Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

“She’s been glued to you all day,” Allison whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  I glanced at Marjorie, whose eyes were stuck on the stage. Her braids were tied with green ribbons; I tightened one of them and looked back at Allison. “I don’t mind at all.”

  She smiled, and I marveled at how much Marjorie favored her, with that long red hair and turned-up nose. Allison had come straight from Lenox Hill, and she was still dressed in her scrubs—blue pants and a matching shirt pinned with an ID badge. ALLISON HUGHES, RN, it read.

  “It was nice of Alex to invite us,” she said. “I’d like to get together more often … and if you and Alex don’t have other plans for New Year’s, we could celebrate at our place. I’ll make dinner … and Tony will do the drinks. He mixes a fantastic Midori Melon Ball Drop.”

  “That sounds delicious … and we don’t have plans. My guests from Charleston will be leaving that morning, so we’d love to come … wouldn’t we, Alex?” I asked, turning toward him.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I looked at Allison again. “I’m so glad Tony has loosened up about socializing with the car service’s clients.”

  “He doesn’t consider you just a client. You’ve been so nice to him … and to Marjorie.”

  I smiled, thinking about something I’d slipped into my purse earlier. “There’s no intermission … want to join me for a ladies’ room break now?”

  She nodded. Marjorie stayed with the guys and Allison and I went out into the lobby, where I felt like I was stepping back into the 1930s. The room was Art Deco style, all glamour and opulence and geometric shapes. There was a grand staircase, elegant chandeliers, and walls covered with mirrors.

  “That,” Allison said, pointing toward the mural above the staircase as we walked across the lobby, “is called The Fountain of Youth, and it was painted by Ezra Winter.” She stood still and let out a chuckle. “Good impersonation of my husband, right? But I assume you’re aware that your chauffeur is also an amateur New York City historian.”

  “I consider him an expert,” I said. We were standing in the middle of the lobby, and people swerved around us. “His knowledge is amazing … and he’s so well-read.”

  She smiled proudly. “I don’t know how he manages to fit the books into his schedule. He works really hard … but you already know that.”

  I shifted my eyes guiltily toward the intricate pattern on the carpet. “You probably think I’m a real pest, the way I bother him at all hours to drive me around.”

  “Well,” she said, “when I mentioned to my friends that Tony had become the personal driver to a twenty-four-year-old heiress with a habit of calling him in the middle of the night, they were a little suspicious … and they thought I should be, too.”

  My eyes shot to her face. I never was—and never would be—a threat to Allison or any other married woman, so I hadn’t considered that she might see me as one.

  “No,” I said, “you shouldn’t. Tony would never … and I would never—”

  Allison held up her hand. “He meets lots of rich and beautiful girls through his job, but I’ve never been concerned about any of them. I know what sort of man my husband is.”

  I do, too. I saw for myself when he spurned my best friend because he only wants you.

  “He’s a very good man, Allison. You’re a lucky lady.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “Tony breaks his back to contribute to our bills and my student loans and to afford extras for Marjorie … like the dancing lessons she’s been taking. Tap class is enough, but he wants her to have ballet, too.”

  “Of course,” I said. “He wants to give his daughter the best of everything.”

  Allison nodded. “I worry about him while he’s working. Most of his clients are arrogant jerks who treat him like crap because … well, because they can. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but it does bother me. He deserves better than what he gets from those people. But when he’s with you … I know he’s okay.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. Still, I’m sorry about all the late-night phone calls.”

  “It’s fine. We need the overtime pay … I don’t know if Tony mentioned that we’re saving for a house. Real estate is so expensive in New York.”

  “He has mentioned the house … which is the real reason I got you out here. I wanted to give you this.” I reached into my purse, pulled out a red envelope, and handed it to her.

  “Merry Christmas, Tony,” she said, reading what I’d written across the front. Then she looked at me again, her eyebrows inching closer together. “Shouldn’t you give this to him?”

  “Yes,” I said, “because it’s his Christmas bonus. But women can be so much better with money than men. So I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

  She eyed me quizzically before she opened the envelope and slid out the card. Her jaw went slack when she read the check inside, and then she stuck everything back into the envelope and shoved it at me. “Ten thousand dollars,” she said, “is way too much. It’s crazy.”

  The envelope lingered in the space between us, but I didn’t take it. “Actually,” I said, “it isn’t nearly enough … and it’s not crazy at all. I would’ve written a much bigger number, but I knew I couldn’t go too high if I wanted any chance of you taking it. Tony has earned this money, but he’ll never see it that way. I think you can, though.”

  Her eyes were bluish gray. I kept staring at them as they darted everywhere—The Fountain of Youth, the chandeliers, the high-heeled Hermès boots on my feet. She was still holding the envelope out to me; I gently pushed it back toward her.

  “Sometimes,” I said, “men don’t know what’s best for them. Good thing we do.”

  There was a long pause. “I can’t, Savannah. It’s not right, and Tony won’t—”

  “Tony won’t know. Hide the money in a stable investment … and let it grow until you’ve put together enough for your down payment. Now let’s get back to the show before the guys come searching for us.”

  She put the envelope in her pocket. Then she stared straight ahead in a stunned silence as we walked, and she turned toward me when we reached the theater door. Her eyes were wide and her skin was so pale that it made me think of the flu going around.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you sick?”

  She shook her head, glancing down at her white sneakers and then back at me. “When I said I’d never been concerned about any of the women Tony meets through his job … that wasn’t the truth. I never let it show because I didn’t want to be one of those insecure wives who’s always afraid someone better will come along to steal her husband away … but I actually was a little worried about you. It was only at first … and as time went on, I realized you aren’t that kind of girl, and—”

  “It’s okay, Allison. I understand. You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “No,” she said. “I do. You’ve been so generous to us. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  The door opened. Tony came out, and his dark eyes moved between Allison and me.

  “You’ve been gone forever,” he said. “What were you doing?”

  Allison and I looked at each other and back at Tony’s face, which was still quite boyish, especially for a father in his mid-twenties. Then she walked past him and into the theater, glancing at him over her shoulder as she let out a laugh.

  “None of your business,” she said.

  *

  All five of us stood inside the Rockefeller Center subway station, waiting for a train to take us to dinner. The platform was crowded and we were surrounded by people, and we let the first train go by because it was standing room only.

  “Should we try again for a cab?” Allison asked, tugging her scarf off her neck.

  “We tried for fifteen minutes,” Tony reminded her as he ran his fingers through his short auburn hair. “You know the city’s always packed during Christmas,” he said, glancing around.

  I looked around, too—at people carrying shopping bags, tourists sp
eaking foreign languages, and two guys standing nearby. They were young and preppy and probably drunk. They were talking too loudly, and they seemed to think they were in a frat house instead of a public place with children everywhere. Every motherfucker that came from their mouths made Allison cup her hands over Marjorie’s ears and Tony shoot angry stares their way.

  “Excuse me,” Tony said firmly, glaring at the guys.

  He had to repeat that three times to get a response. The guy who finally turned around and looked at him had meticulously coiffed brown hair and an unbuttoned coat. He wore a suit underneath, like he was heading to a formal event.

  “Can you please keep it down?” Tony asked. “We’ve got a kid here.”

  The guy glanced at Marjorie and then back at Tony. “So?” he said.

  “So have some decency,” I shouted at him over the roar of a train rolling in at the other side of the tracks. “My friend asked you nicely, didn’t he? Nobody wants to listen to your filth.”

  His eyes narrowed. His hair and clothes and haughty expression reminded me of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. “You’re not asking me nicely. And who told you to listen to my conversation?”

  “Who can hear anything else? You never shut up.”

  “You should shut up, you annoying bitch,” he said as he turned away.

  Alex was beside me. He leaned toward the guy. “Hey,” he said sharply.

  I loved that Alex would defend me to all manner of creeps, but I could do it myself and I didn’t want this to go past words. I pressed my palm against his chest to hold him back and calm him down, but it didn’t help. I felt his heart pounding and heard deep breaths coming from his nose as the guy turned in our direction.

  “Alex,” I whispered. “Don’t. Please. I can handle him.”

  Alex’s eyes were blazing. His jaw was tight. He was so deep inside an angry haze that he didn’t seem to hear me. “Apologize to her,” Alex said, pointing toward me and then jerking his thumb behind him, where Tony stood with Allison and Marjorie, “and to them.”

  The guy just stared for a moment before he took a step forward. He seemed to be a few years younger than Alex, and he was slightly taller and had a lanky build.

  “Or what?” he said. “You’re going to start something, asshole?”

  Alex shook his head. “You’re the one who started this, you little punk.”

  “No,” the guy said, jabbing his finger in my direction as he came closer and looked at me disdainfully. “I didn’t start anything. It was this dumb blonde and her big mouth.”

  I smelled liquor on his breath. I heard the train in the distance, and I was desperate to get Alex on it and out of there. He was clenching his hands into fists, and I didn’t want them to become lethal weapons again.

  Alex moved closer to the guy. I gripped his jacket to keep him with me, but it didn’t work. The leather just slipped from my fingers. Then I glanced over my shoulder at Allison backpedaling with Marjorie, and Tony walking in my direction.

  “Forget him, Alex,” I said as Tony reached my side. “Just let it go.”

  Alex wasn’t listening. He and Mini Patrick Bateman were up in each other’s faces.

  “I told you to apologize,” Alex said in a low, steady, growling voice. “And if I hear you say anything to my girlfriend other than I’m sorry … you’ll regret it.”

  He just laughed. “Fuck you,” he said, “and her, too.”

  He pushed Alex. He lifted both hands and shoved them against Alex’s chest, which didn’t knock him over or do much else. It just threw him off balance and he took a step backward, crushing my big toe inside my left boot.

  Alex didn’t notice, and I was almost numb to the pain as I watched him charge forward and punch that guy right in his mouth. Then I saw blood and Tony rushing past me. He grabbed Alex’s sleeve and tried to haul him away, but he was too late. The other guy took a swing at Alex that connected with his cheek, and Alex lurched forward and wrestled him down to the platform like he was inside a UFC cage instead of the subway station.

  Alex was on top with his knee in the guy’s back, pinning him down and pressing his cheek against the ground. People gasped and maneuvered around them as the train screeched into the station, and I ran to where Tony stood beside Alex.

  “Come on, Alex,” Tony said. “That’s enough.”

  Alex’s chest was heaving. He looked up at me and then turned Patrick Bateman Junior’s head in my direction. I saw a deep gash in the guy’s lip and fear covering his face.

  “Now you can apologize,” Alex told him.

  “Alex,” I said. “Stop it.”

  The train was leaving. There was a beep and Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

  Alex’s eyes moved to mine, where they stayed for a moment. Then he blinked and stood up slowly as the train tore away and the guy got off the ground.

  “I’m calling the cops,” said his friend, pulling out a cell.

  I turned toward him. He hadn’t involved himself in this at all, so I’d forgotten he was there. Then I looked at the other guy, who kept touching his teeth like he was taking inventory.

  Tony spoke up. “Why would you call the cops? Your buddy here took the first shot. Alex was just defending himself.”

  “Todd only shoved him. That animal cracked him in the mouth.”

  So his name was Todd. He seemed to have a headache, because he moved his hand from his teeth to his temples and massaged them with his fingers. “Whatever,” he said, looking at the red mark on Alex’s cheekbone. “We’re even. It’s over. I don’t need any more trouble.”

  “What?” his friend said. “You’re going to let him get away with that?”

  “I’m on probation,” Todd replied in a low voice. “Remember?”

  His friend nodded. Todd turned around and took off, walking quickly toward the exit stairs as his coattails flared behind. His friend followed him, and the platform wasn’t too crowded anymore, and it was suddenly quiet.

  Alex didn’t say anything. Neither did the rest of us. We just waited for the next train, and soon we were sitting on orange plastic seats and speeding through a tunnel. I sat beside a window next to Alex. Tony and Allison and Marjorie were across the aisle, and I leaned my head against the glass, thinking that Todd wasn’t the only one with a headache.

  “I wouldn’t have hurt him,” Alex said.

  I moved my eyes to his face. The mark on his cheek was spreading.

  “You thought I was going to … didn’t you?” he asked.

  I exhaled a long breath. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, Alex. You know what I mean?”

  He nodded slowly, studying a raw scrape on his knuckle. “I was sure I could take him down easy. That’s all I was planning to do … just show him that he couldn’t get away with how he acted toward Tony … and what he said to you.”

  “And I love that about you. But the next time I say I can handle someone by myself … just let me. It could cause a lot of trouble if you don’t.”

  He sighed, zipped his jacket, and then squeezed my hand. “Okay, Savannah … I’ll try.”

  I smiled and lifted a finger to touch his face. “Does it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  “I hope it heals before you start your new job,” I said, wincing from a sudden pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Alex asked.

  “You stepped on my toe,” I said, reaching down to rub it through my boot.

  His eyes shifted around, like he was trying to figure out when he could have done such a thing. As soon as he remembered, he kissed the top of my head and pulled me close to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as we zoomed through the darkness.

  Three

  I woke up first for once. I left Alex asleep in bed and went to the bathroom, where I showered and put on my makeup and flat-ironed my hair. Then I stepped into my walk-in closet, where I surveyed a row of suits. I chose a red one because the Stone News Corporation’s annual Christm
as party was tonight and a festive look was in order.

  I slipped into the suit, tiptoed past the bed, and stopped at the dresser, where I searched through my jewelry box and found a brooch I’d brought from Charleston. It was a blend of silver and gold, shaped like a bow, and studded with tiny diamond chips. It had been a gift from Aunt Primrose—or, actually, from my father.

  I was looking in the mirror and pinning the brooch to my lapel when Alex stirred in bed behind me. He opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched his arms above his head. I stared at his reflection for a moment, admiring everything—his face, his smile, his bare chest.

  “You look gorgeous, Savannah.”

  I smiled. What a way to start the day.

  I walked in his direction and sat beside him on the bed. “Remember I told you that Edward anonymously sent me gifts every Christmas?” I asked, and he nodded as I touched my brooch. “This was one of them.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  “I know. But when I was a kid, I didn’t like it. I didn’t wear it. I shoved it in a drawer and left it there for years because I thought it was old-fashioned. It wasn’t until I was in college that I realized it was chosen by someone with taste. It’s a vintage piece from the 1920s, real gold and silver and diamonds. I was so stupid … and now I feel terrible that I treated it like some chintzy trinket. And I wish he could see me wearing it.”

  Alex rubbed my cheek with his finger. “You know he can.”

  That was easier to believe when it referred to someone else’s departed parent. But I hoped it was true, so I nodded and forced a smile. Then I looked closely at Alex’s face and the remnants of last night’s fight—a purple bruise in the shape of a half-moon.

  “Are you sure that’s okay?” I asked.

  He rubbed his eyes. “It’s okay. So where’s the party tonight?”

  “Bridgewaters,” I said, “at the South Street Seaport. It’d be great if you could join me, but like I’ve told you, the party is for employees only … no Plus Ones.”

  He shifted his pillows, propped his elbow on top of them, and leaned his cheek against his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m booked with Christmas parties every night this week anyway … I’m not free until Sunday.”