As the taxi pulled away, Jamie stood on the sidewalk and watched it go.
“Fuck…”
Because if she could fall in love with someone, she might fall in love with Penny Langston.
But Penny was married.
And Jamie was lost.
Penny stared out the cab window as the taxi zoomed up West Broadway past Prince.
She saw the gallery go by. The sidewalk outside still speckled with various artsy types.
The booze she’d consumed earlier was making her body hum. The night flashed back to her in unfortunate snippets.
That red haired woman. “I’m pregnant…”
The fight with that buffoon outside the gallery.
She had wanted to be kissed.
By someone she barely knew.
Worse still, a woman.
And piece de resistance - one of her writers.
Good God.
Penny wound down the back window of the cab and let the air blow in against her face.
“Like I could possibly have lunch with her now,” Penny muttered to herself.
But in the next moment, she thought - Good. Let that attraction blow itself up. Let this be gone from me. It’s ridiculous.
27
Penny stood in her modernist Scarsdale kitchen, with the 7:30 a.m. happy yellow sunlight streaming in as a complete contrast to her mood.
She leaned over the counter in her thin plaid robe and dunked her Twinings Earl Grey teabag into the mug of milky hot water.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
Last night’s embarrassing words echoed in her head.
“Where could I puke…. Did you know my mother drove my father off the road?”
She flipped the teabag into the kitchen sink and lifted the mug of tea to her lips.
More of last night’s greatest hits played like an audio loop.
“Are you attracted to me?” “I love Montauk…”
“Jesus,” she muttered.
But as embarrassing as all that was with Jamie Brennan. It was still better than what had happened earlier. Which, unfortunately, booze, and time and a hangover had not erased.
“I’m pregnant,” that red-haired woman had said.
Penny closed her eyes and wished that last night had been a bad dream all around.
“Morning…”
She looked up. Davis appeared in the kitchen doorway. Golf shirt. Chinos. His rogue smile. Those reassuring grey eyes that crinkled at the edges.
He walked over and gave her arm a squeeze as he passed.
“You got in late…”
Penny didn’t respond.
Davis pulled open the fridge and reached in for the Tropicana.
“Babe… Are we not talking?”
“Right… And what exactly should I say?”
He pulled a glass out of the cupboard and placed it on the counter next to the sink, filling it up with orange juice.
“Penny, that woman is in love with me. She wanted to make you jealous.”
“Oh, God. Please spare me.”
“I never slept with her.”
“Fine.”
“I’m telling you.”
“I said fine.”
“Look,” he said. “Let’s forget that bullshit. It’s bloody well crazy and it’s not true. I’ve got news…I just got off the phone.”
“Fascinating.”
“Pen.”
“No.”
“There’s more.”
“I don’t care.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
She watched his eyes peer into hers. Finally he smiled. “I’m going to ignore that look.”
She shrugged. “At your peril.”
“Anyway,” he smiled, “My lawyer has been in contact with an agency. They’re going to fast track us.”
“For divorce court?”
He retracted his head. Forced out a nervous chuckle. “Is that what you want?”
Penny flashed on the idea. Do I? The thought was both freeing and chaos. Disaster. The end of the life she knew. The thing that made her world go topsy-turvy.
She stood there with her tea. He watched her. Both not speaking.
She used to like their easy silences. So much there. No need to fill the space with silly words. Now those spaces were filled with unsaid resentment and secrets.
“Penny,” Davis said quietly, “Look… All couples have tough times. So this is ours.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her hand. She felt weary right down to her soul.
“Oh,” she said. “Is that what this is…”
“I thought you said you wanted to try, Pen. For a kid.”
“What are you talking about, Davis? Do you?”
“I think I might.”
Penny scowled. “Oh, please. You said -”
“I thought about it… and maybe it would be good.”
“And you would do this… for me?
“For both of us…”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just said - the agency.”
“The agency…”
“The adoption agency.”
“What adoption agency?”
“Are you not listening?”
Penny shot him a look then glanced past him out the kitchen window at the Dogwood tree in the backyard. A crow was cawing from a branch. The sound of most of her Saturday mornings in Scarsdale.
“Why would I listen? I bloody well heard enough last night.”
“Penny, that was not real. This is real.”
She had a sip of her tea.
“I just got off the phone with my lawyer. He’s getting us fast-tracked for an adoption.”
She heard the words and, against her better judgment, they ignited a spark of hope. Like a doused cigarette tossed in a suburban wastepaper basket that later sets the house on fire.
“Oh.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” he said.
“How long?”
“Three months? Maybe less?” He leaned against the counter casually and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“Oh.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“For the moment.”
“Don’t you want this?”
Penny closed her eyes. “Of course I do.”
“Then?”
A baby. Their baby. Her baby. Maybe this terrible time they’d been going through had been the struggle before something beautiful happened.
And maybe it would have been worth it.
“Penny, look. That woman at the party last night, she’s - ” He looked for the words. “Unbalanced,” he continued. “She’s in love with me. I didn’t want to tell you. But it’s how it is.”
Penny stared at her mug of tea. “I have to work.”
“Penny…”
She started to walk out of the kitchen.
“Look… Davis. I’m tired. I’m hungover. I don’t want to deal with this.”
“Okay. Fair enough.”
“I’m going to work in my office. I’ve got manuscripts to edit.”
“I’ll pick up lunch from Delano’s if you want.”
“Fine.”
Fine. Let’s just be this then, she thought.
This stupid fucking lie is the new us.
28
A few days after the night at the gallery, Jamie had left three messages for Penny Langston and not heard back.
“Hi, Cathy, yeah, it’s just Jamie again.”
“Sorry, Jamie, Penny’s in a meeting. Do you want to try back? Or have her call you?”
“Sure, she can call me.”
Times three.
Finally, Jamie was sitting on the counter at the bookstore reading a book and the phone rang. Lynette answered it.
“For you, Brennan,” Lynette said.
Jamie took the phone. But it wasn’t Penny. It was a brush off from her secretary.
“Hi Jamie, it’s Cathy at Penny’s office. Look she’s
not going to have time to have lunch, she asked that you just send her pages.”
“Oh, sure - yeah, of course - she just said…”
“Right, Penny would love to have lunch with you, but she just doesn’t have time in her schedule for the next little while.”
“Of course. I understand.”
And with that, Jamie realized that whatever bond she thought maybe they had from the other night, clearly she was alone in that.
29
A WEEK LATER
Thunder rumbled outside her office window. Penny peered out onto Sixth Avenue. No sign of rain.
She had just gotten back to the office from lunch at the Four Seasons. The walk back was sunny, but at 102 degrees today all weather bets were off.
She glanced at the messages on her desk.
A week since the night outside the gallery. Two older messages from Jamie Brennan. Would Penny still like to have lunch?
She slid the messages to the bottom of the pile. Cathy had already called her. Told her Penny would be too busy for the next month. But to keep sending chapters.
Penny glanced at her Daytimer on her desk.
Meeting with Joan and Kyle about editorial. Budget meeting with Sam Kristol. Dinner with Davis and Ren Stewart from Simon and Shuster.
She buzzed Cathy.
“Cathy, I’m so sorry - can you make a last minute reservation for Elaine’s tonight at 7:30? Three people.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
Penny leaned against her desk. She flipped to the last of the pink ‘while you were away’ messages.
DATE: July 2nd, 1977
FOR: Penny Langston
MESSAGE: Connie Pell called. Asked that you call her back.
“Jeez, Con. Come back already,” Penny whispered.
It was a 914 number. Westchester area code. Not Connie’s home number though.
Penny plunked down in her chair and picked up the phone. She dialed the number on the message.
She held the receiver to her ear. It rang twice.
“Hayvenhurst State, where may I direct your call?”
Penny’s heart sank.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
Everyone knew Hayvenhurst. Or as her husband kindly referred to it, "The loony bin up in Armonk.”
“Oh hi,” she said, “I’m looking for Connie Pell. Constance Pell. Is there some way I could speak to her?”
The woman took her brusque seriously. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Patients don’t have phones. They are only allowed time on the pay phone.”
“Could I call the pay phone?”
“You’ll have to wait for her to call back.”
“Then can I leave her a message?”
“As I said, ma’am, you’ll have to wait for her to call you back.”
Penny’s head started to spin. Everything was irritating. Ma’am was always irritating. The sudden sunlight that peeked through the clouds that was now streaming into her office was irritating.
What was Connie doing in a mental institution? Certainly, this would be an overreaction.
“Right,” Penny said into the phone. “How about visiting hours? Is there such a thing?”
“Visiting hours are Monday to Friday from 1-3 pm.”
“And where are you located exactly?”
“ - But you have to have permission from her psychiatrist..”
Penny felt a fury start to burn in her stomach. “And who is that, please?”
“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t have that information. It would be her personal psychiatrist. He would be the one who signed her in.”
“And you can't give me that person's name...” Penny said.
“I’m sorry, ma'am. We can’t give out - ”
"Right. Thank you."
She hung up the phone and decided to feel nothing. Because anything she could feel would hurt.
Helpless. That was the truth of it. There was nothing she could do to for Connie.
Penny wasn’t Connie’s doctor or her husband. She was just someone who loved her.
Loved her. That was a weird thing to think
“I don’t mean love her, love her,” Penny whispered to herself. Then heard her words, “Jesus, who am I talking to? Who cares?”
She pushed back from her desk and stepped over to the window. As if a stare out to Sixth Avenue might have answers to this crushing ache that started to take hold. The sky was rumbling with thunder and low burly clouds.
Penny stood with her hand on her hip staring at the grey summer day in the city out the window.
And she knew only one true thing.
Go buy some fucking cigarettes.
It was time to start smoking again.
30
“Yah, gimme a pint.”
Tommy Hill pulled the picture out of his wallet and flashed it at the bartender here at O’Leary’s on 23rd Street.
“You seen this girl? She’s my sister. My ma’s losin’ her nut, said I’d come to New York and find her… She got left at the altar by some kid named Colin. Took off for New York. Whole neighborhood’s worried about her…”
The bartender looked at the picture.
“Nah. Not in here…”
“Thanks, pal.”
He slid the Guinness across the bar.
“I seen her down at Clancy’s on 14th Street. Comes in and reads the Irish papers. Your sister’s a cracker, fella. Gorgeous. Don’t think that bartender noticed she doesn’t ever order a drink.”
“Yah? You seen her there? That’s grand. Thanks.”
Tommy slid a five-dollar bill across the bar and pulled the pint of Guinness to his lips. Fuckin’ cold Guinness. Jaysis…Feckin’ New Yorkers - fuckin’ cold Guinness.
He slowly chugged the whole thing down. Then exhaled loudly and wiped his mouth.
“Bridget O’Shaughnessy…” he thought, “Your days are fuckin’ numbered.”
Courtesy of the Provisional IRA.
31
Penny Langston stood at the newsstand at 6th Avenue and 59th Street.
She held the pack of cigarettes in her hand and glanced at the Milk Duds and the Chuckles as she waited for her change. Her first pack of cigarettes in six months. Virginia Slims.
She loved the old blind guy who ran the newsstand. Eddie. She’d learned all about his family, his kids, his grandkids over her years stopping by for The Post or a pack of gum.
"Here ya go, Penny."
He extended the coins with his outstretched hand and found Penny’s. Dumping the quarter, nickel and dime into her palm.
"Thanks, Eddie."
She glanced down at the cover of the Daily News. The headline, Son of Sam Strikes Again.
“Jesus, when is someone going to catch that fucking maniac?” she muttered.
“Hopefully soon, Penny, huh?” Eddie said.
“Hopefully,” she smiled.
“Enjoy the smokes, Penny.”
“Oh I will,” She chuckled. “Take care.”
She stepped away from the newsstand. Slipping off the plastic wrap of the Virginia Slims, which she crinkled up and tossed in a trash can as she passed.
She peeled open the silver foil and pulled out a cigarette, sliding it between her lips.
Even unlit it felt good. Calming.
She struck a match and lit the smoke and it felt even better.
Harried New Yorkers brushed past her so she stepped to the side of the crush of midtowners and leaned against the window of a camera store. A sign for Konica’s in the window, whatever the hell those were, on sale for $129. .
The smoke filling her lungs felt warming and calming. She stood there smoking like she was 16 again. One hand propping up the elbow. Her smoking hand resting by her mouth.
She took one more drag, breathed out the smoke and started walking the block and a half down Sixth Avenue back to work.
Clouds rumbled over head.
Connie. She thought of Connie. Then had another puff of her cigarette
People rushed by her. And, as always, she felt like a complete outsider. She was a British woman in New York. She was a New Yorker to the English. She was married but lonely. She lived in social-life Scarsdale and had no friends.
Penny heard another rumble of thunder overhead.
“Exactly,” she whispered. She glanced up at the sky above Sixth Avenue. Its looming, charcoal-shaded, fat, puffy clouds. “My thoughts exactly.”
She got to the corner of 58th Street and waited for the light to change. Various businessmen and a delivery guy with a dolly all strode into the intersection.
Penny watched the red Don’t Walk sign lingering over the crosswalk like a helpful suggestion.
But as it clicked to Walk, she took one step into the street and suddenly it started to pour. The heavens opened up.
No introductory warning raindrops. This was an instant monsoon coming down in sheets.
“Right,” Penny said, standing there. “And then there’s this.”
People started running past her and into doorways. She glanced down at herself. Her navy, silk Halston wrap-dress was already soaked and clinging to her body. And she could feel raindrops falling off her nose.
“Lovely.”
32
“Oh…. fuck.”
Jamie quickly listed in her mind all the dumb things that had led to this moment. “Don’t take an umbrella… Go on up and drop off some chapters… Wear a pretty dress…. Look nice… Walk up to the Park after.”
And now she was standing there at the corner of Sixth Avenue and 57th Street waiting for the light to change, and suddenly God’s bathtub overturned.
She was soaked before she could even take a step.
“Thank you so much, Roger Winston, channel 5 meteorologist," Jamie muttered.
She’d checked before she left her apartment. ”Sunshine all day!" he crowed on the midday news. With his July tan from the Hamptons.
Jamie flicked her eyes around Sixth Avenue. Cars were a blur. Rain was pouring down in sheets.
She saw figures huddled under storefront awnings and in office building doorways. And some determined souls ran past holding jackets or briefcases over their heads.
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