The phone call after Connie died from Penny’s assistant played over in her mind.
“Penny’s going to be taking a leave of absence for the next six weeks.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s just taking some time away,” Cathy said. “She asked me to call all her writers and let them know. She’ll be back at the end of September.”
Six weeks…
Jamie hung up the phone. “All her writers.” And with that she knew who she was to Penny. And where she stood. And it was time to move on.
An hour later, Jamie squinted into the midafternoon sun and walked out of the Met. Down the wide steps to Fifth Avenue. The smell of pretzels and bus exhaust filled her nose.
The late August air surrounded her hot and thick. Early afternoon rain had cleared. And now everything felt lush and heavy.
She walked past some tourists buying pretzels. And headed down the sidewalk on Fifth to the bus stop at 81st Street. Arriving just as the bus pulled up. She fished a token out of her purse, stepped up the stairs into the bus and found a seat in an empty two-seater by the window.
As the bus accelerated and lurched down 5th Avenue, she stared out the window at Central Park on her right. She saw lush colors of the park and grass and a pale blue sky peeking through. She saw the browns and vivid greens of the trees and the grey-red color of the stone wall along the periphery.
She took in the bright blue and yellow of the Sabrett’s Hot Dog vendor on the sidewalk. And the crisp white and chocolate brown of the little, fat Good Humor Ice Cream truck parked on the side of the road.
She spotted the pale blue of a woman’s skirt walking by. The cigar ash grey of a poodle.
Penny was out of town. For six weeks. Cathy said. And Penny was married.
Jamie watched a couple holding hands against the unexpected colors in a New York afternoon.
Jamie took it all in, and she knew.
She needed to take everything she felt for Penny and all the love and gratitude she had for Connie Pell. And she needed to save her own life.
62
OCTOBER, 1977
Penny sat at her desk and looked at the mountain of phone messages she had to return.
Her month and a half in Montauk had been what she needed. Some distance forced between her and what happened with Connie. And ending her marriage.
It had felt good to be alone in Montauk. To think her own thoughts. To be whoever it was she wanted to be. She had found a great house, a small modern place with a large deck facing the dunes and the ocean. It was just off the Old Montauk Highway, right on the beach, and five minutes past town.
She spent the days in an Adirondack chair outside on the deck with the long grass, the dunes and the ocean in the distance. And the smell of salt water in the air.
When she had told her boss Philip she needed a leave of absence for a month or more she was afraid she might get fired. But he understood. He said, “Well then, we should get your work covered till you’re back.”
Her days and nights were her own. She would walk along the beach. Or sit outside on the deck listening to the waves crashing in the distance. She would go to Pierce’s by herself for dinner some nights. Or get her own fresh fish caught daily down at the dock and cook it at home. And in the evenings she would settle in on the deck with a gin and tonic and watch the sunset over the dunes and the beautiful Atlantic Ocean.
And she knew that after three weeks, rounding into the fourth week, she was almost ready for people and a life again. She could imagine being at the Metropolitan Opera and watching La Traviata from the balcony. She could imagine being out for dinner and maybe laughing about something silly. She thought about Jamie.
And let those thoughts drift away.
Penny glanced up from her desk at a blue sky outside. She looked at her Daytimer and it was filled with meetings. She was happy to be back.
Flipping through her messages, she saw one from Ray Pell. He would be here around three.
She’d learned from him what had happened the day Connie died. They had been standing off to the side of the dining room after the funeral, with relatives buzzing around the house and everyone overly concerned about food – was it time to put the cheese puffs in? Had someone put out the finger sandwiches? Who dropped off this casserole?
Who gives a fuck, Penny thought. And Penny stood there with Connie’s husband Ray. His eyes red from weeping and the note from Connie in his hand.
No one seemed to want to talk about what had happened. But Penny did. And Ray did.
Before it happened, Connie had been better, everyone said it. Ray said it, his mother, even the psychiatrist. Connie had been home for two weeks and was doing great. She seemed happy, they all said.
Ray filled her in. With his red eyes and his hand shaking while he held the letter she’d written.
The day it happened, Connie made Ray’s dinner and lunches for the week. And left a note on the dining room table. She drove over to Ray’s mother’s place across New Rochelle and left the baby with her, saying she was going to run some errands.
And then she drove her car to a bridge over the Hutchinson River Parkway, parked her car at the side of the bridge and at 4:30 p.m. that Wednesday afternoon, she jumped off.
Ray let Penny read the note that Connie left, and as soon as Penny opened it she cried.
Connie’s words, her handwriting. Her goodbye.
“I’m sorry, Ray.”
That’s how it started.
“I love you and I’m so sorry.”
And that she requested her ashes be buried next to her dad in a cemetery in Valhalla. And that half her ashes be given to her dear friend Penny Langston and spread in Central Park. Because half of her heart was always in the city where she grew up and at her job that she loved.
There were other instructions including the people she’d like to be there scattering her ashes in Manhattan, Joan Sussman who worked in Editorial with them, Gavin Barone, who worked in marketing and her favorite writer Jamie Brennan. Because she was proud of her book and loved her words. And that was something beautiful she would leave behind.
The whole thing was a fucking mess.
But now, six weeks after it happened, Penny glanced at her watch. Ray would be here this afternoon. She was stronger. And able. And she would take care of it.
It was the least she could do.
Jamie got the call at work.
Lynette answered the phone. Jamie heard her say, “Yes, she is. Just a sec.” Then hit the red hold button.
“Brennan, I think it’s your sexy editor. Or someone from Buckingham Palace.”
Jamie was sitting at the desk next to the counter, typing up pages for the new book. The first draft of which was almost finished.
She walked over and picked up the phone, pressed line 2 which was flashing.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jamie, it’s Penny.”
“Hi,” Jamie said. Her heart swelled hearing Penny’s voice. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yes, thanks for asking. Time away was good.”
Friendly, distant, polite.
But the call - it wasn’t about work. It was about Connie Pell.
It was a request that surprised her and moved her so unexpectedly that her voice broke when she finally spoke.
“Of course I’ll be there,” Jamie said.
63
Jamie peered down Sixth Avenue from the bus stop at 10th Street on a late October Sunday morning. Eyeing potential shapes in this distance that might be the bus taking her uptown to Central Park. She was headed up there to meet the others and spread Connie’s ashes.
Jamie felt the brisk cool wind blow against her face on its whooshing way uptown.
“Cold today,” Jamie said.
“Not really. I think it’s nice.”
Her new girlfriend of three weeks, Dani, a petite, dark-eyed, perky Broadway dancer, stared at her own reflect
ion in the Kinney Shoes window.
Jamie could see the back of her satin jacket said “A funny thing happened on the way to the forum. Pensacola Dinner Theater 1975.”
Dani admired her reflection.
“I look good,” she said. “Babe, what time is it?”
Jamie glanced at her watch. “Ten after 11.”
Dani scrunched up her face. She pointed her toe and did a couple of leg lifts.
“Thanks. Everyone at the theater thinks I should buy a watch. I just think watches make me look like a lesbian. Even though I am a lesbian, but it’s not like anyone knows I’m a lesbian. I dated this girl named Sissy Donaldson last year. She’s in Grease now at the Royale. She didn’t want anyone to know we were dating because no one would hire her to be sexy anymore. So I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. But I just told you so don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t worry, I - ”
“OH MY GOD, Then I dated this other dancer who I auditioned with for this workshop of a new musical called Cats. What a dumb idea that show sounds like,” Dani said. “What do you think it’s about?”
Jamie closed her eyes. Silently willing the voice to stop talking. Their first week together was idyllic. These past two were less so.
“I’m guessing it’s about Cats.”
Dani sniffed. “It’s just a workshop though. That Andrew Lloyd Weller guy.”
“Webber.”
“Weller.”
“Webber.”
Dani scowled. “Jamie, I think I would know. I’m a dancer in Broadway shows.”
“Yes, I too think you would know. You’re a dancer in Broadways shows… He wrote Jesus Christ Superstar.”
“Who’s that?”
“Oh my god…”
When Penny left for her time away, Jamie finally put her life in motion. She gave Lynette permission to set her up. That led to a flurry of dating. Some dates odder than others, and nothing that stuck. (The cute girl with the braids who wanted to go on the Circle Line was fun. Until she pulled out a harmonica half way around the Statue of Liberty and started playing something by Hall and Oates.)
And then she met Dani at a bar in the village. Three weeks ago.
Dani looked at her reflection again. “What time are you back, babe?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Some notice would have been nice, Jamie.”
“I told you two weeks ago.”
“Still.”
“That’s a lot of notice.”
Dani brightened. “Anyway. I’ve got a matinee at two. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
“Hopefully Tina Yerman has strep.”
Jamie glanced down 6th Avenue for the bus. “Thaaaat’s nice.”
“And have fun in up in Central Park!”
“I would, although I am spreading someone’s ashes, so, y’know…”
Jamie spotted the bus in the distance, coming up from West Fourth Street.
She turned to Dani who had her face scrunched up like there was a bad smell.
“Why don’t you take subways, babe?”
“I prefer buses.”
“You should take the subway.”
For the newly dating, they fought a lot. And many fights started like this. Just like this. The fix to the thing Jamie did wrong.
Christy wasn’t a Dani fan.
The Sunday before, Christy had stared at Jamie across the brunch table at Stouffer’s uptown when Dani had gone off to the bathroom.
“The sex with this ninny better be worth it, Jamie...”
“What do you mean?”
Christy held out some fingers to start listing.
She held one finger up. “She’s stupid.”
The second finger came up. “She called Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm, Miss Jean Brodie…”
Third finger came up. “She ate butter out of the packet.”
Fourth finger. “That was her lunch.”
“Okay, thank you, Christy. We can’t all luck out with the perfect partner like you have.”
“Can’t we? We can at least do better than that dancing doofus.”
And with that they went back to their French toast.
And now standing at the bus stop, yet another fight was about to take hold.
Dani crossed her arms. “Y’know, Jamie, Maybe I might have wanted to do something with you this morning.”
“I’m going to spread someone’s ashes. Not watch Seals and Crofts at the Bandshell.”
“Do you have to make everything about you?”
“I’m not making it about me. I’m making it about A DEAD WOMAN.”
At that moment the Sixth Avenue bus swerved to the curb. It rumbled and hissed to a stop.
The bus doors opened and Jamie stepped on board.
She turned around to Dani.
“Okay. I’ll see you later. And by the way, I’m breaking up with you.”
The bus doors closed. Jamie saw Dani’s face contort into a fast spectrum of shock and frowns.
Jamie waved casually through the glass as Dani gave her the finger from the bus stop.
Ah, Jamie thought. Lynette was so right. Dating is amazing.
64
Penny shoved her hands in the pockets of her beige overcoat and glanced up the hill in Central Park. The path rising up from where she was standing at the foot of the Balto statue.
She’d read the plaque three times already. Balto, the hero sled dog who carried the antidote for diphtheria to Nome, Alaska.
When she was nervous she would read. Even if it was a plaque.
Seeing Jamie again made her nervous.
Penny glanced up and took in the view of Central Park in front of her - the crisp Sunday morning blue of the sky, New Yorkers on a Sunday walking dogs and riding bikes and holding hands.
She breathed in the autumn smell of Central Park on this brisk Sunday morning. Rich earth and roasted chestnuts. If not for the muggings, it could be England.
She was standing next to her co-workers, Joan Sussman and Gavin Barone - who Penny always thought looked like a blond, gay Errol Flynn. Especially today with his aviator jacket and his pencil mustache.
Their conversation was hardly the stuff of PBS:
“Joan, if you want to try a popper just try a popper.”
“Gavin, I’m just saying they shouldn’t be the reserve of the gay man. Perhaps I’d like to do poppers and dance around my apartment.”
“My best to your neighbors.”
“Penny, what do you think?” Joan said.
Penny turned to them. “I think this is a conversation I neither understand nor have feelings about.”
Joan made a face. “Spoilsport.”
At that moment, Penny looked up and spotted Jamie. She was walking down the hill towards them. Smiling.
She was dressed in a cute grey coat and black boots and dark designer jeans. Her blond hair loose to her shoulders.
Penny felt nerves shoot through her body. She took a deep breath and let it out.
She felt like a complete idiot for walking away the way she did the last time they saw each other. And now here they were.
“Hey there…” Jamie said as she got to them.
“Jamie, thanks so much for coming,” Penny said.
She gave Jamie a quick hug. Her throat got tight like tears were on their way. She pushed through.
“Great to see you, Jamie.”
“You too.”
Penny let go of the hug politely. She indicated Joan with a wave of her hand.
“This is Joan Sussman.”
Jamie smiled. “Hi, Joan,” she said. “You did the Forester Chronicles.”
“Ah, I like her already,” Joan grinned.
“Those are great books.”
“They are. Thank you.”
Penny laughed. She brushed a tear off her cheek. Seeing Jamie made something real and hurt and beautiful rise up in her.
Still, her face flushed red, embarrassed at how her sadness leaked out of her.
> “Fucking emotional day...” she chuckled. “We British are dreadful at this.”
Gavin pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his aviator jacket. “Not just the British, babe.”
He handed Penny the handkerchief. “And, Joan, you choose to have us meet in front of the dog statue… Nothing like a little Diphtheria to cheer things up.”
Joan scowled. “I wish you had Diphtheria right now.”
She extended her hand to Jamie.
“Anyway - nice to meet you, Jamie. I loved your book The Readers. Connie and Penny both told me a lot of great things about you.”
Penny pointed to Gavin. “And this handsome devil is Gavin Barone.”
Jamie shook his hand. It was big and warm and strong.
“I’m in marketing at Peckham,” he said. “I’ll be making your life miserable soon enough.”
Jamie laughed. “I look forward to it.”
“Well…” Gavin said. He picked up the little wooden box at Balto’s feet and handed it to Penny. “My love... Here we go.”
Penny held the box in her hands. She looked at it. “Quite…” She stared at it. It wasn’t Connie. But it was.
“So, all,” Penny said. “Where shall we do this?”
“Hmmmm…” Joan squinted her eyes and shielded them with her hand on her forehead, turning her head 180 degrees, scanning the park.
Gavin piped in, “Ahoy there, mate, how does it look from the eagle’s nest?”
Joan gave him a hard frown. “I’m ignoring that,” she said. “Okay, look, we know it’s illegal and the last thing we need is someone grabbing a cop so I say we find some bushes somewhere.”
Gavin made a face. “Bushes in Central Park, isn’t that a little ‘Give fellatio to the married man from Staten Island’?”
Jamie watched as Joan started fishing something out of her purse. She raised an eyebrow at Gavin. “Maybe in your world, Gavin.”
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