Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Tell me.”

  I shook my head. “Just forget it, Wes. I’m so sorry about all of this. You’re a sweet guy and I really enjoyed meeting you, but it’d be better if we don’t see each other again. We should also pretend tonight didn’t happen. Search for my name online … and you’ll understand why.”

  I slid my key into its slot, went into my room, and turned around to lock myself inside. But Wes hadn’t moved from the hallway, and I just couldn’t close the door.

  “If what I find out doesn’t bother me,” he said, “are we still on for Monday? I can meet you in the lobby downstairs at nine.”

  “Sure,” I answered, knowing he wouldn’t be there.

  *

  An hour later, my dress dangled from a hanger, my makeup was off, and my hair was damp from the shower. I threw on my cashmere robe and brushed my hair in front of the bathroom mirror, and I was working on a knot when my cell rang on the bureau. Caroline’s voice came through the phone when I picked it up.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Not so well,” I said wearily as I passed the glass doors on my way to the bed. I sat on the mattress and tried to untangle the knot in my hair with my fingers. “I weaseled my way into the wedding reception, but I didn’t talk to Terrence Miller. It just … didn’t seem like the right time. But I’m going to try to see him at Amicus on Monday. It’s on…” I glanced over at a notepad where I’d written the address. “K Street Northwest. I’ll never get to him without an appointment, so I’ll just wait in the lobby and catch him on his way in or out.”

  “You won’t be able to get into the lobby. I did some research of my own, and I found out that Amicus has heavy security at the main office because it’s been threatened by quite a few angry people. You won’t be allowed in the building without clearance and proper ID.”

  That was discouraging. But I tried not to let it be. “Okay … so I’ll go with Plan B and wait outside until Miller shows up.”

  “Savannah,” Caroline said, “it’s February. It’s cold. And he might not even be there on Monday. He might take the day off or have meetings elsewhere or be out of town on business.”

  “Then I’ll go back on Tuesday.”

  The knot was loose. I stood up and headed toward the bathroom, waiting for Caroline to say something. I was halfway there when she finally did.

  “Well … I guess I always knew you were tenacious. So how’d you get into the reception?”

  I’d just stepped into the bathroom, where the marble floor was cold against my bare feet. I walked across it and sat on the edge of the tub, deciding not to mention Wes. Caroline surely knew him, and I had to forget that I did.

  “I slipped somebody a few bucks,” I lied.

  Caroline snickered. “Works every time.”

  I didn’t tell her that wasn’t true. We said good-bye, and I passed out in bed an hour later. When I woke up, I got dressed and ordered breakfast in my room. Then I decided to spend the cloudy Sunday sightseeing on my own.

  “I’m interested in touring the White House,” I told the concierge after I went down to the lobby. “Would it be possible to do that today?”

  She shook her head. “White House tours are only Tuesday through Saturday … and you need tickets in advance. But there are plenty of other things to see.” She reached behind her desk and pulled out a pamphlet for an open-top bus tour that went past all the landmarks and let passengers off to explore. “You can still catch this one, and it’s great for pictures.”

  My phone was filled with pictures when I went back to my room that night. I’d been shooting them off to Mom throughout the day—when I was at places like the Jefferson Memorial and the Lincoln Memorial and Arlington Cemetery—and I was so exhausted from seeing D.C. that I was too tired to go out to dinner. I ordered room service, fell asleep before ten, and was jarred into consciousness early the next morning by my wake-up call. I opened my eyes to find a room filled with sunlight and a complimentary Washington Post outside my door.

  I didn’t read the newspaper or order breakfast. I left the hotel, grabbed a cab, and headed to Amicus Worldwide, which was inside a ten-story office building that took up most of a block. It had an esplanade with benches and I sat on one of them before eight o’clock, hoping to catch Terrence Miller as he walked into Amicus with the morning rush.

  He didn’t show up, though—not in the morning when it was sunny, or during lunch hour as the sky turned gray, or in the early evening, when swarms of people started leaving the building and an icy rain trickled from the clouds. It was dark soon after that, and the building seemed to be almost empty, and my wool coat stunk worse than a drowned dog. I was soaked and hungry and way past disappointed, so I gave up for the time being and dragged myself to the curb, where I hailed cabs that sped by and splashed water from grimy puddles onto my feet.

  My shoes were soaked through by the time a taxi stopped. I asked the driver to take me to Pennsylvania Avenue, and I shivered in the backseat while he honked his horn through heavy traffic. We finally reached the Hay-Adams, where I walked through the lobby toward the elevators, dripping a shameful trail of water on the floor.

  “Savannah?”

  I turned around. Wes was walking toward me, dressed in jeans and a navy-blue sweatshirt with GEORGETOWN LAW printed across the front. There was a bomber jacket slung over his arm and a concerned look on his face.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  A drop of water fell from my hair and slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away and was left with a smear of black mascara on my fingers. The elevator was right beside me and I was tempted to glance at its shiny doors to check my reflection, but I decided against it because I didn’t even want to know. And I couldn’t understand why Wes was there.

  “I … got caught in the storm,” I told him.

  “I can see that,” he said. “But what I meant was … where were you this morning? I was here at nine like we planned, and when you didn’t show up I asked the concierge to call your room … but you didn’t answer.”

  My hair kept leaking. I blinked away a driblet that had slid into my eye. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” I said bluntly. “Don’t you know who I am by now?”

  He nodded. “I know. I also know you confronted my mother about Edward Stone and Amicus during her Christmas party.”

  He must have called Larchmont. “Then why are you talking to me? Did your mother tell you that I asked if she had anything to do with Edward’s death?”

  “She told me. To be honest, I understand why you might suspect her … but believe me, that isn’t who my mother is. She knew Edward for years, and she cared about him. I did, too … my family and the Stones were very close. Not anymore, though.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  “I don’t blame you for confronting my mother,” Wes went on. “I also don’t blame you for looking for answers. I guess you intended to get some from Terrence Miller last night … which is why you used me to get into his daughter’s wedding reception. But how did you know I’d be there?”

  He sounded surprisingly calm and not the least bit angry, but I still took a step back. “I didn’t know. Trust me … I’m not that good at covert operations. In fact, I’m horrible at them. I had no clue that you were the senator’s son until you told me. And running into you last night was purely coincidence. But even so … I apologize for misleading you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to. I’m sure there’s a lot you wanted to ask Terry.”

  “Terry?” I said.

  “That’s what I’ve always called him. The Millers are friends of my family … although Terry hasn’t been one lately. He let my parents take the rap for things he’s responsible for as the head of Amicus.”

  I peeled off my damp coat. “But if you dislike Terrence Miller so much, why did you go to his daughter’s wedding reception?”

  “I’ve known her forever,” he said as I bent my coat over my arm. “S
he was also in my class at Georgetown. So I went to the party for her … not for him. I can’t stand to be in the same room with that man, to be honest. But if you want a chance to meet with him, I can arrange it for you.”

  This was all so sudden, and I didn’t know what to say. It was true that Wes could help me, but I had only a partial understanding of why he wanted to. “So you think your parents were wronged by Amicus,” I said. “But why would you want to help me? I mean … I’m Edward’s daughter, and even though your mother denies it, I’m sure he was involved with her, and—”

  “She was involved with Edward. She can deny it in the press all she wants, but the truth came out at home. My father wouldn’t have filed for divorce otherwise,” he said as a bellman rolled a luggage cart in our direction. We moved out of the way and stood beneath a chandelier.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “And it’s another reason for you to want nothing to do with me. My father broke up your parents’ marriage.”

  He sighed. “He was only part of it, Savannah. There were other problems. It takes two to have an affair, you know. My mother isn’t blameless.”

  He’d impressed me once again. He was so objective and rational about all of this.

  “But the thing is,” he went on, “what happened between her and Edward isn’t your fault, and it has nothing to do with you or me. During the wedding reception, I kept thinking I wanted to get to know you … and that didn’t change when I found out who you are. I want to be friends, and I don’t think we should have to stay away from each other because of our parents. We’ve already suffered enough for their lousy choices … haven’t we?”

  His hair was bent in different directions like last night. I fought an impulse to smooth it down, to move closer to him, to tell him that even though we’d been touched differently by what our parents had done, we probably felt just the same.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “We have.”

  Wes exhaled a long breath and leaned his back against the wall. “So can we just forget our parents for a while and start with a clean slate? Here,” he said, sticking out his hand, “let’s try this again. I’m Wesley Caldwell.”

  Everything he’d said was right. There was no reason for us not to be friends, so I didn’t leave him hanging like I had last night. I slipped my palm into his, and he shook it gently.

  “I’m Savannah Morgan,” I told him, pretending this was the first time I’d said it.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you. And if you don’t have other plans tonight, I’d like to take you to dinner in Old Town. I’m sure we have a lot in common to talk about.”

  “I’m sure we do. And I’ll be happy to have dinner with you,” I said, glancing down at my soggy clothes. “I’ll need to get fixed up, though. What time do you want to eat?”

  “The sooner the better,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been sitting around this lobby all day and I’m starving to death.”

  My eyes widened. “You’ve been here since this morning?”

  “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to miss you.”

  I could hardly believe he’d spent all those hours waiting. But then I felt my clammy shirt clinging to my skin, and it reminded me that I’d spent the day waiting for someone, too. I never would’ve done that if it wasn’t very important to me. I supposed nobody would.

  *

  When I was back on the fourth floor, I found that Wes had told the truth about asking the concierge to call my room. I had a voice mail from her, and I also found a text on my cell from Caroline asking Any luck?

  None yet, I typed back, even though that wasn’t true. But I wanted to keep Wes to myself for now—especially because we’d agreed to temporarily forget our parents and their problems. And there was no time to call Caroline and explain everything even if I wanted to. I’d promised to meet Wes in two hours, and I had to shower and change and find a cab.

  Soon I was inside a taxi. The rain had stopped, and the cab reached Old Town after a twenty-minute ride. I looked through the window beside me, thinking the area reminded me of Fulton Market in New York. It was a boating village with quaint shops and restaurants and people everywhere.

  The driver left me at the place Wes and I had planned to meet—a restaurant called Vermilion that was inside a Colonial-style building with gas lanterns framing an entrance painted yellow. I walked through the front door and into an intimate space that had brick walls and a bustling bar where Wes was standing. He spotted me, waved, and met me at the door. He’d changed into black pants and a gray sweater, and he was carrying what appeared to be a gin and tonic with a slice of lime stuck on the rim of the glass. He smiled at my white turtleneck and taupe pants that I’d worn beneath the spare coat that I was glad I’d brought from home. The other one was drying on a hanger in my hotel room.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  I chuckled, thinking about the photo that he must have seen when he read about me online. I figured I’d get it out of the way, because laughing at that sort of thing somehow weakened it. “Better than before, I hope. But maybe not quite as good as the picture of me at The Plaza last summer … the one with the unfortunate pink dress.”

  Wes smiled sympathetically. “I don’t think the dress was too unfortunate. But did you really shove Virginia?”

  “It was an accident. The story was spun differently, though.”

  A hostess escorted us to a table in a private corner of the restaurant, handed us menus, and walked away. Wes put his menu and his drink on the table before leaning toward me to pick up where we’d left off.

  “Who spun the story that way?” he asked. “Fabian Spader?”

  “The one and only,” I said. “I guess you’re acquainted with him?”

  “Not personally … but he’s victimized a lot of people I know. I’m sorry he did it to you.”

  I shrugged. “I survived. And I don’t think he’ll bother me again.”

  Wes took the lime off his glass and dropped it onto a napkin. “Why’s that?”

  “Someone I know persuaded him not to.”

  “Oh,” Wes said thoughtfully. “That person must be a very good friend.”

  I hadn’t thought of Jack that way. I shrugged again and opened my menu, and a few minutes later a young blond waitress carrying a notepad and a basket of bread came by. Her face brightened when she put the basket in front of us and looked at Wes.

  “Hi,” she said warmly, smiling as she patted his shoulder. I noticed her name tag printed with TAMMY B. “I haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

  He smiled back. “I was out of town for the holidays and too busy before that to eat anywhere other than at work. How’s everything with you? No more problems with your ex?”

  “Well,” she said, “he’s useless as a father and never shows up for his supervised visits. He just can’t seem to handle having an autistic kid. But at least he’s respecting my restraining order and sending his child-support checks on time … thanks to you.”

  Wes nodded. “How has your daughter been feeling? Are her ears okay?”

  “Better … she got tubes in them and hasn’t had an infection since. Thanks for asking,” she said, and then she pulled a pen from her pocket and poised it against her pad. “I should stop talking and take your order before I lose my job. You’d have to find me another one, Wes.”

  He glanced at the menu and asked for an appetizer before his entrée. I did the same, and then Tammy was gone and I looked at him over the bread.

  “I assume she’s one of your clients?” I asked, and he nodded, picked up the basket, and offered it to me. I took a slice and reached for the butter. “You probably have so many … it’s amazing that you can remember details about the kids.”

  “I can’t forget the kids. They’re part of what keeps me going.”

  I passed him the butter when I was done with it. “It was good of you to get her a job.”

  He shrugged as he picked up his knife. “It wasn’t exactly difficult. I
know the manager … all it took was a five-minute phone call.”

  “Still,” I said, “not many people would spare the five minutes.”

  His cheeks turned scarlet, like my praise had embarrassed him. He looked even more adorable that way.

  Eighteen

  We left the restaurant and strolled along King Street. We were heading toward a café, passing eateries and stores that had probably been homes in the Colonial era, when I said “This is a fantastic town. It must have so much history.”

  Wes nodded. “It does … in fact, Robert E. Lee lived here as a child.”

  That surprised me because I hadn’t heard one Southern accent yet. But I should have remembered from my old history classes that Virginia had been part of the Confederacy.

  “His family’s house was built in 1785 … and Union soldiers recovered there after the Civil War,” Wes went on like a tour guide, pleasantly reminding me of Tony.

  “Union soldiers?” I said, aghast. “I can’t imagine General Lee allowed that.”

  “He didn’t. The Union seized the house.”

  I folded my arms and looked at Wes sideways. “Figures,” I said.

  He laughed as he raked his fingers through his brown hair, pushing back the perpetually errant strands. “I hope you don’t hold it against me that I come from a long line of Yankees.”

  I stopped walking, scrunched up my mouth, and pretended to size him up. I studied his blue eyes, his solid jaw, and his mouth that bent to the left when he grinned at me.

  “I think I can overlook your heritage,” I said, sticking my nose in the air as I kept my arms folded tightly against my chest, “and its role in the War of Northern Aggression.”

  He laughed. “Is that what they call it in Charleston?”

  “Either that,” I said as we started walking again, “or the Recent Unpleasantness.”