Love and Miss Communication (25 page)

“Wow, I thought only Olivia used halves to describe her age.”

By now they had pulled apart from each other, both of them looking up at the track lighting like they were stargazing.

“So no lumps?” Evie asked again.

“No detectable lumps.” He paused. “But why didn’t you see the doctor whose name I gave you?”

“How do you know I didn’t make an appointment?”

“I checked up on you.”

“Isn’t there, like, doctor-patient confidentiality or something?”

“Oh, you really believe in that?” Edward asked, laughing. “Kidding, of course.”

“I hope so!” Evie exclaimed, opening her eyes in wide surprise.

“Of course,” Edward said. “You know, I have never cared so much about any girl I’ve been on a first date with that I felt compelled to give her a breast exam. Just saying, this is highly unusual.”

“Well maybe I’m an unusual girl,” she said coquettishly.

“That’s what I like about you,” Edward said and cupped her chin with his hand, pulling her closer.

“In that case,” she whispered as their faces were less than an inch apart, “there’s also this mole on my thigh that I’d love for you to check out. I think it’s spreading.”

“No problem,” he said. “But would you mind terribly if we kissed first?”

“Oh,” Evie giggled. “That would be nice.” She let him take the lead and felt her body unfold into a sequence of electric kisses, ravenous touches, and passionate embraces which stopped just short of them making the ultimate connection.

Around midnight, Evie stood up to leave and Edward walked her downstairs to put her in a taxi. He thanked her for an amazing evening. With her confidence soaring, she debated asking him again to examine her suspicious mole before they separated, but in a rare moment of restraint, she reined in her neuroses and let their evening together end with her acceptance of another date.

It was the first New Year’s Eve in recent memory that Evie could recall actually feeling happy. She didn’t need to create a list of ambitious and untenable resolutions. The year before she was single, newly separated from Jack and beyond lost. She had found a project at the office in which to bury herself, and rang in the New Year at her desk while a lonely janitor vacuumed around her bare feet.

It wasn’t much better when she was with Jack. The first time they celebrated New Year’s he let her down by refusing to accompany her to a party at Caroline’s place, saying he couldn’t
break away from JAK for even one hour. The second time they celebrated together, Jack was in a foul mood all night because the truffle delivery from Italy never arrived, killing his prix fixe menu. Her hopes of a fun night had already been dashed the day before the mushroom debacle when Jack’s mother announced she was getting remarried and Jack said she must be suffering from dementia to make the same mistake twice.

At last, this year was different. She was spending the night with Edward, who to her delight wanted to enjoy New Year’s Eve with a lovely dinner and be home by eleven thirty to watch the ball drop.

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 albums, 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 reassurance 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 relationship 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 masochistic, 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 fucking cliché,” Tracy had said. It made Evie sick to think how shitty 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 friendships 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 passing 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 friendships 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 cocktail 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 assembled 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 hell 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 wineglasses 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 résumé
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 damn 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.”