by Saks, Tessa
“Well, maybe it should be,” Patty said with a laugh. “Look, this is your big chance. I want to make sure you rekindle that spark, that you remind him of the sexy times you used to have. And don’t forget the spice. Think like the enemy.”
“I will try my best. I’m so excited—I do feel like a newlywed.”
Patty laughed. “Somehow, Ellen dearest, that doesn’t surprise me. Just be sure to act like one. Remember: when you’re good, you’re good, but when you’re bad, you’re better.”
“I will … we will.” Bad? How could Patty consider such nonsense for her? She hung up and heard Weston approaching. “Put these in the car, please, and then bring Mr. Horvath’s luggage down from his room.”
“Yes, Mrs. Horvath,” Weston said before disappearing.
Ellen turned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wished she could erase all the lines, yet they were part of her, reminding her of the years of her life. Her road map. She thought of the other women who had had surgery, how they often ended up looking ridiculous, like caricatures of themselves. None of them looked natural. She couldn’t do that to herself. But this week, just this once, she wished she could appear beautiful and young. If only he could see me as I used to be, when he was attracted to me and couldn’t keep his hands off me.
She sighed and turned, glancing around her room, wondering if upon his return, Jonathan would once again share her bed, as he had long ago. Thoughts of him kissing her and saying he loved her filled her with anticipation about the task that lay ahead. It wouldn’t be easy, but like everything else in life, the things that matter most are rarely ever easy.
***
Horvath Industries sat in the heart of the garment district on West 38th Street in Manhattan and occupied six floors of a neoclassical limestone building and employed over two hundred people. This did not include the thousand employees at their factories in Long Island, Georgia, South Carolina and California. The business had started back in 1921, when Jonathan Horvath Senior returned home a WWI hero, full of ambition and military connections. Jonathan had grown up working for his father’s uniform factory and spent most of his time learning everything about the business—from ordering fabric to negotiating with retailers.
When Jonathan returned from his own war in 1946, with little training in anything else, he wanted a chance to run the business himself. His infamous father, Jonathan Horvath I, was losing the business because of gambling debts and lost military contracts. Jonathan knew how to turn it into a successful, large-scale enterprise. So he developed a plan to save it. But it needed a lot of money to get started, or rather, keep it going. The banks wouldn’t lend enough to cover both labor and fabric costs, so he approached Ellen’s Uncle George. Ellen wasn’t surprised when Uncle George lent him the money. He did owe her something, some compensation at least, for his … transgressions.
Soon, the failing uniform business turned into a thriving coat business. It wasn’t until the Vietnam War started that they returned to making uniforms, and that’s when things took off financially. By the mid-seventies, they started making private label activewear and sportswear as well. Ellen studied the crowds of pedestrians scurrying in front of her car, no doubt on their way to appointments with fabric vendors or trim houses. The loud hustle of the district surrounded her, as workers pushing rolling racks filled with plastic-covered garments crisscrossed among the trendy designers and students.
Ellen reached for the car phone in the bar and dialed Brianna’s new number. Ellen lost track of how many places Brianna had lived in, how many times she changed jobs. She seemed incapable of any sort of stability or commitment to either a man or a career. And the latest one—teaching meditation, writing, and doing yoga—meant she would never meet a decent man. A complete waste of time.
Ellen shook her head as the phone went to her answering machine. “Hi, Brianna. It’s Mother. I was hoping to say goodbye before we leave—”
“Hey …” Brianna’s voice cut in, sounding groggy. “Where are you going?”
“Barbados, remember? It’s our fortieth next Friday,” Ellen said. “Our second honeymoon.”
“I thought he wanted to leave you.” Her voice was icy and indifferent.
“Your father intends—”
“He intends to screw around on you again and again. God, Mother, face it.”
“Brianna, he’s your father.” Ellen strained to inhale the dense muggy air.
“He may be my father, but that doesn’t mean I respect him. I can’t stand what he does to you. How can you just sit back and ignore everything? It’s pathetic.”
You’re pathetic is what she actually meant, Ellen knew that. “Brianna, I … we’re working—” Ellen fought her need to argue, it would prove pointless as always. She pushed the button to unroll the car window partway. “How’s your new job? Do you think it’s one you can stick with for a while?”
“Honestly, Mother, you act like nothing’s wrong with your marriage. After this trip, he’ll be back with her, or another one. God, why won’t you just leave?”
“And give up on my marriage? You’re joking. You do not understand anything about—”
“Your marriage is the joke. Is it really worth saving?”
“How can you even ask that? Our marriage is blessed by God, and only God can end it. It’s the most important thing in my life.” Ellen opened the window all the way, breathing deep to slow her racing heart. The air was rank with garbage. She abruptly raised it. “Leave? That’s absurd.” Ellen turned on the fan. “You know what happens to women who leave their husbands.”
“Yeah, they get a life. They discover—”
“No, dear. Maybe in your world. In my world, women my age end up alone. Men of equal status and wealth don’t want them. Society discreetly shuns them until they are conveniently forgotten about. There they sit and age, until one day people ask, ‘Is she still alive? I thought she was dead.’ So you see, there isn’t a place for older, single women with no status.”
“Status? You really care about status?”
“Everyone cares about status. Of course, you already have it, thanks to all my efforts—”
“God, Mother, you just don’t get it. You’re so seduced by your fake lifestyle and your phony friends … by society. I just hope that you—”
“Just hope we stay together. Oh, here comes your father, we can talk later. Do you want to say goodbye? He’s outside with Gregory—”
“No,” Brianna shouted. Then in a softer voice said, “Just try and have a good time.”
Ellen hung up and closed her eyes. Her stomach had tightened into twisted knots. Brianna was young, and young people are idealists. They don’t know what life is really like, all the pressures and stress. What did they understand of struggle and sacrifice? Of commitment and values? Brianna and Brandon grew up with social status and a trust fund. What does Brianna know about hardship? When has she ever done without? Nothing was too good for Daddy’s little darling. She got whatever she wanted, including her father’s undying attention. One day, Ellen mused, one day she’ll know exactly what I’ve gone through. Perhaps then she’ll understand the sacrifices you make for marriage, for family, for the good of everyone—everyone except yourself.
Ellen longed to feel close to her daughter again. She had tried many times over the years, but everything she said was wrong, every suggestion she made rebuffed. Brianna no longer sought her advice, and the harder she tried to convince Brianna of things, the wider the barricade became. Ellen felt the distance between them widen with every conversation. The more Brianna studied this “New Age” stuff and continued in her alternative life choices, the harder it was to discuss anything without argument. Ellen knew Brianna was making horrible mistakes that would later ruin her future. Mistakes that might also damage Ellen’s reputation. She flinched as she remembered their last fight when Ellen had asked, “Do you have to be so public?”
To which Brianna responded: “Can’t you accept me as I am?”
&
nbsp; “I could accept you if didn’t act like such a …” Ellen couldn’t say the “L” word. She shuddered when she remembered Brianna’s hostile reply. It was weeks before Brianna was willing to speak to her. Ellen sighed, pushing the unpleasant episode out of her thoughts.
Jonathan stood outside the limousine, talking to Gregory, his vice president, with his hand clutching an overstuffed briefcase. Ellen thought about all the times she waited for him, all the trips canceled and all the work that had to be done during holidays. This trip would be different, a chance to be together, without distraction … alone. Just the two of them. A chance to remember the love they had shared during those early years. A renewal.
***
Sam awoke to the soft tapping on her door. In the darkness, she could see Rory’s strong silhouette, the violet-blue glow from her bedside clock highlighting his angular build. It was one in the morning. “Hey you,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes.
“I got your message, ‘Desperate. Come quick.’ What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you in weeks—did something happen?” Rory quietly closed her bedroom door.
“Come here first.” She pulled down the cover, giving a glimpse of what awaited him.
“Someone’s naughty.” He leaned over her, pulling on the laces of her corset.
She smiled, unable to hide her mischievous desire. “Light the candles first.”
Rory went to her dresser and took her lighter from the top drawer. A flickering amber glow spread across the walls as he lit the candles on her dresser, desk, and nightstand.
She watched as he stripped his shirt over his head, then dropped his jeans to the floor. Compared to Jonathan’s flab, Rory was all muscle—a tower of steel, a smooth hard surface etched with ridges and valleys. It was a shame he was unable to stay committed to anyone.
“It’s been too long,” she said as she grabbed his shorts and pulled him into bed.
“And just whose fault is that?” Rory mumbled, kissing her neck.
“Shhh, you are beautiful. So very beautiful,” she whispered. Her fingers traced over the crevices formed by well-trained muscles on his chest and arms.
“Not like the withered old fart, huh?” he laughed, grasping his heart and mock panting.
“Very funny,” she laughed and slapped him on the chest.
“Oh sorry, I forgot—you love the old geezer.”
“What do you know about love, Mr. Sex-buddy?”
“Well—I know I love money, just like you. So I guess I could love an old broad with loads of cash, she might be worth sticking around for.” He kissed her, leaving a trail of marked territory along her shoulders. His hands hovered over her body, searching for more flesh. He pulled the corset down and started gently kissing her breasts. She moaned with delight.
He climbed on top of her, pinning her arms over her head. “You like him for the money and me for the sex. Admit it,” Rory demanded. Sam struggled to free her arms. Rory’s hands tightened around her wrists and pressed her into the bed. He laughed as she squirmed and tried to get free. “Come on, admit it.”
She stopped her futile struggle. “Yes. Okay. You win. I admit after I marry him, I plan to keep you as my sex slave.”
He kissed her, then released his grip. “I thought so.”
“Too bad you’re not rich,” Sam laughed, rubbing her wrists.
“If I were rich, I could have any hot babe I wanted—supermodels and playmates—why would I want a golddigger like you?” She hit him on the chest with her fists. He grabbed her hands, pulled her tight and kissed her. “Okay. Maybe if I were rich and tired of all those shallow women, maybe I’d want you. Maybe then.” He climbed off her and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. “Too bad I’m flat broke. Guess you’ll have to marry ol’ dickwad.”
“Are you actually jealous?” Sam asked, unable to hide her sarcasm.
“Of him? No way.” He turned and faced her. “I wouldn’t want to be old and fat.” Rory laughed, then turned away again. “But yeah, I’d like to spoil babes with fancy stuff … jewelry, clothes, take ‘em to fancy places …”
Sam sat up and rubbed his back, tracing hearts across his shoulders with her fingers. “It is fun being spoiled. I must admit, I do love the money. I’ve gotten quite attached to it. In fact, I’m ruined. Now I’ll always need to be rich.”
Rory turned and slapped her thigh. “So get to work and get his money, you hussy—Hey, where is Romeo tonight?”
“Barbados, with his ugly old wife,” Sam said, surprised by the crack in her voice.
“Ahhh!” Rory lay back and grabbed Sam at her waist. “So that’s why you called me.”
“Yeah. I’m pissed at him—”
“Why? For taking his wife on a vacation?” Rory put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He is married, you know.”
She pulled away from his grip and reached for a cigarette. Sam turned to face him, then leaned against the footboard, lighting the cigarette. With her head tilted back, she took a slow drag from the menthol cigarette, the dim light hiding her shaking hand. “He’s trying to take it slowly.” She faced Rory. “It pisses me off. He was all set to start the divorce and stuff, and now, wham! Out of the blue, he wants to take his time and not rush, for her sake.” Rory grabbed an empty candleholder and leaned forward to catch the ashes falling from Sam’s wavering cigarette that zigzagged as she spoke. “I mean, get on with it, already,” she demanded. “Why wait?”
“Good God, he’s changed his mind. He actually wants the old wife,” Rory said with a wide grin. “That’s it! It’s too late. You’re screwed.”
Sam threw her lighter at him and scowled. “Nice try. He loves me. Really, he does.”
Rory laughed. “Okay, Mrs. Horvath. Where’s your ring?”
“He still wants me. I just have to wait. Be a good girl and wait.” Sam lay back and took another long drag. “God, I was so close. I hate this waiting. How much longer can he take?”
“Not too long, I hope.” Rory smiled. “Although I’m certainly not complaining if he’s too dumb to see what he’s missing.” His finger traced along Sam’s shoulder toward her breast.
Sam stubbed out her cigarette and climbed on top of Rory. “Oh, he’ll see what he’s missing,” she grinned as she kissed Rory, “I’ll make damn sure he sees.”
CHAPTER 4
Ellen sat on the edge of the bed and looked out toward the ebony sky. In the night’s stillness, the echo of the crashing waves intensified, with each repetition creating a hypnotic rhythm. She could faintly see the silver edge of the ocean, highlighted by a shaved moon, before it spread out, blending into the lost horizon. She touched the silk lace of her negligee, the lingerie that was supposed to entice him, supposed to fill him with desire and make him touch her again. So far, the only desire he had was for sleep. One part of her was relieved at not being intimate, but another part of her wanted him to want her. She was desperate to be held.
Here she sat, on their fortieth anniversary, next to the man she loved, the man she had devoted her entire life to, feeling alone. What had she expected? He was here, wasn’t he? After a day seeing the islands by helicopter and an evening on the dinner cruise, with wine under the stars, she should be happy. So why did she still feel empty?
She touched her gown again, the sensuous satin caressing her skin. She wanted to feel something, anything. Deep inside, she knew this trip wasn’t working. It was supposed to rekindle love, not diffuse it. And the undeniable but tragic reality was that she had no idea how to seduce a man. What she read in Patty’s book were things a tramp would do with a stranger, not advice for a woman married forty years.
Ellen turned and faced Jonathan who lay sleeping peacefully on his back, his bronzed belly rising and falling with every cresting breath. No, seven days in and this trip hadn’t worked the magic she was counting on. He was still a stranger to her. She felt no closer, no sense that he was feeling any love or passion toward her. He had never been more of an enigma than he was now. She had tried valiantly
to win his love, and it hurt to think about what would happen now.
Ellen listened again to the waves, to their steady, unrelenting rhythm, a force that endured for decades, for centuries. For eternity.
She would find a way. She’d been successful before, for all those years he never wanted to leave. He had never walked away. There had to be something she could do. He loved me once; he will love me again.
Ellen smiled to herself as she crawled back under the covers. It felt good to be in the same bed with him. She pressed her body close to his and put her hand on his chest. A warm tingling washed over her as his hand reached up and touched hers, a gentle caress, holding it for a glorious moment, before releasing his grip. He let go, brushed her hand away, and rolled over, away from her.
***
The next morning, Ellen went to their penthouse after her facial instead of having her scheduled massage at the spa. Jonathan was at the lower tennis courts, engaged in a dual with a German banker they’d met on the cruise. She was glad he had found a tennis partner since she had failed miserably in her attempt to play yesterday. With the intensity of the heat and humidity, she was beyond lethargic. Any strenuous activity wore her out. And the sweat! It was impossible to run around and look attractive while sweating profusely. Her makeup smeared, her thin hair went limp and her veins bulged out like fire hoses all over her arms and legs.
It had been years since she played tennis. Ever since the osteoarthritis started causing pain in her right hip, she had stopped exercising. No wonder she had gained weight. Gourmet food and no exercise combined with menopause had created all the excess baggage—the fat suit she seemed unable to shed. When they got home, she might try low-impact aerobics. But she wouldn’t start now. She wanted to look her best, not run around and wear herself out. And, of course, after seeing Mrs. Z at check-in, how could Ellen allow herself to look a complete wreck?
Ellen was lucky enough to chat with Mrs. Z on numerous occasions as they lay in chaise lounges by the main pool. They discussed everything, from her plans for the new Roman wing to the upcoming Governor’s Ball. Ellen knew that Mildred Ziegler liked people who were interesting and never dull. She bored easily, dropping many of her friends over the years, allowing fresh, new women to enter her inner circle. Ellen did her best to provide lively conversation. Wit had never been one of her strengths, but somehow, influenced by the lush palm trees and the clear aqua blue ocean, Ellen relaxed and found her conversation remarkably clever.