“Of course.”
“Good, because friends give each other advice. And I need some advice.”
“Sure,” said Julia, not wanting to get in the middle of this at all.
“What would you do if you found out your wife—well, I guess husband in your case—was fucking someone else?”
Julia was stunned. She really didn’t know what to say.
“Let’s say,” he continued, “you’re getting ready to go out to another fucking charity ball you’re dreading and you hear her on the phone talking to her pansy-ass Eurofag lover.”
“Maybe it’s a mistake.”
“No mistake. And say this bitch has you by the balls. What do you do?”
Julia had no idea. She felt her pulse speed up as she tried to find a response. “I-I guess, just make sure and then try and talk things out.”
Will laughed. “Not possible.”
“You know, I think I should go,” said Julia, rising.
Will grabbed her arm and pulled her down toward him. “Don’t leave. I don’t even know you, but somehow . . . you seem to be the only real thing around in this stupid world. Everything else is all bullshit. I don’t know why but there’s something about you. Stay with me.”
Julia felt the blood rush to her head and heart. “Will—”
“You don’t have to say anything. We have a connection. Let’s face it, we’re both owned by spoiled, rich Lell Pelham. The only difference is you can get out.”
Julia stared at him in silence. How could Lell cheat on this man? He was so sweet and so gorgeous, and even though Douglas had tried to convince her that he was shallow and opportunistic, here he was being honest and open with her: he was as vulnerable as anyone.
“You don’t have to say anything, Jules. In fact, don’t. But just stay tonight. Come with us. And when I look at you across the room, just know that we are the only two people in the room who get it.”
Julia stared at him, heat rising in her chest. He was everything she ever salivated over and beyond. Every knight, every Prince Charming, every dragon-slaying hero. Shit, why did he have to be married to Lell? Before she could say anything Lell entered the room.
“I’m ready, Jules,” she said, purposely ignoring Will. “Now let me give you la grande tour.”
Julia got up and followed Lell out in the hallway obediently. She felt Will’s eyes casting daggers on Lell, and then turning to her and softening. Now that their deep-seated affinity had been spoken aloud, it was as real as ever. If only.
chapter 27
Dearest Hope,
There are no words. I cannot begin to tell you how incredibly sorry Henny and I (and the whole gang, for that matter) are about the tragic loss of Charlie’s job. Layoffs are just everywhere these days! I can only assure you that whenever people have been whispering about it, I have told them in no uncertain terms that you and Charlie will land on your feet. Do not worry about your unstable financial future in this city with two kids, and do not worry about what people are saying; as they say in the South, this, too, shall pass! I just want you to know we are all thinking of you during this extremely difficult time, and you are in our hearts.
Much love, Polly
Hope didn’t know whether to laugh or gag when she opened her supposedly dear friend’s note of grave condolence. It had been only two days since Charlie walked in the door, despondent, hugged his sons and looked over their little shoulders at his wife with a solemn face. And she knew. As she stood in the kitchen doorway with her oven mitts still on, she knew. Later that night in bed they talked about what they were going to do—thank goodness he had already sent out résumés.
Hope didn’t really give a shit about what people thought, in fact, she’d barely thought about gossip until she received Polly’s hand-delivered note. That was what made her freak out. People were talking? Plus, if that weren’t enough, she came home, after gulping at the $314.73 scanned tally at the Food Emporium, and found an angry message from her Aunt Edna in Florida.
“Hope! I got your message about not coming down here this weekend. I depended on this visit! I have been looking forward to seeing you. You can be away from the boys for one lousy weekend. You come down here!”
But even with the Jet Blue fare, it would be hard. Plus, she didn’t want to be apart from her boys. Hope felt adrift in a swirling sea of hopelessness, as if at any moment God might pull the plug and her whole world would wash down into an abyss. Okay, stop, she said to herself. This is so not the end of the world. You have four limbs and your kids aren’t dwarves and you don’t have Lou Gehrig’s disease. You are not clinically depressed and your husband isn’t a closet gay and you aren’t a size 16. You don’t have rats and roaches and you’ve never been robbed or attacked or raped. What are you freaking about? You’ll get through this.
After an interior pep-talk monologue, Hope checked plane tickets online. We may be headed for broke, but family is family. Aunt Edna was all alone and Hope needed to see her. No matter the cost.
After talking on the phone with her aunt to resolidify her plans to travel down for the weekend, Hope went into the living room. It was weird having her husband there all day. She felt like a schizo because when he was at work she was constantly calling him wondering when he’d be home because she missed him. But then when he was camped out on their couch all day, she felt like he was somehow violating her domain.
“Sweets,” she started nervously. “I know everything’s going to be tight and stuff, but—”
“What, Edna is making you fly down? I heard her message.”
Hope got anxious, waiting for him to tear into her for being such a pushover wimp. “Kind of—”
“No prob. I’ll watch the boys. You deserve a fun weekend in the sun.”
“Honestly?” she brightened. How great was he? “Sweetie, that is so nice. You swear?”
“Swear.” He opened his arms wide, signaling a hug was needed, and she happily obliged.
“Well, well, well. Seat Fourteen-A.”
Hope looked up from her Us Weekly, astonished. What the hell was John Cavanaugh doing on a flight to Palm Beach? It had been three weeks since their museum jaunt and it had taken exactly two and a half to get him out of her head.
“John!”
“What? Visiting grandparents?”
“Close. My Aunt Edna.”
“Aha. Me too.”
“All she does is beat up on me but hey, blood is thicker than apple juice.” She lifted her cup of cider and smiled.
Just then, a tall Asian guy carrying a violin case appeared as Hope’s apparent row-mate. John asked if they could trade seats, serving up a boarding pass and a smile. The musician happily agreed.
“So, answer me this, Hope. Any interest in a drink tomorrow after we tuck in our octogenarian relatives? I don’t know about you, but we dine at five-forty-five and by eight, I have no idea what to do with myself.”
Hope paused. Of course she’d want to meet him. How many Nick at Nite reruns can one human endure beside a snoring elder? But what about the way John made her blush? Feel? Dream? No way.
“Okay, sounds good,” she said. Fuck. Brain one direction, heart another.
“Where you goin’?” asked Hope’s crotchety Aunt Edna after she’d called the boys to phone-tuck them in.
“A friend’s in town. Um, we were going to meet up. Since you’re going to bed—”
“A friend, huh?” she said, looking over Hope’s cute outfit and newly glossed lips. “Just don’t be stupid, ya hear? Charlie’s a good man.”
“Auntie E! My God, you’re crazy!”
“Am I?”
Hope closed the door behind her and headed into the beachy air.
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, John and Hope had finished a bottle of wine and enjoyed a hearty meal at Café L’Europe.
“So why did you dump her if she was so gorgeous?” probed Hope with a flirty edge. Somehow John’s talk of other women made her a little jealous, but it was all safe te
rritory, ’cause hey, she was taken.
“I told you, she was dumb as a post. I was picking her up from a bus at Port Authority and told her the people on her trip looked like plebeians and she asked if that was a family in Boston I knew.”
“Come on.”
“Yes. Like, hey, meet my old pals, Lisa and Lauren Plebeian.”
“Retarded!”
“That’s not even the worst.”
“You can’t top that.”
“Oh, I can. We were driving on the Cape and we were talking about the cost of raising kids in New York and I said, ‘Well I don’t want my children living in squalor.’ And she goes, ‘Where’s that?’ ”
“Oh my God,” said Hope, practically choking on her Merlot.
“Can you believe that? Welcome to Squalor, Mass. Population 1,206.”
“Hilarious.” They shared a guffaw and then quieted down. It was as if both suddenly realized how much time had flown by and that most of their hours had been spent laughing. “Though in all seriousness,” Hope said with a new tone, “with Charlie out of a job now, we might be headed for a new abode in Squalor, Mass. We’ll up the population to 1,210.”
“You guys’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” he said, touching her hand comfortingly.
Hope felt a surge of heat where his fingers met hers and looked up at him, using words about Charlie as empty vehicles which were loaded with “I am obsessed with you.”
“It’s just hard, I get scared sometimes. There are just no good jobs.”
“He’ll end up okay. Trust me. I’ll look into that position on Monday,” he said, now rubbing her hand more suggestively. “We can make it happen.”
“That would be amazing.”
“Yes it would.”
After paying the check and strolling into the now crisp air, Hope put her arms around her shoulders and the two walked in silence with only the sound of the wind blowing through the large palm trees. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to sleep with him, to be with him. He was larger than life, everything she had ever fantasized about. She had met Charlie when she was eighteen and, while he was her best friend and truly felt like family to her, she never thought she’d meet anyone like John, who was a matinée idol to Charlie’s teddy bear. He had it all: looks, success, mega-confidence, and still wanted a smart woman as opposed to a blithering bimbo.
John sensed her feeling because he again used an innocent gesture—warming her cold arms with his hands—to gain access to her body. The arm warmage morphed into a hug, and then to her head momentarily on his shoulder. By the time they got to Hope’s car a block away, the idea of making that Volkswagen rock in a parking lot somewhere teen-style would not have been so far away, the energy between them was that intense.
But amid the sea of Harlequin Romance flickers of John throwing her on the nearby sand and ripping her clothes off, Hope had an image. It was Charlie laughing. Holding her sons, reading Dr. Seuss to them in bed while she was gone. And she broke away.
“Well, this is me. Thanks so much for dinner.”
“It’s not that late. Why don’t we go and get a drink somewhere?”
“I’d better not.”
“Hope,” he said, taking her hand again. “Come on, it’s just a drink.”
“I wish I could, I really do.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Hope. I ran into Polly and she told me you were coming down here this weekend. That’s why—”
Hope held up her hand to stop him. She couldn’t do this.
“I’m married, John, and while there is most definitely something drawing me to you again and again and . . . again, I can’t do this. Not in a museum jewel box, not on this desolate street in Florida. I just can’t.”
And with that, she got in her car and drove off without looking back. As her heart pounded though her blouse, she floored the accelerator: back to Edna’s, back to wifehood, back to a less elastic moral realm. She drove to safety, to the phone to call her husband, and away from John Cavanaugh. And probably away from Charlie’s one real job opportunity.
chapter 28
Julia had managed to avoid Gene Pelham since the knee-grabbing incident, but after receiving a message from his assistant that her presence was requested by her employer in his office on Tuesday morning at nine a.m., there was little she could do to get out of it. She had dressed conservatively, in a dark blue suit with a white blouse and pearls even, more demure than her usual look, but one that she was certain would not emit any sexy vibes that would elicit lascivious moves. As she made her way down the sage-carpeted hallway to the grand corner hallway, she straightened her hair several times and took a deep breath. She was relieved when she opened the door to find not only Mr. Chester Molester, but also Pierre Luques, the chief designer for Pelham’s, pouring over the new catalogue.
“Good, good, you made it,” said Gene, waving Julia into a chair. “You know Pierre,” he added.
“Hello,” nodded Julia, who had only seen the reclusive middle-aged Frenchman from a distance. He was known to be quite the diva, and Julia was often warned to steer clear. Pierre barely acknowledged Julia.
“So, listen, Julia, the reason I asked you here is you’re young, you’re hip, you get it, and we need a new line. I want to work on something really big, and I thought maybe you could give Pierre here some of your ideas.”
Julia was stunned and flattered. She looked over at Pierre, whose beady blue eyes shot daggers at her, and realized she had to be beyond diplomatic in order to finesse this one.
“Well, first off, Mr. Luques, I just want to say that I am such a fan. The reason I came to work at Pelham’s was because I thought your designs were—are—so spectacular.”
“Merci,” nodded Pierre, obviously used to hearing this.
“And what I particularly love is that traditional element. Whereas some of the other jewelry houses have tried to go trendy, I love that Pelham’s has always stuck to their guns and gone with the elegant classics.”
“It’s true, what you say, but the numbers need to count also,” said Gene. “We don’t want to just be your grandmother’s jeweler. We need to bring in the young kids. The Asian tourists with their Vuitton bags and bottomless wallets. The rock stars.”
“Well,” said Julia, hesitating. She didn’t want to piss off Pierre, but she did have what she believed were some good ideas. Should she go for it? Fuck it. “I was at the Met the other day, looking at the Egyptian jewelry—”
“Psshhhhh,” interrupted Pierre with a snort.
Gene shot him a look. “Go on.”
“And I saw some interesting ideas for cuff links and bangles, and I just thought, no one was really doing these sort of Egyptian-inspired King Tut things, and there’s going to be a huge exhibit in the fall on Egypt, and I just thought, maybe if Pelham’s sponsored some event and we did a tie-in and had like a benefit at the Temple of Dendur—”
“I’m loving it,” nodded Gene.
Pierre sat quietly seething.
“It’s just a thought.”
“And a good one. Can you sketch?”
“A little bit,” said Julia sheepishly.
“This gal can do everything!” said Gene. “Well, get over to the Met, get some info, sketches, catalogues, whatever you need, and bring it in. We’ll meet back tomorrow with Pierre. Same time.”
At five o’clock that afternoon Julia finally made her way out to the grand steps of the Met that spilled onto Fifth Avenue. Her head was spinning and her eyes were sore and she realized that she had not done that much research since college. But it was fun, and exhilarating. Starved from skipping lunch, she walked over to the street vendor and purchased a Coke and a soft pretzel, then sat down wearily on the bottom step to watch the crowds of tourists filter by. As she gobbled down her pretzel—she could only imagine Polly’s face if she told her she ate something off the street, carbs no less—she stared at the Stanhope Hotel, which proudly stood directly across Fifth Avenue.
“Mommy! I want a pretzel!”
Julia saw that a small boy was standing next to her, pointing longingly at her doughy salted ring. “Oh, hello,” she said.
“Oh, hi Julia!” Hope stood over Julia, scooping up her stray son in her arms. “Sorry about that! Come here, sweetness.”
“No problem. Hi there, cutie,” Julia said, patting his little brown mop of hair.
“Can you say, ‘Hello, Ms. Pearce’?”
Gavin dutifully took her hand and shook it like a tiny gentleman.
“Hello, Mrs. Pearce. Pleased to meet you.” Just watching him made his mommy warm with pride and love.
“Pleased to meet you,” Julia said, crushed by his adorableness. “Look at these great curls.”
“Ugh, I need to get him into Cozy’s for a cut. Don’t we, Gav?”
“No, it’s cute! He looks like a Gerber baby. And by that I mean Rande Gerber and Cindy Crawford.”
“Totally,” Hope laughed. “Maybe we have time to run there now and get a chop? I hate to be inside any longer, though. God, isn’t this a gorgeous day?”
“Amazing. I’ve spent most of it in the museum, myself. Design research.”
“Oh, cool. We were just looking at the Greek vases for Gavin’s arts-and-crafts project.”
“Wow. Big stuff for a little guy.”
“Don’t get me started. His school literally studied the solar system at age two.”
“Mom! I want a pretzel!”
“Sweetiekins—”
“You can have a piece,” Julia said, breaking off a chunk. “Want some?”
“Yeah!” Gavin said, grabbing it with glee.
“Thank you. Sorry,” Hope said, shaking her head and sitting down next to Julia on the steps. “So how is work going?”
“Good, I guess . . .” She felt comfortable with Hope and wanted to be more open, but she was one of Lell’s best friends. “Lell’s given me such a great opportunity. I just . . . sometimes miss the slower pace. But I shouldn’t complain. This is huge step up for me.”
“Well they’re lucky to have you. And trust me, you don’t want too slow a pace. I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing today. Just now, I was the only non-nanny when I picked Gav up at school and I thought, ‘Should I be working? If so, what would I do?’ ” She shook her head and laughed. “Maybe I should start a handbag line or ribbon belt company like other moms.”
Wolves in Chic Clothing Page 15