“Then maybe it’s time for us to split up.”
“I think that’s what you wanted all these months, isn’t it?”
“I want what’s good for me. And you’re not good for me anymore, Gena.”
She was astonished. That should have hurt. But it didn’t. Not at all. The simple clarity of it, for both of them, made everything easy.
“I’ll go stay in a hotel tonight,” Warren said. “You’ll need to pack up your things. Take a couple of days if you need to.”
“No,” she said. “The apartment is yours. You stay here tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon, while you’re at work, and arrange to get my things out. There isn’t much. My clothes, a few books, some jewelry—it can all be stored till I get settled. I’ll leave the keys tomorrow.”
She picked up Wiley, who had been at her feet the whole time.
“You’ll be glad to see the end of him, I know.”
Warren laughed. “You got that right.”
At the door, she stopped, thinking. “Warren, just tell me: all those days away from home, all those golf dates and tennis games, all those nights home late—is there another woman?”
Warren’s look was almost pitying. But before he could answer, Gena said, “Never mind. It really doesn’t matter.”
And she walked out. And she didn’t cry a single tear.
* * * *
The Graydon Hotel was dog friendly, and she already had some feeling for it, so she decided to check in. She’d considered asking Viv, but Viv would want to hear a full replay, and she really didn’t feel like talking. Her life had just taken a major turn, and she needed to think. No, actually, she needed to savor what she had just done. She was feeling lightheaded and happy. She checked in, parked Wiley in the room, all comfy on the big bed, and went into the restaurant. She ordered a steak and potatoes and salad and brussels sprouts and red wine and chocolate cake and ice cream, and she felt like a free woman!
God! she thought. Life is good!
While she waited for the steak, she got her phone out of her bag.
“Paul will be home in about four weeks,” she said to herself. “We’ll see what happens then.”
I finally figured it out. Will explain when I see u.
No answer came back, but he was probably in a meeting.
Chapter Thirty-three
She was in Marge’s office first thing in the morning. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
“And I need to talk to you, too,” said Marge. “But you go first.”
“I’m going to need a little time off this afternoon.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“You’ll be glad to know it’s all over between Warren and me. I moved out. I need to get my stuff out of his place.”
“You don’t seem unhappy about it.”
“I’m not unhappy. And I want to thank you. You helped. Nothing to talk about now. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Okay. I’m glad. Do you have a place to stay?”
“Not yet. I’ll be at the Graydon Hotel until I work things out.”
“Well, frankly, Gena, for a woman who just ended a long-term relationship, you’re looking wonderfully chipper.”
Marge picked up a pen and made a note on a pad. “Tell you what,” she said. “Take off a couple of days. Today’s Thursday. Take a long weekend. We can spare you till next Tuesday. You’ll need some time to get your things organized, find a new place, and so on.”
Gena was about to speak, but Marge waved her off. She paused and tapped her pen on the desk a couple of times, thinking. Then she apparently made a decision. She smiled and said, “I was going to wait till next week, but this is a better time to tell you.”
Gena stayed silent.
“With Dinah gone, we need a new features chief. I’ve been so impressed by the work you’ve done, I’m making you Dinah’s replacement. I was going to make the announcement next week, so let’s keep it quiet till then. But in the midst of your current upheaval, I think you can use a little extra time to get used to your new title.”
She sat back and enjoyed the look on Gena’s face.
“Flabbergasted” was probably the right word for it.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m—I’m—I’m speechless.”
“Well, don’t stay that way, because you’re going to have to make a little acceptance speech.”
“Marge, this is too much. I mean, thank you. Thank you, of course. In a million years, I couldn’t have expected—”
“Now, now. Save it for the announcement.”
Gena closed her mouth abruptly.
“One last thing, Gena,” Marge said, “and then you’ve got to go, because I have a busy day.” Gena could see Marge visibly move into a higher gear. “The next issue of Lady Fair will be out tomorrow, and we put two of your stories in this month’s issue. The Sonny Gaile wedding couldn’t wait. That story is bound to be out soon, whether we break it or someone else does. Be prepared to deal with some press on that one. And the Romy deVere story is just too good to wait, so we went with that one, too. And God knows what the reaction to that will be, so brace yourself.” She put down the pen and Gena realized they were finished. “Now go,” Marge said. “Enjoy your little vacation. And good luck with your new status. Boyfriend-free. Yay for you.”
As Gena reached the door, Marge remembered. “Oh, yes. There’s something else. I almost forgot. When you get your issue of the magazine, look on page eighty-seven. Just a little something I think will interest you.”
Gena paused in the doorway.
“Marge. I just want to say I—”
“Go!”
Gena closed the door behind her.
Chapter Thirty-four
She let herself into the silent apartment and walked through it knowing this would be the last time she’d see it. She’d arranged for moving people to come and pack up her things—as she’d told Warren, just her clothes, some jewelry, books. Not much. The movers were already downstairs, making arrangements to use the service elevator. When they arrived, she was amazed to see how quickly her things were boxed up and gone. She’d kept separate what she’d need until she got settled, and had those things packed in a suitcase. She looked around one last time, realized she would miss nothing at all, breathed one sad sigh, put the keys on the little table near the door, and left.
She’d taken Wiley to Dog Prep, where he would stay till tomorrow, so once her things were moved, she had the day totally free. Free to think about her future, free to recognize the major promotion Marge had given her, free to think how that might change her life. With all that freedom, she did a really extraordinary thing: she went to a movie.
It was probably the first time in her life she went to a movie by herself. It was a remarkably freeing experience. She was discovering, for the first time, that her life—her precious life—really was her own. When she came out of the movie, she took a walk. She walked in the park. Glorious Central Park! Glorious in its early evening languor. Glorious because this, too, was all hers. The whole world was hers. She was in heaven.
She went back to the hotel. As she walked through the lobby, she remembered she’d been so preoccupied she forgot to pick up her copy of Lady Fair at the office, so she bought a copy at the gift shop. She started to leaf through it and saw the Romy deVere story.
“Omigod!” There was Wiley, face to face with the gorgeous Romy, perfect profiles facing each other across the page, perfectly imperious, perfectly god-like, both of them perfectly marvelous. “Wait till I show him,” she said. “No one can possibly call this dog ugly! Look how incredibly beautiful he is!”
She got herself comfortably settled into the corner of one of the big lobby sofas, eager to see what the finished product looked like. She was deep into the story and was feeling very proud of herself.
“It’s
a really good story, Gena. I read it on the plane.”
She didn’t look up. But she knew that voice.
He sat down beside her.
“Mind if I join you?” he said.
She kept looking down at the magazine in her lap as though she would take no notice, but she was struggling to control the smile that was trying to break out.
“I thought you were in Australia.” She kept looking down.
“I was. But I saw your text message.”
“I didn’t tell you to come home.”
“Are you sorry?”
She turned to him quickly. “Oh, no! Oh, Paul, no! I’m so glad. But how did you know?”
“I know how to read between the lines. You were ready.”
“I am ready. Oh, yes, I’m so ready. And I have so much to tell you. But how did you know I’d be here?”
“I didn’t. My place is all locked up, dust covers over everything, so I planned to stay here till the apartment’s ready. I was just going to check in and I saw you sitting here. What are you doing here?”
“Long story. I’m staying here, too.”
“Does that mean you and Warren—”
She smiled. She nodded yes. “I escaped,” she said.
There was barely a beat while he took that in. When he spoke, his eyes were locked on hers. “Does that mean I get to take you to bed?”
She felt her heart go thump. “Oh, Paul. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“We’re in a public place. I can’t kiss you here.”
“You can kiss me.”
“Not the way I want to.”
She was having trouble breathing. She had never seen such hunger in a man’s face before. Not like this. Never for her. She could barely speak.
“My room or yours?” Her face was close to his.
“I haven’t checked in yet,”
“Then for God’s sake,” she whispered, “let’s get up to mine!”
* * * *
Hours later, they were two exhausted, sweaty bodies, lying naked, entwined among tangled sheets.
“I’m starving,” she said.
“Me, too. I haven’t eaten since San Francisco.” He reached across her to the phone on the nightstand. “I’ll call room service. What’ll it be? Steak? Fries?”
She nodded, smiling.
He ordered steak and fries for both of them. Plus wine. And lots of ice cream. Chocolate ice cream.
She had his free hand in hers and held it to her face, loving the strong feel of it, warm against her skin.
“You have great hands,” she said. “I think your hands were the first thing I fell in love with.”
He held her face in both his hands, as though they contained a precious object. “And I fell in love with this face, the first moment I saw it at my sister’s place.”
“Oh, come on, Paul. That’s a bit much.”
“Gena. What would it take to make you see yourself as you should? I would have thought those photos by Ira Garlen would have done it.”
“How did you see those photos? I have them packed away.”
He looked at her kind of funny. He got out of bed and dug the magazine out of the tumble of clothes on the floor.
“Here,” he said, riffling through the pages. “Here, on page eighty-seven.”
That rang a bell. Marge had told her to look at page eighty-seven. And there they were, Ira’s glamour shots of herself. Gena Shaw, looking gorgeous. Gorgeous in her own eyes, because she was seeing herself through Paul’s eyes.
And she saw that she was beautiful. And she began to cry.
And Paul held her close and said, “Don’t cry, Gena. Everything’s going to be all right now.” And he put his nice hands around her and pulled her close.
And from then on, everything was all right.
Epilogue
One month later
Paul’s summer house in Maine was perfect. Isolated on a long stretch of the Atlantic shoreline, it was big and sunny, with tall windows and a sliding door that opened onto a broad deck that faced the ocean and ran the whole length of the house. Early afternoon, and Gena and Paul were on the deck, stretched out on lounge chairs. The sun was hot, the breeze off the water was cool, and the Schloss Johannisberg Riesling was perfectly chilled. Wiley and Sweetie Pie were snuggled up against Gena, who had the latest issue of Lady Fair open across her lap.
“Look, you guys. Look here.” She held the magazine up so the dogs could see their pictures. “See? That’s you, Wiley.” Pointing to his picture. “See? And Sweetie Pie, here’s you.” The dogs studied their pictures. “This is my article about dogs in New York. Six pages. With lots of pictures. See? And you two are the main ones. So now you’re famous!” Both dogs looked mildly interested, wagged their tails, and then curled up again, close to each other and close to Gena.
“A lot they care.” Gena was laughing. “I guess they don’t appreciate what it means to be featured in Lady Fair.”
“They wear their fame lightly. Smart animals.” Paul leaned over and put a kiss on Gena’s cheek. “Harriet called this morning. She saw Sweetie Pie’s picture in this issue and she’s so excited.”
“I owe your sister a big thank you—for bringing us together.”
“I’ll let her know.” He paused. He looked out to sea for a long minute. Then he said, “I have some other news for you.”
“Yes?”
“News about your ex-boyfriend.”
“Warren?”
“Yep.”
“You’re looking funny. Like—you know—that canary.” His expression was an odd combination of pleased and serious, like he was going to drop a big secret bomb. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me.”
“It’s a good thing you broke up with him when you did.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s not public yet, but I’ve got it from people I know at Blass Investments, and I can tell you, because the media has it now and it’ll be in the papers in a day or two.” He took a long sip of his wine while he thought about how to break the news. “The thing is, Gena, your ex-boyfriend has got himself into some real trouble.” Again, he paused. Then he said, “But first, I’m sorry I have to tell you this part, but it seems Warren had been messing around with some woman, and I’m afraid it goes back maybe as much as a year.” He reached out a hand and took hers. “I know, darling. And I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t prepared to hear it, but it really wasn’t a surprise to learn that Warren was a snake. Still, she knew she’d need some time to deal with just how reptilian he’d actually been. Some time, yes—maybe several days. But not now. She took a deep breath, lifted her head bravely, and braced herself.
“Paul, I know you’re not telling me this just to spread some gossip. What’s the rest of the story?”
“Well, this woman just happened to be working at Isler Global Enterprises, a secretary or something, and your boyfriend was working on a major Blass Investments project, putting together a big financing deal for Isler. Seems this woman sucked him into some criminal scheme involving insider trading on Isler stock, and the two of them expected to split some big bucks. But they weren’t as smart as they thought they were; the SEC had been tracking them for months. And now it looks like your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend are going to jail.”
“Gee,” Gena said. She sipped her wine. She’d expected Paul’s news to be painful, and she was surprised that she felt so calm. “So it’s good I left him when I did.”
“I guess.”
“I feel a little sorry for him.”
“That’s natural.”
“But not much.”
Paul laughed. “You’ll get over it,” he said.
“I know.”
“You could visit him in jail.”
She laughed, too. “I don’t think I will.”
<
br /> Paul leaned over and kissed her. “So you escaped?”
“Totally. And now I’m safe.”
“Yes, you are,” Paul said. “Totally safe.”
And he kissed her again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joan Myra Bronston grew up in New York City, married her college sweetheart, and went with him to Germany for a year while he was in the Army and where she worked as a telex operator and mail clerk. They then moved to Austria, where Joan spent five years teaching at an international school. She is the mother of three wonderful girls and the grandmother of a super-wonderful grandson. Joan was also a secretary, social investigator, and psychiatric researcher before entering law school and eventually becoming a corporate attorney. In addition to her years in Europe, Joan has lived in Pittsburgh, Chicago, and, for eighteen years, Salt Lake City. At last, she has closed the circle and returned to her first and most beloved—New York City. Visit her website at jmbronston.com, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @JMBronston.
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