by Lynn Steward
Brett sank back onto the chair and burst into laughter. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Of course it’s bothering me! There are five girls putting their heart and soul into—”
“Calm down, honey. B. Altman is practically run by the Archdiocese.” He winked mischievously. “You know the rumors—the Catholic Church secretly owns the store, which is why nuns and priests are constantly roaming every single floor. Just look at all the clergy discounts they offer. God will surely look past a little fraud since he’s the real CEO. Your place inside the pearly gates is assured.”
“That’s absurd, Brett, and it’s not just a little fraud, as you put it. We’re talking about people’s lives. This contest means everything to the five finalists. What if someone had pulled your article from the law review in your last year and given the space to someone else?”
Brett’s laughter was louder this time as he rolled his eyes in disbelief. “You’re not seriously comparing the law review to teen models, are you?” He wrinkled his face into a good-natured frown.
Dana paused, put her hands on her hips, and squeezed her eyes shut, not believing what she was hearing. “Yes, I most certainly am comparing this to your law review article. These young girls have hopes and dreams, too. You’re not the only one, Brett.”
“I know that, Dana. It’s just that—”
The phone rang, and Brett picked up the receiver before it could ring twice. He listened for a minute and then spoke briefly before hanging up. “Okay. Fine. See you then.”
He looked up at Dana. “That was Janice Conlon telling me that my meeting tomorrow was pushed back by thirty minutes.”
Dana’s jaw dropped. “We’re cutting down our Christmas tree tomorrow! The party is Thursday. We’ve had these plans for weeks.”
“Duty calls,” Brett said matter-of-factly. “Mr. Heller wants to meet tomorrow, and he’s a big client.”
“When were you planning to tell me!”
“I’ve got a lot on my plate, Dana.” He balled his two fists and extended his thumbs, proudly motioning to himself. “Don’t forget—the next partner at Davis, Konen and Wright is sitting before you.”
“I’m not going to dinner,” said a furious Dana. “I’m not in the mood anymore.”
“We’re going,” Brett said resolutely. “We can’t cancel the reservation at the last minute. I’m going to change now. Are you ready?”
Brett got up and went into the bedroom while Dana took his place on the chair and dialed Andrew’s number.
“Andrew? It’s Dana. Listen, Brett has to work tomorrow and—”
“Let me guess—you need someone to help you cut down a Christmas tree at the Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm like you’ve been planning. I’m sure I can convince Nina to come along as well. She’s got a VW Bug.
Nina Bramen was the antiques buyer for B. Altman.
“You’re the best, Andrew. I can always count on you.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Dana could sense that Andrew was withholding the phrase “Unlike your husband.”
“Thanks, Andrew. See you in the morning.”
Dana hung up and tilted her head back. The day had gone from bad to worse. And she was tired of hearing about Janice Conlon. The new litigator got more of her husband’s time than she did, Dana thought, as she got up and headed to the bedroom.
“Andrew and Nina will help me cut down the tree tomorrow,” Dana informed her husband when she reached the bedroom.
“Nina? B. Altman’s token feminist?”
Dana lowered her head in frustration at the cavalier use of the word “feminist.” “Nina Bramen believes in equal rights for women, as do a lot of employees at the store, both men and women. Is there a problem with that?”
Brett merely smiled. “I get it, honey.” He kissed her on the forehead and took her hand. “Shall we go?”
• • •
Brett and Dana sat at the small fifty-seat restaurant, Cheshire Cheese, a wood-paneled establishment with English fare and ambience to match. Brett waited for Cheshire Cheese’s famous prime rib to be served, while Dana looked forward to her Dover sole.
Brett McGarry was his charming self, the one Dana had fallen in love with many years ago. Instead of sitting across the small table from her, as was his custom lately, he sat in the chair adjoining Dana’s. He also covered Dana’s hand with the palm of his own as he spoke.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to help with the tree tomorrow,” he said softly.
“Brett, it’s not just the tree. It’s a day together in the country and lunch at an inn where we used to spend the weekend. You can’t even find a few hours on the weekend after Thanksgiving?”
“If the partnership pays off, we’ll get the house you want in Bedford, and we can spend every weekend in the country. Would you like that?”
“Brett . . . “ Dana was about to ask Brett about the distance between them—about the unexplored silences that hovered over their interactions—but the distance had suddenly evaporated. She had his full attention, but was it wise to lose the intimacy of the moment? He was away from the telephone and the office, and he seemed sincerely interested in his wife’s happiness and their lives together. He was speaking of their future, and Dana hadn’t heard such welcome words from Brett in . . . well, she couldn’t recall the last time when he’d been so attentive. Perhaps he’d noticed her displeasure back at the apartment, and now that they were alone and away from all distractions, he was making a conscious effort to be the thoughtful man she’d married. No, she wasn’t going to spoil the moment. She felt the same enthusiasm that she’d felt that morning while standing on the sidewalk with Andrew and Mark. Maybe the day would end with a little magic after all.
Dana was on the verge of tears—happy tears—so she took a sip of chardonnay and got up. “Let me run to the ladies room,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Dana looked in the mirror of the restroom as she dabbed away the moisture around her eyes. The face staring back at her was ashamed of the suspicions she’d harbored about Brett. She realized that his work was no less demanding than hers. She was worried about convincing Bea, Helen, and Bob that her ideas were sound, but Brett was in the very business of trying to make people come around to his viewpoint, whether it was partners, clients, or judges. Maybe she’d been guilty of underestimating the stress he lived with on a daily basis. She would erase her frustrations and look at this night as a point in time when she realized that Brett loved her and that marriage was often a demanding partnership. Partnership? Dana laughed aloud at the word her mind had ironically conjured to describe her relationship with Brett.
She returned to the table, and for the next hour the couple talked quietly as they enjoyed their meal. Brett said he hoped Phil and Virginia were still coming for dinner the following night. “You know,” he said, “your dad just naturally makes people feel good about themselves. And your mom is so much fun to be around.”
“They’re still coming,” Dana said. She continued to be stunned, for Brett hadn’t spoken of her parents in recent memory.
“Well, it’s been a long day,” Brett said after paying the check. “Let’s go home.”
On this particular night, Dana thought the word “home” sounded especially comforting.
They got up from the table and made their way to the restaurant’s front door, walking past a round table with a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“We meet again,” said a voice coming from the tall blue-eyed stranger who’d picked up Wills on Park Avenue. “Small world, as the saying goes.”
Brett glanced at Dana, a puzzled look on his face.
“This is . . . “ Dana paused. She had no name to attach to the kind face.
“Jack Hartlen,” the man said. “And this is my wife Patti and my parents, Ralph and Sandy Hartlen.”
Smiles and handshakes were exchanged as Dana related events from earlier in the evening. “Mr. Hartlen was kind enough to retrieve Wills whe
n he slipped his leash on our evening walk.”
“It was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,” Jack said, turning to his wife. “And please, call me Jack,” he said, turning back to Dana.
“We’ve been thinking of getting the exact same breed!” Patti said. “Maybe this is a good omen.”
Patti was an attractive twenty-seven-year-old woman with dirty blond hair and violet eyes. She always looked everyone straight in the eye when she spoke, a habit some found unsettling.
“Thank you again, Jack,” Dana said. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too,” Jack said as Dana and Brett exited Cheshire Cheese.
Brett glanced over his shoulder at Patti. Her direct gaze had been very penetrating. Such direct eye contact was rare, and he found it refreshing. Janice often looked him in the eye, but she was a lawyer, and body language was very important when questioning someone on the witness stand. Most law students learned its value in Moot Court.
Brett took Dana’s hand and they walked towards Fifth Avenue to look for a taxi. Maybe Patti had found him attractive. He’d noticed his reflection earlier that morning at his office, and he’d liked what he’d seen. He had to admit that he was a good-looking man.
Chapter Six
Brett brushed Dana’s cheek with a kiss before she squeezed into the front seat of Nina Bramen’s yellow VW Beetle—Andrew had moved to the cramped backseat—and, wishing them a successful trip, waved goodbye before going back to the apartment. He poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a honey bun he’d gotten earlier from Mary Elizabeth’s. He had two hours before he had to be at 30 Rock, so he opened the New York Times and engaged in a ritual that was as sacred to many New Yorkers as going to church on Sunday: reading the Times. The morning was bright and clear, with sun pouring through the windows of the library, and he paged through the various sections, thinking, as Robert Browning had proclaimed in a poem, that all was right with the world. He had peace and quiet thanks to Dana’s day trip to Pennsylvania with Andrew and Nina, and he once again reflected on how well his life was positioned for advancement and personal achievement. He was secretly glad that work had prevented him from making the trip to Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm. And what a motley crew was packed into the Beetle: a gay man and a feminist. “Lord knows what the conversation will be like in that tiny excuse for an automobile,” he said aloud. He gazed down at the spaniel resting at his feet. “This is our time, right Wills?”
When he’d finished the paper, he went into the bedroom to put on a suit. He supposed he could have dressed down given that it was Saturday, but he was a rising star at the firm, and he intended to retain his competitive edge at all times. He would meet with his client and then take Janice to find some proper attire for the courtroom and office. She was the proverbial handful, but he thought that shopping with her might prove interesting. He would play Professor Henry Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle. It would be great sport.
• • •
Brett stepped into the office of Jacob Heller at 30 Rock ten minutes early. Janice was already waiting for him. She wore jeans and a turtleneck, as she had the day before.
Jacob Heller was a member of the Landmarks Preservation Commission, a client of Davis, Konen and Wright. The previous July, the State Court of Appeals had invalidated the landmark status of the venerable J.P. Morgan mansion on Madison Avenue. The LPC regarded the decision as a major threat to landmark preservation in general in the New York City area. Morgan had been one the richest American financiers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and his mansion was history in the truest sense of the word. And that’s what was at stake: history. Additional lawsuits had been filed in later months challenging the landmark status of other buildings, and the commission was preparing to fight the movement to undermine the countless treasures in the five boroughs of New York.
Brett, Janice, and Heller looked at briefs for pending litigation as well as files on dozens of landmarks that the commission deemed to be at risk. The entire time, Brett couldn’t help but notice that Janice was making frequent eye contact with him, much as Patti Hartlen had done the night before. But Janice’s eyes were prettier, he thought. The blue color was deeper, more scintillating.
Jacob Heller droned on about various buildings that he was keeping an eye on: the Seventh Regiment Armory, the Abigail Adams Smith House, the Clarence Dillon House, Grand Central Terminal, the Chester A. Arthur House . . .
“Chester Arthur was a United States president!” said the fifty-six-year-old Heller, his short gray hair and round, rimless glasses giving him the appearance of an archivist. “The domino effect will begin if we don’t stop this trend now.” He sat behind his desk, removed his glasses, and surveyed the mountain of files before him. “Where does it end?” he asked.
“We agree with you wholeheartedly,” Brett said reassuringly, his eyes scanning various documents. He glanced at Janice, who sat beside him on the other side of Heller’s desk. She was reviewing several suits filed to revoke landmark status from four sites in New York City.
“The arguments to declassify these landmarks are compelling,” Janice stated. “It would save the city an enormous amount of money if some of these non-operational sites didn’t have to be maintained at the taxpayer’s expense.”
Brett raised his right eyebrow, and Janice immediately took his meaning.
“But we feel that history is the paramount issue in these cases,” she continued. “Upkeep of certain landmarks can be economized, while many, such as Grand Central Terminal, are fully operational and self-sustaining. Most importantly, however, the city needs to remember how many tourist dollars these landmarks bring in. In the long run, they more than pay for themselves even when minimal municipal subsidies are required.”
The truth was that Janice thought the entire matter to be totally frivolous, and she didn’t like seeing money squandered on hundreds of old buildings, libraries, and houses scattered around the city. The entire matter of landmark preservation didn’t pique her progressive California mindset in the least. But she’d been a good soldier and told her client exactly what he expected to hear. Brett had been impressed as well. She teased him with her initial remark and then followed through with a solid legal argument. With concealed amusement, she watched him exhale and settle back in his chair in relief.
Heller continued to name various sites that he wanted the firm to investigate, assessing the risk for declassification that each one might have. “The Players Club, the Alfred E Smith House, the Andrew Carnegie Mansion, the Dyckman Farmhouse . . .”
The next hour passed slowly, with Brett assuring Heller that they would have the firm’s research staff look into the issue in general but that the matter at hand involved certain imminent lawsuits that demanded immediate attention.
Janice placed the fingers of her left hand on top of Brett’s right forearm. “We’ll do what needs to be done, even if we have to bend a few rules, Mr. Heller. Isn’t that right, Brett?” With her head turned sharply to the left, Heller couldn’t see Janice’s left eyelid quickly wink at her colleague.
“That’s correct,” Brett replied.
His eyes maintained contact with Janice’s for a second longer than would have been normal. Even if we have to bend a few rules, Brett thought. She’d been speaking to him, not Jacob Heller, and she wasn’t alluding to landmarks.
The meeting was over. They shook hands with Heller, left his office, and stepped into an elevator. Brett stared straight ahead and began to speak after the doors had closed. “We need to—”
“Saks is across the street,” Janice noted. “Why don’t we go there now so you can give me the Davis, Konen and Wright look.”
“You’ve been flirting with me,” Brett said bluntly. “Your behavior bordered on the unprofessional, although I don’t think Heller noticed.”
“It’s because you’re turning into a landmark,” Janice responded without apology. “You’re going to grow old before your time. Your entire life is mapped out, and I wouldn�
�t be surprised if you’ve already bought burial insurance. You want to preserve the status quo as much as you want to preserve those old buildings on Heller’s list.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Don’t you ever want to cut loose once in a while? I’ve noticed you, Brett. Your eye likes to check out young women. There’s a little wanderlust inside you that you keep carefully hidden. Personally, I don’t think that’s healthy.”
Brett shook his head. “If I possessed this wanderlust you speak of, I’d be spending an enjoyable day exploring the countryside in Bucks County, cutting down a Christmas tree with Dana right now. Instead, I took this meeting today and am following up on my promise to Richard to purchase a professional wardrobe for you. This is definitely not my idea of adventure.”
Janice nodded her head and smiled. “My point exactly. You could be with your wife right now, preserving McGarry family traditions. But you’ve opted to buy me new clothes—me, the firm’s rebel. We could have scheduled the meeting with Heller anytime during the coming week.”
Brett said nothing. The truth was that he enjoyed being around Janice. There was something about her carefree manner that intrigued him whenever the two were together. Years earlier, he showed his independence and defied both sets of parents by insisting he and Dana marry before he graduated from law school and he had a job. Over the years, he’d settled into routines and rituals, but even as he adhered to them to further his career, a part of him liked the idea of breaking the rules—and Janice was definitely a rule breaker.
He knew that Janice sensed his vulnerability, which was a bit unsettling to a man who prided himself on the ability to play things close to the vest. So why wasn’t he taking the day off to spend time with his wife? Why not have a little fun and get some fresh air with the woman he loved?
He already knew the answer. He wanted to be right here with Janice Conlon at 30 Rock. As much as he wanted to make partner and live up to everyone’s expectations, he didn’t want to become a fossil. The ever-observant Janice had been correct. He was afraid that he was already being marked for preservation. Brett McGarry: husband, partner, landmark.
