Arm Candy (30 page)

In a small sans seriph font on the flush-left page menu read the word “contact.” She stared at it for so long it was as if the pixels became separated, floating like blurry dots that both tantalized and paralyzed. She took a deep breath and clicked on it. Address, various company e-mails, a phone number. E-mail would be too insane. She couldn’t send him psychotic volumes and she couldn’t simply shoot off a few lines, either. Both would be odd, and she concluded it was not the medium to reconnect through. She thought of Voltaire: “I didn’t have time to write you a short letter so I wrote you a long one.”

That left the phone. For the first time in her life, Eden was stressing like a normal teen girl, the insecure awkward wreck that she had never been. She had never been one to dial and hang up, yet here she was, almost forty, freaking out, as if the buttons on her phone were electrically charged and would zap her. Her fingertip hovered, then retreated back into a nervous fist, which Eden pumped into the table, nervously. Fuck. What was her problem? Okay, deep breaths. She dialed, her heart pounding with the depression of each key.

“Bennett Associates.”

“Hi, yes, hello. Um, may I please have Wes Bennett’s office? Please?” IDIOT! She couldn’t speak normally to the receptionist! Eden almost hung up.

“Wes Bennett’s office.”

“Hello, hi. I’m calling for him? Wes Bennett?”

“He’s in a meeting with a client right now; may I direct you to his voice mail or take a message for you?”

“Uh, sure . . . ,” Eden stammered.

“Which do your prefer?”

“Um, I’ll take his voice mail. Please. Thank you so much.”

“Sure thing, I’ll put you right through.”

Eden was about to press the button to hang up when she heard his voice. Grainy yet soft, his familiar tone floated over the receiver. It was real—he was within her reach. When the beep sounded, she almost threw up.

“Wes, hello, hi, sorry, um, this is Eden calling, actually.” (Fuck!) “I . . . sorry to call so randomly.” (OMGOMGOMG) “I just had bumped into your mom, who is just incredible and we had this really amazing time and she told me all about what you’ve been up to, and I’m just blown away, really. So anyway, I know you just moved back here, to New York, um” (Idiot! Idiot!), “and I just wanted to see if maybe you would ever want to, like, maybe get together and catch up for, like, a drink or coffee, or whatever. Dinner?” (Oh no, too forward) “Or whatever you have time for, if you want. If you would like to.” (ARGHHHH FUCK!) “Anyway, um, let me know!” She left her number and hung up, shaking.

Great: She was officially a teenager. Was this
Freaky Friday
or something? She felt so ridiculously upside down. She had to call Allison.

“I can’t believe you did that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I was stalking his Web site—”

“Send me the link,” Allison ordered.

“Okay, sending it now.” Eden obeyed.

“Question: What are you trying to get from this?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, really. It’s just coffee.”

“Hey, breaking news: It’s never
just coffee
.”

“I told Penelope I would reach out to him and catch up. As
friends
.”

“Good luck with that. Tell that to Ross and Rachel.”

“I sounded like such a loser dorkadelic idiot. I swear I will never hear from him.”

“I’m not a betting man, but I’ll stake you a massage at Exhale.”

“Done.”

—Anonymous

 

 

 

C
hase pondered the globe at his fingertips.
Where to whisk Eden off to for her birthday?
The Ocean Club? Skiing in Aspen perhaps? Or maybe some exotic destination resort, an Aman in the hills of Bali or on the shores of Thailand? What to do. Chase mused at his desk, clicking away on the Internet, from page to page, not wanting to repeat any of the countless destinations he’d traveled to with Liesel. And if he thought being with Eden in her apartment was so magical, he could only imagine what being with her far away would be. He wanted to go somewhere that was fresh to both of them, so they could experience the exotic sights and smells together. Though she had seen the world, Eden mostly traveled to cities where art galleries lined streets rather than scattered isles known for their hotbeds of hedonism.

“Hi, son,” Grant said, popping his head in Chase’s office doorway. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Chase quickly clicked away from the pages he was perusing, filled with aqua oceans and palm trees hanging lazily in the sun.

“Got a sec?” he asked, taking a seat.

“Of course,” said the dutiful son with a nod. Grant rarely popped in for a chat.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you. I just wanted you to know,” Grant said seriously, causing Chase to wonder what was coming next. “I support you. Whatever you want to do with Eden. I don’t want you to think about your mother or any of that nonsense. I know you’re happy.”

Chase smiled in grateful surprise.

“I am, Dad. Really happy.”

“I can tell,” Grant said, nodding. “Do you think she could be the one?”

“One hundred percent. She’s it,” Chase said, without even having to consider such a large question. “I love her.”

“Then I’m sure I will, too, son.”

“That really means a lot to me, thank you,” Chase replied, touched by his father’s unusual understanding. His father’s eyes made him wonder if once he had his own passion he perhaps didn’t follow. Maybe Brooke was his Liesel whom he felt compelled to marry? A second later, though, the look in his eye had gone, replaced with a sly smile that was clearly where Pierce and Price got there constant Cheshire Cat grins.

“Chase,” Grant said with a twinkle as he reached into his inner coat pocket. “Don’t worry about asking your mother for the key to Ruthie’s box,” he said. “Your grandmother had a feeling that perhaps you might not choose a bride to Brooke’s liking and saw to it that I got a second copy.”

Grant slid the key across the desk to his son as Chase’s eyes widened.

“She had left me an envelope of my own as well,” Grant explained as his son reached for the key. “This was in it, along with the instructions to make sure you are free to do as you wish.”

Chase exhaled, his love for his late grandmother overwhelming him.

“Thank you,” Chase said, standing up.

Grant, as habit had it, stuck out his arm to shake his son’s hand.

And Chase, as his new habit since meeting Eden had it, ignored the hand and hugged him instead.

 

 

After work, Chase walked to his company travel agency, which catered to posh, upscale clientele, mostly businessmen and heirs, or both.

“Oh, hi, you’re new,” Chase said to the sweet-faced, cheerful redhead at the reception desk.

“Yes, hello!” she replied warmly. “Kara is on maternity leave so I’m just temping for a few months. How can I help you?”

“Well, I have a mission for you,” Chase said with a smile, leaning in conspiratorially. “I need to plan the dream trip.”

—Ernest Meyers

 

 

 

I
t was pouring freezing rain outside and Time Warner was coming to fix Eden’s cable sometime between noon and five and she was chained to her apartment. At least she was imprisoned on a shitty day instead of a gorgeous one. She was happy to shack up and wait, cozy in sweats. When the harsh
brrrring
of the phone punctured the silence of her TV-less home, she lunged across the bed like a wide receiver, grabbing it after one ring. It was Allison.

“Thanks a lot; you sound so not psyched to hear from me,” Allison scoffed. “Chopped Liver here.”

“No, no, just, he still hasn’t called.”

“It’s been A DAY. God, not all the nuts are in the nuthouse. You’re being CRAZY.”

“I know. What is my problem?” Eden shook her head, climbing under the covers.

“Everyone has to wait by the phone sometime; it’s like a rite of passage. See, most girls pay in their teens and twenties. You’re paying now, I guess.”

“I guess,” Eden lamented. “It’s so stupid, anyway. I’m with Chase. I just wanted to, you know, nip this whole Wes thing in the bud. I’d hate to bump into him or something. I’d rather be two adults and meet up.”

“Okay, I’m sure you will,” Allison said. “What are you doing today?”

“I’m just hostage to the cable guy. What are you up to?”

“I’m going to pick up Kate and then schlep to the flower market and a few sample sales in the thirties. Sh’I stop by on my way home with some dumplings?”

“Awesome. I’d love it.”

Eden hung up the phone. Then looked at it. God, she really was acting like a nervous ninth grader. She detested the aggravating click of call-waiting so had never subscribed; maybe he called while she was on the phone with Allison? She picked up the receiver. Bingo: a studded dial tone. Voice mail.

She punched in her code and heard she had One. New. Message. She hoped it wasn’t an automated recording from the Time Warner robot lady. It wasn’t: jackpot!

“Hi, Eden, it’s Wes. I got your message. It was really nice hearing from you. My mom said she really had a great time catching up with you. I’m finally settling in; I live right on Gramercy Square and would love to meet up for coffee and catch up. That would be great. Maybe tomorrow or the next day? I just went to a very charming bar at the Inn at Irving Place if you’d like to meet up there, or that Seventy-one Irving coffee is really good. Let me know. Bye.”

Eden played it once more. Platonic in tone. No nerves, no weirdness, just friendly, happy, chill. Shit. She decided to leave him a message at the end of the day so she could get straight into his voice mail from the company directory. She confirmed tea at the Inn for the next evening at six.

When Allison showed up with takeout, she found Eden hyped up, watching VH1 Classic and cleaning like a madwoman.

“What’s with you, Martha Stewart?” she asked as she laid out the low-so soy sauce.

“He called. I’m seeing him tomorrow night. Inn at Irving Place.”

“NO WAY! Perfect! That place is so hot.”

“It is?” Eden asked. “Is it going to be all these hipsters packed in with their skinny jeans and flats?”

“Noooo, the opposite. It’s hot like old school pent-up emotions sexy. Like Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer in
Age of Innocence
.”

“Why am I so nervous?”

“You’re seeing an old flame!”

“I’ve got to chill out. I told Chase I was seeing a friend tomorrow night. That’s all it is. He talked to me like I was a lost cousin or something.”

“What do you expect? Did you want him panting through the receiver? Phone sex? It’s been two decades, E.”

“I know. I just hope I can be normal tomorrow. I feel so off-kilter.”

“I’m going to wallop you with an old cliché. Just be yourself.”

“Thanks, Whitney Houston.”

 

 

Eden played The The on her iPod for a pre-drink rev-up, ultimately selecting a little black dress after a movie-style montage of outfit tries that resulted in a Kilimanjaro-sized heap of dresses on her floor. She breathed deeply and walked out down the street for the subway.

When she arrived, she walked up the stairs into the charming Old World hotel, scanning the mahogany lobby and bar room. She picked a small couch in the corner and plopped down, surveying the scene. Allison’s description was on the money: The spot did not disappoint. Typical Wes. He knew about a jewel like this while he had been away for ages, and she didn’t even know it existed.

“Eden.” Wes smiled, approaching her. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No, you’re not at all.” He looked the same. A bit older, but the same. His eyes seemed bluer.

“I’m so glad you’re still in glasses,” Eden said. “Everyone’s succumbing to lasers. I miss specs.”

“Gosh, I barely recognize myself without them! If I took them off, my whole head would probably roll onto the floor.”

Eden laughed. “Well, I like them.”

“It’s so nice to see you,” he started with a genuine, friendly smile.

“You, too. You look exactly the same. Time is not only your friend but your close buddy, I see,” Eden said.

Wes smiled. “Can you believe we are turning forty?”

“It’s all I think about,” Eden confessed, looking at her lap. “I’m afraid for a single woman it can be a bit of an emotional reckoning.” A fleeting guilty thought of Chase crossed her mind.

“No, it can’t be for you. You’ve always had the world on a string,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I did, didn’t I?” she said, almost zoned out. “Somewhere along the way, I don’t quite know when, but . . . the string snapped. The world kind of rolled away from me.”

“Are you okay?” he asked genuinely as he picked up on the ever-so-slight signals of sadness behind her beautiful eyes. She appreciated his concern but naturally he felt distant; it had been a long time, and the chasm of their years apart rivaled the San Andreas. He seemed happy, relaxed. She knew he detected her sore muscles, laden with baggage.

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine. I mean, everything’s fine. It’s just, the past few years have been very tumultuous,” Eden said.

“I’m sorry. My mother told me about your breakup, your son moving away.”

“It’s been hard. But I really knew I had to leave, you know. I’m getting my sea legs back; it’s probably good for me.” Eden looked at her lap and was dying to change the subject. “So meanwhile you’re doing great, congrats on your new firm! How is it coming? I hear you’re swamped, which I guess is a good thing?”

“It is a great thing,” Wes said humbly. “I can’t believe it. I am pinching myself, really. Even though I usually am there until midnight.”