A Note From an Old Acquaintance (11 page)

“Here’s to a wonderful evening with an enchanting lady.”

Joanna felt her face grow warm and she quickly took a sip. The tiny bubbles tickled her nose and the dry sparkling wine glided down her throat, warming her stomach.

Forty minutes later the plane landed at LaGuardia, where another limousine, a Mercedes this time, whisked them into the city. Soon, they were pulling up to the front of an old brownstone in the West Fifties. The awning had no name, just a number: 21.

Once inside the brownstone, Joanna followed Erik and the lanky maitré d’ up two flights of stairs, past various rooms crammed with chattering diners, stopping at a front room on the third floor. The brass plaque on the mahogany door read: Pete’s Room. The maîtré d’ opened it with a flourish and led the way. The elegant space looked to have been converted from a woman’s dressing room, with painted cherubs on the nine-foot ceiling and heavy gold-brocade drapes framing the tall windows overlooking the street. The most surprising thing was there was only one intimate table for two in the center of the room, the white tablecloth, silver and glassware gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

The meal was delicious and meticulously served. Joanna even found it funny that every time she finished one of the little Melba toast slices they served, another would magically appear on her plate. She stuffed herself shamelessly.

Afterward, they decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, the limo following a discreet distance behind. The air had turned cooler and Joanna slipped her arm through Erik’s.

“So, what do you want to be when
you
grow up?” she asked, a sly grin on her face.

Erik laughed. “You mean I’m not?”

“Oh, I still see the little boy in there somewhere.”

His mood turned somber. “I want to build the greatest buildings in the world, buildings nobody will
ever
want to tear down.”

“And that’s important to you....”

Erik’s eyes focused on a far away point. “You see that building on Park with the ring of colored lights near the top?”

Joanna spotted the forty-story building a couple of blocks away. Even at night she could discern its striking design: an unusual fusion of modern and rococo. “It’s lovely.”

“My father built it back in the Fifties when everyone else was throwing together these cookie-cutter glass and steel towers. Most of those are gone, now. He never settled for second best....”

Joanna felt his pride, and while it clashed with her Buddhist philosophy, she understood it and admired him for it. Still, this was a man who’d ordered steak tartare while she’d eaten salad and steamed vegetables. This was a man who dealt with powerbrokers and VIPs and she was just a kid who wanted to create her art and teach others the joys of the creative process. And while being with him thrilled her, it also made her feel like the proverbial fish out of water. As lovely and as wonderful as this date was, what kind of future could there be? They were worlds apart. The only thing that made any sense was to tell him they shouldn’t see each other again.

“Erik, I—” She stopped speaking, halting in her tracks, her eyes widening.

Erik frowned. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him then back toward the mouth of the alley they’d just passed. In a pool of jaundiced light from a flickering streetlamp, sat a young woman cradling a sleeping child. Both the woman and the child wore ragged, filthy clothes, but it was the haunted, desperate look in the girl’s eyes that chilled Joanna.

“Oh, no.... She’s just a kid.” At the sound of Joanna’s voice, the girl looked up, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments; and in that look she saw hopes lost, dreams derailed, two lives poised on the abyss. Joanna turned to Eric. “We have to do something.”

“Joanna, I don’t know—”

“
Please
, we can’t just leave them like this—not like this!”

He looked over at the woman and child, a range of conflicting emotions crossing his face. Finally, a long moment later, he nodded. “All right, wait here.”

Erik approached the woman, who eyed him with a frightened wariness. He held up his hands then knelt in front of her and began speaking. Joanna strained to hear what was being said, but with the noise of passing traffic she couldn’t make it out. Whatever he was saying had an effect. The girl visibly relaxed and a moment later, she nodded and allowed Erik to help her up. He looked toward the limo, giving the driver a signal. The Mercedes shot forward, screeching to a stop at the curb. The driver jumped out and held open the rear door.

The little boy had awakened and was rubbing his eyes, his head still resting on his mother’s shoulder. He began sucking his thumb. He looked hungry.

As Erik eased them into the limo, the woman grabbed his hand, her thanks coming in a torrent of words and sobs. He squeezed her hand, rubbed the boy’s head and closed the door. He turned to the driver.

“Take them to The Haven at Tenth and Forty-Second. Ask for Carla Montez. She runs the place. Tell her I want the woman and the boy taken in as a personal favor. Once you’re sure they’re settled come back and pick us up at the restaurant. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Ruby.”

The driver climbed back into the Mercedes and sped off.

“Thank you,” Joanna said. “Not many men would have done what you did.”

“No? Well, I don’t think I could ever refuse you anything, Joanna,” he replied.

She smiled, a warmth suffusing her body.

“Where is he taking them? Is it a shelter?”

Erik nodded. “The building was my first project. My father thought it would be a good way to get my feet wet. His foundation, which I also manage, provides their annual budget.”

Joanna looked into his eyes. In them she saw something more than the powerbroker and the little boy, something that dwarfed them both.

“I guess his heart was in the right place...like his son’s.”

She slipped her arm through his and leaned against him. They began strolling back toward the 21 Club....

A horn honked, breaking Joanna out of her thoughts. She swerved back into her lane and wiped away the tears in her eyes. Where had that special part of Erik gone? Had it slowly slipped away, yet another innocent victim of his unswerving ambition? Didn’t he see it was driving them apart? Surely that sweetness lay buried in him somewhere still? Surely it was worth rescuing?

Her thoughts returned to Brian.
No, she hadn’t told him the whole story because she sensed, no she
knew
, it would have discouraged him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that, either.

What on earth was she going to do?

Flashing lights up ahead distracted her from her thoughts. The traffic around her began to slow. With a sinking feeling she realized there was an accident up ahead. A bad one.

“Oh, no,” she mumbled, checking the clock. It was nearly 10:00. Time to call home. Joanna reached for the phone handset just as it rang, startling her. She snatched it up, pushed the SEND button and brought it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, babe, it’s me.”

“Hi, I was just reaching for the phone to call you. I’m on the Pike and it’s all backed up. Looks like an accident.”

“I tried you at the studio half an hour ago. Where were you?”

Joanna’s mind scrambled for something to say, anything that would make sense.

“I finished early,” she replied. “So, I decided to get some coffee on Newbury Street and ran into an old friend.”

“Oh? Anyone I know?”

“No, just a classmate from Mass Art.” How she hated it when he started asking questions like these. He had no reason to be so possessive, that is, until now....

“Ah, I see. So, what part of the Pike are you on?”

“I just passed exit 19.”

“And how backed up is it?”

Joanna squinted through the windshield. “It’s got to be at least another mile before I get to the accident scene. The traffic’s just creeping along. They must have only one lane open.”

Erik sighed. “All right, you won’t be home for at least forty-five minutes. I’ll be in my study, in any event.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just the Wrightson building again. More revisions I need to go over. It never seems to end. I’ll see you when you get here. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, pushing the END button.

She replaced the phone onto its magnetic cradle, tears stinging her eyes again, her vision blurring. She’d lied about meeting Brian at Charley’s, but that wasn’t what was really bothering her. What had brought on her tears were those three little words she’d just spoken to her fiancé.

I love you.

She’d taken them for granted for so long; now they felt like lies, lies far worse than the one concerning her whereabouts.

The only thing that made any sense was to break this thing with Brian off, now, before it went any further. But she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it. She certainly didn’t want to do it. Why couldn’t she have met Brian six years ago, instead of Erik, assuming her flighty twenty-year old brain would have recognized Brian for the treasure he was? She’d changed so much in all that time, and Erik hadn’t. And what an awful thought that was.

Joanna reached for the tissue box in the glove compartment, the tears now flowing in earnest. She would meditate when she got home, that was the best thing. A quiet hour in front of Buddha would focus her mind and show her the true way of her heart. And whatever was revealed she would accept.

Calmer now, she dabbed her eyes and focused her attention on the road ahead. Traffic seemed to be moving a little faster, edging closer to the cluster of road flares and the collage of flashing lights. It took another twenty minutes before she came abreast of the accident scene. There were three vehicles involved, one of them a van. All were twisted and torn nearly beyond recognition. Three ambulances were parked nearby, their rear doors open. She stared, horrified, at four still forms lying together on the asphalt covered by yellow tarpaulins, one of them much shorter than the others.

A child.

Joanna turned her face away, trying to erase the images from her mind, knowing it to be a futile gesture. What her mother had always said now seemed truer than ever: “Enjoy the time you have, Joanna. Life is too short to miss anything.”

Once past the accident, she pressed the accelerator and sped away, her mind and heart in turmoil.

She arrived home just past eleven, easing the Mercedes into the three-car garage between Erik’s Jaguar and his immaculate silver 1963 split-window Corvette. She punched the remote, lowering the garage door, locked the 500SL and walked through the side door into the kitchen. Soft indirect lighting gleamed off the granite counters. She placed her handbag on the countertop adjacent to the stainless steel Viking range, threw her coat over one of the chairs surrounding the steel and glass table in the breakfast nook, and headed into the main area of the house. She could tell the maids had been in today, as the usual daily clutter was missing.

Their home, which Erik had christened
Greycroft
, was a six thousand square-foot modern Victorian occupying a three-acre lot two miles from Newton Center. Not content with the mundane, Erik had demolished the lot’s original structure—a forty-year-old colonial—hired the top residential architect and interior designer, telling each of them, “I want the new house to look as if it’s been here for a hundred years, but with all the modern conveniences.” The two men had outdone themselves, creating a showplace, every room an immaculate spread out of
Architectural Digest
. And while Joanna enjoyed the amenities, she often felt as if she were a guest in her own home.