Love and Miss Communication (26 page)

“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, nobody in the world has better taste than you. Remember the
Yale Daily News
photographed your dorm room sophomore 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 classroom—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 hell? 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 assaulted by perfume spritzers wishing them “happy new year” from behind scented clouds of gardenia, vanilla, and hibiscus. The assorted 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 pièce de résistance 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 glassware. “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 fiancé 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 petite 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 fiancé 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 Glasscock, 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. Glasscock?” 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.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Evie corrected him.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t remember that well,” he said. “Well, again, great to bump into you. I hope everything’s good.”

“So how long have you two been engaged?” she asked Emily, pretending to be oblivious to Luke’s curtness.

“Thirteen months. Long engagement, I know. But wedding planning is really hard work,” Emily said, as earnestly as humanly possible.

“I can imagine,” Evie responded, dripping with empathy.

She recognized the power she was holding. She could persist in the conversation with Luke and Emily, explain to this wide-eyed young girl with the sparkly ring that she met Luke just over seven months ago at his cousin’s wedding. Emily would go to sleep questioning how bizarre the interaction in Bloomingdale’s was, and wonder why her fiancé was so awkward and rushed. She’d wonder why Luke didn’t take
her
to the wedding.

“Anyway, we’ve got a few other stores to get to today, so we’ve got to go now,” Luke said, this time more firmly.

“Wait a second,” Evie said. She even reached for his arm to hold him in place. “There’s something I need to say.”

Luke looked like he might expire. She took great pleasure in watching him squirm. Emily sensed the tension in the air. She looked like she was bracing for what Evie would say.

“Yes?” Luke asked, timid as a tadpole.

Evie leaned in and signaled to Luke and Emily to come in closer. When they were huddled together in an unlikely trio, she could hear Luke’s labored breathing.

“The china pattern you guys are considering,” Evie said. “It’s gaudy. I would definitely consider something more elegant.”

Emily looked like she might burst into tears. If having her taste criticized was enough to make her cry, Evie wondered how she’d react to hearing her future husband was a cheat.

Luke smiled for the first time since running into Evie.

“She’s right, Emily. We really should reconsider.” Luke shot Evie a grateful look.

The couple stepped away to analyze different dishes as Caroline glided over to Evie.

“Who were those people?” she asked.

“Nobody important.” Evie thought to herself for a moment and added, “You know what is so weird, Care?”

“What’s that?” she asked, yawning.

“How you can obsess over something so much and concoct a million different scenarios in your head, and then when you discover the truth you realize you had no idea what was really going on, so fixating on it was just a big fat waste of time.”

Caroline yawned again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m beat. Forget the bureau plat. Let’s just go and make you beautiful.”

Caroline delivered on her promise to transform Evie for her date with Edward. After they finished furniture shopping, they headed straight to the European designer floor at Bergdorf. Evie winced at the prices of the clothes she was trying on, but Caroline waved her off.

“I’m going to rescind on my offer if I see you look at another tag.”

Evie settled on an elegant Christian Dior black cocktail dress. Despite her promise, she sneaked a glance and saw it was almost $3,000. For that same money, Evie had purchased velvet drapes, a leather love seat, a desk stained
to look like it was walnut, faux-silk lamp shades, a substantial desk blotter with matching pen set, and a wool throw blanket.

But once she tried it on, the dress almost seemed worth the exorbitant price. The fabric, a wool crepe, was the softest and most luxurious material to ever touch her skin. The fit was impeccable. Small silk bows were stitched atop the shoulders and at the bottom of the zipper, just at the base of her spine. The dress had a subtle sheen, the result of the meticulous weaving of iridescent silver threads. The Bergdorf dressing room was bathed in lavender and illuminated with soft, indirect lighting, and Evie suspected just about anyone would have a shot in there. The saleswoman had three stacks of shoe boxes brought over (Caroline appeared to be something of a Bergdorf VIP), from which Evie selected a pair of four-inch-high nude stilettos. After the salon worked her over, coiffing her hair into a falling tower of loose waves and penciling in eyebrow arches worthy of a design patent, Evie’s confidence was sky-high.

“You look unreal,” Caroline said, when they were back at Evie’s apartment. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of Evie. “Can I post this? I know you’re above computers these days, but surely you’ll allow me to broadcast this image.”

Evie shrugged. “Sure, if you want to,” she said. Not too long ago she would have been delighted to float this image into the digital universe. Hell, she would have taken a selfie. Now she was indifferent at best. She just wanted Edward to appreciate her.

“Okay, I’m going to split before he comes to get you.” Caroline grabbed her fur coat and buzzed Jorge. “You look gorgeous. Edward is going to pass out when you open the door.”

Evie hid her pleasure. “With my luck, he’s probably taking me skating. I’ll end up looking like an Ice Capade.”

“Stop the negativity, lady! You look too pretty to be pessimistic. It’s New Year’s. You’re going to have a great night.”

“Let’s hope so. I’m going to tell Edward about Jack tonight. I feel like it’s important, you know? I wanted to marry the guy, for crying out loud. I wish I’d just told Edward weeks ago, when he told me about Georgina. But he was in a rush, and I was still in shock over him asking me out. Now that I didn’t, it’s like this big thing that’s snowballing every day. It’ll at least explain the motivation for going off-line. Partially, anyway.”

“You should tell him about Jack,” Caroline said, pulling on a pair of sumptuous leather gloves. “And the Internet. You obviously want a future with Edward, so you have to be up front with him.”

“I know. I think I’ve been scared to say anything because it makes me look crazy—giving up a major means of communication because my ex got married. But it was more than that really. I felt like the whole world had voluntarily signed up to be on
Big Brother
. I couldn’t keep up. And I didn’t want to. Do you get it?”

“I do get it, though obviously I have not followed in your footsteps.” Caroline extended her palm with her iPhone balanced on it like a tray. “As for telling him about Jack, of course you should. It’s always a good idea to be up front about significant exes—or wives, in Jerome’s case.” She smiled sheepishly.

“I guess I’m also a little embarrassed. Like Edward will wonder why Jack didn’t want to marry me, especially because he married someone else so soon after. He’s going to think I’m so foolish—believing all of Jack’s no-marriage crap, wasting my time like I did.”

“Evie, Edward’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions. He’s not going to be influenced because someone out there, some guy that he doesn’t even know, didn’t want a happily ever after with you. I would hate to think you would break up with someone if you found out they had been dumped before.”

“Thanks. I know you’re right,” Evie said. The old Evie might have done just that very thing, ditched a perfectly good prospect
because someone else had deemed him unsuitable. “It’ll probably be like a five-minute conversation and then we’ll move on. I don’t even know what I’m so worried about.”

Caroline blew her a kiss and headed out the door. “Anyway, Evie love, thank you, thank you, thank you for your help. I hope you’ll come by tomorrow. Feel free to bring Edward.”

Feel free to bring Edward. That sounded nice.

Ten minutes later, her doorman called up to announce that Dr. Gold was downstairs. She told him she’d be right down, but the doorman said her guest would like to come up. Edward had never been to her apartment before. They always met in her lobby and ended their evenings at his place.

She propped her door slightly ajar and watched with glee as a beautiful bouquet of flowers was the first thing to poke into her apartment. At least three dozen white roses obscured Edward’s face. The blossoms were artfully assembled, long stemmed and thorn trimmed, tied with a heavy grosgrain ribbon.

“These are for you,” he said as he handed them off to Evie, adding with an adorable head bobble, “obviously.”

Evie motioned him inside, noticing a tiny bit of stubble on his jawline when they kissed. It made Evie think how much better off they’d be when they got ready together—she’d point out a patch of hair he’d missed and he’d zip up her dress. She’d remind him to take his phone, he’d help her with tricky jewelry clasps. Maybe her mother was right: it was a couples’ world.

Tonight Edward had replaced his usual horn-rimmed glasses with contacts. He was still a few inches taller than she was in her skyscraper heels. She was glad she had let Caroline make her over because Edward was looking his absolute best that night, in a black velvet blazer, suede loafers, and the darkest shade of indigo jeans. She thought she even detected the slightest hint of
hair gel, which gave away that he too had gone through extra effort for the night.

“The flowers are gorgeous,” she said, and leaned in to give him another kiss. His spicy aftershave wafted pleasurably into her nose.

She headed toward the makeshift bar area she had created in her kitchen and grabbed a vase for the roses.

“You look incredible,” he said. “That dress is really pretty.”

“Nice of you to notice,” Evie said. “My friend bought it for me, actually.”

“Nice friend,” he said. Evie kicked herself for telling him her friend bought her the dress. Why couldn’t she just accept the compliment without diminishing herself in the process?

“Yeah, well, I did her a big favor so I kind of earned it.”

“Being married to Georgina I learned a lot about fashion. Plus Olivia is already into shopping, even though she mostly wants sparkly princess costumes.” He rolled his eyes with a smile and Evie enjoyed seeing his parental pride surface even while he was technically complaining about his daughter. She brushed off the Georgina reference. If she was going to have a real future with Edward, it would mean hearing about Georgina from time to time. She’d just have to get used to it.

“Your apartment is amazing,” he said. “Not that I’m surprised. Just affirms my opinion you should start an interior design business. I know you thought I was crazy when I first said it, but you have real talent.”

“Thanks. I’ve actually had the chance to play decorator quite a bit recently. I guess I’m test-driving your career advice. It’s a far cry from being a lawyer, but a hell of a lot more enjoyable.”

“I told you so,” Edward said and gave Evie a warm shoulder squeeze. “I love the coffee table. It could be in a magazine.”

Evie beamed. Edward had singled out her favorite piece of furniture. Unable to find a coffee table that she liked in her price range, she had assembled one out of coffee-table books. Four stacks of neatly piled books about everything from religious iconography to modern architecture made up the base of her table. She topped the books with a heavy glass top from a table that had rested in her father’s home office in Baltimore.

Edward walked around her place, examining the furniture and the artwork closely. He approached her bedroom and turned back to Evie to ask, “May I peek?”

“I’ll show it to you later,” Evie said with a wink. She loved how flirting with Edward came so naturally to her. He made her feel sexy and desirable, giving her the confidence to say things that would ordinarily get stuck on her tongue.

“Sounds good to me,” Edward said and looked at his watch. “We should go. The place we’re going to is really popular. I don’t want them to give away our table.”

Evie was famished. She and Caroline only had time to scarf down some frozen yogurt during their shopping expedition.

“So we’re not going ice-skating?”

Edward looked at her curiously. “No, we’re not going ice-skating. What a strange question.”

“Never mind,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go.”

“We can walk. It’s only a few blocks away.” Edward put on his coat and helped Evie into hers.

She wondered where they were going, hoping it was the new Italian place on Amsterdam that was recently featured in
New York
magazine, which emitted the most heavenly garlic smell through its front door. She’d been dying to try it, but the tiny candlelit tables and soft music made her feel unwelcome as a single.

They walked several blocks south from her apartment, giggling
each time they passed a group of New Year’s Eve revelers in tiaras and oversize numerical sunglasses. Evie started telling Edward all about her adventures decorating Jerome’s office on a shoestring budget. She forgot all about the Italian place she hoped they were going to, which was in the other direction, and let herself be led by Edward, who was clasping her gloved hand.

“We’re here,” Edward said, putting his hand on Evie’s arm to halt her from walking. She was looking down at the street when they stopped and noticed that the rattan doormat at her feet seemed familiar.

“I hope you like French food. This place is supposedly the best on the Upper West Side. Have you been here? It’s called JAK.”

“It’s very good,” she whispered, her appetite, her confidence, and her enthusiasm vanishing simultaneously. Before she knew it, she was on the other side of the door, and cursing herself for not making an excuse for why they should go elsewhere. Not that they could have gotten in anywhere. Jack had once told her New Year’s Eve was the busiest night of the year for restaurants. In fact, she knew that to secure an 8:00
P.M
. reservation, Edward had to have arranged the dinner a month in advance. She wished she could have appreciated his foresight, but in the moment she was too wrapped up in the stress of her surroundings.

Once the restaurant door closed behind her, she might as well have stepped into a time capsule. The smell of brown butter and rosemary, which Evie knew came from Jack’s famous filet of sole preparation, thrust her olfactory sense into déjà vu. She was transported back to when she’d drink red wine at an empty table after midnight while Jack reviewed the evening with his staff. Jack would admonish her for putting her bare feet on the tablecloth; Evie would tease him that the crème brûlée was overly torched. Looking at Edward, all she could think was that they were both entering this relationship with a trolley full of baggage.

Their table wasn’t ready, so they stood at the crowded bar. She fixed her eyes on the glossy purple of the Montepulciano in her hand—anything to avoid looking around. Edward ordered himself a Scotch, neat, and if she weren’t so distracted, she would have taken the time to appreciate his taste in manly drinks. They strained to talk over the din, Evie doing her best to appear as normal and composed as possible. When they were finally seated, Evie was stressed their conversation was waning—a first for them, but she just couldn’t focus on anything Edward was saying. Fortunately the server came over right away to hand them menus. Evie used hers like a burka, hiding most of her face except for her eyes, which were darting around the room, looking for Jack. He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was at Degustation or Paris Spice for the night.

The waitress ran through the list of specials, not even glancing down at the pad in her hand once. Jack always insisted his waitstaff memorize the plats du jour.

“And finally,” the server said, “our master chef, Jack Kipling, is in residence, so if you have any special requests or questions about the menu, he is available to speak with you.”

So much for him being elsewhere. Please, please, please let nobody in this restaurant ask him any questions. Let him stay in the kitchen all night long, and maybe even burn his hand on a Crock-Pot.

“Should we meet the chef?” Edward asked. “Could be interesting. Maybe ask him to whip up some fantastic dessert for us.”

“Um, let’s not. I’m sure he’s busy.” Busy ruining my life, she added to herself.

“Okay then,” Edward said, looking a little disappointed. “Are you ready to order?”

“Let me give you two a moment,” the server said, perhaps registering Evie’s look of abject distress.

Evie was frustrated. It was a small matter, but she didn’t want to seem like a party pooper shooting down the suggestion of meeting the chef. She had planned to tell Edward about her relationship with Jack that night. Then she could ring in the New Year Jack-free—and with no significant parcels of her life story left untold to Edward. Was that so much to ask? Now, flustered and flailing at her ex’s restaurant, there was no way she could imagine getting through it.

Evie reviewed the menu. Many of the dishes were new, but her favorite appetizer and main course remained. They were among Jack’s specialties, and he’d often prepare them for her at his apartment, especially if she was feeling under the weather. That was one of the things she loved most about him. The way he could ignite her senses with his craft, waking her with the smell of freshly prepared waffles or drawing her to the kitchen with the sound of turkey bacon crackling in the pan. Jack said he liked to see the pleasure on her face while she ate his food. Maybe it was self-referential. More about feeding his ego than feeding her soul. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he just liked seeing her happy. And maybe that’s why he kept those items on the menu. Even Jack was subject to sentimentality.