by Lily Foster
“Run it, like, how?”
“You’d be managing the staff schedules, overseeing the orders, coordinating deliveries.”
“Of course I’ll be handling all the landscaping clients,” Alex said, “but I’ll need you to be my point person on that too, taking phone calls and setting up my appointments.”
“Full-time?”
Alex shook his head. “It can’t interfere with school. But I know you were only taking nine credits this semester.” That’s all I would take because Kasia had been footing the bill and NYU full-time tuition was a fortune. “If you keep that schedule then I think this can work—if you’re willing.”
Before I could answer, Henry butted in. “And one of our tenants is leaving at the end of the month. That apartment is yours.”
Henry bought the building their shop was located in with an inheritance from his parents. The apartment would be right upstairs. I was already going to say yes, I’d never say no to these two, but now I was one hundred percent on board.
Alex sweetened the pot. “And in addition to your salary, we’re taking over your tuition.” When I went to protest, Alex raised his palm to me. “That’s non-negotiable.”
When God shuts a door, he opens a window.
I needed a place to live and now I had one. I needed some purpose, a job that was important, and one was just handed to me. My mother, who they still spoke of with love in their hearts, had abandoned me, but it no longer mattered. I was surrounded with the love and security of family.
One year later…
I pumped in and out of Lara leisurely, appreciating her smooth skin and the way her lips parted when she sighed in pleasure. She was a great lay, and a diversion that I sorely needed. And best of all she was married, so she wasn’t looking for anything more than the occasional excitement required to make her otherwise dull and predictable life bearable.
I’d been to Zurich five times in the past year, which is four times more than I’d usually stop over to check in on my interests here. I need to fuck like other guys need to breathe. That had never changed. And I wasn’t about to be dating in New York. For one, I didn’t want Cecilia opening up Page Six to see a picture of me with some other woman on my arm. Even after separating she was all full steam ahead with misguided plans for a reconciliation. She begged me to try couples counseling—no thank you. She enlisted our friends to intervene—as if a call from Tripp Parker or Samantha Paulson would help me to see her in a better light. She even kept up her routine of lunching with both my mother and her mother once a month, even though this made Margot incredibly uncomfortable. But the primary reason I wasn’t looking for anything more than getting off had to do with one person in particular. She had long dark hair, a wounded heart, and a body I lusted for to the point that it shamed me.
So I stayed far away. During my last trip I left Zurich for Dublin, where I had the very willing wife of a colleague who was always happy to see me, and then flew on to Paris, where basically anyone would cheat on their husband because he was certainly cheating on her.
Life was good, I told myself. Good enough.
Some friendships ended, and I was all right with that. With the exception of Melanie, I drifted away from that group. None of those people ever held a candle to my hometown friends or the close friends I’d made in college. And that arrangement worked best for Cecilia; she had plenty of shoulders to cry on. I repaired my friendship with Tom, which took all of one phone call, and I drew closer to other old friends, the ones who weren’t part of my life as a married man.
The divorce should be finalized any day now. It was uncontested, so I’m told the process is relatively quick. And Cecilia has given me every indication that she’ll walk away quietly with her fifty million dollar settlement. She’d be a fool to make waves. We didn’t make it close to a ten year anniversary, our union produced no children, and I had proof that she was fucking around behind my back. It was almost comical that given the number of sexual flings I was guilty of initiating, I’d wager Cecilia didn’t have one iota of proof to nail me with. My secretaries arranged my meetings with women like Lara. There was no phone trail, I didn’t email, I never traipsed around in public with my women, and I insisted on putting cell phones into my hotel suite safe the moment they walked in the door. There were no pictures or proof of any kind, only hearsay and rumors. And in a court of law that’s worth less than dogshit.
At least there was only one divorce proceeding in the Cole family to entertain the masses. I was secretly relieved that my father came to his senses sometime around New Year’s and dropped his thirty-something-year-old plaything.
My mother didn’t invite him to Christmas at her place in Sag Harbor and maybe that was a wake-up call for his sixty-year-old ass. It was her brother Todd, my cousin Anna with Declan and their new baby, Millie Dalton and her girlfriend, and then several of Mother’s new friends. It was a pot-luck dinner—unheard of for Margot—that had more vegan options than was necessary. Most of the guests were dressed in flowy skirts, including one of the guys who introduced himself as a performance artist. The after dinner entertainment was a live music session with people playing everything from the flute to the sitar. It was freaky and weird and pretty fantastic, seeing this new independent and enlightened Margot.
I made a point to call my dad when the wine had kicked in for most of the partygoers. His house sounded like a mausoleum in the background, while Margot’s home was filled with people and laughter. He paused midsentence when he heard a man strumming on a guitar call out, “Get back in here, Margot, it’s time for a duet!” I’m sure my father was thinking the same thing that I was at that moment: Margot sings?
“Wait a second,” my father stalled when I was looking to end the call. And I couldn’t make a sound then, because I was in awe listening to my mother sing Leaving on a Jet Plane in perfect harmony with her new friend Manny. Her voice was clear and pure. She was confident singing and so damn good. This was a woman I didn’t know. And the words, I imagine they were hitting my dad like a freight train. You could interpret the lyrics as a final goodbye or a wish to have someone’s love back again. Hold me like you’ll never let me go—was she singing to Vince or to this new guy? I’m sure my father was wondering just that when he broke into my bliss and asked, “Who is she singing with?” When I didn’t answer, he barked, “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know, Ma—”
My father cut in. “Is it Jesse?”
“No, Manny I think.” Who’s Jesse?
When he heard Anna start to whoop in the background, he asked, “What’s happening?”
I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease the old man. “Oh, so now you want a play by play?” In awe, I looked over at my mother. Her chords were simple, but hell, I’d never seen the woman even pick up an instrument. “She’s, uh, playing guitar.”
“Hmm.”
As she sang the closing words, Oh Babe I hate to go, I got angry on her behalf and decided to twist the knife. “What are you and what’s-her-name doing today?”
“I’m home by myself, Dylan.”
Serves you right, asshole, was my initial reaction, but I did soften at his words. It was hard to envision him in that big house all alone. He was probably sitting in his home office sipping on a glass of scotch, the sound of the ice cubes rattling in the crystal tumbler echoing off the walls. Don’t get me wrong, the place is special to me, but it’s huge. Back in the day, I loved it when my parents went out of town. I threw so many rowdy parties in that house that I’m surprised it’s still standing—I didn’t mind being left on my own. But I imagine that for my father, closing in on sixty-two and being hit with the reality that he might have truly lost my mother, his partner for over thirty-five years, today was hard. He deserved to feel lonely, it did serve him right, but I did love the man. And I think there’s a kid in all of us, one who will always want his parents to be together—happily ever after and all that crap.
“Did you even bother to put up a tree
?”
He cleared his throat. “The housekeepers do all that.”
“If Mom knew you were alone, I’m sure she would have included you.”
In a rare show of weakness, he countered, “I did drop a few hints.”
“You can push a person too far sometimes, Dad. I should know.”
There was silence on his end for a few moments before he said, “Enjoy the rest of the holiday, Dylan. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
“Tell your mother I said Merry Christmas.”
“Hang on, you can tell her yourself, she’s right here,” I said as I passed the phone to my mother. She shot me a death glare as she took the phone. She took a breath and then pasted a smile on her face when she said hello. My father must have had his A-game going, because Margot was smiling wistfully within a minute, sinking into an armchair in a room off to the side of the kitchen.
“Who’s on the phone with Margot?”
Anna had Mason on her hip, and when his hands reached out for me to take him, I’m sure my smile stretched a mile. This pudgy, drooling little pile of poop was my favorite person on the planet. I never realized how a simple smile from a baby could magically turn a person from moody to ecstatic within the blink of an eye.
“Earth to Dylan.”
“Come here, young Dylan.”
“It’s Mason, you tool. You’re gonna confuse him.”
I sighed, teasing, “He’s going to have to rise above that name.” In truth, I liked the name Mason Banks. It was formidable. I could already see this kid dressed in a pint-sized suit, barking orders into the phone, his desk next to mine, being groomed to take over Cole Industries.
I looked back to Anna, rolling my eyes. “I think Vince is trying to win back his woman.”
Anna clapped her hands and smiled. “Really? I mean, I still want to damage his face but,” she paused, scrunching up her nose as she looked over to Mother’s duet partner, who was now twisting his long gray hair up into a man-bun, “I do really love Margot and Vince together.”
“Not if he’s just looking to go back to the way things were.”
“You’re right. But I’m kind of thinking he’s learned his lesson.”
“Have you spoken to my dad?”
She nodded and smiled. “I took Mason by the house last weekend when I was up in Connecticut to see my mom. He loves babies. I could barely pry Mason out of his arms when it was time to go.” She took a sip of her wine, the smile now faded. “He’s really sad, Dylan. I was angry at him for a long time, especially after I met that bitch.” She winced, holding her hands over Mason’s ears one syllable too late.
“You met her?”
“It’s not like I got a formal introduction or anything, it was more like an ambush on my part. Declan and I were out for dinner…It was right around the time your mom left.” Shaking her head, she said, “Vince is such a dumbass sometimes…Can you believe he took her to that tapas place right down the block from their apartment? I mean, your mom could have walked in to see the two of them cozied up in that back booth!”
“Yeah, he’s getting careless in his old age.”
Anna’s dad came over and took Mason, telling us there were rabbits in the backyard. Which was a good thing, as Anna was about to let it fly. She wasn’t even listening to me as I tried to change the subject. I didn’t want to hear about my dad’s mistress, otherwise known as Allison. The name alone gave me heartburn. But Anna’s face was twisted, like she was fully back in that moment.
“Do you know that stupid twat introduced herself to me, calling me by name? How the fuck did she know my name? It’s like Vince had showed her family pictures or something.”
Oh, this ought to be good. I could picture Anna. The girl was not stuck-up or haughty, but damn, she could cut someone down with just one look—no different than if she was wielding a sharp axe. “What did you do?”
She laughed. “I looked her up and down, made a face like I smelled some bad fish, and then I told Vince he was a colossal disappointment.”
I love Anna. “Holy crap! You used those words?”
She nodded, offended. “He is! Aunt Margot is the best woman I know and he’s acting like a fool, falling all over himself for some girl my age. And she’s not even that good looking.”
“I think that’s what actually bothered my mother the most.” I answered Anna’s confused look, “He’s got a type. He likes them young, blond,” raising my eyebrows, I added, “great assets. This woman is plain in comparison to what he normally goes for. It wasn’t just sex.”
She was looking down at her shoes. “So she thinks Vince really has feelings for this one.” After a pause she looked over towards her husband and added, “That hurts.”
I’ve caused so much pain for the women in my life over the years. Why is it that when I’m the one doing it, in the moment that it’s happening I don’t even notice or care? But witnessing another person hurting because of what some other guy has done can crush me, make me feel like my heart’s breaking for them.
“I mean, he’s calling your mom…Do you think maybe he’s done with this girl?”
I had Rupert keeping tabs on him since all this began. I practically knew the exact time my dad took a crap every morning. “She flew out to Napa with him last month but flew home alone on a commercial flight.”
Anna raised her glass of wine halfheartedly. “Here’s hoping.”
I shook my head because I wasn’t entirely sure my parents belonged together anymore. “It’ll work out the way it’s supposed to. As long as I know my mother can be happy without him in her life, then I’m okay with however this plays out.”
“What about Vince?”
“I hope he’s happy.” I really did. “And I don’t mean that to sound bitter, because I’m not. I mean, if they get married there’s no fucking way I’m attending the wedding, and I’m never, ever speaking to the bitch—”
“Noooo…You’re not bitter,” Anna teased, laughing.
I shrugged. “My allegiance lies with Margot.”
With that, Margot walked over and handed me my phone.
“All good?” I asked.
She tilted her head to the side, considering my question. Nodding, she said, “We had a nice conversation, but,” she shrugged, her expression now pained, “I feel bad he’s alone on Christmas.”
“That’s on him…Actions have consequences.”
“They do.”
“Mom, who’s Jesse?”
Her eyes were saucers. “What?”
I turned to grab a chocolate-chip cookie from a tray on the table marked gluten free. Taking a bite, stalling, I conceded that it actually tasted good.
My mother knew what I was doing, so she was laughing as she poked me in the ribs and asked, “Where did you hear the name Jesse?”
Anna’s eyes were bright with mischief now. “Is he an old flame, Margot?”
“Dylan,” she pleaded with me for an explanation.
“Dad heard you singing that duet and he wanted to know who the guy was. He actually sounded like a jealous lunatic for a second there.” I did an imitation of my dad in frantic mode. “Who is it, is his name Jesse?” My mom was actually giggling. “And kudos, by the way…I never knew you could sing like that, or play the freaking guitar? I kind of feel cheated right now.”
“I don’t sing all that well,” she demurred. “And my guitar skills are amateur at best. But,” she smiled, looking around at the odd cast of characters assembled in her living room, “I do enjoy it.”
Anna shook her head. “No, Margot, your voice is really beautiful.”
“Thanks. I started singing in the choir out here.”
“That’s great,” we said in unison.
“It is.” Taking in her surroundings, she said, “I needed this. I needed to get away from that life…the society luncheons, the charity event hypocrisy, the servants—”
“You clean this place yourself?” I was legitimately stunned.
�
�Yes!” she nodded emphatically. “And I actually enjoy doing it—it’s cathartic. And I appreciate that everything in this house isn’t perfect. I like the imperfections in the wood flooring, the outdated kitchen, the rickety door on the screen porch. Life is simpler here. I bike to the farmer’s market, I host yoga classes in my backyard, I eat dinner among friends…I’m not lonely.”
“Do you miss Dad at all?”
I guess I sounded like a forlorn little kid when I said that because she looked at me with sympathy and squeezed my hand. “Of course I do, Dylan.” She nodded in the direction of her guests but kept her gaze on me. “These people are my friends, but your father is my life.” Before the next question left my lips, she cut me off. “And no, I don’t know what the future holds for us.”
Anna nudged her. “And I guess you won’t be telling us who Jesse is?”
She smiled over her shoulder as she walked away from us. “Nope.”
I stuck around for a few days because, well, because I had nothing better to do before Caleb and Rene’s annual New Year’s Eve bash. Sunday morning I tagged along to twelve-o’clock Mass at St. Andrew’s. I guess I wasn’t entirely surprised to see Vince slide into the pew next to me a few minutes before the offertory hymn began. Mom noticed him, I’m sure, and I was at a fist-pumping level of happiness when the Mass ended and the guitarist in the small folk group choir was practically falling all over Margot, complimenting her on her solo rendition of Here I Am, Lord. For once, Margot was the main attraction and Vince stood by as an outsider. I was lovin’ it. Dad invited us to lunch afterwards, but I declined. My mother knew I was lying when I said I had to get back to the city pronto, but she didn’t say anything. I think she wanted to be alone with him. It was time.
To My Darling Wife.
There are three arrangements I’m responsible for making each week with that same tired message, all delivered to the swankiest buildings on the Upper East Side. It used to be four. The one that went to the West Side, to the San Remo? That order was cancelled nearly a year ago, the weekly residential delivery dropped.