The First Wife

by Diana Diamond

  His eyes flashed an instant of anger and then went glassy. He suddenly seemed to have trouble swallowing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said right away. “I thought it might explain, in some way, your … drive.”

  He recovered and forced a smile. “That’s okay. It’s not my favorite topic, and I hope you won’t dwell on it.”

  “Please, forget I asked….”

  “No, it’s a fair question. How did I get over such an event? And the answer is that I never have. It’s with me all the time, and it’s certainly with Cassie and Craig. Trying to distance myself from it is probably what pushes me so relentlessly into my business. I guess that trying to get away from it also makes the kids so … selfish.”

  Jane didn’t know how to respond. She fidgeted with her empty champagne glass until the waiter rushed to refill it.

  “They’re very lonely,” he said of his children, curiously, as if he were trying to sift through clues for answers. “They don’t have any friends, even at school. It’s as if they’re afraid to reveal themselves to other kids. Afraid of being hurt again.”

  “That’s understandable,” Jane commented.

  “Yeah, I suppose so. The fact is that I don’t have any close friends, either.”

  He signaled for the check as a way of showing that he would rather put the subject aside. But Jane didn’t want to end their meeting in such gloom. “But you do have friends. Bob Leavitt seems as true a friend as I’ve ever met. He knows you and respects you but still enjoys pointing out your foibles.”

  Andrews considered her point and admitted, “You’re right. Bob and I go back a long way together. We’ve always trusted each other … always been honest with each other.” He smiled and shook his head at some past memory. But just as quickly he became serious. “He was the first one at the lodge that night. He probably saved my life.”

  “Really?” She wanted him to go on, but the check came and then they were on their feet and walking across the lobby.

  “Hey,” he said as if the idea had just struck him, “why don’t you come to dinner with us. A lot of boring business talk, but it might be better than dining alone. Unless, of course, you’ve made other arrangements?”

  “Oh, sure.” Jane laughed. “Three or four guys have offered to buy me dinner.” And then, more seriously, “But you might have things to talk about in confidence.”

  “Okay, we’ll agree that it’s off the record. Anything you hear is as privileged as your sins in a confessional.”

  “You’re sure the others won’t mind? They were all struck dumb when I got into the limo last night.”

  He led her away from the elevators and out to the front door. “Then we won’t talk business. We’ll have plenty of time for that on the flight home.”

  His car was waiting, held at the ready by a white-gloved doorman and a uniformed chauffeur. He gave no instructions. The driver already knew where they were going.

  Jane took up her interview even though she knew she was trespassing. “You said Robert saved your life. Figuratively, I imagine.” “Literally! I probably would have bled to death.” She was turned toward him, eager for him to continue. “Bob was staying a couple of miles from the ski house, at the Bass Inn, where we had just held a business meeting. I called him, along with the police. He was the first one on the scene. I had been shot along with Kay, but I didn’t realize it. I mean, obviously I knew I was hit and that I was bleeding, but it didn’t seem to register.”

  “You were probably completely involved with saving your wife.” He winced and then shook his head. “No. I knew she was dead. Nothing could have saved her. I just slumped into a chair and did absolutely nothing. It was probably five minutes before I picked up the phone. And when Bob got there I had bled all over the chair. Apparently one of the pellets had hit an artery. I was bleeding to death and I didn’t give a damn. He did the bandaging and got me a doctor. From there they took me to the hospital.”

  “I never heard that you were so badly wounded. The press reports—”

  He interrupted. “That was another thing that Bob handled. He talked about ‘minor injuries’ in the fourth paragraph of the release. The truth might have panicked our stockholders.”

  Lights went flashing by as they left the highway along the river and entered the central tunnel. Andrews looked idly out the window.

  Jane tried to wrap things up. “I’d like to put a sentence about the … tragedy … into my piece. I think it helps explain your business success. But I’ll run it by you first.”

  He didn’t hear her. Instead of responding, he said, “You know, I’ve never talked about that night. Not since the investigation finished. I’ve thought about it, and even visualized the whole thing over again. But I haven’t had one single conversation about it. I suppose that everyone thinks the subject is off-limits, probably because I’ve never brought it up.” He turned to her. “You’re the first person who asked, and pressed for answers.”

  She felt chastised. “I’m sorry. I should have guessed …” “No, no! Maybe it’s good for me. Maybe I should talk about it.” Then he admitted, “It’s hard to know what helps and what hurts. The kids won’t talk about it. It’s as if they never had a mother. I guess it hurts to remember.”

  They were out of the tunnel, on the Boulevard Haussmann, approaching the opera district. The window displays of fashion and jewelry were dazzling, and the pedestrians vied with automobiles for control of the streets. The restaurant, in the middle of a block, had one of the humbler facades.

  The others had assembled—Frier, Davis, and Applebaum, still dark, open-collared, and menacing; Kim Annuzio, wearing a suit coat over her blouse and slacks. Leavitt was the only one in a tie. The waiters made light of setting another place at the large round table and squeezing in another chair. “My interview with J.J. here has been going very well,” Andrews said to explain the unexpected addition. “She promised to write nice things about me, and if you play your cards right, she may give you some of the credit for our success.” There were nods and smiles all around, but no one seemed terribly pleased at having her join them. Only Leavitt complimented her dress. “She’s agreed that while she may remember what she hears tonight, she’ll go to her death rather than reveal a word.” Still no one seemed reassured.

  Andrews waited until they had finished their first two bottles of wine before raising business topics, and by then his executives had loosened up a bit. He sat like a moderator directing the conversation back and forth, getting a range of opinions on each subject raised. The conclusion that came together over dessert was that they had a deal to buy control of a French cable distributor and that the government would take their side before the European antitrust court.

  “About all we could have expected,” Andrews concluded.

  “I’d like to be sure that the local managers will stay on,” Kim added. Henry Davis was still unhappy about the interest rate that the French bankers were charging, guessing that they were paying an additional half percent just for political support. It was over brandy when Leavitt put Jane in the spotlight. “Any first impressions, now that you’re getting to know us?” he asked. All eyes were on her.

  For an instant she considered an empty compliment. But she decided it was better to show them that she took her work seriously, and she began outlining the concerns of the financial community. Growth opportunities were limited by legal restrictions and public resentment. Their debt ratio was too high. Each of her comments elicited a defense, and the conversation began to heat up. Andrews signaled for another round of cognac.

  Most dangerous, Jane said, was the perception of a one-man company. While Andrews’s reputation for success was a major selling point, it also raised fears that the company might collapse if anything happened to its leader. That thought was instantly sobering. It was well after midnight when the party made its way back to the hotel.

  Lying in her queen-size bed beneath the painted blue sky, with cherubs peering down at her, Jane thought about th
e new life she had been leading for the past twenty-four hours. A private jet across the ocean. A wildly expensive French hotel. Shopping in the best stores with the most fashionable names. The company of one of the most famous businessmen in the world. The grand restaurants and the vintage wines. And most of all, the heady conversation with important people listening to her and taking her seriously. Quite a change from her suburban one-bedroom with coffee sloshed down the front of the cabinets, from delicatessen salads eaten at her desk, and from her small glass-walled editorial office.

  It gave her a completely new sense of worth. Only two days ago she had been cutting wire-service reports to fit limited space and trying to make still another shopping plaza sound like an earth-shaking economic event. Her biggest story of the previous week had been a chamber of commerce luncheon—the standard chicken and peas with a house white wine—where the guest speaker was the owner of a car dealership. Today had been haute cuisine with people whose decisions could bring down a bank, an industry, and maybe even a country. It was going to be hard for her to get excited over her beat on the Southport Post.

  But most memorable of all were the moments when William Andrews, who had told her several times to call him Bill, had taken her measure and seemed to like what he was seeing. He had trusted her with his disappointment in his children, a secret that few parents ever share. He had told her about his wife’s death, a subject he claimed he never discussed. For a few moments he let himself be vulnerable, dangerous at all times for a tycoon of his stature and certainly foolish in the presence of a stranger. But he had trusted her as if she weren’t a stranger and, for a few moments, even needed her to listen. He had admitted pain, an admission of weakness that most men would never reveal.

  She wondered what she would write about him. A man impelled to build an empire big enough to overshadow an enormous loss. Someone who had suffered and now tried to insulate himself from any further pain. Or maybe a person who lived in terrible despair inside an impenetrable shell of financial power. Would he regret the moment he had taken off his armor? Or would he see it as the beginning of his recovery from his wounds? Had she seen the last of William Andrews? Or would her role in the basement of his empire bring them together again? And if they did meet, would they resume the empathic relationship they had developed during the day? Or would they have to begin again as strangers?

  7

  Jane wore her new slacks and blouse into the office, raising eyebrows as she walked down the aisle to her desk. She dropped her laptop on a chair, set her coffee on the desk, and was just sitting down when Jack Dollinger poked his head in.

  “Where have you been? No one could reach you.”

  “Paris,” she answered as she sipped and then winced at the unexpected heat.

  “Paris?”

  “Paris, France.”

  He didn’t believe her. “We called Andrews’s office. The girl said you had been there and left. She had no idea where you had gone. We were worried.”

  “Just a routine assignment,” Jane lied.

  Jack Dollinger still wasn’t listening. “I even drove by your place, and when I saw your car parked, I rang your bell. Then I phoned. I figured you were home sick.”

  “No. I’m feeling fine.”

  “Then where were you? We were all worried.”

  “I was in Paris,” she answered, this time making eye contact. “Andrews had to leave in a hurry for a meeting with French officials. I went along so I could interview him on the plane.”

  He smiled. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course. Isn’t that the way we do business around here?”

  Dollinger laughed out loud. “Roscoe has a fit if we take a taxi. Wait until he hears that you’ve taken a private jet.” He moved her computer onto the floor so he could sit. He obviously was ready for a long and adventure-filled story. Jane gave him just the highlights while she drank her coffee. She omitted the frustrating hours when she was left to cool her heels and played up the daylong private interview. She finished with an account of her holding court over an executive conference.

  “You’re shitting me,” he finally decided.

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “It was all so unbelievable,” she admitted, dropping her pretense of sophistication. “He acted as if I were with the Times or the Wall Street Journal.”

  Roscoe Taylor made a show of checking his watch when she came into his office. “You’re five hours late, but that would be a day ago. Now you’re twenty-nine hours late. Don’t you believe in calling in?”

  “I was in Paris, interviewing William Andrews,” she said smugly.

  “I know! But I had to find out from some guy named Robert Leavitt. My own business editor never bothered to let me know.”

  She was surprised. “Bob Leavitt called you?”

  “Bob? You call him Bob! And I suppose you call William Andrews just plain Bill.”

  She nodded. “That’s what he said I should call him.”

  Roscoe was into his curmudgeon persona. “So you were traipsing through Paris with Billy and Bobby when you were supposed to be working on a profile of the rapacious bastard who just took us over.”

  “I was working on a profile,” she answered, copying his mournful cadence.

  “And may I see it?” Roscoe asked. “Or are you going to send it to Leavitt for approval?”

  “It’s not finished,” she said, avoiding the fact that it wasn’t even started. “And I’m not sending it to Robert Leavitt or anyone else on the corporate staff. I’ll be showing it to you because I work for you.” She paused, and then with much less authority asked, “I still do have a job, don’t I?”

  “That depends on how I like J. J. Warren’s latest attack on William Andrews.”

  She went back to her office and got to work, sifting through her own research and the mountains of business data that Andrews had given her. Jane was still working when she looked up and realized that she was the only one left in the office.

  She pulled the disk out of her computer and put it into her briefcase with all her notes. Then she drove home in the SUV that Art had had fixed and left at her door. She was disappointed when she found Art in her apartment.

  “What are you doing here?” She breezed right past him and into the kitchen to find something to pop into the microwave.

  “Thank you, Arthur, for getting my car fixed,” he said, “and for leaving it in my parking space so that I’d be sure to find it.”

  She stuck her head out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry. That was very nice of you, and I really appreciate it.”

  “So invite me to stay for dinner,” he called after her.

  Jane returned. “I have a frozen dinner, and I have some ice cream. You can have your choice, but then you have to go. I’ve got enough work to keep me up half the night.”

  “The frozen dinner,” he answered, and followed her back to the refrigerator. “Where were you last night? I called to get your okay for the repair, and all I got was your machine.”

  She read the directions on the package and put the frozen dinner into the microwave. “I was in Paris.”

  “Sure,” he said. “And I was at the Tony Awards giving an acceptance speech. Where were you?”

  “In Paris, interviewing William Andrews. I flew over with him on his private jet.”

  He could tell she was serious, so he stood at attention and smiled. “And …”

  “And … I have to write the story tonight, so you’ll have to eat and run.” She took the ice cream out of the freezer. It was rock-hard, and she couldn’t make any headway with her ice cream scoop, so she put the whole package into the microwave.

  “Well,” her ex-husband asked, “what’s he like? A ball of fire?”

  “No,” she said. “Quite human. Soft-spoken, vulnerable, appreciative …”

  “Oh, so he took you to bed?” Arthur assumed.

  “Jesus, Arthur. I can’t wait until you make it past the second act. No, he did not try or even suggest anything imprope
r. And if he had …” She seemed uncertain as to what she would have done.

  “He didn’t blast you for all the things you’ve said about him?” He was smiling in anticipation.

  “No! All he asked was that the piece be fair.”

  Arthur rocked back in his chair: “Oh, please be gentle,” he begged, imitating a man who would ask a woman to be fair.

  The microwave pinged. She took out the steaming dinner and the soupy ice cream. He looked at the dinner. “What is it?”

  Jane studied the dinner and then went to the trash can, where she had tossed the box. “It’s a delicious beef fillet with a medley of garden vegetables.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, setting the formed plastic dish on the table. “And the wine?”

  “There’s a bottle in the refrigerator door.”

  “No,” he said. “That’s a white and the entrée demands a red. Then it has to have time to breathe.”

  She leaned back against the sink with the ice cream container in her hand. “It will have to breathe on your time, Arthur, because I need you out of here in exactly ten minutes.” He began picking at the beef fillet.

  “Oh, I found those disks I was missing. They were in the glove compartment of my car. Sorry about the confusion.”

  “There wasn’t any confusion,” she answered while licking the spoon. “I knew I didn’t have them.” She dropped the container in the trash and went to her desk. She was busy working when Arthur came out of the kitchen and picked up the pages she had already printed out. He took them to a soft chair, where he slouched with his legs over the arm. He chuckled at one sentence and smirked at another, then re-read the pages.

  “This is good stuff. Not as acerbic as the other pieces, but you’re not backing down a bit.” He stood behind her so that he could look over her shoulder. “Where are you planning on working after he cans you?”

  “Good night, Art,” she said without looking up from her work. “And I really do appreciate your getting my car fixed.”