Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  His voice was strained, and I was sure that what he’d said had been brewing for a long time. I rubbed my arms, feeling cold now. “No, Alex,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way … because I just can’t win. I think I treat you well, but—”

  “You do treat me well.” I couldn’t bear that he suspected I felt otherwise.

  He kept on going like he hadn’t heard that. “All I want is to take care of you, and—”

  “That’s the problem right there. I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t want you to.”

  “Other women would,” he said flatly.

  He was right. Other women might cherish being guarded and cared for and worried about. “That’s true,” I said. “But I’m not them. I can’t pretend to be, either. And even though I know your intentions are good, sometimes I just feel … smothered.”

  He looked like I was speaking a language that he couldn’t comprehend. “I’ve only tried to protect you … but you seem to think I want to control your every move.”

  Maybe you don’t. But that’s how it feels.

  I ducked a sooty Gristedes circular that the wind sent flying from the gutter and past my head. “It’s just…” I began as Alex let out a sneeze, “I should be able to do what I want—especially things that are very important to me—without getting your approval. And I shouldn’t have to expect a fight if I don’t.”

  He moved closer to me, stepping beneath a street lamp. The light washed over his face and his expression that had changed from furious to forlorn. “I’ve tried to make you happy,” he said. “I’ve tried to do what you want, and I’ve tried to be who you want. But I can’t, Savannah. I’ve been trying for a while now and … I just … I can’t.”

  I stared at him while we stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He sneezed and rubbed his eyes as the wind nipped at my bare shoulder. My anger had evaporated, too, and my heart seemed to tear when I realized I really had been trying to turn him into someone he wasn’t. Then I remembered Mom saying she and Tina thought Alex was perfect but they weren’t sure if I did. I hadn’t wanted to own up then, but there was no choice now.

  “You are allergic to the cologne I gave you,” I said.

  He kicked a party horn that rolled out of an alley. “I think so. But I wore it for you.”

  He’d been sneezing and sniffling and suffering just to satisfy me. He’d been tolerating the Clive Christian just like he’d been dealing with all of my rules. But I’d been putting up with his, too. And I’d been trying to convince myself that everything was fine even though it wasn’t.

  “Then throw it away,” I said.

  He took another step toward me. “Savannah,” he said gently, “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant … and I’m not offended. You were right to finally let it out. I’ve been holding some things back, too … and I was wrong to try to change you. You should be who you are, Alex … and so should I.”

  He pressed his hands against his eyes, rubbing his palms from the inner corners to the outer edges. When he looked at me again, he sighed and leaned his shoulder against the building beside us like he was utterly drained. “So what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, my throat constricting as I remembered something that Tina had said. “But I do know you deserve nothing less than perfect.”

  Alex looked down at the concrete. The wind had blown the party horn back toward his feet; he kicked it again, sending it to the edge of the curb. “Are you saying we shouldn’t see each other anymore?” he asked.

  It would be rough to say that. It was so harsh and final, and it made tears well in my eyes. “Maybe,” I said.

  He nodded slowly, shifting his gaze to that horn wobbling on the curb. He watched until it dropped off and fell into a sewer. “Maybe,” he agreed, looking at me again.

  It was midnight. There was an explosion of cheers and laughter and “Happy New Year!” inside Cipriani that I heard all the way down the street. The past few months flashed before me—Charleston and Manhattan and Alex, Alex, Alex. All the time we’d spent together had gone by so quickly, and I’d never expected when I was putting on my glittery dress tonight that what I had with him would be gone with the old year.

  Thirteen

  Alex looked as surprised as I felt. We kept our eyes on each other for a long moment, and then he slowly turned and started walking away. I heard music from Cipriani—Mariah Carey belting out the first few depressing bars of “Auld Lang Syne”—and it reminded me of pre-Christmas, when I kissed Alex while she sang a much happier song.

  I kept my eyes on him as he walked, watching until he wasn’t there anymore and a tear dripped from my eye. I wiped it off and turned toward Cipriani, not sure why I was even going there. I’d missed the toast and there would be no New Year’s kiss for me, but I supposed I had to pick up my coat before I caught a lonely cab ride home.

  I dragged myself in that direction as people filtered out of the fancy arched doorway. They included Jack, dressed in a dark coat and surrounded by friends puffing on cigarettes. I also saw the photographer with Fabian Spader, who spotted me and stormed my way.

  “That ape you’re screwing nearly broke my windpipe,” he said after he met up with me on an empty section of the sidewalk a few feet from the Cipriani crowd. He pulled down his shirt collar to display the marks on his throat that had been left by Alex’s fingers.

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t look so bad, Fabian. You’ll live … unfortunately for the rest of us.”

  He eyes squinted into slits. “I get brutally assaulted because of you—”

  “Because of me? It was because of the way you’ve treated me, not to mention what you’ve done to so many other people, and—”

  “—and you dare to be sarcastic?” he went on, as if I hadn’t said a thing. Then he moved so close that I smelled liquor and saw specks of white powder clinging to his right nostril. He looked me up and down like I reeked as badly as the garbage rotting in the alley a few feet away. “You rich bitches are all from the same mold. You didn’t lift a finger for your money, and you have the nerve to look down on me because I’ve had to earn every cent of mine back.”

  I already knew his family had lost its fortune to some swindler years ago. And I was sure that everything he’d drunk and snorted tonight was the only reason for his honesty.

  “You’re mistaken,” I said. “If I look down on you, it’s not because you’ve earned your money … it’s because of how you’ve earned it. And you better wipe your nose.”

  There was a spark of something in his eyes—humiliation, hatred; I wasn’t sure what. He nonchalantly swiped his fingers against his nostrils, tossed his hair, and pretended he hadn’t shown more of himself than he’d planned.

  “You obviously think I’m a joke, Savannah … and that what happened tonight is, too. But you won’t be laughing tomorrow when I file charges against your psychotic boyfriend.”

  He had witnesses and evidence. I’d been so worried about Fabian’s virtual retribution that I hadn’t considered a legal one.

  “Don’t do that,” I said, but my voice came out weak. He thrived on the weak.

  He leaned in close and spoke tauntingly as he studied my face. “I think it’d make you cry to see your man in jailhouse stripes. Or have you been doing that already?” He ran his fingertip down my cheek, where that one tear had been. I smacked his hand away, and he smiled and rubbed his knuckles. “You just keep making mistakes, you silly little hick. But check out Nocturnal tomorrow and you’ll see that you and Alex have paid a very high price for them.”

  “Excuse me?” Jack said, suddenly beside Fabian. “What was that?”

  I hadn’t seen or heard Jack coming. Fabian obviously hadn’t, either, because he laughed awkwardly as he raised his coat’s collar to block the wind. When he opened his mouth, his tone changed from sinister to chummy.

  “Jack,” he said, but got no further because his sidekick s
howed up and asked Fabian if he was ready to leave. I took a step backward, trying to keep my distance from the evil triad. “Not yet,” Fabian answered curtly, and turned to Jack again. “I haven’t had a spare sec all night to talk to you. How’s everything with—”

  “We’re talking now,” Jack said. “And I want to know what you were saying. Who is going to pay for what?”

  I hadn’t a clue what to think. I wasn’t sure if Jack was relishing Alex’s downfall, or if this was a ploy to get in my good graces, or if he was honestly trying to help. You should give him the opportunity to redeem himself, I remembered Ned telling me.

  “Fabian wants to file charges against Alex,” I blurted out. “But Alex only went after him because he disrespected me … and now Fabian is planning to get back at us on his blog.”

  Jack didn’t say a word. He seemed to be thinking, and his eyes were so inscrutable that I regretted giving him the chance he’d claimed he wanted. I decided to walk away, but Jack started talking before I could move.

  “Let me see the pictures,” he said, nodding toward the camera that hung on a strap around the photographer’s neck.

  Fabian released a blithe laugh. “Come on, Jack … we’ve got a whole night’s worth of shots on there. They wouldn’t interest you.”

  Jack smiled without parting his lips. “Sure they would. Let me see.”

  Fabian reluctantly nodded at his photographer, who gave the camera to Jack before returning to the crowd outside Cipriani. Then I watched as Jack scrolled through all the images it held—people raising champagne flutes, a disheveled guy taking a drunken tumble on the dance floor, and Alex clutching Fabian’s throat while flabbergasted revelers looked on. And it seemed that Fabian had gotten what he wanted from hovering around the curb when the guests arrived, because there was a shot of an up-and-coming young actress unwittingly exposing her most personal zone as she slid out of her limo.

  Jack gave Fabian a chastising sideward glance. Fabian fidgeted and giggled.

  “Don’t blame me,” Fabian said. “She’s the one who forgot her G-string.”

  I wanted to gouge his eyes out. Jack held the camera in the air.

  “How much for this?” he asked, looking at Fabian. “For all the photos, I mean.”

  “Jack,” he said, “don’t be ridiculous. That’s my work.”

  “Your work,” I echoed as I rolled my eyes.

  “Precisely,” Fabian said, sneering at me before looking at Jack again. “It’s my time and my effort, and it’s valuable. Those pictures are for my Web site and for sale to various media outlets. I can’t sell them to you, Jack.”

  Jack slung the camera’s strap over his shoulder, reached inside his coat, and pulled out a checkbook. “I’ll pay whatever they’re worth.”

  “Why?” Fabian asked while I wondered the same thing.

  “That’s my business. Now name your price.”

  Fabian caressed his pointy chin. “Can’t do it,” he said finally. “I need the pictures and the credit and the money. I’ll get that from TMZ and the New York Post, but not from you.”

  Jack took a pen from his pocket and leaned against a streetlight to write a check. Then he tore it out of the book and stuck it in Fabian’s hand. “This exceeds what the pictures are worth. So you’re going to take it, and you’re not going to mention Savannah and Alex online tomorrow—or ever—and you’re also going to forget about filing charges against him.”

  I was glad I’d given Jack his chance, because he’d used it to score a touchdown. I didn’t know what he expected in return, but I was too nervous to think about that now. Fabian looked so indignant that I was sure the deal would fall through.

  He scoffed and showed Jack his throat. “I’m not forgetting about this,” he said, pointing to the bluish-red stripes on his skin.

  “Are you really that much of a wuss?” Jack asked. “You’ll be healed in a few days, and you’ll have my money in your bank account. It’s a fair deal … and you’re taking it.”

  Fabian shook his head and held the check toward Jack. “I am not. And I can’t figure out why you’re doing this, unless you’re playing in her garden again,” he said, jerking his thumb toward me. “But why would you give a shit about Alex Adair? He’s insignificant.”

  Jack ignored all of that. He moved closer to Fabian. “Here’s how it is,” he began. “You have a lot of friends in this city … but I have more. Virginia Stone, for example … I’ve known her since I was in grade school, and she thinks quite highly of me. But she has suspicions about you, Fabian … and I can confirm all of them. Hell, I can even make up a few stories. And I can do the same with every other socialite and politician and celebrity I know, and I can guarantee that your name is erased from every sought-after guest list in New York. So it’s your choice,” he said, glancing at the check lingering between them. “You abide by the terms of my deal … or I’ll fix it so you can’t continue your so-called work. Understand?”

  That was magnificent. Glorious. I could have applauded. But I kept quiet, waiting for Fabian’s answer. He was studying the sidewalk as he chewed the inside of his cheeks.

  “Perfectly,” he said after an agonizing minute, and then he jammed the check into his pocket and gave Jack a phony smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the next bash.”

  “I’m sure,” Jack said without smiling back.

  Fabian turned away and sauntered toward Cipriani, where people were still hanging around the entrance while the party raged inside. I heard Pitbull rapping and Jennifer Lopez singing to a synthesized techno beat while Jack and I watched Fabian walk away. Then Jack looked at me and I looked at him as the wind brushed his dark-blond hair into his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I don’t deserve any thanks. It was the least I could do for you … and for Alex,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the old building. “Is he still inside?”

  I’d been temporarily distracted, and the realization that Alex wasn’t inside—that he was on his way home to bed without me—made my throat close again. But I didn’t want to go into any of that with Jack, so I composed myself and shook my head.

  “He had to leave,” was all I said.

  Jack nodded. “That’s too bad. I was hoping he was here … so I could tell him how sorry I am for what I did last summer. I also want to tell you.”

  “You already have,” I said, nodding at the camera dangling from his shoulder.

  He smiled as I rubbed my arms and the goose bumps that had burst through my skin.

  “You’re shivering, Savannah. Where’s your coat?”

  “In there,” I said, motioning toward Cipriani and thinking I wouldn’t bother to go back and pick it up. I just didn’t have the energy. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. You’ll get sick,” Jack said before he unbuttoned his coat, took it off, and slipped it over my shoulders. “There … does that feel better?”

  It did. The coat was made of heavy wool and it had the softest silk lining. But I didn’t want to wear it because this scenario was eerily reminiscent of last summer, when Jack jumped in to fill Alex’s place as soon as it opened. And even though I was grateful for what Jack had done tonight, I couldn’t help thinking there was a reason behind it. So I took off his coat and held it out to him.

  “I don’t need this,” I said as I shuddered on the sidewalk.

  “Put the coat on, Savannah.”

  I tossed it toward him, and he caught it. “What do you want from me?” I asked abruptly.

  His hazel eyes widened with surprise, but they didn’t stay that way. He stared at me, and then he sighed and came closer with the coat draped over his arm. “Okay,” he said as the wind blew again. “I get it. I’ve earned your distrust. But I want you to know I’ve changed … and frankly, it’s because of you. When we were at The Plaza that night and you said I wasn’t good enough for you … well, it hurt like hell at first … but after a while, I realized you were right. And since then I’ve tried to be
… better.”

  I could see that. But I’d been burned so badly once that I still didn’t trust him.

  “Now come on,” he said, holding the coat toward me. “Take it.”

  I shook my head as my teeth chattered. “No, thank you.”

  “Stop being stubborn. I won’t let you freeze to death.”

  He spread the coat over my shoulders, and I didn’t fight him because it felt so good beneath that thick layer of wool and silk. I slid my arms inside, and Jack stood in front of me and started to close the first button.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  He held his palms flat in the air like he was under arrest. “Okay,” he said, backing up. He watched until I was finished buttoning, and then he slid the camera off his shoulder and held it out to me. “This is yours,” he said.

  I took it and felt a rush of relief. Alex was safe from public ridicule and criminal prosecution, and all evidence of New Year’s Eve calamities had been expunged—except the one that mattered most. But I ousted that from my mind and focused on the camera, which was a professional model with a high-power zoom lens.

  “Do you want to delete the pictures now?” Jack asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to delete them. I’m going to destroy the camera. There’s so much nasty mojo connected with this thing … I won’t bring it into my home.”

  “Good thinking,” he said. “And if you don’t mind … I’d like to help you wreck it.”

  I owed him that much, considering what he’d paid. I nodded, he motioned toward the closest alleyway, and I followed him inside. We stood in the narrow space between two buildings, surrounded by graffiti and rows of aluminum trash cans.

  “May I have it?” Jack asked, nodding toward the camera.

  I gave it to him. “What are you going to do?”

  “This,” he said, and threw it against a brick wall. But it only bounced off, hit the ground, and didn’t break. “Goddamn superior Japanese craftsmanship,” Jack grumbled as he snatched the camera from the cement and then hurled it at the wall again with no results.