Magic (13 page)

Gregorio was shocked by the news. “Is Valerie going with you, and you're taking the children?”

“No, they're all staying here. I'm going to commute for a year. We'll see how it works.”

“That sounds difficult,” Gregorio said seriously.

“I'm sure it will be,” Jean-Philippe said, while trying to maintain an upbeat attitude.

“I have a baby girl now, you know,” Gregorio said proudly. “We almost lost her. She's very small, but she's going to be all right.” At least he hoped so, and it might be years before they knew for sure. “She had a brother, and we lost him.” He sounded shaken by all he'd been through, and not the carefree Gregorio of the past.

“I know. I'm sorry,” Jean-Philippe said sympathetically, but he needed to get back to work, and Gregorio appeared to have nothing to do and wanted to talk.

“Email me sometime. I'd love to hear from you,” Gregorio said, reaching out as though Jean-Philippe were his last friend, which might be true. “Let me know when you're back in Europe. We'd love to see you.” Except the “we” he was talking about included Anya, and Jean-Philippe had no intention of seeing her. His loyalties were to Gregorio's ex-wife, not to his girlfriend.

They hung up a few minutes later, and all Jean-Philippe could think of was what a loser Gregorio was, and what a fool and bastard he had been. And he didn't blame Benedetta a bit for what she'd done. No one did.

The following week Anya and Gregorio left the hospital with the baby, three months to the day from when she'd been born, and a week after Anya's original due date. As they walked into the September sunshine, Gregorio's heart ached remembering the baby boy who should have been going home with them too. Dressed in a little white dress, a pink sweater, and a knit cap, and wrapped in a matching blanket, Claudia looked perfect, and they went back to the George V with the nurse. They had taken an additional suite for them, and planned to spend a few days there before they went back to Rome.

Anya called three or four of her modeling friends that afternoon, and asked if they wanted to come to the hotel to visit. They were all going to a party at Le Baron that night, which was Anya's favorite discothèque. She was disappointed that they were busy, and she looked mournful when they ordered room service and Gregorio turned on the TV. This was not how she had envisioned their first night of liberty. They were free at last, and Gregorio didn't even want to go out to dinner. He just wanted to stay at the hotel with the baby. He fell asleep in front of the TV, and Anya stood at the window, looking at people outside and feeling like she was in prison. She wanted to start modeling again soon, and to have some fun.

Her friends never had time to come to see her while they were there, and Gregorio's Parisian friends didn't return his calls. And three days later they left for Rome, feeling like outcasts, with their baby. Once they were back, he wanted to contact his friends in Milan and go to visit them. He missed his old life, his work, his home, his city, even his brothers. But as soon as he started calling people, he found that no one in Rome or Milan would return his calls either. After what he had done to Benedetta, he had become a social pariah. Feeling panicked, he flew to Milan to see his brothers and begged them to let him work with them. They reluctantly agreed, although they weren't happy with him, and his youngest brother wouldn't speak to him at all. But working with his family gave him an excuse to move back to Milan. He rented a beautiful apartment for them and told Anya when he went back to Rome.

Anya was excited at the prospect of getting runway work in Milan during Fashion Week. She hadn't worked in months and wanted to now, but two days after they got to Milan, her agent called to tell her that she had been canceled everywhere in Italy, and no designer would hire her for any show. Her agent had booked her instead for three shows during Fashion Week in Paris, and Anya was thrilled. She reported it to Gregorio immediately, and he looked shocked. He assumed that Benedetta's numerous supporters had blackballed Anya in Milan.

“You're going to Paris to work? What about me and the baby?” He had had no idea she would go away so soon.

“I'll only be gone a week or two.” She was nearly dancing around the room, she was so pleased to go to work again and see her friends.

Having the baby had changed both of them. All Gregorio wanted to do was stay home and spend time with her and the baby. But Anya was young, and now that the baby was out of danger, she wanted to get out and live again. And to her, that meant modeling in Paris or anywhere she could. She had told her agent to start booking her fully again, anywhere in the world.

The days before Fashion Week in Milan were painful for Gregorio. His brothers were still angry at him, his friends wouldn't see him. All he kept hearing about were Benedetta's victories with her new line, and Anya kept complaining that he didn't want to go out. She wanted to go to parties, and Gregorio told her they couldn't unless they wanted to make fools of themselves. And no one invited them anyway, which he didn't explain to her. Anya loved the baby, but she wasn't ready to give up living and become a recluse with him. She was relieved, and so was he, when she finally left for Paris. She was too young to stay locked up at home at night with him.

Shortly after his return to Milan, his brothers wanted him to talk to Benedetta to ask her to renew her contracts with their mills. But she wouldn't take his calls and only communicated with him through attorneys, about the divorce, and the dissolution of their business partnership. His brothers were upset because she was buying all her fabrics now from their competitors in France. It was costing her a fortune, but she refused to give Gregorio's family her business. And Gregorio's first assignment, once they brought him in to work with them, was to change her mind and convince her to use their mills again.

“I can't,” Gregorio told them miserably. “You don't understand. She wants nothing to do with any of us.” They had lost half the volume of their business from Benedetta canceling her account with them.

But despite the anger of his brothers, Gregorio was happy to be back in the fold, working with them, and living in Milan, even without friends. He had Anya and the baby now to console him for all he'd lost, and he would sit for hours at night with his infant daughter in his arms. Having her made up for everything.

He missed Anya while she was in Paris. She called him every day, but he was shocked when he saw paparazzi shots of her in nightclubs and at parties with other models and her friends. She was making up for lost time, after months of being trapped in the hospital with the babies and him. She needed to have fun again. And although Gregorio was happy being back in Milan, she found it oppressive, since she couldn't work there, and depressing being at home with him every night while he held the baby and took care of her. Paris was much more exciting, as she began leading her old life again.

Gregorio had a major argument with her on the phone one night. He'd seen her in the fashion press and on the Internet that morning, after she'd been at a big party the night before. She looked beautiful in the photographs, and as though she was having a great time. She looked half naked in what she was wearing, and there was a ring of men around her, as she danced wildly at Le Baron. And he assumed that she was drunk.

He had fallen in love with her in the hospital, when she had been serious and subdued, watching over their babies with him. But now the girl she had been when he met her had emerged again. He had been transformed into a father by all they'd been through, but Anya was just a beautiful young girl who wanted to have fun. He wanted to maintain and strengthen the bond they had formed in the hospital. He had left his wife for her, and lost his business. But the girl he had fallen in love with had disappeared. She was Anya the supermodel and party girl again. There was no sign of her being a mother. Tragedy and his love for her had not transformed her after all.

The day after Gregorio's argument with Anya on the phone, Benedetta had her big show in Milan to introduce her new line. She was nervous about it. She was showing stronger shapes, exciting colors, bolder designs, and innovative fabrics in the spring collection, and she had developed a whole new look, to mark the change in the company she had stripped to the ground and put back together again. And she had no idea how it would be received, or if it would be successful, and well reviewed by the critics.

She was backstage herself before the show just as she always was. And usually Gregorio was with her to support her. This was the first time he wasn't, and it felt strange doing it without him, but she kept telling herself she could. She just prayed that it would work. She had taken a major risk, by restructuring the company without Gregorio in a very short time.

Her cellphone rang backstage as she looked over the models for a last time. They were still sewing on some of the buttons and trims, which she had gotten from new sources as well, and the seamstresses were shortening several hems. A number of the models were pinned into their dresses. She answered her phone as she looked over the hair, makeup, and shoes. She had used a new shoe designer as well, since their old one was Gregorio's cousin.

“Yes?” she said, sounding distracted. It was Dharam, calling to wish her luck.

“Your show is going to be wonderful, Benedetta,” he said warmly. “I know it will.” He was calling from Delhi, and it was three and a half hours later for him. He had waited to call her at the last minute to give her a final boost, right before the models went out on the runway. He knew she had no time to talk. “I want to come to your next one,” he said hastily.

“You will. And thank you,” she said, grateful for his call. “I'll call you later.” And then she hung up. The music came up, the lights came on in the room, and the models strutted down the runway as Benedetta stood backstage, holding her breath. They went out one after the other, in a pounding rhythm, wearing her beautiful clothes, and twenty-five minutes later it was over. She had shown fifty-five looks and the applause was thunderous when it was over. She had orchestrated it all herself, and seen to every detail. Her talent was on full display, to the delight of everyone watching.

There was a pause, and then one of the stage managers signaled to her to go out on the runway too. This was the part she always hated, when she nearly ran to the end of the runway, took a quick bow, and went backstage again. But she knew that more than ever, this time she had to do it. The audience was waiting for her, buyers and journalists and the fashion press from around the world. She was wearing black jeans and a black sweater and ballerina flats, her work clothes at times like these, with her long straight dark hair loose down her back.

And as she came from behind the curtain onto the runway, everyone stood up, the entire room. She hadn't been prepared for that, as tears filled her eyes. A cheer rose from the crowd, applause and whistles, as they stamped their feet and called her name. They gave her a standing ovation, to celebrate what she'd done, but also to show their support. Everyone in the room knew what she'd been through, how hard she'd fought to survive and save her business from what could have been a deadly blow. Instead, she had stolen victory from the jaws of defeat. She had done it. She had won. Gregorio hadn't destroyed her. She reached the end of the runway with tears rolling down her cheeks, and a broad smile for all her supporters. They were there for her, and she wanted to kiss each one of them and thank them, as she waved and ran behind the curtain again. It was a total win for her, and the line. It had been a perfect night.

There were parties that night all over Milan to celebrate Fashion Week, but Benedetta went home. She wanted to savor the moment, and Dharam called her again to congratulate her. He had seen it on the Internet in video.

“The clothes were spectacular, Benedetta. I was so proud of you!” She had been proud of herself too. She hadn't let Gregorio crush her business or her spirit. She had fought back with all the strength she had.

“I can't wait till you see it live next time,” she said, walking around her living room, unwinding from the tension of the past few weeks.

“Neither can I. You have to come to India for inspiration. There is so much beauty here, you would love it.”

“I'd like to see it sometime.”

“You will,” he promised her. “I'll see you in a few weeks.” They hung up then, and Benedetta grinned as she walked into her bedroom, lay on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. What a fabulous night it had been!

P
aris Fashion Week was even crazier than Milan. It always was. It was bigger, there were more French designers, and it was the lineup everyone waited for. Valerie and her editor-in-chief were in the front row at every show, as well as the principal editors of American
Vogue,
who flew over just for that. The pressure was huge on the designers, and Valerie had to run from one show to the next, observing them all. But she remembered to send Benedetta flowers to congratulate her on her spectacular show in Milan. People were still talking about it and what a victory it was.

As usual, Valerie hardly saw Jean-Philippe that week. She left the house at eight in the morning, and rarely came home before two
A.M.
And the hardship about it this time was that he was leaving at the end of the week, and she didn't have a minute to spend with him. But he understood. This was her job. And this very craziness, and her part in it, was why she wasn't moving to Beijing.

Jean-Philippe was leaving on Saturday, and had lots to do that week, getting ready. He had video conferences and a dozen meetings by Skype to prepare for his new job. And he had mountains of files and research to read before he arrived. He was hoping to do some of it on the long flight.

Just before noon on Friday, Valerie got a call from Beaumont-Sevigny, a major investor in mid-priced clothing companies with a golden reputation, and they wanted a meeting with her before their top executives flew back to the States that night. She canceled her lunch date with the editors of American
Vogue,
and managed to spend an hour with the CEO of the company and their whole creative team. They offered her a sizable retainer to consult with them, on a regular basis, which was something she was allowed to do at
Vogue.
Usually only senior editors got these offers, which were very lucrative, and supplemented their salaries from the magazine. She was in shock when she left the meeting, after she heard their offer. They wanted her to commit three days a month to them, along with giving them her advice on the direction of clothing lines, her expertise about silhouette, proportion, color, fabrics, trends, and putting on presentations. They wanted to pay her twice her annual salary at
Vogue,
and it suddenly helped to justify not going to Beijing with Jean-Philippe. Clearly, she was destined to stay in Paris, at the hub of the world of fashion design. She told Jean-Philippe about it that night. Even he was impressed, and very proud of her.

“That's fantastic,” he said, genuinely thrilled. She explained what they wanted her to do, and she knew she could do it for them with ease.

“When do you start?” he asked her.

“Next week.” It was like a dream come true, and she chattered to him about it that night until they both fell asleep. And when they woke up in the morning, Valerie suddenly felt as though a wrecking ball had fallen on her heart. She remembered what the day was. Jean-Philippe was leaving for Beijing. It had finally come, after months of talking about it and struggling with the decision. And now she felt sick at the thought of his going, but she knew more than ever that it was right for her to stay, especially with the offer she'd gotten the day before. She had serious, valid professional reasons for being here, and she was being paid well. Her husband couldn't argue with that.

She and the children had lunch with Jean-Philippe at home. The children had helped make a cake for him, and sang a song about how much they loved him. And Valerie took a video of it with his phone, so he would have it with him. There were tears in his eyes when he kissed them and his wife. With all she had done that week, she had managed to practice the song with them.

At four o'clock they left for the airport, and the children went with them. They could only take him as far as security. And they lingered after he checked in, and then walked him to the security lines. He kissed Valerie hard on the mouth and held her tight.

“I'll be home soon,” he whispered to her, while his daughter complained.

“You're squeezing Mommy too hard. You're not supposed to do that.” They were always scolding Jean-Louis for doing that to her.

They all kissed him and hugged him, they'd had a nice day together, and then the moment came when he couldn't wait any longer and he had to leave them so as not to miss his plane. He kissed Valerie one last time, hugged the kids again, and then entered the security area, and waved at them until he went through to the other side and disappeared. The children all looked sad when they couldn't see him anymore.

“I want him to come back,” Isabelle said, crying.

“He can't, silly, he'll miss his plane,” Jean-Louis scolded her, and Damien just sat in his stroller, sucking his thumb and looking sad. Valerie got them all to the garage, and put the stroller in the trunk with some difficulty, got Isabelle and Damien into their car seats, and Jean-Louis between them in his seat belt. She tried to get them to sing on the way home, but none of them were in the mood, and neither was she. It felt like a day of mourning once he left, and she wondered now with a wave of panic if she had done the right thing, not going with him. What if her staying in Paris destroyed their marriage? It was a distinct possibility. But giving up her career and moving to Beijing might have destroyed it too, and was too big a sacrifice for her.

He called her on her cellphone before they left the garage, and she pulled over to talk to him, then passed the phone to each of the kids. He was in the first-class lounge waiting to board. And then she talked to him again.

“I love you…I'm sorry I'm not going.” He could hear that she was crying and was touched.

“It's the right thing for you,” he said, trying to reassure her. “We'll make this work.” He hoped he was telling her the truth.

“Thank you for being understanding about it,” she said softly.

“You too, for letting me try it in Beijing.” They were both doing what they needed to do, but sadly not with each other. Their respective needs were in conflict, and there had been no other way to resolve it. He had to get off the phone then to board, and she drove the children back to the city, and made dinner for them, gave them their baths, and put them to bed. And then lay on the bed she had shared with him only that morning, and felt a wave of sadness overwhelm her. The next two months without him were going to seem endless. And she had done something she had never thought herself capable of. She had sacrificed her marriage for her work. It was a painful realization, and she cried herself to sleep that night.

When Jean-Philippe arrived at Beijing Capital International Airport eleven hours later, the translator who had been hired for him was waiting to take him to his apartment. It was a temporary apartment for arriving employees until they got settled, and since he was alone, he had said it was good enough for him. It was on Financial Street in Haidian in West Beijing, where many foreigners lived, in a modern building that reminded him of some of the uglier high-rises in other cities. But the apartment was neat, sparsely furnished, and clean, and someone had left a modest amount of food in the refrigerator. He had the odd feeling of suddenly being hurled back into his bachelor days, or a flat he'd shared with three other men when he was in graduate school and did an exchange program for several months at NYU.

Nothing about the apartment, the building, or the neighborhood was pretty, and he had been aware of a heavy fog of pollution hanging over the city. And between the polluted air and the depressing surroundings, it suddenly hit him how dreary it was going to be being there without his family or anything even remotely familiar. He had brought photographs of Valerie and the children and set them on his desk immediately, as though that would instantly improve the unattractive apartment. But all it did was make him feel lonelier and wonder why he had thought that it would be a good idea to come here. The main reason he had done it was as a career move that would benefit all of them. He could see why his predecessor's wife had gone home, and he was suddenly glad he hadn't brought Valerie with him. She would have hated it even more than he did.

He called her that night, after settling in and unpacking. His translator had gone home when he decided not to go out. Instead he hard-boiled some eggs and made toast, drank a glass of orange juice, and decided to go to bed early. Valerie asked him what the apartment was like, and he didn't have the heart to tell her so he said it was all right, but she could tell from his tone that he wasn't happy, and by the end of the conversation how glad he was, for her, that she hadn't come. “It's pretty basic,” he said about the apartment, which was a vast understatement. What it was most of all was ugly. Everything was poorly made and purely functional, like a cheap motel, and the bed was desperately uncomfortable when he lay down, but he finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

He got up at six o'clock the next morning, and went to his office at nine after reading several newspapers online. A driver picked him up and drove him through highly populated areas, and then to what looked like a business district, with cars cluttering the streets like cockroaches, belching exhaust fumes as they stalled in traffic.

There was nothing lovely about the city, from what he had seen so far, but he wanted to see the famous tourist attractions: the Forbidden City, the Great Wall, and the Terracotta Warriors and horses, when he had time to take the train there. It was a two-day train trip to Xian in Shaanxi Province and back. But first he had to familiarize himself with the office and the people in it. But the year loomed ahead of him like an obstacle course, as he longed for his first trip home to see Valerie and the children. He felt like a homesick kid at camp. But by midmorning he was engrossed in what he was doing. They had several major deal proposals on the table, and some very interesting mergers and acquisitions. It was why he had come, and he was relieved to plunge into his work, to distract himself from the loneliness he was feeling. And by eight o'clock that night, he was back in his apartment, eating a bowl of rice his cleaning person had left him, with something else he didn't recognize and was afraid to eat. Everything he touched, saw, heard, smelled, or dealt with was unfamiliar, and he wondered if he would ever feel at home here, or even at ease.

By the end of the first week, he had developed a routine of rising early, exercising, and working at home for two hours before he left for the office. And on Saturday he hired a tour guide to take him to the Forbidden City, and it was well worth it. It was as spectacular as he had been told it would be. He described it to Valerie on the phone that night. But she couldn't take long to talk to him since both Jean-Louis and Damien had stomach flu, and she had no nanny over the weekend to help her. Both their lives were suddenly more complicated by virtue of being separated and five thousand miles apart. And Jean-Philippe was sorry he wasn't there to help her. They said goodnight hastily, and he took a stack of files to bed and fell asleep while reading them. And he decided to call Chantal on Skype the next morning.

“So how is it?” she asked when she saw his image appear on the screen. He was wearing a sweater and blue jeans, and looked no different than he had when he was in Paris.

“Interesting,” he said, trying to be generous about it, and Chantal picked up how lonely he was from his tone of voice.

“Interesting good, or interesting you wish to hell you'd never done it?”

“A little of both.” He laughed at the question. “Unfamiliar mostly. And very strange to be somewhere where I don't speak the language. No one speaks English or French here. I'd be lost if they hadn't hired me a translator. But mostly it's weird being here, and I miss Valerie and the children.”

“I'm sure she misses you too. This is going to be a year you'll both remember, and maybe not so fondly.”

“So how's your romance? Cheer me up and tell me what's going on in your life.”

“Not much. I'm finally finishing my script at the moment, and I just signed a contract to do a new one. I haven't started it yet. And I'm having a good time with Xavier. We went to an antique fair this weekend and the Musée d'Orsay. We're just having fun together.” She smiled as she said it, and looked happy.

“Are you still crazy about him?”

“More than ever. He's such a terrific person. And I love his brother and sister-in-law. We had dinner with them a few days ago. We really enjoy each other.” He was pleased it was going well for her. She deserved it after so many years alone. And she seemed more excited about life since she'd met Xavier.

They talked for a little while longer, and then Chantal said she had to get ready to meet the producer of the new project. They signed off on Skype, and Jean-Philippe found himself alone again. Although his days were full at the office, his nights were long and dreary. Once he got back to his apartment at night, he realized how much he missed Valerie. He had already decided that this was the worst idea he'd ever had. And now they just had to get through it, on sheer grit if he had to, but he had to live with his decision. He just hoped that he would make a ton of money to compensate for it. It was the only possible justification he could think of for the loneliness and misery he was enduring. His year in China had only just begun, and all he prayed for now was that the time would pass quickly, the money would be worth it, and it didn't kill his marriage.