here now: what more do I have to do?’
A lot more, Otis, Bea thought, a whole lot more …
CHAPTER FOUR
Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg
Dear Mr Steinmann,
My client, Mrs Jessica Steinmann, wishes me to inform you of her decision to file for divorce, on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. I require a response from you or your counsel within 28 days’ receipt of this letter. Provided you have no objection to this action being progressed, please sign the enclosed agreement in order for divorce settlement proceedings to begin …
Irreconcilable differences.
In other words, his wanting to remain married to the woman he loved versus her desire to be rid of him as soon as possible. Provided you have no objection – or, to put it more precisely – regardless of your objections.
Jake had half-expected Jessica to see her lawyer within a month of his relocation to New York, but a day after? Even for his headstrong ex, that was fast. He wondered if she had met someone else already, the thought twisting his stomach before he quickly dismissed it. Whether she had or not, there was no point in torturing himself. The lawyer’s letter was enough to hurt him.
He groaned and threw the brown envelope across the polished cherry wood floor of his new apartment. Divorce papers were the last thing he needed today.
His phone buzzed and, turning away from the offending envelope, he walked to the window as he answered the call.
‘Jake Steinmann …’
A familiar voice yelled back. ‘Jake-a-a-a-yyy! How’s it hanging, dude?’
He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the dreary March day. Williamsburg might be an up-and-coming neighbourhood, but today it appeared more down-and-out. ‘Hey, bro.’
‘You sound like death,’ his brother observed.
‘And you still haven’t learned tact, Edward. Tell Rosie she has more work to do on you.’
Ed’s chuckle made Jake smile, despite his mood. But then his big brother had always possessed an annoying ability to do that. ‘Rosie loves me for who I am. That’s why she’s planning to keep me around for a while.’
‘Good for her. How are the wedding plans?’ The mention of the ‘w’ word in the light of today’s unwelcome mail made Jake wince as he said it.
‘Fancy a beer?’
‘That good, huh?’
Ed lowered his voice. ‘I’m going out of my mind here, J-Man. I’m not kidding: if Dad tries to force any more random relatives onto our list, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Did you even know we had a Great Aunt Eunice?’
‘No, I didn’t. Are you sure Dad isn’t smuggling in his crazy golfing buddies under assumed names?’
‘It’s possible. That man will be the death of me.’
Jake smiled at his brother’s frustration. ‘Hey, look at it this way – at least Dad’s getting into the spirit of the Steinmann–Duncan nuptials. It wasn’t so long ago he was convinced you were gay …’
Ed’s groan was identical to Jake’s earlier utterance. There was one thing to be said for the Steinmann brothers of New York: they knew how to groan. But then groaning was a Steinmann clan survival tool – and with a family like theirs, every verbal protest was precious.
Jake knew what his brother had suffered from their father’s ignorance. Ed’s decision to shun the Steinmann family tradition of psychiatry in order to train as a florist hadn’t been well received by their father. In fact, it was true to say that had Ed Steinmann announced he was growing his hair, becoming a Liberal and moving to a hippy commune in Goa his father would have taken the news better. For years Joe Steinmann had mocked his middle son’s chosen profession, in public and in private: at the annual Steinmann Christmas gathering, at birthdays and anniversaries, graduations and summer holidays in the family’s lake house in upstate New York. No matter how many women Ed dated (and there were many), no matter how successful his career, all Joe Steinmann saw was his middle son defying his true calling. Never mind that the prospect of Ed Steinmann as a psychiatrist, counselling the great and good of New York, had a high probability of ending in abject disaster. Never mind that Ed’s idea of compassion was a night of beers and a good baseball game. For years, Joe could only see the betrayal he perceived in Ed’s actions and not the man his son was becoming.
Rosie Duncan had changed all that. Even though Jake had long before moved his practice to San Francisco to be with Jessica, he had seen the change in his brother beginning when Ed had confided that his feelings for ‘a specific someone’ had started to grow. Of course, Jake had known immediately who it was: on his trips back to New York, the way Ed’s face lit up whenever he mentioned Rosie’s name had given more away than he’d intended. Working together in the Upper West Side florists’ store Rosie had inherited from an old Polish man (who by all accounts was legendary), every story Ed relayed to his brother seemed to include the confident English woman.
The details of how they’d finally got together were sketchy in Jake’s mind as he considered it now – although this was probably due to the empty, Jessica-shaped ache that currently robbed his head of pretty much everything else. However it had happened, Jake knew that he had never seen Ed so at peace, so completely in love and so permanently happy before. In turn, Rosie had charmed Joe from their first meeting and it was almost as if through her eyes he was able to see his middle son for the first time. Jake respected Rosie for that almost as much as he did for the change she had wrought in his brother. He had a lot to thank his soon-to-be sister-in-law for.
‘Threaten to set your fiancée on Dad,’ Jake suggested. ‘If anyone can rein him in, it’s Rosie.’
‘Ha. I’ll mention it to her, maybe. But I’m serious about that drink, Jakey. I haven’t seen you since you came back and I miss my little bro. Besides, I need to get out of Kowalski’s for a while. What with the wedding plans and Marnie’s swollen ankles this place is threatening to become Oestrogen Central. Ow!’
‘What happened?’
‘Rosie hit me … What? I’m on the phone, baby … Really? J-Man, my beautiful wife-to-be wants to speak to you … Passing her across now …’
‘Hi Jake.’ The soothing tone of Rosie’s English accent seemed to reach down the phone line to hug him and instantly Jake began to relax. ‘Welcome home.’
‘Hey, sis-in-law-to-be. Just how crazy is my brother making you?’
Rosie’s groan was a good one: she would fit right in to the Steinmann family. ‘Between you and me, on a scale of one to ten he’s almost reached eleven. Please take him out for a bit? I need to try to smooth things over with your dad and Ed isn’t helping.’
‘Well, all right. But only because it’s you.’
‘Thank you, you’re a star! Listen, how are you? How’s the new home?’
‘Still new. And quiet. And the removal guys seem to have mislaid my coffee machine somewhere between San Fran and here.’
‘Hang in there, you’ll find it.’ There was a definite pause. ‘Have you heard any more from Jess?’
Jake stiffened his spine against the sinking feeling his almost-ex-wife’s name caused nowadays. ‘I heard from her today, actually. That is, I heard from her lawyer.’
‘Oh Jake, no! I’m so sorry. I know it’s clichéd but if you need to talk…’
He laughed. ‘I’m good. I think maybe me taking Ed out of your hair for a couple hours might be good for both of us.’
‘You’re right, it would. But please call me if I can help at all.’
‘Thanks, Rosie. I’ll remember that. Put him back on, OK?’
There was a muffled remark as the p
hone was passed back to his brother and Jake could picture Ed and Rosie giggling together, surrounded by flowers in their Upper West Side neighbourhood florist store.
‘I think I should be worried about the outrageous way my fiancée flirts with you,’ Ed said. ‘What? It’s blatant, Rosie Duncan!’ Jake could hear the amusement in Rosie’s voice as she made a comment in the background, then Ed laughed. ‘She just said if you’d been free when she was single she might have picked a different Steinmann. Cute. So are we going out to play, bro?’
Jake cast a glance around the bleakness of his new apartment: at the depressing cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked and the bland décor he hadn’t chosen. It didn’t feel like home at all and right now he didn’t think it ever would. He needed to be out of here, before the too-quiet rooms and endless self-analysis in his mind sent him crazy. ‘Yes, we are.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
‘Babe, all I want is to make it up to you.’
They had been battling for almost an hour and Bea could feel her resolve beginning to wane. Through it all Otis had stared directly at her in that startling, confident way of his – a weapon that was devastatingly disarming when used to its full effect. He had reached for her hand and managed to hold it for a few seconds before her anger resurged and she pulled it away. Now he was sitting a small distance from her, wearing an expression that begged her to move closer. She rubbed her eyes and wished she had been able to make it out of the door before he had arrived.
‘I’m just so tired of fighting,’ she said, her thoughts becoming words before she could stop them.
‘And so am I. We’ve been here before, Bea, and we’ve always made it back.’
‘Maybe this time is different.’
Why was her love life so complicated? Why, when everyone around her seemed capable of finding halfway decent partners, did she struggle? Bea didn’t consider herself a demanding girlfriend; neither did she experience problems meeting men. But somewhere between the initial spark and the middle of a relationship the problems began – growing and tangling and balling up until she found herself with an unsatisfactory, untrustworthy partner in a situation more akin to a battle of wills than a productive partnership.
I'll Take New York Page 2
