“Okay,” Zach said. “But?”
“But I didn’t realize how far she’d go to get what she wanted. I was stupid. Naive. I realize that now, though you—and Louella and Michael and God knows who else—tried to warn me. I just didn’t realize that Melina would try any means to achieve her ends.”
“You want to go into the particulars?” Zach demanded. “Are we restricting the discussion to vague generalities?”
“She … slept with Alain,” Janie whispered, “to get the account.”
“Right,” Zach said.
“You knew?” Janie demanded. “You knew, Zach? And you never told me?”
“Janie.” Zach sighed, standing up and pacing over to the window. “How was I supposed to tell you? When? At any point, after you decided to leave us—to tell you about Alain would sound like, well, like sour grapes. Like I was trying to hurt you into coming back. I knew how you felt about him, for chrissakes. And, even before you came right out and told me, I figured out that he had more than a little to do with you leaving Michael and me. Don’t you see? It wasn’t my place to say anything. It wasn’t the way I wanted it to happen.”
“So this happens instead!” Janie cried, standing up and facing him. “I figure it all out after it’s too late! After the fact.”
“What fact?” Zach retorted. “That you and Alain fell in love? I don’t see what difference that should make, Janie. If you two really love each other now, who the hell cares what went on in the past? Try to isolate the problem, okay? Is it Melina or Alain? Don’t screw up your happiness by getting mad at the wrong person.” He was digging his own grave, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. It had taken him all of his life to arrive at the difficult truth that love meant letting go.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “It’s not Alain’s fault. He didn’t tell me … because he didn’t want me to get hurt. He’s been trying to keep it from me. I guess he was hoping he could. But … I overheard them tonight, Zach, down at the agency. She … she…” Janie turned away, starting to cry again and, without thinking, Zach took a step and pulled her back into his arms.
“Don’t cry,” Zach said. “I can’t stand to see you cry, okay? Your nose gets red and your cheeks get blotchy. It really does nothing for your complexion.”
“Oh, Zach,” Janie cried into his shirtfront, “you’re such a good friend. I’ve … I’ve missed you so.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” Zach said.
“So, do you think I can come back?” Janie demanded, pulling away and digging in her pocket for the tissues Zach had given her earlier. “I was thinking on my way up here tonight. I’m damned good at what I do, Zach. And clients know that. City Slickers, Ramona—they won’t be pleased to hear I’ve left Melina. And Chanson? Well, who knows there?”
“What are you saying?” Zach asked, looking down at her pale, shining face, suddenly uncertain. “I don’t think a great deal of Melina’s tactics.”
“I don’t either,” Janie retorted. “That’s the whole point. That’s why I want to come back. And bring those accounts with me. But on my terms. I want to show Melina that it’s possible to succeed on merit … not just manipulation.”
“I see,” Zach said. “And Alain? What will happen to the two of you?”
“Well, I think you’re right, Zach,” Janie replied evenly. “He should have told me the truth … but I understand why he didn’t I think I should at least give him a chance to explain, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Zach said quickly, fighting back the desire to say something very different. “Okay, I’ll talk to Michael, but let’s consider it settled. Welcome back, Janie,” he said with a smile, though he realized that—in terms of what he really wanted from her—he was just once again saying good-bye.
Chapter 39
It was still raining hard when Janie left Zach’s. He forced her to take an umbrella and an old trench coat of his, and she looked a little like a waif as she waited on Columbus Avenue for a taxi. She saw him watching her from his living room window, and waved as she climbed into the cab.
She gave the driver her co-op address and snuggled back in Zach’s coat on the damp leather seat. The car smelled of old cigarettes, damp newspapers, and Zach. It was probably the coat, Janie decided, breathing in deeply, that gave off that distinctly masculine aroma of sweat and laundered shirts and shaving lotion. An American man’s special scent. She could remember smelling it each night when she shyly kissed her father good night … and on various boys she had had hopeless crushes on in college … and now with Zach. There was nothing perfumed or discreet about it. It was as pungent a smell as newly mown grass, as straightforward as popcorn, as lingering as the sea. She pulled Zach’s collar closer and sighed. Alain didn’t have it. Or else he disguised it with cologne. Or else she didn’t exactly remember.
Despite what she had told Zach about forgiving Alain, she really didn’t know if she could. Not because she was so devastated by his actions … but because she suddenly wasn’t all that sure who Alain was anymore. Who he had ever been. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him, but instead of an intimate picture composed from all their hours together, she saw only an old publicity shot—one that she’d clipped years ago when she first met him—taken from a Vanity Fair piece. He was dressed in his polo-playing costume, staring the camera down with the arrogant smile of a recent victor. She had treasured that photograph for years, and it was no doubt still folded in the back of some desk drawer, yellowing with the rest of her silly memorabilia. She thought of all the hours she had wasted fantasizing about Alain … without knowing even for a second who he was. And who was he to her really? Janie asked herself now. Certainly not the dashing sportsman he had once been. Nor the notorious playboy. Even Janie could see that since Alain had met her all his previous liaisons had been severed. Melina had been one, and Janie had unfortunately stumbled into Alain’s aborted attempt to end it. For her, Janie reminded herself. She herself had overheard Alain telling Melina that he loved Janie, that he was going to marry her! He had sounded so certain. So proud. And what had Janie felt when she heard those words—even before she heard the rest of the horrible conversation?
She had felt trapped.
“No, no,” she murmured aloud, staring blindly out into the blurred lights.
“Sorry, lady?” the driver said, glancing back at her in the rear-view mirror. “Did you say something?”
“It’s nothing,” Janie replied, shaking her head and resolving to forget what had happened in the studio that afternoon. Forget what she had heard … and what she had felt. There was no other way for her to give Alain another chance. She would have to begin all over again. She would have to put away once and for all the girlish, romantic fantasies that had drawn her to him in the first place. And then she would see what was left. She would have to face reality, something she realized she hadn’t really done for months now. Seeing Zach again, talking to him as she used to do, she had come to see just how much she missed his clear, ironic view of the world. Yes, he was an idealist and a demanding perfectionist. But he also knew what to expect from life … and what you should be expected to give. How many times had Alain told her she was perfect?
Zach knew better. As she was leaving his apartment that night, she remembered to say, “I’ve been so caught up in my own problems, I forgot to ask how you and—”
“Elise?” Zach responded, holding open the raggedy trench coat for Janie to put on.
“Yes, the pretty redhead,” Janie had said, tucking her arms into the enormous sleeves. “How are you getting on? You’re about to break your own personal best record, you know, Zach. You’ve been together how long now?”
“Nearly half a year,” Zach had replied. “Since … Christmas.”
“And?” Janie had demanded, turning to smile up at him. Oh, but she had seen such sadness in his eyes! Such longing! It nearly broke her heart. Something had always been eating away at Zach, something he would never reveal. M
ost of the time, he managed to keep it hidden. He would gloss over it with his humor, his concern for everybody else. But every once in a while, this hurt, this hungry need of his broke through all his carefully constructed barriers. “Zach, what is it?” Janie had demanded. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he had lied. “Not a thing. You were asking about Elise? She’s doing fine. In San Diego now. I’ll probably fly out to San Francisco this weekend to see her.”
“That’s great,” Janie had replied, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. “So you two are … really serious? You think she might be the one?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Zach replied with his crooked half-smile. He leaned over and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “After a time you stop waiting for the perfect person, the perfect moment, the perfect life. You take what you can get … and you try to take as much comfort from it as you can. Some people are blessed, Janie. They find love—the real, honest, till-death-do-us-part ticket. But it’s all a toss-up, you know. All luck. You can’t will it to happen. You can’t do anything but wait. And after a while, when you see the big parade passing you by, you look down the side streets for someone to keep you from being alone. You and Alain, you’re two of the lucky ones, Janie. Don’t let your pride get in the way of that, okay?”
She had wanted to tell Zach right then and there that he was wrong. That what Janie had thought she felt for Alain—what she had imagined was undying, eternal love—was maybe all an illusion now. She was about to confess her deepest fear to him … that she had never really loved Alain at all. But just in time she thought better of it. After all, she had already admitted to Zach that she had left Dorn & Delaney because of her love for Alain. She had changed her life, totally transformed her looks, because of this imagined passion. How in the world was she supposed to suddenly now admit that it might all have been a mistake? A sham? The naive infatuation of the fat, unloved woman she had once been? So instead she thanked him for his advice. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips just as she turned to go. And for one brief second she sensed the sure beat of his heart, heard the quick, surprised intake of his breath, felt his grip tighten on her arms—and then he let her go.
The taxi driver brought Janie abruptly out of her reverie by saying, “Hey, this is it, beautiful.” He’d pulled up in front of Janie’s building without her realizing it. “You want to stay in the back all night talking to yourself, fine with me. But the meter’s running.”
“Right, thanks,” Janie muttered, paying the fare and then running through the rain to the front door.
“Good evening,” the doorman said after a second look at the tattered man’s raincoat she was wearing. He’d been trying to figure Ms. Jane Penrod, Apartment 62A, out for a long time and had pretty much given up. He shrugged and added, “There’s someone waiting for you at the far end of the lobby.”
It was Alain, his expression haggard, his whole body somehow more compressed than she had remembered, as if he had shrunk within his beautifully tailored lightweight suit. He rose to his feet when he saw her, holding out a huge bouquet of long-stemmed pale peach-colored roses. He knew they were her favorites; he must have scoured the storm-clogged streets of Manhattan to find them for her.
“I’ve been waiting for hours,” he told her simply. “I’ve been so worried about you, Jane.”
“I went to see Zach,” she replied, taking the roses when he handed them to her. “These are … lovely, Alain.”
“Not as lovely as you are,” Alain replied, his gaze drinking her in.
“Please, I’m really in no mood for that sort of thing. I think we have to talk. Honestly. I think it’s time we got a few things straight.” It was a tone she’d never taken with him before, one she rarely used. It took her a second or two to identify the voice that it echoed: she had sounded just like her mother.
She was surprised when Alain replied meekly, “I agree, darling. That is why I am here.”
They went up to her apartment, and Alain put the roses in water while Janie changed into dry clothes: a pair of white stretch pants and a brightly patterned cotton T-shirt. She decided to forgo doing anything about her makeup or hair and emerged from her bedroom looking like a freshly scrubbed teenager. They sat down together on her worn couch, the flowers on the coffee table nearby.
Alain took her hand in his and, bowing his head, he asked, “How much did you overhear, Jane?”
“Enough,” she replied grimly, “to make me realize that I had been pretty damned blind to what was going on around me.”
“To what had gone on,” Alain corrected her. “It’s over.”
“No, Alain,” Janie replied sadly, “that’s not the way it sounded to me … please, I just won’t stand being lied to. I’m well aware that you’re a … man of the world. You’ve probably had more women than you can count. I understand that. I can’t change that. But, I thought … that since we’ve been together you might have changed your…”
“I have changed,” Alain interrupted her, squeezing her hand. “I truly have. It’s been a revelation to me that I can love just one woman … that you are enough. More than enough, darling. You are all that I want. Melina caught me at a weak moment, Jane, that is all. I hadn’t been with you really, hadn’t made love to you in days and I … I’m sorry … as I said, it was a moment of weakness.”
“And the next time you experience one of these little moments?” Jane asked.
“Never again,” Alain promised. “Never … as long as I know I have you. I promise, Jane.”
“I’m pulling out of Bliss & Penrod,” Janie said abruptly, knowing that only time could test Alain’s resolve about the other issue. “I’ve already talked things over with Zach … and I’ll be going back to Dorn & Delaney.”
“Chanson will come with you, of course,” Alain told her immediately.
“That’s not necessary,” Janie told him.
“Yes, it is,” Alain replied. “I am an observant enough businessman to see that you were the talent there, Jane, you were the real leader. And in a place that small, it’s the talent that draws clients. Melina will have a difficult time ahead.”
“I hope so,” Janie told him, meeting his gaze. “I’ve never felt such anger before, Alain. Such a need for revenge. I intend to go after each of Melina’s accounts—ruthlessly, unceasingly. I intend to see her destroyed.”
“I’m sorry,” Alain murmured, looking away. “I brought this all on.”
“No, Melina brought it on,” Janie corrected him. “She’s been pulling the strings from the beginning. Manipulating … actually lying. I went with her in good faith. And I’ve been used, exploited without ever knowing it … until tonight. But I would have realized it eventually, Alain, without your help. I’ve been coming to my senses about a lot of things … I’ve been waking up. Or growing up … I’m not sure which.”
“Darling, please.” Alain tried to move closer to her, draw her to him, but she shrugged him away.
“I’m sorry, Alain, I can’t,” Janie said. “Not yet, anyway. I forgive you … but I’m just not able to forget what I heard tonight.”
“I understand,” Alain replied humbly. “All I’m asking for now is your forgiveness, darling. That’s all I want to hear. The rest will come naturally when you see how deeply I love you. How much I want you to be happy and…” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small, dark blue velvet box. He opened it and held it out toward her.
“I want us to be happy, Jane,” he went on in a subdued voice, “forever. Will you … be my wife?”
Funny, at the very moment when her heart should be brimming over with joy, Janie’s only strong reaction was wishing he had said “marry me” rather than “be my wife.” There was something so possessive, so definite and final about being someone’s wife. It made you a noun—an object or function. While being married made you a verb—living, growing, partnering, maybe even multiplying. She was quibbling,
she knew, splitting hairs. However he phrased the question, her answer could either be yes or no.
“Jane?” he asked, taking the ring from the box and reaching for her hand. “Will you…?”
She turned toward him, her clear green eyes searching his. She saw darkness and longing. She saw arrogance and need. She saw him for what he was: spoiled, demanding, selfish, proud. But this, she reminded herself, was what she had changed her life for. This was what she had prayed for. What do you do when your prayers are answered? She felt nothing when she said it, but what else could she say?
“Yes, Alain,” she replied, letting him slip the beautiful diamond band on her ring finger. “I’ll marry you.”
Chapter 40
“Ohmygod!” Louella cried, rushing into Janie’s corner office at Dorn & Delaney. “Is it true? You’re really going to marry Alain Chanson?” Louella had kept her distance since Janie moved back to the agency three days before, nodding curtly when Janie arrived Monday morning with a briefcase full of papers. Louella had been polite but aloof, taking Janie’s flood of messages with cool aplomb. But when Liz Smith had carried the item in her column that morning, Janie had been right to think that Louella’s icy reception might soon melt. “Chanson Playboy Heir to Marry Stunning NY Ad Exec” was followed by three or four more lines of flossy copy.
“Actually, yes,” Janie replied, unable to restrain a smile. It struck her, though, that Louella was more excited about the news than the bride-to-be. “I am. Want to see the ring?”
“Are you kidding?” Louella replied, making her way across the cluttered room. Michael and Zach had both insisted that Janie accept a full complement of executive office furniture as well as a drawing board and art equipment. The spacious corner office with a breathtaking view of midtown was still a minefield of boxes and half-assembled chairs. Louella stepped carefully through the mess to Janie’s side of the desk. She lifted Janie’s left hand and whistled.
Changes of Heart Page 31