Love And Miss Communication Part 21

This would be their fifth date. In Evie's head, this was the date, the one when they would sleep together.

Their past dates had been heavenly, and, as expected, Bette was beyond thrilled when Evie told her she was seeing Edward. "Nachas, Evie. You give me so much nachas," she said. Following their movie date, they did a bowling and beer night. A week later they watched the Macy's parade from an apartment on Central Park West belonging to one of Edward's friends and later ate Thanksgiving dinner together in the hospital cafeteria because Edward was on call (Caroline didn't mind at all when Evie bailed). Edward confessed his love of all traditional Thanksgiving foods, gobbling up his own tray and portions of Evie's turkey, stuffing, relish, and sweet potato pie and bemoaning that people only ate that way once a year. The highlight of the date was when he told Evie he knew he wouldn't be on call the following Thanksgiving and was looking forward to celebrating with her properly. It was like he'd looked into a crystal ball and seen her face clearly in the reflection. On their latest date-the one she thought would have been the date-they took a horse and carriage ride through Central Park. They were with Olivia, who Edward was unexpectedly asked to watch so her mother could attend a holiday party. He was going to cancel their date, but Evie wouldn't hear of it. The three of them set out on a cold evening to enjoy the holiday season in New York like tourists.

When Olivia fell asleep with her head in Evie's lap, Evie felt a level of contentment she'd never experienced before. As the little girl's chest rose up and down, Evie stroked her blond curlicues and let her fingers graze Olivia's impossibly soft cheek. None of this was for Edward's benefit. She was positively captivated by Olivia, loving everything about her small figure, raspy voice, and undeniably cute grammatical errors. The feeling seemed to be mutual. Olivia reached for Evie's hand during their carriage ride and snuck a sip of Evie's coffee when Edward wasn't looking, pleading in a whisper to try some "caffeine." It was almost too easy to Photoshop herself into the Gold family alb.u.ms, that is until Edward's phone buzzed and Evie sneaked a peek at the text message: "E-remember to unpack O's hippo from her overnight bag and make sure you tell her Mommy misses her. G." Edward reached over and squeezed Evie's hand after he read the message. She didn't know if that was meant as rea.s.surance or was just a simple gesture.

If there was anything else about their dates that left Evie feeling uneasy, it was how smoothly everything was going. Edward didn't play games. He didn't confess to being a commitment-phobe. He didn't say he'd never marry again. He called when he said he would. He told Evie how much he liked her. They didn't struggle to make conversation. They made each other laugh-a lot. She liked who she was around him. But instead of taking pleasure in the ease with which their relations.h.i.+p was progressing, Evie constantly needed to remind herself that there was nothing wrong with everything going right. That she deserved this level of joy after enduring nearly thirteen years in the New York City dating scene. It was just that dating Edward was the opposite of dating Jack. With Jack, she was m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic, growing more attached to him the more aloof and unattainable he was. With Edward, she liked him more the closer they got and the more he gave himself over to her.

Her excitement about ringing in the New Year with Edward was mitigated only by her distance from Paul and Stasia. Stasia wasn't practiced in loneliness, and being a jilted wife on New Year's Eve had to really sting. Evie called her first thing in the morning to check in but wasn't shocked when voicemail picked up after only one ring. The same thing had happened when Evie called her a few weeks after Tracy's son was born, and she was ashamed to admit she hadn't tried again until this morning. She knew from Tracy, who barely had a minute to talk because Henry was permanently attached to her breast, that Rick had moved out and had taken up residence with his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend, his indoor cycling instructor. "What a f.u.c.king cliche," Tracy had said. It made Evie sick to think how s.h.i.+tty Stasia must be feeling, and even sicker knowing there was nothing she could do to make her feel better.

Paul was known to sulk whenever his feelings were bruised, so instead Evie called Marco, hoping to mend fences via an overture toward his partner. But Marco didn't pick up either. Caroline called her last week to say their baby arrived early (a phrasing that led Evie to envision a crying infant popping out of a FedEx box), and the new dads were obviously overwhelmed. Evie's neglect of both situations meant that repairing those friends.h.i.+ps would have to wait for the new year-she just hoped forgiveness was among Stasia's and Paul's resolutions. Not that she particularly deserved it. For someone who had depended so much on the kindness of her friends throughout the years-resuscitating her after both her father's pa.s.sing and breakup with Jack and attending faithfully to her just-below-the-surface loneliness-she'd been pretty rotten in return, at least of late. No matter where things headed with Edward, fixing these friends.h.i.+ps had to be a priority.

Edward didn't tell her where he'd made a reservation for that evening, but she imagined it would be fairly nice given the occasion. She looked forward to dressing up for him. The only time he'd seen her fully decked out was when she wore a c.o.c.ktail dress to Bette's surgery for the photo that was never taken. While studying her closet the morning of their date, her home phone rang. All she could hear through the receiver was crying.

"Who is this?"

"Evie, you've got to help me," the voice sputtered. Caroline.

"Care, what happened?" Evie asked, cradling the phone to her ear.

"Jerome is going to kill me. What am I going to do? He comes back from his business trip tonight," Caroline choked out and started wailing again.

"Calm down. What is going on? Why is your husband going to kill you?" Evie braced herself for hearing another tale of infidelity.

"Because I lost four hundred thousand dollars," she cried into the phone. "Four hundred thousand dollars. Gone."

"How is that possible?"

Caroline's sobs subsided to noisy sniffles.

"Let me come over, I'll tell you the whole story."

"Sure, of course, I'm home. I'm just getting ready for New Year's Eve."

"Oh, that's right, that's tonight. It's just that Jerome is going to kill me." The waterworks started up again.

"It's going to be okay. I'll see you in a bit."

Two minutes later, Evie heard a knock at her door. A mascara-streaked, red-faced Caroline stood quaking in her doorway. Her normally blow-dried locks were a.s.sembled in a bun that seemed to challenge basic architectural principles. It was the least put together Evie had seen her friend look since their hungover Sunday brunches in college.

"How the h.e.l.l did you get here so fast?"

"I was in my car, downstairs. I figured I'd just stalk your apartment until you came back if you weren't home. I really need your help." She collapsed on Evie's couch but popped up again a moment later.

"This place is so beautiful. You have the best taste," Caroline said. "I love these pillows. Where did you get them?"

"Um, thanks. But can we talk about my apartment later? Tell me what's going on with you and Jerome."

Caroline, seemingly oblivious, began inspecting the winegla.s.ses that Evie had displayed on floating shelves above her TV.

"Care? You called me hysterical. Now you're appraising my apartment. What is going on with you?"

Caroline flopped into the armchair adjacent to Evie's sofa.

"Ooh, this is comfortable too. Is this calfskin?"

Evie glared at her, refusing to answer.

"Okay, okay. Let me explain. Jerome's birthday is next week, so I wanted to do something special for him. He had talked about redoing his home office for a while but was always too busy at work to focus on it. So I told him for his-" Caroline hesitated, and then went on. "Oh whatever, what's the difference?" She seemed to be talking to herself. "I told him for his sixty-fifth birthday I would redecorate his office for him and surprise him with it when he returned from the hedge fund conference in Gstaad."

So that's how old Jerome was! Caroline had been very cagey about his age since they first met. There was no trace of it on JCM Capital's website or even in the articles written about him. Now that she knew, Evie wasn't as appalled as she thought she'd be by their thirty-year age difference. Her friend was happily married. That much was clear. The rest-the biographical details, the resume minutiae, the stuff of the New York Times wedding announcements and the search engine returns-that was just background noise, particulars that so often obfuscated what really mattered.

"Anyway, I found this decorator. Pierre Von Warburg," Caroline said his name disdainfully. "We were introduced through Kiki Krauss, you know my friend who always carries that little Maltese around with her. Remember, Jack used to say she looked like a young Cruella de Vil?"

Jack always did that. This one looked like an Indian Mickey Rooney; that one looked like a skinny Oprah. Evie would always gallantly agree. But was he even remotely on the mark? His wife Zeynup, at least in pictures, looked like an anorexic Padma Lakshmi. Did he see that resemblance?

Evie nodded.

"Anyway, Pierre was apparently so desirable that you had to be introduced to him through a current client in order for him to consider taking on your job. I was really excited when he agreed to redo Jerome's office."

Evie rolled her eyes. "Care, you sound like you resurrected Michelangelo to paint the ceiling in your den."

"Stop it, Evie. This is serious. I know you think I'm wasteful, and whatever, maybe I am. But I really need your help right now. And by the way, I wouldn't be so mean to me. I'm basically your only friend at this point in time."

Evie trembled. Caroline was right-it was proven just moments earlier when both Stasia and Marco wouldn't take her call.

"You've got me there. I'm sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, we met a few times, he showed me pictures of the things we were ordering. I thanked Kiki for the introduction and even took her out to Degustation for lunch."

"You what?" Evie jumped. "I thought we agreed all of Jack's restaurants were banned."

"I'm so sorry, I know. But that's where Kiki wanted to go. Trust me, I regret the whole thing now. You forgive me?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine." The truth was, since she started dating Edward, Jack crossed her mind less and less. But now her curiosity was piqued. "How was the food? Is it nice inside?"

"Honey, the worst. The meat was overcooked, the salad was wilted. I bet that joint closes in a year. Kiki even found a d.a.m.n hair in her foie gras." Evie hadn't heard Caroline's Texas-speak since she said that Jerome's colleague Harry was back together with his ex and that's why he didn't call her.

"Is one word of what you just said true?"

"No." Caroline shook her head from left to right sorrowfully. "The food was delicious. It's stunning inside. I'm sorry."

"Was he there?"

"No, sweetie." Caroline gently touched Evie's knee. "I didn't see Jack."

"It's fine, really. Honestly. I'm so excited about Edward that it almost makes hearing about Jack's success tolerable. Just tell me more about Pierre the Terrible."

"So I paid for all the furniture up front, which I think is actually standard. It came to just over four hundred thousand dollars."

"Jesus, Care, what did you order, a credenza made of solid gold?"

"No! Not even. Just a few things. But he said they were being custom-made in Vienna by the world's foremost furniture maker."

"Let me guess, the stuff never arrived."

"Exactly. Everything was supposed to come yesterday. I stayed home the whole day waiting for the deliveries. Nothing came. I tried Pierre's cell and office phones. Both were disconnected. I called Kiki. Her housekeeper said she's on vacation and can't be reached. I think they ran off together with my money. And Jerome comes back tomorrow. He's expecting to see the new office when he gets home. And he knows how much I spent because we discussed the budget. So it's not like I can replace it without him knowing. He's going to think I'm an idiot."

"Care, Jerome will understand. This isn't your fault. Pierre's a con artist, plain and simple."

"But it is my fault. Jerome wanted to use the same decorator that designed his company's offices, Julianne something-or-other."

"Holmes-Matthews?" Evie asked through a clenched jaw.

"Yes, that's her. But I fought him on this. I told him Kiki said Pierre is the absolute best and does all the top residences in Europe. Jerome said he didn't feel comfortable using someone he'd never heard of but finally gave in after I badgered him for a week."

"Still, Care, he'll understand. You guys surely have enough money that losing four hundred thousand dollars doesn't mean you won't be able to feed Grace and Pippa."

"Yes, of course. But you don't get it. It can be hard being with someone so much older. Someone I feel-I don't know-subordinate or something, like I have to prove myself." Caroline's hysterics had subsided, but a few tears slid down her cheeks. It was very dramatic for nine in the morning when Evie was still precoffee.

Evie fetched her a box of tissues. She crouched down next to her friend and started to wipe the black coal from Caroline's face.

"Don't forget, you may be younger than Jerome, but you are more than capable. You have an amazing education and before you got married, you were an investment banker at Goldman Sachs for crying out loud."

"Thank you. It feels good to hear that."

"I want to help you fix this, but what can I do?" Evie asked.

"Well, n.o.body in the world has better taste than you. Remember the Yale Daily News photographed your dorm room soph.o.m.ore year? Look at what you've done with this apartment. It looks like a showroom. You turned your grandmother's place around overnight. And Tracy's cla.s.sroom-which I still want to come see. You never did tell me why you turned down the offer from Brighton."

"It's complicated. Suffice it to say I'm ready to do the soul searching necessary to find employment that does more than just pay the bills. The kind that doesn't make me dread Sunday evenings."

"Well, in that case, good riddance. You'll find something better. You need a more creative field. I've always thought so."

"That's what Edward thinks too. But enough about me. Back to the issue at hand-you want me to decorate Jerome's office in one day on what, like, a thousand dollars?"

"No, don't be silly," Caroline said, waving her hand. "Ten thousand. I have a little money set aside that Jerome doesn't know about. Kind of a rainy day fund." She looked uneasy but went on. "It was something my mom suggested when I first got married. She said, 'Caroline Ashley Murphy, you may be marryin' someone with all the tea in China, but it ain't gonna help ya if you get tossed out of China.'"

"Sounds like something my grandmother would say." Evie laughed.

"I think it's something that every woman with experience in life would say," Caroline said ruefully. "So, can you help me?"

"No problem. I can replicate a room that was supposed to cost four hundred thousand for ten thousand dollars in one day. When I'm done, I'll just cure cancer and discover a new planet. I heard they knocked Pluto off the list."

"Please, I'm desperate. You've got to help me."

"I want to. But I'm not a decorator. Good taste doesn't qualify me as one. I wouldn't know where to start." Which actually wasn't true at all. She was already placing the burgundy lounge chair with the nickel trim that she spotted in a recent Crate & Barrel catalogue in the corner of Jerome's office. Together with the striped velvet drapes with the wooden grommets from Restoration Hardware and a sisal rug from ABC Carpet, the look would be masculine and warm. Jerome's office had a coveted southern exposure, and the natural light would balance the darker tones of the furniture perfectly. The project was actually exhilarating to Evie. On any other day. But she had to prepare for the date.

"It'll be fine. Jerome won't be examining the rug fibers. Please," Caroline whined. She looked up at the wall clock in Evie's living room, a treasured art deco find Evie had scouted at a flea market in the West Village a few years ago. "Listen, if we can finish before five P.M., I can make you the belle of the freakin' ball for tonight. We'll go to Bergdorf Goodman. Any dress you want. Then we'll head to the salon upstairs to get your hair, makeup, and nails done. Everything on me."

"You'll throw in new shoes too?" Evie was half-kidding.

"Heels to match your dress plus flats to wear the next day when you come over to see how much Jerome loves his new office." Caroline made a puppy-dog face.

Evie looked out the window. The weatherman said it was eighteen degrees, and you could actually see the bitter cold in the air. Snow was predicted for later that afternoon. It wasn't the climate for trekking around the city on a shopping binge. But then she thought back to the day when Caroline showed up at her apartment after her downfall at Baker Smith to force the much-needed spa day on her. She realized she had mentally agreed to help from the minute Caroline walked in crying. Why else would she have changed out of her pajamas while Caroline was filling her in? She vowed to be a better friend, and there was no time like the present to start.

"What the h.e.l.l? Let's go shopping."

Caroline threw her arms around Evie and they both grabbed their coats and hats.

"One more thing, though," Caroline said, linking arms with Evie, as though to preempt her from changing her mind.

"What's that?"

"The whole office needs to be done in feng shui. Something about the balanced chi being good for Jerome's hedge fund."

Evie and Caroline were at the last store, the furniture department of Bloomingdale's, after having scoured every reasonably priced furniture store in all of Manhattan for upward of six hours. On the ground floor, they were a.s.saulted by perfume spritzers wis.h.i.+ng them "happy new year" from behind scented clouds of gardenia, vanilla, and hibiscus. The a.s.sorted bouquet was giving Evie a headache and she was losing steam fast. They were in search of a "bureau plat," which Pierre had promised would be the piece de resistance and for which he had convinced Caroline to fork over $50,000 alone. Caroline had been so excited about it, she couldn't resist telling Jerome. Now it was up to Evie to find one for her. They had $212.39 left to spend.

"Should I ask someone for help?" Caroline called out, sounding overwhelmed and exhausted. She was lying prostrate on a mattress in the bedding department, attempting a nap on a Frette display. Evie was off studying some bronzed bookends a few yards away.

"I guess so. Honestly, I'm not sure we're going to have much luck finding one. But it's worth asking, I guess." She headed toward an elderly saleswoman standing near the gla.s.sware. "Our best bet is that Jerome doesn't know what a bureau plat is, so we can just buy a nice lamp and tell him that's it."

As Evie approached, a singsongy voice rang out from the fine china section. "Can I get some help for my registry please?" The salesperson took a detour to attend to the high-pitched chirping.

"My fiance and I need help deciding which pattern to choose," she heard the girl say. Evie gagged. There was nothing worse than an engaged couple walking around a department store with one of those stupid price guns, selecting gifts like they were at target practice.

A familiar male voice emerged to join the conversation.

"Yeah, we're looking for something that would work for dinner parties but that we could also use casually, for when we start a family."

"Aww. He's the best," she said, and Evie could actually hear the smooch.

The girl stepped out first from behind a tall display of dishes. She was a pet.i.te redhead wearing a bright purple turtleneck with slim olive pants; she could have been wrapping Christmas presents in a Banana Republic catalogue. Maybe it was the smattering of freckles across her nose, but she just looked too young to be getting married. Every gesture of hers seemed intended to accentuate the engagement ring on her finger. She kept checking on it, as though it might vanish into thin air.

The fiance stepped into view a moment later. He seemed to take notice of Evie before she saw his face, because by the time her eyes met his, he was ashen.

"Um, hi there. It's been a while since we last-talked," Evie said. It was Luke Gla.s.sc.o.c.k, Paul's cousin. He looked exactly the same. Hazelnut eyes. Nice head of wavy hair. Only this time Evie felt repulsed.

She turned to the redhead.

"I'm Evie. You must be the future Mrs. Gla.s.sc.o.c.k?" Evie extended her hand, which the girl reluctantly accepted.

Luke just stood there dumb-faced. He offered nothing toward facilitating the introduction.

"Yes, I'm Emily. How do you two know each other?" She turned to Luke for explanation.

"Oh, we met a long time ago at a party." To Evie, he said dismissively, "Anyway, so good to see you. Take care."