The Apartment

by Danielle Steel

  She was careful not to let her mother see how upset she was, as she continued to field her questions, and gently deflect them. And by Saturday night, Claire tried calling him several times, and left him messages saying how worried she was about him and how much she loved him. He did not respond.

  She still hadn’t heard from him when she boarded the plane to New York on Sunday morning. She was due to arrive at JFK at four o’clock, and to meet up with him after that. She called him from the car, and neither his cell phone nor the landline at his apartment answered. She knew the staff was off, and she didn’t want him to feel that she was stalking him, but there was a knot in her stomach the size of a fist now. What had happened, and why wasn’t he calling her?

  She never heard from him that night, waiting at her apartment. Abby came back from L.A. and said she’d had a great weekend with her parents, and Sasha and Alex were back from Chicago, and Sasha said it had been a perfect Thanksgiving. Claire’s weekend at home had been predictably depressing, and even more so faced with George’s inexplicable silence, but she didn’t say a word to her friends. And Morgan said they’d had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner at Greg and Oliver’s. Everyone’s holiday had gone well except her own. She was sure there was a simple explanation, and George would apologize for his lack of communication when he called. But in the meantime, not knowing the reason for it was agony, and she lay awake until four A.M., hoping to hear from him. Even a booty call after midnight would have been welcome—some sign of life from the man she loved who had wanted her to be the mother of his children only five days ago, and hadn’t spoken to her since. It made no sense.

  She woke up two hours after she fell asleep, long before her alarm, and waited until eight A.M. to call him. His staff didn’t come in until nine on Monday mornings, so no one answered when she called his apartment, and he still wasn’t answering his cell, and he had to be home by then, unless something serious had happened.

  She dressed for work hastily, without coffee or breakfast, and felt disorganized and a mess and distracted when she got to her office. She waited until just after nine and called his office, knowing that he always got there by eight-thirty to prepare for the day. His secretary answered on the private line and said that he was in a meeting. Claire said to just tell him she had called. And now she was sure he would call her.

  She could hardly think straight until lunchtime, and she snapped at Monique when she set foot in Claire’s office. She was in no mood for her today. And providentially, Walter never came into her office.

  Claire called George again at lunchtime and was told that he was out to lunch, and would be in meetings off-site all afternoon, and would not be back in the office. His assistant’s voice gave nothing away. She was pleasant and cool, and when Claire hung up, there were tears running down her cheeks. Something was clearly very wrong. But what? And why? He was stonewalling her, and she had done nothing to deserve it. She was so panicked and in so much pain from worrying about it, she was breathless.

  She left work half an hour early and told Walter she was coming down with the flu and had a fever. It was easily believable, she looked awful.

  She went to bed as soon as she got home, and just lay there, until she heard Morgan come home hours later, and went to find her in her bedroom.

  “He won’t talk to me,” she said in a hoarse whisper, as Morgan stared at her in amazement. She looked like she had been beaten, or had a serious illness.

  “Who won’t talk to you?” She couldn’t imagine.

  “George. I haven’t heard from him since I saw him on Tuesday night. Everything was fine, and I haven’t heard from him since then. He won’t take my calls or answer my texts. Nothing. Silence. Do you think he dumped me?” She could hardly bear to say the words, but Morgan might know more than she did. Maybe he had told her.

  “Of course not.” She brushed the thought aside. “He’s crazy about you.” She looked puzzled for a moment. “I know he gets weird about holidays, and sometimes he just disconnects for a few days. If things get too stressful at work, sometimes he takes off and goes somewhere for a day or two, and when he comes back, he’s fine. Did you two fight about something?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I saw him in the office today, and he looked normal. He was laughing with one of our clients. I think he had a busy day, but I’ll admit, that doesn’t explain it. Maybe leave him alone, and see what he does. Don’t chase him. He’s not injured, he’s not dead, he’s alive. He’ll call you.”

  But two days later he still hadn’t. She hadn’t heard from him in eight days, and there was no explanation for it.

  Claire had taken two days off from work, still claiming to have the flu. Everyone in the apartment knew by then, and they were tiptoeing around as though someone had died. Claire emerged from her room as seldom as possible, not wanting to see anyone, and Morgan asked Max what he thought about it that night.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Men do strange things sometimes. Sometimes they move too fast and scare themselves to death, and then they run. But he’s a serious guy, with a responsible business. You’d think if he was backing out, or changed his mind, he’d have the balls to tell her.”

  “Maybe not,” Morgan said quietly. They were having a late dinner at the restaurant, and the crowd was thinning out. She just hoped George didn’t walk in with some other woman, but she couldn’t imagine he’d have the bad taste to do that. And she couldn’t ask him at the office. He was her boss, and had never discussed the relationship with Claire with her. Whatever she knew, she had heard from her roommate. George was not one to discuss his private life with his employees, no matter what they read on Page Six. “He’s dumped a lot of women over time. I think he’s somewhat relationship-phobic. But there’s no reason to just cut her off. He should say something. The poor thing is going nuts, and she looks like she died.” Morgan was upset about it, and even knowing him as she did, she couldn’t figure out what was going on.

  “I can imagine,” Max said, looking sympathetic, and then Morgan thought of something she’d been meaning to ask him, but kept forgetting and hadn’t found the opportune moment.

  “I know this sounds crazy, but a few weeks ago, I found something unusual in a file the accounting department gave me by mistake. It jumped out at me off the spreadsheets. Money that was put in the wrong account, another smaller amount that was withdrawn and then returned a week later. Nothing was missing, but it was shuffled around and in the wrong accounts. What do you make of something like that? Do you think some kind of funny business is going on there?” George was always so meticulous about their accounts that it had surprised her. “And he invested funds in a company where one of the directors was indicted by a grand jury a few years ago, and then it was dropped. Do you think something weird is happening?”

  “No, I don’t. He’s too smart to do something dumb like that, and he’s a standup guy. He’s got a golden reputation. He’s not going to screw that up and risk getting in trouble. I think more likely someone just messed up in accounting, and then fixed it.”

  “I thought that too,” she said honestly, “but you never know. Sometimes strange things happen in my business. Look at Bernie Madoff.” He had been the ultimate financial criminal of all time, and had been sentenced to 150 years in prison, for bilking banks and clients out of billions. But not in her wildest dreams could she imagine George doing something like that. Nor could Max, which reassured her. She trusted his judgment, and he had keen instincts about people.

  “George is no Bernie Madoff.” Max smiled at her, and then looked serious again. “I’m not worried about his cooking the books, but I am worried about Claire. After eight days, it’s not looking good, and there aren’t a lot of possible explanations, except a bad one for her. I feel terrible for her,” he said gently. He was very fond of Morgan’s roommates. They were all nice women, and he liked them better than some of his own sisters.

  “I feel awful about it,” Morgan said too. “It’s a
hell of a blow. I think she trusted him completely and is really in love with him. I don’t know how she’ll get over it if he never shows up again.”

  “She may have to,” Max said sensibly. “He owes her an explanation, but it doesn’t sound like he wants to give it to her. By now he would have contacted her, if he was going to.” Morgan nodded, as they both thought about it.

  It pained Morgan to see how normal George looked in the office. He acted as if nothing had happened. And while he joked and chatted and went in and out of meetings, Claire was dying a thousand deaths in the apartment, staying in bed, and looked like a zombie.

  Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Claire had still never heard from him. She had thought of going to his office to demand an explanation and confront him, but it seemed too melodramatic. She wrote him a letter asking him what she had done to offend him, and told him how much she loved him, and dropped the letter off at his apartment. She had written him several e-mails. It was impossible to understand. He had told her he loved her, that she was The One, and he wanted her to be the mother of his children, and then he had vanished. It made no sense and sounded crazy to all of them. If he had changed his mind, it would be awful, but all he had to do was tell her. It was obvious to everyone by then, and most of all to Claire, he had scared himself to death, panicked, and run. But he had been the one to set the pace and move so quickly. He had been the one to pursue her and convince her while he wooed her, and tell her he loved her almost on their first date. But whatever his reasons, he was gone, in silence. After two weeks, Claire could no longer make excuses for him—it was over. And she had never lived through as much pain. It was like a death, of hope and dreams, and love, and everything he’d promised. She had lost ten pounds and looked like a woman in deep mourning.

  She had gone back to work after a week, and to make matters worse, Walter was torturing her. And even he could see that something terrible had happened.

  “What’s going on?” Alex asked Sasha the first time he saw her after Thanksgiving. “Did one of her parents die?” He couldn’t imagine any other explanation for the way she looked, unless she was sick herself, and he hoped not.

  “It would appear that she got dumped. George never said anything to her—he just disappeared.”

  “What do you mean disappeared? As in left town?”

  “No, as in he wouldn’t talk to her or see her. He just shut her out without a word of explanation.”

  “What a shithead,” Alex said, looking angry. “He was giving her the full-court press the whole time we’ve been dating. How can he not say something to her?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s what he did.” The others were trying to comfort her just by being around. But Claire was going straight from work to bed every day, and sleeping all the time.

  And two days later Walter called her into his office. It was ten days before Christmas, and she thought he was going to hand her her end-of-the-year bonus. She had worked hard, and their numbers had improved slightly. And much to her delight, Monique was going back to Paris. Her internship was over.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Walter said, playing with two paper clips on his desk, which seemed to have his full attention. “I was going to talk to you two weeks ago, but you were out sick. You still look like hell, by the way. You should get checked out.”

  “I’m fine,” she said bleakly, waiting for him to hand her the check so she could leave his office.

  “I know you don’t need this job anymore, with your fancy boyfriend waiting in the wings. You’re going to be a billionaire any day now.” Claire wanted to throw up as he said it, but it was none of his business that George had dumped her, and she didn’t intend to tell him. She didn’t comment. “But whether you marry the guy or not, I know this isn’t the kind of company you want to work for. You want to work for one of the big high-fashion companies, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik, one of the sexy brands.” He glanced up at her then. “And to be honest, you’ve got the talent. I hear you’ve been sending your CV around, and I’m sure one of them will snap you up. The truth is, your talent is wasted here, and I can’t afford you. I’m letting you go, Claire. I’m sorry. It’s not personal, it’s business. We do best with our own classic styles. We just don’t need a high-powered designer on staff, who wants to make changes. And our numbers are going to be a lot better without you. I can make whatever modifications we need myself.” She was staring at him as though she didn’t understand him, as though he were speaking another language.

  “You’re firing me?” Her voice was a squeak, and he nodded. “Because I’ve been sending my résumé around?”

  “No, I’ve wanted to let you go for six months. Keeping you doesn’t make financial sense. You need to go make your sexy shoes for someone else. I’m sorry. Good luck. You’ll probably marry the guy anyway, and won’t want to work anymore. But whatever you do with him, I can’t afford you. I wish you all the best.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers, and she shook it, feeling numb, and then turned in the doorway.

  “Are you giving me my end-of-the-year bonus?” He shook his head. “Severance?” She had worked for him for four years, and hated every minute of it. She should have gotten combat pay for that.

  “Two weeks,” he responded in a flat tone. “It’s not personal, it’s business,” he said again. He was giving her as little as he could get away with. She couldn’t believe it. She was in shock. She walked into her office, put her sketches and personal belongings in a cardboard box, and walked out carrying it, and once in the street, she hailed a cab. It was snowing, and she was soaking wet when she got in.

  “You look like you’ve had a rough day,” the driver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

  “I got fired,” she said with tears and melted snow running down her face with her mascara. She looked a mess.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and threw the flag on the meter to stop it. He took her home and didn’t charge her when she glanced at the meter. It was blank. “Merry Christmas,” he said, looking sorry for her, and she wished him a merry Christmas too, with tears pouring down her cheeks as she walked upstairs to the apartment. The other girls were there when she walked in, saw her, and were startled by how bad she looked.

  “What happened?” Morgan asked her as she came to help her with the box, and Claire stared at her in amazement.

  “I just got fired. ‘It’s not personal, it’s business.’ Two weeks’ severance, no end-of-the-year bonus.” It was one blow too many after the hellish weeks of mourning George after he dumped her. And she had no idea what to say to her parents when she went home.

  And that night, as though he had radar and needed to add insult to injury, she finally heard from George. He sent her a text. She read it in disbelief, but now nothing surprised her. “I’m sorry, I got in over my head. It’s my fault not yours. I’ve thought about it carefully. This is the right decision for me. We don’t belong together, Claire. I don’t want a long-term relationship, marriage, or kids, or a partner. I’m a lone wolf at heart, and want to be. Best of luck. Merry Christmas. G.” She stared at it for a long time and read it over and over, and then she started laughing hysterically. She walked into the kitchen, holding her cell phone, while the others stared at her, terrified that she was finally losing it.

  “It’s official. I just got a text from George after almost three weeks. He dumped me. By text. He said it was the best decision for him. And merry Christmas.” She sat down at the kitchen table with them, feeling mildly hysterical. “Wow, dumped and fired in the same day,” she said, sounding as though she was in shock. Abby put an arm around her without a word as Claire burst into sobs. But she was strangely relieved to have heard from him. At least it was nothing she had done. He had set the pace, he had wanted her so desperately and convinced her to go out with him, said he loved her and wanted to have babies with her, and now he had dumped her. The irony and the cruelty of it was almost unbearable, and she knew that she would never trust any man agai
n. Her roommates put her to bed that night, and sat with her. Sasha lay on the bed next to her. Abby sat on the floor and stroked her hair. Morgan sat at the foot of the bed, looking miserable, watching her, and occasionally patting her foot under the covers. They were there with her—there was nothing else they could do. And Claire finally cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Claire was the only one going home for Christmas. The others were all staying in New York. Morgan’s office was always closed from Christmas until after New Year’s, and she helped Max at the restaurant during the Christmas rush, seating people at the tables, when he needed her to, and helping him with the books. It was the only way to see him during the holidays, since he worked night and day, seven days a week, and was grateful for her help. She had no family to go home to anyway, and Oliver and Greg were skiing in New Hampshire with friends.

  Abby’s parents were in Mexico, and she stayed in New York to work on her novel. And Alex and Sasha were on duty at the hospital over both Christmas and New Year’s. At least they’d be together.

  Claire was sorry she wasn’t staying with them too. By the time she left for San Francisco on the twenty-third, she felt like she was moving under water and drowning with the shock of everything that had happened. She wasn’t even angry—she was in despair.