by Dee Ernst
“You own the whole house?” I asked.
He shut the door and walked down a long, cool hallway. A Dalí, probably that print he had picked up at Sotheby’s, hung just inside the doorway. I followed him into a huge kitchen that took up the entire back of the apartment. Sliding doors opened onto a deck that in turn overlooked a tree-lined courtyard, complete with fountain.
He was arranging the wine bottles on a granite-topped island roughly the size of my entire dining room. “I really need to change,” he said. “Do you think you can find the wineglasses?”
“Sure. Which zip code are they in?”
“To the left,” he said, and went back down the hallway.
I put my purse on one part of the island and looked around. It was a beautifully designed kitchen, with a six-burner gas stove, double ovens, three sinks, and at least fifty linear feet of granite. I wanted to be buried in that kitchen. I tiptoed back down the hall. There was a vast dining room right inside the front door, walls painted an elegant robin’s egg blue, drapes puddled on the burnished wood floor, and a table so big that my entire family, including cousins, could have had Thanksgiving dinner there, with room for a touch football game in front of the sideboard. Next came a powder room, then a walk-in closet. Who has a walk-in closet off the hall?
Back in the kitchen, I found the wineglasses. They were in the wineglass wing, between one of the sinks and the built-in wine cooler. He had one of those refrigerators where you open the door and think there’s going to be a freezer back there somewhere, but it’s all fridge. The freezer was the next full-size stainless-steel door. And that refrigerator? Another three inches deep, it could have qualified as a walk-in. It held two shelves of bottled water, an entire door of condiments, and lots of take-out containers and orange juice.
Next assignment? God was with me—I found the corkscrew in the fifth drawer I opened.
Since the Shiraz needed to breathe, I uncorked the bottle, then opened the sliders and went out on the deck.
It was hot as hell out there, with no breeze whatsoever, but the sound of the water from the fountain was lovely, so I leaned against the railing, trying to identify some of the plantings. The courtyard was brick, with ivy growing up the tall fence that ran across the back. There were lots of ferns and big-leafed hostas, their small white flowers hanging in the still air. Then I heard Jake’s voice. I glanced up, and he was coming down the spiral staircase tucked in the corner of the deck. From his bedroom, I assumed. Or maybe just his dressing room.
He was barefoot, wearing Dockers and a linen shirt. He stood next to me, looking down at the courtyard. “Want a tour?”
“Sure.”
We went back inside and he poured two glasses of wine, then showed me around.
The house was very narrow. We went down the stairs to the ground floor, which was all living room, with small windows facing the street, but a wall of glass opening to the courtyard. There were lots of neutrals, beiges and taupes, on long couches and deep chairs, and beautiful hunting prints on the walls. All very masculine and subtle, classy without screaming expensive. He grinned like a kid when he showed me the dumbwaiter.
“Is that the coolest thing ever?” he asked, and I had to agree. Next to the dumbwaiter there was a full wet bar, so you wouldn’t have to spend too much time running up- and downstairs fixing drinks when entertaining the forty or so people who could easily fill the space.
The floor above the kitchen was the master suite: huge bedroom, equally huge bath, a book-lined office tucked in front, and a dressing room. Everything was, again, beautifully done, elegant without being showy. Finally, two guest suites on the top floor.
Now, I’d been in a lot of really great houses in the past thirty years. After all, I’d socialized with doctors and lawyers for most of my adult life. But this house was something else.
“Pretty amazing, Jake,” I finally said when we were back in the kitchen. In the corner by the sliders was a polished round table with a leather wing chair and two wicker chairs. The perfect place for breakfast or dinner alone, but why would he need three chairs for breakfast? I didn’t ask. But it was also the perfect place to sip wine and eat a little sharp cheddar.
“Yeah. I was very lucky to find it when I did. I’m putting the White Plains house up for sale. The taxes are killing me, and I’m never there anyway. This place is where I want to be right now. Jill was always about the Upper West Side. In fact, that’s where she’s living. But this is more me, don’t you think?”
“If you say so. This super-CEO Jake is new to me, remember?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I’m still the quiet, humble guy I was back in the day.”
I snorted. “Jake, you were never quiet and humble. You always had a pretty good opinion of yourself, and weren’t afraid to tell other people about how great you were. I was the quiet and humble one.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “God, Kate, you? Quiet? In what alternate universe were you ever quiet?”
I laughed, too. “Okay, well, maybe not quiet.”
He poured us some more wine. “I can’t get over your being Jeff Everett’s mother. And then to find out he’s the same Jeff who’s Gabe’s Jeff? Wow. What’s the word? Serendipity?”
“Something like that. How do you like the wine?”
“It’s good. Of course. Gabe has never steered me wrong. The man has excellent taste.”
“Except in decorating for the mature crowd.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Who decorated your place?”
“A woman I was seeing for a while. Right after Jill. She called herself the rebound woman, and warned me it wouldn’t last. I didn’t believe her, of course. I thought she was going to make me happy again, but after a year, I could see she was right. She was a great Band-Aid, though. After I bought this place, I ran into her at a fund-raiser, and she was just starting her decorating business. I gave her carte blanche, and this was her first big job. She had some trade magazine in here, doing a spread. She’s pretty successful now. I was glad to help her out.” He’d been staring out the window, and as I watched his face, I could see the sadness there, something I hadn’t noticed before. He glanced over and caught me staring. We both smiled.
“How’s the job hunt?”
I shrugged. “The main problem is, I don’t know what I want to do. I just know I have to do something before I chew my foot off from boredom. I started volunteering at a center for homeless people down in Newark. Giving tax advice, believe it or not. Yesterday was my first day, and it was amazing. These were people who had nothing, but still wanted to make sure they had done everything possible to ensure the IRS wouldn’t be mad at them. Complete opposite of what I had been doing. I had to really think about their problems, and the solutions, and had to be creative and flexible. It was great. Just the exercise I needed for my brain. If I could find a job like that, I’d be thrilled.”
“Can you turn it into a paying position?”
I shook my head. “No. This guy is privately funded, and I’m sure he’s on a shoestring. I’ll find something.” I glanced at my watch. If we were walking, we had to start now, and I wanted to walk. I wanted to wind my way slowly uptown with Jake, my arm casually in his, shoulders bumping. I wanted his head to lean down to mine as we spoke, to see the flash of his smile. “Are you ready to head out?”
He nodded and cleared the table while I went to the bathroom—of course—and when we hit the street, the air was cooler, so we walked, talking, and were only a few minutes late to Virgil’s.
They were at a big corner table upstairs, and Jeff shook Jake’s hand, then hugged me, whispering in my ear. “This is your college Jake? Who broke your heart?”
Oh, dear. That’s right, he’d found out the whole Jake story. I nodded and gave him a very fake smile.
“Not a word, Jeff. No discussion of this situation whatsoever. Got it?”
He raised his eyebrows and threw up his hands, signaling defeat. I knew tomorrow he’
d be calling me first thing, asking all sorts of questions and making several suggestions. But for tonight, I was going to enjoy the food and Jake and the knowledge that sometime in the next year, I’d be a grandmother.
We stayed a long time. Jake and I were the oldest people at the table, and the only straight people. We spent a lot of time laughing. We spent a lot of time drinking. He walked me to the Port Authority again, and when my bus pulled up he said, very casually, “So, next time, why don’t I come over to Jersey?”
Next time?
I was so friggin’ cool: “Sure.”
I waved as I got on the bus, still cool.
Next time!
CHAPTER NINE
Friday morning, I had three texts in a row from Tom.
Missed you last night.
Busy later?
How about a drink?
Can I tell you? Right then, I felt guilty. I had really wanted to make things work with Tom. I thought we had a future together. I’d thought that, given time, we’d be pretty good.
But Jake Windom wanted a next time. And I wanted a next time, too.
Alisa noticed me staring miserably at my cell phone, and sat beside me on the couch.
“What?”
“I’m starting to like Tom.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“And even though he was pretty freaked out last weekend, I think he’s starting to like me, too.”
“I don’t see why that’s making you look so unhappy.”
“Remember Jake?”
“Jake, the love of your life?”
I winced. “Yes. Well, we saw each other again last night. He’s one of Gabe’s best customers, and he was in the store yesterday, so I went to his place and had some wine, and then he came to dinner, and I had a great time.”
“Your Jake knows Gabe? Oh, Kate, this is the world telling you something. Do not ignore this message.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Excuse me, Miss Science Brain of America. But since when do you advise listening to the cosmos? I thought everything had to be backed up with at least a fragment of reality.”
“Not when it comes to the heart, Kate. I mean it. Call Laura; she’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I know she will. The two of you are like dueling cupids buzzing around my head. What about Tom?”
She folded her hands on her lap and looked serious. “I don’t think that Tom is quite right for you. I know I don’t know him well, but observing you together, I sense a lack of spark.”
“Oh, so when it comes to Tom, you’re going to get all analytical on me?”
Sam shuffled into the living room, coffee mug in hand. “Are we talking about Tom? He’s a real douche bag. Gotta get dressed. Later, Mom.” And he shuffled out again.
Alisa looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Just remember how brilliant he is,” she said, and followed him upstairs.
Jeff called and was completely annoying, telling me what a great guy Jake was, how funny and sophisticated, not to mention rich.
“You could forget about trying to find a job, Mom, and hang out all day in the Village with the rest of us.”
“It’s not that simple, Jeff.”
“Sure it is. And if you moved into his place, you could see your grandbaby every single day.”
That kid did not play fair.
I had lunch with Marie. She flagged me down when I was walking Boone, and insisted I come right on in. Her condo was one level, with a beautiful baby grand piano in the living room, and a tiny patio out back where we had BLTs on her homemade bread with her homegrown tomatoes that she started way back in March in her windowsill. She also had crisp white wine and fresh baked biscotti for dessert. What a great neighbor.
Tom and I had been texting back and forth, and had agreed to meet at six at the Dublin Pub. It was a little odd that he didn’t offer to pick me up, but that was fine with me. We managed a table outside, on the side terrace, and ordered drinks. I was telling him about the Monet exhibit, because I really didn’t want to talk too much about last night’s dinner, but when our drinks came, he knocked back his scotch in one gulp and took my hand.
“Kate, can I talk for a minute?”
Oh, no. He looked so serious. What was I going to do if he said something about our relationship? What if he wanted to take it to “the next level”? I liked this man, and did not want to do anything to hurt his feelings, but what was I going to say?
I stared at my wine, wishing I’d ordered a martini. “Sure, Tom. Go ahead.”
“I don’t think this is working out very well.”
“What?”
“You and I. I don’t think it’s going as well as I’d like.”
What?
“Tom, we’ve known each other less than two months. What isn’t going well for you?”
“You seem to have a lot of other, well, distractions in your life. You’re always off somewhere, with your kids or friends. I don’t feel that I’m getting as much, well, private time as I’d like.”
“Private time?”
“Yes.”
“Monday night, when I suggested pizza and TV, you were the one who was busy.”
“Yes, well, that was work.”
“Oh. So if I had a job, it would be different?”
He threw up his hands. “If you had a job, it would probably be impossible.”
“Tom, I would think that, at our age, we would be more appreciative of each other’s lives and commitments, and would not be so, well, high school about things like this.”
He drew back. “This isn’t ‘high school’ at all. If you’re not willing to work on building our relationship, I don’t see where we have much of a future.”
Whoa. He was breaking up with me.
“You’re a very lovely woman, Kate, but for some reason, we can’t get on the same page when it comes to how much time we spend together. That’s a real issue for me. So I think we should pull away now, before one of us gets too attached.”
I stared at him. “Tom, why did we never have this conversation before?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that maybe, if I had known this was a—what did you call it? Real issue? If I had known this was a real issue for you, we could have probably resolved it.”
He shook his head sadly. “Honestly, Kate, if you don’t know how to read the signs, I’m afraid this dating thing is not going to end well for you.”
“Wow. How passive-aggressive of you.” I drained my wineglass.
“Now, Kate, that’s really not very fair, is it?”
“Fair? How old are you, and you still talk about fair? And now that I think about it, you made a habit of suggesting we get together when you knew I’d already had something going on. The nights I was sitting home with my thumb up my butt, you couldn’t be bothered, but I tell you I’ve got plans, and suddenly you’ve got three different places we need to go. When I tell you I’m spending the night watching TV, you don’t call, text, or anything. But if I’m out, there’s this constant stream of vitally important information you’ve just got to share with me immediately.
“And another thing. Saturday night, I introduced you to my friends. My family. You’ve never once introduced me to any of your friends or family. In fact, you haven’t even mentioned that you have any friends or family. What the hell is that all about?”
“Kate, I think I should go now.”
“Tom, I think you should have gone four weeks ago.”
He shook his head sadly and left.
Tom had just broken up with me.
I signaled for the waiter and ordered a martini, then I texted Laura.
Tom just dumped me. At Dublin Pub and can’t drive home.
She immediately texted me back.
SO SORRY!! U must b so upset 2 not drive. B there ASAP.
Not upset. So angry I had a martini. Hurry.
I was almost done with my bacon cheeseburger when she arrived—medium, extra bacon, with fries and onion rings.
She sat across from me, where Tom had so recently sat as he gave me the heave-ho, and shook her head, her crutches leaning against the table.
“Where’s Bobby?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I should have never texted you. I know you can’t drive by yourself.”
She waved her hand in the air. “The boys are with us. They’re getting ice cream. Family night out.” She shook her head. “The cheeseburger I get. But what is that? Vodka?”
“I know. This is the second time in as many weeks I’ve had to drink out of my comfort zone.”
“What happened? Tell me quick, because I know that drink is going to make you completely stupid in the next five minutes.”
I swallowed. “He had the nerve to tell me I wasn’t spending enough ‘private time’ with him. What is that? ‘Private time’? Were we supposed to be reading aloud to each other? Having more sex? Did he want me to sit at his feet and fondle his toes? What the hell is wrong with men?”
Laura listened patiently. “Kate, I’m very sorry that things didn’t work out with Tom. I know you were hoping that the two of you could find your way to a bit of happiness, but obviously the man was a douche bag. You’re lucky to be rid of him.”
“That’s what Sam said,” I mumbled.
“What did Sam say?”
“That Tom was a douche bag.”
“I didn’t know they had met.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t planned. They met at the condo. Over morning coffee.”
“Oh, God, and I missed it.” She took my hand. “I am sorry.”
I pushed away my plate. It was pretty well picked over. “Me too. He was a nice man, really. Just not for me.”
“Excellent attitude. Maybe you won’t get stupid after all.”
“No, it’s too late. Jake may be back in my life.”
I told her the whole story—the drink at the Pierre, the pub, our meet-up last night. She didn’t say anything, just sat as I babbled like a schoolgirl crushing on a football star.