Oh, no. No way. You simply can’t reproduce with someone like Ned. “You’re doing that again so soon?” I said. “Wasn’t the plan to focus on work for a while?”
“It was … but things are so good between me and Ned right now that I’m willing to multitask and give the pregnancy thing another try. I’m just aching for a little Edward Stone the Third. Or an Edwina … that’s an elegant name … very British and Masterpiece Theatre–esque. Don’t you think?”
I thought she should call a divorce lawyer. But I’d kept the cover-up going so long that I was in too deep, and she seemed so excited that all I could do was nod and pretend Edwina wasn’t the most hideous name I’d ever heard.
*
After Kitty left for her meetings, I bolted out of my chair and searched for Ainsley. I finally tracked her down inside a conference room in the corporate division, where she was sitting at a polished table with stacks of documents. She was surrounded by mahogany walls and file folders and colored tabs, and she didn’t notice I was there until I shut the door behind me.
“Hi,” she said perkily, her dark bob bouncing around her face when she lifted her head. “Did you know it’s my last day? Purdue doesn’t start for a couple of weeks, but some professors have posted their reading lists, and I want to get started. I just came in to finish some things … I’m flying back to Indiana later this morning.”
“That’s convenient,” I said as I walked toward her.
She twisted a pearl stud in her ear. “I’m leaving in a few minutes.”
I pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down. “I’m sure you know what happened to Caroline.”
She nodded as she picked up a Sign Here tab. “It’ll all blow over soon. The news cycle is so fleeting these days that people will forget by tomorrow.”
“Caroline won’t. And she thinks it’s my fault.”
Ainsley stuck the tab on a document, grabbed a silver pen, and tapped it against the table. “I heard about that … but I didn’t believe it. Social media sites get hacked quite often, so there’s no way to tell who did it … but I’m sure whoever it was, he or she has nothing against you. He or she might even consider you a very lovely person.”
I paused. “If that’s so … then why would he or she do something that could only work against me?”
“Well,” she said as she twirled the pen between her fingers, “the person probably figured that because you want to keep your job, it wouldn’t make sense for you to be vindictive toward Caroline … thereby deflecting suspicion onto an anonymous hacker.”
I crossed my legs. “I suppose he or she never considered that Caroline hates my guts and would accordingly consider me the prime suspect?”
“He or she probably gave it some thought … but with all the scandal surrounding Stone News, and considering the shoddy way Caroline treats people, there could be a number of suspects. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, she isn’t exactly a ray of sunshine.”
“True. So is your point that such behavior could provoke retaliation?”
She wouldn’t stop goofing around with that pen, twirling it and doodling on a notepad while she kept her eyes on me. “That might’ve played a role … but only a minor one. You see, some people believe the best way to get back at someone is to hurt a person they love … like their child, their spouse … or maybe even their sister.”
She started tapping the pen against the table again, and the noise irked me. I grabbed it out of her hand, and I noticed it wasn’t a regular pen. It was a fancy one with Visconti engraved on the handle. My eyes shot to her face.
“This belongs to Ned, doesn’t it?”
“Gosh, I’m not sure,” she said. “He might’ve left it lying around the office and I accidentally picked it up. He really should be more careful about how he treats valuable things. He should also learn to be considerate toward trustful people who are new to certain intimate experiences.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What did you say?”
She didn’t answer. She just fiddled with her earring again and kept talking. “It’s dangerous,” she said, “for a man to string a girl along and pretend to care about her, only to abruptly end everything at a Pinkberry on a Saturday afternoon and then rush off to pick up his wife from a hair appointment.”
I remembered Ainsley’s teardrop splashing onto The New York Times and her telling me that Ned was a little grumpy in the morning. “Ainsley,” I said, “I can’t believe you had an affair with Ned … and that you’d hurt Caroline to get back at him because he ended it.”
She let out a faint laugh. “I did no such thing, Savannah. We’re just speaking hypothetically. I didn’t do anything wrong … and you won’t go around telling people otherwise. Unfounded rumors about mistakes I allegedly made at eighteen could trash my reputation in the news industry, and you have too much character to cause something like that.”
She really had me pegged. She stood up and headed toward the door, and I watched her stroll out of the room, leaving the scent of baby powder behind. And then I just sat there for a while, deciding that her cheerleader costume was lined with steel.
Twenty-two
I barged into Ned’s office. He was sitting behind his desk with his head bent over a thick document and his fingers pressed against his temples. He didn’t look up, even when I closed the door and sat in a chair across from him.
“I’m furious about what happened to Caroline,” he said.
I nodded. “I am, too.”
“And I’d blame you for it,” he went on, keeping his eyes on the document. “But like Kitty, I don’t think you’re responsible. You’re so desperate to hang on to your inheritance that I doubt you’re stupid enough to give me such a good reason to kick you the hell out of here.”
“Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t use the word desperate. But you’re right about the rest of it.”
He turned a page. “I think it was a disgruntled secretary or somebody in the newsroom with unfulfilled aspirations of anchorperson stardom.” He looked at me. “You can be sure that when I find out who did this … the penalty will be swift and severe.”
I had no doubt about that. I swallowed hard and forced myself to nod again.
Ned looked back at his papers. “The truth doesn’t matter right now, though … Caroline’s convinced it was you, and so is my mother. Virginia loathed you before, but now you’ve shot to number one on her shit list.”
“I don’t care. And I came here to talk about your breach of our agreement.”
“Our agreement?” he said as he flipped a page. “If you’re referring to your blackmailing me … you know I’ve complied and Darcelle is in Moscow.”
“Yes, I know. But you’ve been unfaithful with someone else.”
I pulled the Visconti pen from my pocket and dropped it in front of him. He picked it up and stared at me.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked.
“Ainsley had it,” I said.
He stuck the pen inside his jacket and began searching for loose threads on his lapel. “Did she really? Well, I probably left it somewhere around the office and she picked it up.”
I shook my head. “That was her explanation, but I don’t buy it. Since you made such a point of telling me that a Visconti pen isn’t a toy, you wouldn’t be so careless as to leave it lying around here. She must’ve found it somewhere else … like … oh, I don’t know … maybe in your bedroom.”
He pulled a thread off his jacket and cast it into the air. “Is that what she told you?” he said with a hearty laugh. “It’s just a teenage fantasy, Savannah. In case you haven’t noticed, the girl’s got a raging crush on me. She’s been following me around like a lovesick puppy all summer. Pay no attention to what she says.”
I shook my head and folded my arms. I couldn’t spoil the glowing reference that Ned had promised Ainsley—especially considering what she’d done to earn it. “She didn’t say anything. And I know you broke our deal.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk, gl
ancing out his window at the blue sky over Manhattan. “Let’s just pretend I did have something going with Ainsley,” he said after a moment. “I still didn’t violate our so-called contract. As I recall, you told me it would be null and void if there were any illicit activities between me and any woman who isn’t my wife.”
“I’m glad you remember.”
He wagged his finger at me. “If you ever want a decent position here, you need to learn about business. And one of the most important things to know is that you have to be careful with the fine print. Ainsley isn’t a woman, Savannah … she’s an annoying kid who rambles on and on about vapid bullshit like state flowers and whoever the fuck was the President of the United States in 1851. Now why would a man like me involve himself with a tiresome girl like that?”
I shook my head. “You’re right … she is a kid, which makes what you did with her even more disgusting.”
“I object to your insinuation that I’m a pervert. The age of consent in New York is seventeen, and she turned eighteen in May. Not that it matters, though. I didn’t touch her.”
“Sure you didn’t,” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “But even if I did … you wouldn’t tell Kitty. I’m sure she’s mentioned our plans to try again for a baby … and there’s no way you’d be vicious enough to ruin that. You simply don’t have it in you.”
Maybe he’d rubbed off on Ainsley instead of just rubbing up against her. She’d been as good at predicting my next move as he was. I supposed his implication that I was too considerate to wreck Kitty’s life was a compliment, but I doubted he saw it that way. He clearly viewed kindness and weakness as the same thing.
“Besides,” he went on, “Darcelle is gone, and Ainsley’s on her way back to the Midwest. All threats have been relocated.”
“Not if you count the entire female population of the tri-state area.”
He laughed, plopped his feet on his desk, and adjusted his Rolex. “From what I’ve heard, it seems you’ve gotten over your little heartbreak with that bartender and you’ve gone back to my best friend. So how about this: You keep out of my marriage, I’ll put up with your dating Jack, and we’ll all be one big happy family … just like my father wanted.”
I could’ve thrown up. “You don’t have a clue about what our father wanted.”
I left his office and went to my desk, where I couldn’t concentrate on work because all I could think about was Caroline and Ainsley and Kitty, who came back from her doctor’s appointment a few hours later with a big smile on her face.
“How’d it go?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager for bad news.
“Fine, I think … I’ll have the test results soon.” She glanced at my computer. “Did you get my e-mail about the party this weekend at The Plaza?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’ll have to pass. I assume Caroline and Virginia will be there, and after what happened this morning—”
“Caroline’s already canceled,” Kitty said. “Virginia will definitely be there, but that’s all the more reason for you to attend. I know you’re innocent, and so does Ned … but if you don’t show up on Friday, my dear mother-in-law will take it as evidence of guilt. And you have nothing to hide, Savannah … so go to that dinner with your head held high. Besides … I need you there. I can’t deal with Virginia by myself.”
She needed me. That meant something. I nodded, thinking of the gown that Tina had left in my closet. “I have a dress I’ve worn only once, so I guess I should get some use out of it.”
Kitty dragged her diamond circle back and forth on its chain. “What kind of dress?”
“It’s strapless and sparkly. The color is called lipstick rose.”
“Well,” she said, “that sounds beautiful. But this event is rather subdued … so you’d probably be better off with something black and simple.”
*
On Friday night, I stared at the clothes stretched out on my bed—the pink ball gown from Charleston and the formal black dress I’d bought at Bergdorf Goodman.
The black dress was safe and unassuming. It would make me blend into an orchard of upper-class clones. But I didn’t want to be an assembly-line cutout, a carbon copy of every woman I’d seen at high-end stores on Fifth Avenue. I wanted to be me, and I wanted to wear Tina’s dress with its full chiffon skirt and flowers made of hand-sewn sequins, and what was wrong with that? The dress I’d worn to the Hamptons had been a smash in the blogosphere even though it violated Manhattan’s fashion code, so maybe I knew more than Kitty did. Maybe New York’s high society needed a dash of southern-style glamour.
By the time Jack knocked on my front door, my hair was curled and my makeup was done and I was wrapping a lipstick-rose shawl around my shoulders.
“Well,” he said, eyeing my dress after I opened the door, “that’s unique.”
I couldn’t imagine he meant it in a negative way. “Yes,” I agreed as I admired his tux. “And as I recall from our first date, unique is what you’ve been looking for.”
I sounded flirty, like I’d changed my mind about being just friends—and maybe I was starting to. He’d been so sweet all week, calling every night and sending bouquets to my desk and doing his best to make me feel better about the Caroline controversy and to sew up the gaping wound that Alex had left.
“I think I’ve found it,” he said, sliding his hand around my waist and leaning in to give me a peck on the cheek. But this time I turned my mouth toward him instead of away. Our lips met, and when they parted his dimples sprang into his cheeks as he smiled and kept his arms around me. “So you’re okay with this, Savannah? I don’t want to rush you.”
“You haven’t,” I said. “That’s why it’s okay.”
I took his hand and we left the apartment and walked down the hall as my hem swept the carpet. Then we went downstairs and headed outside, and I stopped in my tracks when I saw Tony at the curb. He was opening the back door of the black sedan to let out a smartly dressed couple who walked past us arm in arm on their way into the building.
I caught Tony’s eye. He looked away, and Jack spoke up.
“Hey,” Jack said, giving Tony a wave as he kept his other hand in mine and led me toward the car. “Since you’re here, do you mind giving us a ride to The Plaza? You can charge it to my account.”
“Jack,” I said, turning my head toward him and keeping my voice low, “it’s Friday night. He wants to go home.”
“No I don’t,” Tony said, probably just to spite me.
“Of course you do,” I insisted. “Think of Allison and Marjorie.”
His jaw tensed up. “I always think of them, Ms. Morgan. That’s why I’ll be happy to drive you to The Plaza.”
Jack chuckled, eyeing me and Tony quizzically. “What is this? A brother-sister spat?”
I made myself laugh that off. “Don’t be silly,” I said as Tony held the back door open for me and Jack. We slid onto the seat and then Tony pulled away from the curb, and I kept looking at his key chain dangling from the ignition and the picture of Marjorie. I almost asked how she was doing, and I nearly drowned inside a wave of sadness after I remembered that I couldn’t.
“Are you all right? You’re so quiet,” Jack said a few minutes later, when we were stuck in traffic and The Plaza was visible in the distance. It was twenty stories high and had a majestic entrance with steps covered in red carpet. He leaned toward me and nodded in Tony’s direction as he spoke into my ear. “I made a joke of it, but I didn’t like the attitude this guy had with you. Are you upset about it? I’m on good terms with the owner of the car service … one word from me and he’ll deal with Tony.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t you dare do that, Jack. I’m fine.”
It took a moment for him to nod. Then Tony veered around a limousine and sped up, which made something slide across the floor and land against my foot. I reached down and picked up a hardcover book coated in transparent plastic that had a sticker on its spine printed
with New York Public Library. I leafed through a chapter, and a laminated card fell out.
I put down the book and examined the card. A prayer was printed on one side, and on the other was the name Michael Neill and last Wednesday’s date. Foster Funeral Home was written across the bottom. Elmhurst, New York.
I glanced at Tony, hoping Michael Neill wasn’t his uncle or his cousin or one of his best friends, and wondering if he’d wanted to talk to me about him but thought he couldn’t.
I leaned over to Jack and whispered in his ear. “Where’s Elmhurst?” I asked.
“Queens,” he said.
Tony stopped in front of The Plaza. Jack slid to the edge of the backseat, opened the door, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Then he leaned inside and offered me his hand.
I didn’t take it. “Can you please give me a minute, Jack? I’d like to speak with Tony.”
Jack seemed confused as he moved his eyes between me and the front seat. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll be waiting by the entrance.”
He shut the door. I bent toward Tony, holding the funeral card under his chin.
“Who’s Michael Neill?” I asked.
He stared at the card for a long moment. Then he let out a heavy breath and turned around. “He’s the reason Alex quit fighting … and the reason he stood you up last week.”
I checked the card, focusing this time on the birth and death dates written in small print that I hadn’t noticed before.“But this says he died on Sunday.…”
Tony sighed again. “He’d been doing badly for a while … paralysis can cause a lot of other complications. He went into the hospital late Saturday afternoon, right before Alex was supposed to meet you. Mike and Alex were close friends for a few years before that fight.… Alex was devastated about what happened, but he did everything he could to help Mike and his family. Alex promised he’d be there for him, and he wasn’t going back on that promise at the end.”
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