Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  I nodded. “I’m glad you’ve got that new job at Fletcher Cole so you don’t have to mix drinks and work nights anymore. But since it’s starting soon, why don’t you bail on bartending and take the next couple of weeks off? Then I won’t have to sleep alone.”

  I stroked the sheets and gave him a flirty stare.

  His lips parted into a smile. “It’s hard to resist that offer. But I promised I’d work until the holidays are over … and going back on my word wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”

  I dropped my eyes to the comforter, which was covered with embroidered dahlias. “I know … and even though I admire your integrity, I wish you’d let me corrupt you once in a while.”

  He glanced at the clock on my night table. “You’ve still got an hour until Tony picks you up … I think that’s enough time for some corruption.”

  *

  “Jingle Bells” and “Joy to the World” and fa la la la la—that’s what was in my head as I dashed out of 15 Central Park West in my suit, my coat, and my Prada pumps. My toe didn’t hurt anymore, the air smelled like pine from all the Christmas wreaths around, and flurries drifted from the sky. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting snowflakes fall on my face and melt into my skin.

  “Ms. Morgan—” said the doorman behind me.

  “Please call me Savannah.”

  “—it’s so cold. Wouldn’t you like to wait inside until your chauffeur arrives?”

  I stayed where I was. “No, thank you … I’m happy right here.”

  It wasn’t long before I heard a horn, and I opened my eyes to find a glossy black sedan parked at the curb. I walked toward it, opened the door, and slid onto the heated front seat. The snow will stop and start throughout the day without accumulation a voice on the radio was saying. When you need to know, we’ve got you covered. We’ll have business news in ten minutes.

  Tony turned it down. “Alex is upstairs?” he asked.

  I nodded as I unbuttoned my coat. “How’d you know?”

  “I can tell from that goofy smile on your face,” he said, which made me laugh and blush. “Is he okay after what happened yesterday?”

  “He claims to be … Mr. Tough Guy that he is. But I told him I don’t ever want to see a repeat performance … and I think that sunk in,” I said, and then reached into my purse for an envelope I held toward Tony. “This is your Christmas bonus … which you deserve for tolerating me.”

  He stared at it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Of course I did, since you can’t know about your real present.

  “Just be polite and take it, Tony.”

  He sighed and opened the envelope. Inside was a gift card for the steakhouse on East Forty-sixth that he’d recommended during my first week in New York.

  “This is too much, Savannah. It’s enough for three dinners.”

  I shrugged. “So you’ll take your lovely wife out three times, then.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I will. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I answered as he stuck the card into the envelope and put it in the glove compartment. Then he took the sedan out of park and pulled away from the curb. “I enjoyed spending time with Allison yesterday,” I said. “She’s very nice.”

  He steered with one hand. “She likes you, too. But I have no idea what she could possibly see in you,” he said, reaching over to poke my ribs through my coat.

  “I can’t imagine,” I said with a smirk on my lips as I watched the windshield wipers smear snowflakes across the glass.

  *

  I walked away from the sedan after Tony dropped me at work. The sidewalk was crowded, but the anti–Stone News protesters that lingered for months had disappeared with the warm weather. I made my way around the morning-rush mob and past the news ticker, through the revolving doors and into the lobby, where I caught an elevator that took me to Femme.

  I strolled by glass-and-metal furniture, white walls, and minimalist holiday décor—a silver tree with purple ornaments, wreaths made of glittery baubles, a crystal menorah beside a porcelain reindeer on the receptionist’s desk—and headed down the hallway toward my cubicle.

  Kitty’s office door was open. The plaque beside it was now inscribed KATHERINE LESSARD because her divorce was final and she’d officially reinstated her maiden name. She and Ned had quickly reached an agreement—he had no claim to their place on East Seventieth because she’d inherited it before they were married, and he hadn’t contested how Kitty wanted to settle things financially. He’d agreed to everything, signed a lease for an apartment on East Forty-seventh, and moved out of the brownstone. And I had to give him credit for that.

  Kitty was sitting at her desk in a wrap dress, holding a pen in her hand and poring over some papers. Her hair was brushed into a smooth side part and tied in a ponytail, and she glanced up when I stopped in the doorway.

  “You look great,” I said, and I meant it. Her copper hair was shiny and her deep-set brown eyes glowed. She’d always had a good figure, but during the past couple of months she’d devoted much of her free time to gym workouts and Kundalini yoga classes, and her body was leaner and stronger than ever. “Are you going to the party tonight?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be … appropriate.”

  I nodded and changed the subject. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  She leaned back into her chair, her pen still in her hand. “I had a very nice weekend, actually. I got together with an old friend from York Prep. Well … I can’t honestly say he was a friend back then … but we were classmates from sixth through twelfth grade. We barely spoke when we were kids, though. We had different friends, and … he was a quiet boy.”

  I walked into her office and sat in the chair opposite her desk, eager for the full scoop as I wriggled out of my coat. “And who exactly is this quiet boy from York Prep?”

  She tossed the pen onto her desk. “He’s a really sweet man who unfortunately lost his wife two and a half years ago.”

  I stopped wriggling. “What happened to her?”

  “Deep vein thrombosis. She had their baby via C-section, and the next day she collapsed when she got up from her hospital bed. From what he told me, it’s a rare thing … but it happens. He said he never expected to take their son home by himself.”

  I sat back in my chair with my coat halfway off, thinking that poor guy had probably gone into the hospital with balloons and cigars and come out planning a funeral.

  “Anyway,” Kitty went on, “I used to see him socially when we were both married, but we’d never said more than hello, how are you, that sort of thing. Then a few weeks ago, a friend of mine who’s known him for years put us in touch, and we spoke on the phone a few times before we had dinner. He didn’t admit this to me, but my friend said I was his first date since his wife passed away.”

  I was glad that first date hadn’t been with some weirdo who might’ve scared him off women forever. “Well,” I said, “he couldn’t have had a better first date than you.”

  “You’re sweet. And I’m seeing him again today … lunch at The Lambs Club,” she said, then looked at the stack of papers on her desk and picked up her pen. “So I’d better get back to reviewing these articles if I want to be done by then.”

  I nodded and glanced at the corkboard on the wall. It was covered with notes written on Post-its. And the business card from that adoption agency on East Ninety-second that Kitty had tacked up there on Halloween still hadn’t been removed.

  I slung my coat over my arm as I stood up and headed for the door. I was almost there when Kitty spoke again.

  “Savannah,” she said, and I turned around. “I appreciate how hard you’ve been working since you came back from Charleston. You’ve been putting in so much overtime that I wonder if you’ve had a spare moment to work on your novel.”

  I’d outlined it in September and October. But then along came Alex, and I’d been so busy with him a
nd my job that there just hadn’t been many spare moments. “Not lately,” I said.

  “Well, you should get back to it as soon as you can.” Kitty swiveled in her chair. “As I was saying … you’re doing an excellent job here … and because of that, I’m thinking I should add to your job duties. Maybe you’d like to start editing?”

  There was that imaginary Christmas music—“Joy to the World” again—and Kitty seemed to have a magic wand in her hand instead of a pen.

  *

  A few minutes later, I sat at my desk with a marker poised above the first paragraph of an article titled “You Weren’t Hired to Pump: Breastfeeding and Discrimination in My Workplace.” I found a slightly clumsy sentence, and I was about to circle it when I looked at the tip of my marker that was saturated with red ink.

  It reminded me of all the rejected short stories that had been sent back to me in manila envelopes. It also reminded me of an English teacher I’d had at Charleston High—a bubbly, fresh-out-of-college American lit major who’d graded her students’ tests and essays with a fine-tipped pen. Her comments and criticisms and suggestions for improvement were always written in pink, which somehow didn’t hurt as much as red.

  I tossed the pen inside a drawer and slammed it shut. Then I opened another drawer and rummaged through paper clips and flash drives until I found a colored pencil with FROSTED TULIP engraved on its side. I smiled, thinking that something with such a sweet name could make its point without offense.

  I’d just shut the drawer and leaned over the article when I felt a finger poke my left shoulder. I twisted around in my chair and saw Caroline, who had also kept up her Makeover by Kitty. Her hair was still cut into a light-brown bob, her skin was getting better by the month thanks to a genius dermatologist on Park Avenue, and she no longer dressed in various shade of drab. Today she wore a sharp black skirt with a blouson top in sterling gray, and she had new glasses that flattered her face—fashionable rectangular lenses with a thin silver frame.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the senator’s husband has dumped her ass,” Caroline said.

  Since my return from Charleston, Caroline’s pale-green eyes hadn’t been filled with the loathing that used to smolder there whenever I was around. We still hadn’t socialized or been overly friendly, but we always exchanged polite greetings in the elevator, and she’d kept me informed when the PI was doing his investigation, and I was thankful for those things.

  “This latest development makes me believe,” Caroline continued as she walked into my cube and leaned against the wall beside my desk, “that her denials about having an affair with Dad are a load of steaming bullshit.”

  “That’s a descriptive way of phrasing it … and accurate, I think.”

  “What I think,” she said, “is because our incompetent PI failed to uncover anything, we need to do some investigating of our own. I’ll never believe Dad’s death was just a drunk-driving accident.”

  “Me neither. I have so many conspiracy theories … I think Alex is sick of hearing them.”

  “I also have theories … and I know what you mean,” Caroline said, taking off her glasses. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and started to polish the lenses. “Trish is tired of them, too.”

  The first time I’d seen Trish was when I stumbled upon her and Caroline in a room filled with books at Kitty’s parents’ house. The two of them had moved in together since then, and Caroline had properly introduced us one night last month when I was leaving the office and they were in the main lobby, on their way to dinner. Trish had been friendly, and she’d given me her business card, which was still in my wallet. The card was printed with the name of an art gallery in the East Village and Trish’s title: Director/Curator.

  Caroline scrunched up her tissue and threw it in my trash can. “I think,” she said as she put her glasses back on, “the three of us should discuss our ideas over lunch today.”

  The third party was undoubtedly Ned. I sank into my chair.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I know Ned’s been rather disgruntled lately … he isn’t happy that Stone News is being trounced by ABN,” she said, and I nodded. I’d heard a few weeks earlier that the American Broadcasting Network had forced Stone News out of first place in the ratings. “He’s also still aching from the realization that he ruined the best thing he ever had by messing around on Kitty.” She rolled her eyes. “But he hasn’t been a total bastard toward you these days, has he?”

  I shook my head, trying to remember the last time Ned had done more than mumble in my general direction. “He doesn’t talk to me. He seems to be pretending I’m not here … which is why I doubt he’ll want to split an appetizer.”

  “Indeed,” Caroline said with a nod, “appetizer-sharing is probably out. But we do have an important matter to discuss … and as Edward Stone’s children, we should deal with it together. So come down to the lobby at noon … Ned and I will be waiting.”

  I couldn’t argue. She was right, and she was also gone before I could open my mouth. I listened to her footsteps heading down the hall, and then I went back to editing in Frosted Tulip.

  Four

  Caroline and Ned were standing near the revolving doors when I stepped off the elevator and maneuvered through the lunch-hour crowd. Caroline was in a camel jacket and Ned wore a dark coat that was unbuttoned, exposing a midnight-blue suit. His tie was silky and baby blue, his dark hair looked thick and wavy, and from a distance he cut his usual striking figure. But as I got closer, I noticed he was due for a shave and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to sound cheerful while I shifted my gaze between him and Caroline.

  “Hello,” Ned replied in his usual grunt, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets as he turned to Caroline. “Where are we eating? I assume I’ll have as little say in choosing a restaurant as I had in scheduling this meeting … which, by the way, I’m attending against my will.”

  Caroline gave him a shove that didn’t budge him an inch. “You’re suspicious about what happened to Dad just like Savannah and I are. We need to figure out what really went on, and I thought you’d accepted that Savannah should be included in anything involving our father.”

  “It isn’t that,” he said as his eyelids peevishly fluttered. “I don’t have time for lunch breaks unless they’re business related. I haven’t left the office before midnight for the past month … and I need to get some work done so I can get out of here tonight for that goddamn Christmas-party obligation. Every moment of my time is precious right now, Caroline. Stone News will never get back to first place if I don’t make some changes.”

  “What are you going to change?” I asked.

  He turned from Caroline to me. “If I knew,” he said wearily in his upper-crusty voice, “I wouldn’t have to spend every night in the office, now, would I?”

  I shook my head. “You really need to get some sleep, Ned. You’re so cranky.”

  He looked at Caroline again and tapped his Rolex. “Time’s wasting. Where’s lunch?”

  “The Lambs Club,” she said. “I made a reservation.”

  They turned toward the doors. I lunged forward and grabbed the belt on Caroline’s jacket.

  “We can’t go there,” I said, thinking of Kitty and York Prep Boy. I couldn’t let her second date with him be ruined by the sight of Ned, and even though it might have been karma for Ned to witness Kitty getting on with her life, seeing her with another man so soon might demolish him. “We can’t go to The Lambs Club.”

  Ned looked at me over his shoulder. “Why not?”

  “Because,” I said, struggling to think of a valid excuse, “I … I ate there once, and I got ahold of some bad meat that made me sick … I swear, my head was in the toilet all night.”

  That couldn’t have sounded worse. I let out a nervous laugh.

  Ned’s straight nose crinkled. “TMI, Savannah,” he said. “And they don’t have any bad meat at The Lambs Club.
It’s a reputable establishment … and I can’t waste all afternoon standing here talking about it.”

  He took a step forward, but I dashed in front of him and blocked his way. “I’m sure you’re right about the restaurant … what happened to me was probably just a fluke … but you know how it is when you get sick from something, and then whenever you think of that thing, it makes you feel sick again? That’s called an aversion—and I have an aversion to The Lambs Club. I can’t go there. I’m nauseous already.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” he said.

  “I understand,” Caroline broke in. “I’ve had aversions. So let’s just go to that Indian place down the street.”

  Ned scoffed. “Well, if The Lambs Club put Savannah’s head in a toilet, I can’t wait to find out what curry will do to her. Lead the way, Caroline.”

  A few minutes later, I sat across from them in a booth where we were surrounded by tapestries on the walls and colorful glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. We placed our orders and handed our menus to a waitress, and I noticed Caroline studying the pin on my lapel.

  “That’s a beautiful brooch,” she said.

  My hand went to it. I felt cold metal and diamond bumps.

  “Where’d you buy it?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. It was a gift from Edward.”

  Caroline’s face fell. I felt terrible about that, but I had to tell the truth. It was bad enough that I’d shoved a thoughtful gift into a drawer and forgotten it for so long—I couldn’t make that worse by pretending Edward hadn’t done special things for me. But seeing one of those things probably made Caroline feel like Edward had been as unfaithful to her as he’d been to Virginia—like he’d cheated on Official Child with Secret Daughter.

  “What do you mean?” Ned demanded. “I thought you never met him.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “But he sent me a Christmas gift every year when I was a kid. He did it anonymously, though—until a few months ago, I had no idea the presents were from him.”

  “Who’d you think they were from?” Ned asked. “An über-rich Santa Claus?”