Emily and Einstein

by Linda Francis Lee

  By noon I still hadn’t gotten to the end, but could think of nothing but eating. I pushed the manuscript aside and went to lunch. Healthy sounded horrible, and I gave in and went for the prefabricated food filled with preservatives at the corner market.

  “Emily!”

  Birdie came up behind me at the food bar. She wore a suit I had never seen before, one that registered in some part of my brain as too expensive for a publishing assistant. She bypassed the fattening foods and started loading her container with lettuce and raw vegetables.

  “The woman is insane, demented, completely unfair,” she said, tonging up a square of tofu with a grimace and a hiss.

  Carla, another associate editor, came up behind Birdie. She was wearing a little black business suit. “This is ridiculous,” she said.

  Though I noticed she too loaded up on salad. She bit into a carrot stick with relish. “She can’t do this. She can’t dictate what we wear.” She shook the carrot at me. “Or what we eat!”

  Technically, Tatiana wasn’t. She was providing reasonable dress guidelines and healthy tips. No corporation in the land, at least outside California, allowed bare bellies in the workplace.

  Not that I said that. I turned back to the food bar and added another helping of cheddar cheese mashed potatoes to my container.

  “Don’t let the new boss see you eating that. I don’t think cheddar mash is considered health food by anyone.”

  “Potatoes are a vegetable.”

  Birdie giggled.

  Carla rolled her eyes. “One, I doubt there is a real potato anywhere in the mix—”

  True.

  “—and even if there was, the fake, processed, sodium and fat-filled cheese undercuts any nutritional value a starchy potato might provide.” She smiled proudly. “I’m editing a diet book.”

  Birdie looked at me. “If we’re quick, we can take Carla out back and choke her with tofu.”

  “I’m just saying,” Carla said.

  I responded by adding more potatoes for good measure.

  But when I turned back, none other than Tatiana stood behind me.

  “Cheddar mash?” she asked. “I take it you also subscribe to the theory of candy corn as vegetable, and strawberry jam as fruit.”

  Birdie and Carla snapped their plastic containers shut and bolted for the checkout line.

  “You’re Emily, right?” she said.

  “Yes, Emily Barlow.”

  “Charles speaks highly of you.”

  “Charles has been an excellent boss.”

  Tatiana considered me. In her high-fashion cherry suit and black stiletto heels, she looked out of place in the cramped food market, her sharp bob, severe curtain of bangs, and small, round, black-rimmed glasses marking her as a player. I couldn’t imagine what she was doing there, couldn’t put together the perfect woman and her health memo with this appearance.

  Then I noticed the container of fresh-squeezed orange juice. The corner market did a lot of things in a preprocessed, preservative-laden way, but it provided fresh-squeezed orange juice pretty much 24/7.

  “Vitamin C,” she explained, as if reading my mind.

  She turned, walked directly to the front of the line, handed the clerk three dollars, didn’t wait for change, then clipped out of the store without another word.

  The following week, some of the younger editors at Caldecote cornered me in the women’s room.

  “Tatiana’s unreasonable.”

  “She acts like it’s my fault when an author doesn’t deliver on time.”

  “I know she blames me that the cover copy for my January book was hideous.”

  I didn’t need to ask who she was.

  Birdie turned to the other woman. “You think you have it bad? My boss asked me to show Tatiana the cover for his next release. Tatiana looked me up and down and said, ‘You’re kidding, right?’ It wasn’t even my cover!”

  Carla grimaced. “This morning I heard she told Letty Mayhew that her latest book was as inspiring as tooth rot on a dentist.”

  I had the disjointed thought that Sandy would have loved Tatiana Harriman.

  I turned and stared at my face in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman who stared back.

  “What if I get fired?” Carla said, her voice rising. “I can’t get fired! I’m doing a time-share in Montauk this summer.”

  I heard the bathroom door open.

  “Are we having a meeting no one told me about?”

  Birdie, Carla, and the other editors whirled around. I didn’t have to turn. I saw Tatiana’s reflection in the mirror.

  She stood in the doorway of the bathroom, like a heat-seeking missile, landing in the middle of us wherever we congregated. I turned away from the mirror and faced our new boss.

  She looked us over with chilling disapproval. “This is not a sleepover where we freeze bras and use warm water to make sleeping girls pee.”

  Clearly her days of slumber parties were not of the braiding hair and singing “Kumbaya” variety.

  None of my coworkers waited for more. They disappeared through the narrow doorway like a horde of scurrying mice.

  I started to follow.

  “You know, Emily, being a den mother to a bunch of ducklings won’t get you anywhere in this business. Indiscriminate niceness won’t either.”

  You’d think if she was going to say anything to me it would be something about books or the lousy job I was suddenly doing. A comment about being too nice threw me.

  “People take advantage of nice,” she said. “Survival means winning, and not necessarily being sweet while you’re doing it.”

  “Are you implying life is a zero-sum game? Or maybe you just mean that’s how life is going to be here at the new Caldecote Press?”

  She smiled without humor. “So you’re not always nice. Good. As for a zero-sum game, no. For one person to win, the other doesn’t have to lose. All I’m saying is that constant niceness makes people wonder what you’re trying so hard to hide.” She walked over to the mirror and smoothed her already smooth hair. “What are you hiding, Emily?”

  My mother had asked me the very same thing.

  chapter fourteen

  Since the day I cracked in Max Reager’s arms, I had been avoiding him like the plague. Unfortunately, when I came up from the subway at the corner of Central Park West and Seventy-second Street, I saw Max and his niece and nephews a few yards from the front gates of the Dakota.

  Katie stood on the sidewalk crying. Her twin brothers stood off to the side, each leaning against the handlebars of their scooters, looking bored—very much the mien of, “been there, done that,” as if she threw fits regularly.

  The girl cried enthusiastically, jerking her own scooter as Max worked calmly on something he held in his hands. He wore cargo pants and his coat, a messenger bag slung carelessly across his shoulder.

  “You have to fix it,” Katie wailed.

  I’m not sure what Max said in response, but the girl wailed louder. Max didn’t so much as blink. He continued with the same calm he had when I first saw him, seeming oblivious to her tantrum. I couldn’t move.

  Max handed whatever he was working on back to Katie. “That’s the best it’s going to get.”

  “No! Fix it!”

  The girl’s face was blotchy and tearstained, her small hand clutching what now looked to be a pink watch.

  “You’re the one who broke it, Katie, not me.” He turned to the boys. “Okay, dudes, ready?”

  The twins perked up. Katie threw her scooter down. Max just gave her a look. “Suit yourself. Guys, I think Lupe has ice cream in the freezer.”

  “Yay!” they cheered, scootering the last few yards to the entrance.

  Max followed, leaving Katie behind. “Pick ’em up, guys. No scootering in the building.”

  Katie stood for a second, fists clenched, her tears cut off like a water faucet. Then, “Wait for me!”

  She raced after them, only to have Max stop. “Get your scooter.”
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br />   Her face went red and I thought she’d throw another fit, but Max stood his ground. After a second, Katie ran back, grabbed her scooter. When she got back to him, he put his hand on her shoulder as they headed toward the gate together.

  “How does chocolate sound?” I heard him ask.

  I don’t know how she responded, but she leaned into his thigh as they walked through the gate.

  The gesture was so loving, so secure, that I had to turn away. I chided myself for being a sentimental fool as I retraced my steps so I could walk around to the back side of the building, giving them time to get inside and up to their own apartment. Whatever feelings I had for Max only confused me.

  I went around to Seventy-third, then down the ramp to the back door. The staff buzzed me in through the mesh gates, and I took the elevator to the main lobby. Being the stealth sort I had become, I hurried down the first-floor hallway, intent on going up my usual elevator, certain that Max and company would be long gone.

  But I skidded to a halt on the tile floor.

  “Hey,” Max said when he saw me.

  The three kids looked back. The boys weren’t particularly interested, but Katie’s eyes narrowed.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” Max said, his mouth ticking up at one corner. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you were avoiding me.”

  Yet again I felt something in me ease. “You know better, do you?”

  He extended his arms to either side and shrugged. “Can you imagine anyone avoiding me, the sweet, kind, completely un-dangerous Max Reager?”

  Despite myself, I smiled.

  “Don’t answer that,” he said. “There’s no good answer that in some way doesn’t take a swipe at my manhood.”

  That actually made me laugh.

  Katie’s narrowed gaze turned into an official glare. “What’s your name?” she demanded, taking Max’s hand.

  “Emily. Emily Barlow.”

  The elevator opened and I had little choice but to get on. Between all of them, their scooters, and me, it was a tight squeeze. Max and I stood on either side facing each other.

  “We’re going to have ice cream,” one of the twins said.

  I raised a brow. “Before dinner?”

  “Don’t tell,” Max said. “Come have some with us.”

  “Yeah, come have some,” the twins said.

  Katie didn’t share her brothers’ enthusiasm.

  “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  Max looked at me like I was a coward.

  “My dog. Einstein. I have to take him out.”

  Max just smiled. “Whatever you say. Come on, guys.”

  My heart fluttered the entire time I had Einstein outside. As usual my dog refused to use the restroom on the curb until both the doorman and I had turned our backs to give him some semblance of privacy. When he was done, I had the strange sense he was looking around for something, gingerly lifting his paws one at a time. Was he looking for hand wipes?

  After a second, E hung his head and trotted back toward the gates. I had put Max firmly out of my head, but when the elevator opened, the twins were sitting Indian-style in front of my door.

  “Hey,” I said, surprised.

  Einstein took one look at the boys and crouched down as if suspicious.

  “E, these are our neighbors. Be nice.”

  With what I would have sworn was a bored shrug, he straightened and headed inside. The boys followed me inside without being asked.

  Once Einstein was settled and ignoring all three of us, the twins took my hands. “Come on. If we don’t hurry, the ice cream will be all melty.”

  They tugged me out of the kitchen. “I can’t, really.”

  “You have to.” They closed my door for me. “Uncle Max said we couldn’t come back unless we had you with us.”

  “He did, did he?”

  With not enough reluctance, I followed.

  In the bright kitchen next door, Katie was regaling the nanny with tales of their adventures in Central Park. I doubted the little minx had mentioned the tantrum in the street.

  The giant golden retriever Beau leapt up from the corner as the boys raced to the center island and climbed up on high stools.

  Max was leaning against the counter, and when he saw me he smiled. “Glad you could join us.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  “Yeah, bad habit of mine.”

  Katie continued with her stories.

  “I see you have a way of getting girls to stop crying.”

  “Yep, that’s me. Though I ask, why are so many girls crying around me these days?”

  He smiled that gorgeous smile and pulled out three containers of ice cream from the freezer.

  The children cheered.

  “Ice cream to bribe crying girls. Sending the boys to coerce me over here. Underhanded tactics?”

  “A Navy SEAL does not employ underhanded tactics,” he said, scooping ice cream into six bowls. He stopped and glanced at me, scooper in hand. “We just bring whatever force necessary to the situation to get the job done.”

  “You’re a Navy SEAL?”

  His smile disappeared, the scoop filled with ice cream held suspended in the air. “I was. I’m out now.”

  “You mean you’re not a soldier anymore?”

  We looked at each other, and I saw the darkness then.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t certain why.

  After a second, the darkness was gone as if it had never been there. “No apologies necessary, other than apologizing for calling me a soldier. I was Navy, ma’am, not Army.”

  “Ah. Forgive me.”

  “Anytime.”

  When ice cream was done, the boys insisted on dragging me to see their playroom. A glance at Max only produced a shrug. “They’re the boss.”

  The apartment was more than twice as big as mine. Outside of the kitchen, we turned right then right again, heading down a long hallway that ran along the south side of the building. Inside the playroom I stopped. I felt the moment when Max came up behind me.

  “A kid’s version of nirvana,” he said. “My sister can get carried away.”

  “Come on, Emily,” the boys said.

  The walls were covered with fun family photos done up in colorful frames. Coming down the hallway I had noted formal photographs in expensive frames.

  When the boys caught me looking at the pictures, they raced over and proceeded to tell me who everyone was. But once Katie realized what was going on, she nudged her brothers aside and took over.

  “That is not Uncle Max,” she snipped. “That is Uncle Marcus.”

  Uncle Marcus looked a lot like Uncle Max, only older and far more respectable.

  “My big brother,” Max explained.

  “And that’s Uncle Marcus with Uncle Peter.”

  “Another brother?” I asked.

  “Marcus’s partner,” Max clarified. “They live in Tribeca.”

  “And that’s Aunt Mary and Uncle Howard.”

  Max followed along to explain. “Mary is my other sister. Melanie, Mary, Marcus, and me. In that order.”

  “Your parents like M’s.”

  “Take it up with my mother.” He peered closer at the photos as if he hadn’t looked at them in a very long time. “Mary’s a doctor at New York Presbyterian and Howard’s a lawyer at one of those massive firms with a long list of names. They live on the Upper East Side.”

  Katie pointed out another photo. “That’s our mom and dad.”

  “Melanie and Ben,” Max added. “Ben’s a Wall Street guy who managed not to lose his money in the crash.”

  I saw photos of grandparents and cousins and a wide array of extended family. The kids, with Max’s help, explained them all.

  In the middle of all the frames there was an old photo of a couple, the woman in a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, the man in full military dress.

  “Your parents?”

  “Kathryn and Dan.”

  “Are you close?
”

  “We’re all close. All the kids are in New York, now. Our parents are a couple hours away in Pennsylvania where we grew up.”

  “Is your dad still in the Army?”

  He smiled again. “Navy,” he clarified and I could see the love in his expression. “Hell of a sailor in his day, always set a high bar for his kids.”

  Katie and the twins had lost interest and were playing.

  “Did you resent your father’s high expectations?”

  He was quiet for a second. “Sure. Sometimes. But mostly I admired him. To his credit, he always made me feel that I could do anything I wanted, and was willing to support any decision I made as long as I had thought it through and could justify my reasoning.”

  “He sounds like an exceptional man.”

  “He is. He’s retired now. Retired as a captain.”

  “Is that high up?”

  “The equivalent of a colonel in any other branch.”

  “I take that as a yes?”

  He shook his head again and smiled. “Yes.”

  I turned back to the photos and Max came up next to me. “I take it you don’t have a lot of experience with people in the military.”

  “I’m from a house of women, more specifically, women who don’t believe in war. Not a man in the bunch.”

  “What about your father?”

  I hesitated. “As best I can tell, he was a one-night stand following a peace rally. My mother didn’t catch his name.”

  I could feel his surprise. And why wouldn’t he be shocked? He was a man with a family like the Waltons, big and loving. When I had compared my family situation to his before, I had felt sorry for myself. But right that second I almost hated him for what he had. I was jealous, and though I knew it was ridiculous I couldn’t stop the feeling.

  “My mother was important in her day.” I felt a need to stand up for her. “She once wrote an article that was published in the New York Times.”

  “She was a writer?”

  “Actually, no. She was a feminist. The article was about how nice girls didn’t get ahead.” I couldn’t help but smile ruefully. “That might be old hat now, but back then it caused quite a stir. And not a good stir.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never seen my mother so proud. She cut out the article. Your sister frames family photographs and hangs them on the wall. My mother framed her article. No matter where we lived, that’s what she hung on the wall.” I hesitated remembering. “Then one day the article came down and never went back up, not even when we finally stayed put in one place.”