Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  This felt like a game, and it made me giggle even though I thought I shouldn’t have. Jack wasn’t the man I was supposed to be having fun with—but I needed some cheering up.

  He picked up the camera and flung it against a POST NO BILLS sign that was tacked to the wall, where it finally shattered into chunks. He crushed some of them under his snazzy leather shoes and I joined him, cracking the camera’s lens and its memory card with my stiletto heel. We kept on demolishing until there was nothing left but a pile of metal and plastic shards.

  “Well,” I said when we were done, “that was … satisfying. It’s even better to know Alex and I aren’t the only ones you helped tonight … you averted a publicity crisis and total embarrassment for a certain actress. I only wish she knew that.”

  Jack reached up to push his hair off his forehead. “She doesn’t need to,” he said.

  He didn’t want praise, even from her. That made him even more worthy of it. I nodded, and then we left the alley and were back on the sidewalk, where I turned toward Jack and started to unbutton the coat I was wearing.

  “You can keep that on,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. You need it back, and I’m going to catch a cab home.”

  “I’ll take you home. I have a driver tonight … I’ll give him a call.”

  He pulled his cell from his pocket, but I put my hand over it to stop him from dialing.

  “No,” I said. “I’m not leaving with you, Jack.”

  He sighed before slipping the phone into his blazer. “You don’t have any faith in me … but you should. I don’t want anything but to make sure you get home safely.”

  “I’ll get home just fine on my own,” I said as I stripped off the coat. “I want you to know I appreciate what you did for me … but even more for Alex. It means a lot.”

  I held the coat toward him; he took it but didn’t put it on. It just hung from his fingers.

  “Savannah,” he said, “are you sure you won’t let me—”

  “I’m sure, Jack. And I wish you the happiest New Year ever.”

  He nodded, flashing me a smile. “I wish you the same.”

  I smiled, too. Then I turned away from him and headed down East Forty-second, believing we’d both truly meant it.

  Fourteen

  I woke up beneath my dahlia comforter. The sky outside my window was gray, and Alex’s scent hung in the air. It came from his clothes that I could see hanging in my closet—a pair of jeans, a button-down flannel, a T-shirt printed with ADAIR PLUMBING OF STATEN ISLAND.

  I turned my head and saw the necklace he’d given me. I’d taken it off last night and spread it across my dresser, and I didn’t want to see it anymore, so I fixed my eyes on the window. Looking at things from Alex gave me a hollow, aching feeling in my stomach and I couldn’t handle that because I already felt awful. My head ached, my feet were tender from dancing in impractical shoes, and my ears were sore because of last night’s music. Or maybe it was from my conversation with Alex.

  The phone rang on my night table. I sat up to grab it, and then I heard Mom’s voice.

  “Happy New Year’s Day,” she said so loudly that I thought my skull might split. “I waited until noon to call … I hope you and Alex aren’t still sleeping.”

  I threw myself back down onto my pillow, glancing at the empty spot beside me. I ran my palm across the sheet, saddened by how cold it felt.

  “Mom,” I said in a raspy voice, “Alex isn’t here. We broke up last night.”

  It was almost as hard to say that as it had been to do it. When it was out of my mouth, I heard nothing at the other end of the phone except a Shania Twain CD that Mom had been listening to since I was a kid. The song faded, and I pictured Mom turning down the volume and settling onto her plaid couch for a long talk like the ones we’d had when I was right beside her.

  “What happened, Savannah? I hope this wasn’t because of anything Tina and I said.”

  I rested the back of my hand against my eyes before I squeezed them shut. “No … all you and Tina did was point out what I knew and didn’t want to admit. But last night … I had to.”

  I grabbed an extra pillow to prop up my head, and then I told her everything that had happened and all that led up to it. Mom listened patiently, and when I was finished I glanced at my clock and couldn’t believe thirty-four minutes had passed.

  “You’ve told me a lot,” Mom said. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy to keep inside for so long … for you or for Alex. Now don’t you think it’s better that neither of you has to anymore?”

  I exhaled a shaky breath. “I guess … but that doesn’t make breaking up sting any less.”

  “It’ll smart for a while. You know that from experience … and Lord knows I do, too.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed as I involuntarily let out a snivel.

  Mom must have heard it. She started speaking in a perky, don’t-let-this-get-you-down voice. “You know what, Savannah? There’s a Project Runway marathon today.”

  I snatched a tissue off the nightstand to dry my nose. “What’s your point?”

  “My point,” she said, “is that I think you should stay in bed all day and watch every episode. You should also order takeout without worrying about calories, eat all the chocolate in your apartment, take a bubble bath so long that your skin shrivels, and give Tina a call. Then tomorrow morning you’ll get out of bed, put on some lipstick and a cute outfit, and go back to your job. And you won’t let anything stop you from trying to make this a great year.”

  I crumpled my tissue in my hand and blinked leftover tears from my eyes, thinking Mom was right—one day of wallowing was acceptable, but more than that would drive me straight into Depressed-Single-Girl Syndrome and its tragic consequences: neglected hair, sallow skin, an abnormal lack of interest in makeup, and the compulsion to buy Walmart underwear because who was going to see it, anyway?

  Uh-uh. No, sir. I’d been infected with that virus once and I couldn’t let it get me again. So I sniffed for the last time and lobbed my tissue toward a garbage pail in the corner of the room. Then I gathered up my courage and my remote control.

  “Mom,” I said, “I think that’s a wise prescription.”

  *

  You can handle this. You can handle all of it.

  That had become my mantra since I’d arrived in New York, and it’s what I kept chanting in my head as I sat on the edge of my bed early the next morning, dressed for work and staring at Alex’s clothes in my closet. I’d gotten a good night’s sleep and followed Mom’s orders—including a chat yesterday with Tina, whose name popped up on my cell when it rang against my mattress.

  “Have you done it yet?” she said as soon as I answered the phone.

  “No,” I told her, still focused on Alex’s things. “But he will want them back, won’t he?”

  “Of course he will, Savannah. But he probably won’t ask because I doubt he’s petty like most guys. One of my exes went crazy over a few DVDs he’d left in my car … he threatened to sue me on Judge Judy if I didn’t return them by sundown the day we broke up.”

  “I remember that idiot,” I said, flashing back five years. “I’m so glad you’re with a class act like Bryce now … but I talked so much about myself yesterday that I never asked how your New Year’s Eve was with him.”

  “It was wonderful,” she said, but no more. She was too considerate to brag when I wasn’t in my best condition. “But let’s talk about that later. Right now you need to pack up Alex’s stuff and send it back to him. It’ll be good for you. You need a fresh start.”

  You need a fresh start—that’s what I told myself while I folded Alex’s clothes into his gym bag. I also packed his toothbrush, and I was scanning the bedroom for whatever else he’d left when I spotted my necklace on the dresser.

  I stroked the aquamarine teardrop and the white-gold chain, torn between moving it into my jewelry box or Alex’s gym bag. I really wanted to keep it, but he’d spent more on it than he could aff
ord, and he might be able to sell it, and how selfish would I be if I didn’t let him?

  I went to the kitchen, where I sealed the necklace into a plastic bag. Then I turned toward the doorway and caught a glimpse of the calendar on my wall. It was January second, and Alex was starting at Fletcher Cole on Madison Avenue today, and I couldn’t ignore that or let him think I didn’t care about his gift just because I was sending it back. So I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, leaned against my marble countertop, and wrote I know you’ll be a success at your new job. Please keep the necklace … it wouldn’t be right if I did.

  A few minutes later, I zipped the necklace and the note inside Alex’s bag, which I carried out of my bedroom and past my office. Then I remembered Edward’s notes that I’d locked inside my desk and vowed not to think about until after the holidays.

  But the holidays were over, and now that I was single I’d have plenty of free time outside working hours to continue my investigation. So I took the notes from my desk, looked at the D.C. phone number, and copied it onto a Post-it that I put into my purse. After that, I grabbed the gym bag and a coat, left my building, and headed toward the black sedan parked at the curb.

  “Can you please give this to Alex?” I asked Tony when I slid onto the seat beside him.

  “Sure,” he said softly, watching me twist around to put the bag in the back. His dark eyes were still fixed on me when I faced forward again. “Alex told me what happened, and … well, all I can say is I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

  I looked through the windshield at a man unhooking Christmas decorations from a nearby building. Down came the lights and the wreaths and the bows, along with all the anticipation and excitement they always bring. That made me sad … but I knew it would all be back next year.

  “I will be okay,” I said in a strong voice, shifting my eyes to Tony.

  He nodded and smiled and gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Then he turned the key in the ignition, and the radio came on in the middle of a traffic report. In Westchester, there’s a three-car accident on the Taconic …

  Tony lowered the volume. “Straight to work?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  I was thinking about the traffic report—Westchester and Larchmont and the phone number in my purse. “Actually … I’d like to stop at a pay phone first.”

  Tony gave me a bewildered glance. “A pay phone?” he said incredulously. “Did you lose your cell? I’ve got mine if you want it.”

  I shook my head. “Caller ID would expose both of us. I need anonymity.”

  He stopped for a light and looked at me. “What exactly,” he said with a blend of interest and suspicion, “are you up to, Savannah Morgan?”

  I shrugged. “Just continuing what I started in Larchmont.”

  He paused as disapproval clouded his face. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “I do. I can’t let this go, Tony … and I’m sure you can understand why. Light’s green.”

  I pointed toward the windshield. He turned that way and hit the gas.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I can. And there’s a pay phone near your office.”

  He stopped there a few minutes later. I grabbed my purse, opened the door, and hopped onto the sidewalk as traffic honked and swerved around the sedan.

  “See you after work,” I told him, poised to shut the door.

  “Savannah,” Tony said, “whatever you’re doing … just be careful.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up before I closed the door and walked to the phone, which was inside a silver box beside a streetlight. My stomach churned as I punched the D.C. number into the phone, wondering who might answer and what I should say. Then I strained to hear a voice mail greeting through the racket of cars and buses whizzing by.

  You’ve reached Terrence Miller. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you.

  I slammed down the receiver. I’d never heard of Terrence Miller, but Edward must have.

  He might’ve been irrelevant and he could have been important. But I had just a few minutes to reach Femme on time, so I couldn’t search the Internet via my phone for his info right now. I’d have to do it during my lunch hour so it wouldn’t cut into editorial-assistant hours, and I needed to get moving. I hurried through the cold air and the bustling crowd toward Stone News, where I slipped into an elevator that took me to Femme.

  I plopped down in front of my desk as I took off my coat, glancing at my phone and its blinking red light. I checked my messages and heard Kitty’s voice say I’m taking Ethan to a doctor’s appointment this morning. I’ll be in after lunch.

  “Happy New Year, Savannah.”

  I spun around in my swivel chair. Celeste Natali was standing in my cubicle, looking more relaxed than the last time I’d seen her. She also looked pretty, dressed in a pencil skirt and an ivory blouse with a ruffled collar. Her brown hair was straight and swingy as usual, and she held a small, wrapped box in her hands that she held out to me.

  “For you,” she said with a wide smile, “just a token of appreciation for saving my job.”

  I took the box and admired its covering, which felt more delicate than regular wrapping paper. It was elegant, too—red with an intricate gold print. “What unique paper,” I said, studying the gold swirls and flowers that seemed hand-drawn. “Where’d you buy it?”

  “I made it. It’s lokta paper, which is really eco-friendly. I made your gift, too … and I hope you’ll like it,” she said before I opened the box and looked at a pair of earrings constructed from enameled silver mesh in a dangly diamond shape.

  “They’re upcycled,” Celeste said. “I made the earrings out of an old flapper’s purse that I found in a thrift shop on Third Avenue. You mentioned you love the 1920s, so…”

  I nodded as the earrings glimmered. “I do. And these are fabulous.” I closed the box and looked at her. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

  She leaned against my filing cabinet. “You’re feeling down?”

  I put the box on my desk. “I won’t bore you with my sob story … but my boyfriend and I parted ways on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Ooh,” she said, wincing like she felt my pain. “That’s too bad.”

  “Even worse,” I went on, “it happened at the stroke of midnight.”

  She shuddered. “No champagne for you guys, huh?”

  I was surprised that I laughed. “Not even a sip.”

  “Well, if you want to compare misfortunes,” she said, “I can beat yours.”

  I crossed my legs, leaned my elbow against my knee, and rested my chin in my hand. “Continue,” I said, glad we were spinning tales of woe into amusing anecdotes.

  “I was engaged,” she began, wiggling the bare ring finger on her left hand.

  “For how long?” I asked.

  “Two years,” she said. “I wanted a long engagement … to make sure I really knew him. When I thought I did, my parents booked a catering hall on Long Island and invited three hundred people. I bought the dress of my dreams and my parents spent an insane amount of money on flowers, and I woke up the morning of my wedding to the most perfect June day. Then I stood at the front of the church with ten bridesmaids … and he never showed up.”

  She burst out laughing. I stared at her as my heart plunged to my feet, thinking that poking fun at our disappointments hadn’t been such a clever idea after all.

  “I’m so sorry, Celeste.”

  Her laughter faded and died. Then she cleared her throat and tossed her hair and switched to a lighter subject. “Anyway … I was thinking we should go to lunch sometime soon.”

  “Absolutely,” I said with a smile.

  She smiled, too. “Well … I’d better get back upstairs and do some work. Otherwise Ned will have another reason to fire me.”

  “He hasn’t given you any trouble about those contracts, has he?” I asked. “I made sure they were delivered on time, so he shouldn’t—”

  “He hasn’t. But he has other things on
his mind this morning … like that gash on his face.”

  My legs uncrossed. “What gash?”

  She eyeballed me funny, like I should have been aware of this already since Ned was my brother. “From the accident,” she said. “You know … in the cab.”

  I pretended it had slipped my mind. “Right … the cab.”

  “I hope the doctor did a good job with those stitches … I’d hate for him to have a scar.”

  I nodded, seeing I ♥ NED stamped on her forehead. Then she left, I logged on to my computer, and I gave some thought to my to-do list but more to Terrence Miller. I wanted to wait until lunch to look him up, but Kitty wasn’t here to see me goofing off, and it would only take a minute. So I searched for his name and found out within seconds that I was wrong to suspect he might not matter. He was the president, chairman, and CEO of Amicus Worldwide.

  *

  “Come in,” Caroline said.

  I’d just knocked on her door, and I opened it and walked into her office. She was sitting with her feet on her desk, a document in her lap, and NPR on her radio. There were shelves behind her lined with books, and the windowsill was covered in souvenirs from foreign countries—an Australian boomerang, figurines of a flamenco dancer and a Chinese dragon, and one of those wooden Russian dolls with a few others nested inside.

  “Do you have a minute?” I asked.

  “More than that,” she said as she reached over to her radio to turn down the volume. “I welcome most distractions from my chronic case of workplace ennui.”

  I closed the door behind me and settled into a chair opposite her desk. “What happened to Ned? I heard something about a taxi accident.”

  She dumped her document onto the desk with a thud. “That’s the story he’s telling our employees … and our mother. But the only accident was his choice of a New Year’s Eve date. That bipolar trollop broke her champagne glass … against his face.”

  Even though I’d hit Ned once, I felt surprisingly ticked off that someone else had. “Is he okay?” I asked.