The Suite Life (32 page)

By this time it was hard to even recognize him as the same man who had courted me so extravagantly, who had constantly told me how beautiful I was, and who had showered me with gifts and attention. I suppose the warning signs had been there in his relentless drive to reach the top, the confessions he'd made about the “favors” he did for clients, and in his giant appetites. But those had been overridden by his generosity and kindness toward me, and I could never have imagined that he would turn into the man with whom I now found myself sharing my life.

The question I kept asking myself over and over—with no satisfactory answer—was whether the price of staying in my marriage would be greater than the cost of breaking free. And, either way, how much was I willing to pay?

I did the best I could to accept being alone most of the time. I went about my work and took care of my charitable responsibilities. I chauffeured my daughter around, cobbled together dinners from local restaurants, which I served on fine china, and presented a tidy Isabella to her father every morning and evening to say hello and good-bye.

The irony was, with all the practice I'd had at being on my own and alone for most of my life, I wasn't getting any better at living like that. I was never resigned to being a refugee, which I'd been more often than not from birth, and I wasn't about to start.

As it turned out, the environmental effect of the dust and debris downtown after 9/11 was more severe than anyone had thought it would be.
A Gay Day
had to be postponed, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing because I'd have more time to keep working on my notes. We'd debut during the Easter holiday, and that time of resurrection seemed perfect in more than one way.

The same could not, however, be said of my living arrangements, as one month in exile in Brooklyn turned into four. I did
my duty and got by, and I cherished the positive reinforcement I received most days from my daughter and from my work. Marvin and Gregory were delightful, while Mary patted me on the back at every turn and never seemed condescending even when she was advising or correcting me.

Sadly, Alec didn't want anything to do with my new friends, didn't even want to hear about them. He said they were crazy, and I didn't get into what did or didn't define crazy for him. I was sorry I'd caught him on a good day when I invited him to an informal play reading, because, once he got there, he made no effort to hide his disdain for the gay lifestyle in general or for Marvin and Gregory in particular. I didn't know whether to chalk that up to Alec-the-macho-homophobe, Alec-the-garden-variety-Republican, or Alec-the-disinterested-in-anything-Samantha.

One of the very few times Alec-the-romantic miraculously resurfaced was when he insisted on a special celebration for Valentine's Day, thus feeding the small flame of hope in me that was about to blow out. He laid on a big splash at the Plaza hotel that was to start for me with several hours at the spa. Of course, concierge Caryn handled all of the arrangements and met me there in midafternoon. After making certain that everything for my pampering was in order, she told me to enjoy myself while she went about seeing to the other details of our stay.

Never had I needed a top-of-the-line spa treatment and the quiet time to ponder more than I did on that day. During my massages and mudpacks, I replayed in my mind the five years since I'd met Alec and took stock of my life.

The years of poverty between leaving Tony Kroon behind and meeting Alec DeMarco had flown by before I knew it, and the years since the latter seemed like a month. My handsome bear of a Prince Charming had come along to rescue me from the humdrum, dead-end life I'd been living and introduced me
to a vast array of material pleasures as well as an equally vast array of luminaries who wore their power like a fashion label. Without him I wouldn't have my beautiful daughter who gave me the chance to set some things right. I couldn't deny that I had the best of everything at my fingertips, and I had no doubt that the riches would continue to flow as Alec kept raking in—and spending—enormous sums of money. The way he talked about some very powerful people, including Grigor Malchek, who made many, many millions of dollars as the head of the stock exchange, and Senator Ross, who, with the help of his brother's millions, was now being mentioned for governor of New York, and the hints he dropped about the skeletons they had in their closets meant that he was at the top of his game and the “trophies” would keep on coming.

As my makeup was being applied following my facial, it struck me that cosmetics covered blemishes in much the same way that wealth and power covered the gaping holes in people's lives—surface interactions instead of real connections, hollow striving for the next best thing and the best invitations, gray-area business deals done behind closed doors by ravenous sharks who didn't care who got eaten up along the way—or the strippers and hookers who were always around to help everyone feel good.

I could only hope that the man I thought I'd met, the one who spoke from the heart about family and love, was still there somewhere and that I'd somehow find him again.

Ever-efficient Caryn showed up just as I was finished and took me by the hand to the elevator bank.

“Top-floor suite,” she said, pressing the button. “You know Alec—nothing but the best.”

She opened one of the double doors to the suite and escorted me onto the raised marble foyer. “Make yourself at home, Samantha. Alec said he'd be over as soon as he could clear his
desk, but you know how Thursdays are. If you need anything, I'm on my cell around the clock.”

Nothing but the best.

I stood for a moment when the door closed behind her and surveyed the latest palace that had been set before me. There wasn't a thing out of place in the sunken living room, and the kitchenette, which I glimpsed beyond a large dining table to the left, looked as spotless as I assumed Martha Stewart's would be.

I made my way to the master bedroom on the right. It was no surprise to find my clothes hanging in the closet, which had been left open for proper inspection, but I have to admit that the red petals strewn about on the king-sized bed and the trail of red petals that led to the master bath left me catching my breath. I followed the trail, one slow step at a time, and pushed the door that was open halfway.

The light from a hundred red candles danced off the polished mirrors and gleaming tile, making each red petal that led to the whirlpool seem like a ruby. I took a few more steps to the end of the trail—a small white linen envelope and a bed of petals floating on clouds of bubbles that offered promise to a girl who so longed to rest a weary heart. I held the envelope for a long moment before sliding the note out and reading it.

Mi Amore,

Hope to make it there in time to share some “bubbly” with you before dinner.

A.

“Sorry I'm so late, Sam,” Alec said in a rush when he burst through the door at eight-thirty. “It was unavoidable.” He bent down to give me a hurried kiss and then looked me in the eyes. “You're beautiful,” he said, and walked away.

I watched from the couch as he slipped his jacket off and loosened his tie.

“At least the chef arrived on time,” he said with a nod toward the kitchen, where the personal chef arranged for by Caryn was hard at work. “C'mon, let's start eating.” He waved toward the table. “I'm starved.”

So am I.

Alec rambled on about the headaches of handling his father's estate and about the ins and outs of keeping Grigor Malchek happy, and got around to the forelock-tugging he'd had to do for him.

“You don't have to kiss anyone's ass, Alec,” I said.

“I do if I want to get where I want to go.”

“But where do you want to go? Don't we have enough?” I asked.

“No way,” Alec scoffed. “Not until I'm out on my own and call all the shots.”

“Speaking of shots,” I blurted, “do you think all the alcohol and other stuff you consume is really necessary?”

Some pauses are delicious; the one that hung over the table as I toyed with the black truffle linguine on my Waterford china plate was not.

“I can drink anyone under the table, Sam,” Alec said at last, his voice low but firm. “And out-party anyone.”

“You're preaching to the choir,” I said. “I'm just worried that the toll it's taking on your body isn't worth it.”

“I am fine,” Alec said, his voice rising, “and it won't. When I'm at work I'm all business.”

And all business when it comes to play.
“But for you entertaining is also work. Do you really need to entertain
so
much, Alec?” I asked.

“I get more done after the closing bell than I do during the day,” he said. “That's just the way it is, Sam.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I'm locking things up nice and tight. With Malchek's blessing I'll be able to get my bond trading company off the ground by the end of the year.”

“You never mentioned bonds before.”

“There's a killing waiting to be made now in real estate funds and investment mortgages, and I intend to get in on the ground floor.”

From a penthouse high atop the Luxe Regent.
“But do you really know enough about the real estate game to make your stand there?” I asked.
Other than collecting properties like I collect rosaries, that is.

“Bonds, stocks, real estate, it's all the same to me,” Alec said. “The structure of the deal, what's in it for me, is all that counts.”

Being responsible for several hundred thousand dollars, as I was producing a play, was more than enough for me. I couldn't even imagine what handling a billion dollars of other people's money must be like. “Don't your investors think the same way?” I asked.

“Sure they do,” Alec replied. “Everyone plays the game to win, and I wouldn't expect anything else. But if I structure things right everyone gets what they want.”

Really?
“I sure hope so.” I sighed.

“Listen, Sam—leave this stuff to me. You just concentrate on Isabella.”

“And the play, of course.” I smiled thinly.
Not to mention my book.

“Whatever you do is fine by me, as long as it doesn't take time away from the family,” Alec said. “And as long as you keep those fag friends of yours far away from me.”

I toyed with my food while Alec polished off a few more forkfuls of pasta in rapid succession.

“How's your wine?” he asked when he came up for air.

“Perfect, as usual.”

Alec smiled ear to ear, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen that jumbo grin. “Nothing but the best, Sam,” he drawled. “Nothing but the best.”

Alec's Valentine splash faded into history in a matter of days as he put me back into my box and went on to the next splash, the custom-designed limousine and full-time chauffeur Caryn had arranged. The limo had every conceivable appointment, including an espresso machine, a DVD player, a hidden stash box for drugs, and a mini toilet that I could never imagine using. God only knows what went on in that traveling office-cum-bachelor-pad when I wasn't there, which was most of the time, as Alec-the-toast-of-the-town squired clients to restaurants and shows and clubs.

With the able assistance of his new secretary, who, in addition to her routine duties booked the special services of high-priced “escorts,” and of Caryn, his trusty concierge, who juggled time and place, secured impossible reservations at the trendiest restaurants, and delivered last-minute gifts ranging from engraved Cartier pens to floor tickets for a Knicks home game, he maintained his steady rise on Wall Street. I didn't really mind, because I wasn't comfortable riding around in an extravagance that cost as much as a nice little vacation condo would have, and I didn't want to be privy to my husband's escort service, which I feared was as much in the gray area as the ones advertised in the Manhattan Yellow Pages. I had as little interest in porn and pot and pills on the road as I did at home.