A Very Good Life

by Lynn Steward

  So what was she going to do? Play the loyal employee and wife and, as her father might say, wait for things to fall into place? Or would she, like Virginia, fight the good fight and try to make things happen? Would she confront Brett or perhaps force him into counseling? Would she risk her job by remaining vocal? Dana wasn’t sure how to answer these questions, but she felt as if she’d crossed a threshold of sorts. She was a different person than the Dana McGarry who had arrived at B. Altman that morning, brimming with enthusiasm. Was such a radical transformation really possible?

  Yes, it was most certainly was. She’d been asked to do more than just sit on a terrific money-making concept and wait for B. Altman’s corporate gears to align with her way of thinking. She’d been ordered to lie. She sensed that her life was about to change, although she couldn’t predict how. The day was almost over, but Dana sensed that a new journey was beginning.

  Dana quickened her pace. She didn’t quite know who Dana McGarry was any longer or what she was going to become. But she knew that things were going to change. Like her father, she would continue to be the good employee. Like her mother, she felt compelled to stand up for herself and challenge the status quo.

  Chapter Four

  John Cirone put down his glass of Barolo and rose from the overstuffed chair in the spacious den of Phil and Virginia Martignetti. Their house sat on the edge of Macy Channel in the community of Hewlett Harbor on Long Island.

  “I tell you, Phil, I can’t accept this, and I won’t,” he said. “I’ve never liked this Farnsworth girl, and now she goes and pulls a stunt like this. For God’s sake, she’s not even Catholic! What is my son thinking! What kind of a life will Johnny have if he’s married to a Main Line Philadelphia socialite? A WASP!”

  John Cirone, known affectionately to the Martignetti children simply as Uncle John, paced the floor of the den anxiously. The stunt he alluded to was the mailing of wedding invitations ahead of schedule by his son Johnny’s fiancée, Suzanne Farnsworth.

  “She did it to make sure Johnny doesn’t back out at the eleventh hour,” John asserted. “She knows I’ve been against this union from the beginning, and this is her Main Line response.”

  “John, you need to sit down before you have a stroke,” Phil counseled good-naturedly.

  Phil was a tall man in his mid-fifties. His warm eyes and close-cut salt and pepper hair gave him a look of sophistication and maturity. Virginia was a tall slender woman with short blond hair and deep-set blue eyes. Although she was Phil’s age, she looked younger.

  John sank onto the leather couch next to Phil, shaking his head. “If Lena were still around, she would know what to say and Johnny would listen. He always listened to her. But no matter what I say, it comes out wrong. I just can’t sugarcoat the words ’I don’t want you to marry this girl.’ Lena Cirone, John’s deceased wife, had died two years earlier.

  Phil crossed his legs and spoke calmly. “John, Lena would want Johnny to be happy, and that means that you have to let him live his own life.” He glanced at his wife, hoping for a little emotional reinforcement to help keep John calm.

  Virginia had to bite her tongue. She believed that Phil was probably right, but she also felt strongly that, if Lena were alive, she might have put some considerable pressure on Johnny to go to his local parish priest for a little counseling. Marrying inside the Catholic Church had been as important to Lena as it was to Virginia.

  Uncle John took a deep breath and spoke defiantly. “I can’t watch my son take his wedding vows in an Episcopalian service. I’ve decided that I’m not going to the wedding.”

  “Now John,” Phil said, “that’s a bit extreme. Not going to your son’s wedding is something that you’d regret for the rest of your life, and you might drive a wedge between Johnny and you. Who knows—he might even quit the business.”

  Uncle John glanced sideways, grunted, and lowered his voice. “And maybe that’s why Suzanna—”

  “Suzanne, John,” Virginia corrected. “Her name is Suzanne.”

  Growing more restless and agitated, John stood again and walked across the oriental carpet and stood to the right of the fireplace. He gazed through the tall double window set into the den’s knotty pine paneling. His stare was vacant, not focused on the fresh snowfall or the frozen waters of Macy Channel beyond.

  “Like I was saying, maybe that’s what this Farnsworth girl really wants—to take Johnny away from the House of Cirone. Maybe her father is waiting to give him a position with one of his own companies.” Uncle John covered his forehead with his right hand. “What can I say? This is a nightmare.”

  The Martignettis knew all too well that Johnny’s heart wasn’t in the business, at least not totally, after seven full years with the House of Cirone, the ladies’ eveningwear manufacturing company founded by his grandfather. It was always assumed that he would work for the company after graduating from Villanova, and, always the dutiful son, he hadn’t disappointed his father. He’d joined the business and done everything Uncle John had asked of him.

  Johnny was big and burly, and at twenty-nine, he was an honest, hardworking man—and a bit of a teddy bear despite his muscular build and his love of contact sports.

  He was loyal to his family, but after his mother died, Johnny had been completely devastated. A friend introduced him to Suzanne, and, to his father’s chagrin, the couple had gotten serious very quickly. Lena had been Johnny’s protector from early childhood, and most people who knew him thought that Suzanne and her world outside New York were simply outlets for his grief.

  Uncle John wheeled around to face his hosts, his arms spread wide in frustration. “What else could we have done to instill a strong Catholic faith in Johnny? Chaminade is the best Catholic high school for boys. The Marianist Brothers’ teachings have guided me all my life, and I thought that it would be the same for my son. You know, we recently met with the board to discuss funding for a new athletic center in Lena’s honor. And it wasn’t even my idea. It was Johnny’s. I know he’s a good boy, but he’s obviously lost his way. I’m still his father, and I can’t let him start his married life outside the church.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, John,” remarked Virginia. “Maybe what you need to do is—”

  Sensing that Virginia was on the verge of giving John some advice on being proactive and possibly intervening in Johnny’s affairs, Phil quickly stood and approached his guest, standing next to him and putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “You have to remember that children don’t come with an owner’s manual,” he said. “We teach them as best we can and then send them along, like a kid on his first two-wheel bike.”

  Virginia rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine, knowing that she’d been pre-empted.

  “You’ve got two great kids,” Phil continued. “Phoebe is distinguishing herself in her fellowship in interventional cardiology at New York Hospital. And Johnny has done well at the House of Cirone. Give yourself a little credit. You’ve obviously done a great many things right.”

  “Yeah, I know,” John sighed. He moved to his left, absentmindedly running his index finger along the spines of leather-bound volumes in one of two built-in bookcases in the den. “But lately I’m reminded of Matthew and Dana and how well they turned out. I’m a bit envious, I suppose. I shouldn’t have to deal with Johnny possibly making the biggest mistake of his life.”

  Matthew Martignetti was Dana’s younger brother. A champion surfer who’d mastered the Banzai Pipeline, he was in a graduate program in marine biology at the University of Hawaii.

  Virginia rose from the couch and poured herself another glass of wine. She had a few things on her mind and wasn’t going to be interrupted again.

  “We’re certainly fortunate,” Virginia said, her voice adopting a more reflective tone. “Dana has made us exceedingly proud, but that doesn’t mean we’ve never had any concerns.”

  John frowned. “Oh, come on, Virginia. She and Brett have led a fairy tale existence.”

&
nbsp; Phil knew what was coming. He also knew that it wouldn’t be wise to censor his wife a second time, so he, too, poured a second glass of wine and returned to the couch. “Just make it the short version, okay, honey?”

  Virginia winked at her husband and nodded. Despite their different temperaments, Phil and Virginia had learned over the years how to make their respective styles complement each other.

  “You might remember, John,” Virginia began, “that I thought Brett was a bit too spoiled and pampered. I also thought he pushed Dana into marrying him before she was ready. His mother was never really friendly to us, and his father blamed Dana for Brett’s decision to take a job on Wall Street after graduating from Penn Law, rather than accept a clerkship in D.C. He thought Dana had coerced Brett to move to Manhattan because of her professional aspirations. You know she would never do something like that. So you see, their marriage didn’t begin without considerable friction between the families.”

  “And then there was the beautiful wedding,” Phil said with a smile, as if he were wrapping up a long tale. “Today Brett and Dana have been happily married for eight years.”

  Phil was aware that Virginia could have added to the history of Brett and Dana, all of which might make Uncle John feel even more frustrated than he already was. In point of fact, Brett had shocked everyone, and infuriated his parents, when he’d sold shares of IBM stock to buy Dana an expensive engagement ring while still a student. Virginia felt that Brett had been like a kid in a candy store, spoiling Dana by throwing around his money. She knew that he had needed to grow up, and marriage was not the place to do that. As for church attendance, Brett went to mass very seldom these days, and the altar at which he now worshipped seemed to be his desk at Davis, Konen and Wright. Most disturbingly, Virginia, never one to let anything go unnoticed, believed Brett’s eye lingered a little too long on certain attractive young women when the two families went out for dinner. Was her hotshot son-in-law becoming a little too arrogant, too sure of himself as his influence within the firm spread? Was he rooted in family and faith? Virginia told Dana that she thought the matter needed attention and that she was being too naïve, too trusting. Dana responded, rather unconvincingly to Virginia’s way of thinking, that such suspicion was ridiculous.

  “I appreciate what you’re both saying,” John said. “It’s just that I believe when you marry somebody, it’s for life and you get the whole package. You don’t just marry a single individual—you marry the entire family. Their traditions, their quirks, their warmth . . .” He frowned. “Or lack thereof. If Suzanne is pushing the accelerator on the wedding, what is she going to do down the line, for heaven’s sake? She’s too aggressive for my taste.” He returned to the couch and sat between Virginia and Phil.

  Phil and Virginia each put an arm around their good friend. “We know it’s hard, John,” Virginia said as she looked at Phil at the other end of the couch, giving him a nonverbal cue that she was going to keep her advice short. The Martignettis could communicate with each other with their eyes better than most couples could with the spoken word. “Take one day at a time.”

  Virginia could indeed have gone much farther in her agreement with Uncle John. She, too, believed that marriage was a package deal, and that was precisely why she was so concerned about Dana at present. To her way of thinking, Brett had never matured. She’d been right from the beginning. Sure, he was a hard worker and kept Dana comfortable, but he seemed to be drifting. She felt he was exhibiting the McGarry family aloofness. While he went through all the motions in exemplary fashion, she didn’t think the marriage was growing and thriving. Dana shared an apartment with her husband, but not much else.

  “I wonder if Dana would mind speaking to Johnny,” Uncle John said. “You know how close they used to be as kids. Don’t forget that there was a time when we hoped they might be the ones to tie the knot. Maybe she can talk some sense into him—make him take a second look at the situation.”

  Phil laughed and nodded. “True enough, John, but I don’t think Dana is going to want to interfere. I think she’s going to want to give him space precisely because they were so close.”

  Virginia thought it was an excellent idea but said nothing.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Uncle John said.

  “Let’s go out to the dock and get some fresh air,” Phil said, escorting Uncle John from the den.

  Virginia leaned back into the soft brown leather cushion. She was convinced that Uncle John was right about Suzanne Farnsworth. As for Brett McGarry, the jury was still out as far as Virginia Martignetti was concerned.

  Chapter Five

  Dana entered the library of her apartment, intending to remind her husband of their dinner reservation at Cheshire Cheese. Engrossed in a phone conversation, Brett held up the palm of his hand, gesturing that his wife would have to wait for a hearing. Rather than dwell on the brusque manner with which her husband dismissed her, Dana turned around and walked into the hallway, summoning Wills for his evening walk. Brett reclined on a plump English club chair and ottoman positioned in front of a bookcase that occupied the entire wall behind him.

  Dana leaned over to hook the leash to the spaniel’s collar. Brett was constantly on the phone, she thought, always talking with a client, a colleague, their accountant, their investment analyst—always schmoozing and working and laughing as if he had all the time in the world. But when was the last time they’d gone to a movie or enjoyed a quiet evening at home? When had they last talked about their future or having a family?

  Dana rode down in the elevator, Wills panting in anticipation of ruling the sidewalk for the next fifteen minutes. She walked through the softly lit lobby, Wills’ paws tapping the polished marble floor as he scooted through the door held open by the uniformed doorman. It was twilight, and streetlamps were just winking on as Dana allowed the eager spaniel to take the lead, pulling the leash taut. They had only gone half a block when Wills suddenly bolted forward, the leash going slack.

  “Wills!” Dana called. “Come back! Please!” She took the end of the leash in her hand and noticed that the metal clasp that hooked to the collar was worn.

  The spaniel sprinted on its short legs, its wide furry ears flapping against its head as it enjoyed newfound freedom on the crowded sidewalk of Park Avenue.

  “Wills!” Dana cried. “Please—someone stop him!”

  In the distance, Dana could see Wills fast approaching the busy traffic at the corner of 37th Street and Park. Suddenly, a dark figure twenty yards away bent over and scooped him up, cradling him with two arms.

  “Wait!” Dana called. “No! That’s my dog!”

  Dana quickened her pace, trying to make her way through the busy flow of people returning from work or shopping. If the stranger disappeared and she never saw Wills again, she would never forgive herself for not double-checking the clasp on the leash.

  Dana stopped in her tracks, breathing a sigh of relief. The stranger was walking in her direction, a smile on his face. Wills was safely bundled against the lapels of his rescuer’s wool overcoat.

  “I think this little guy belongs to you,” said a man in his early thirties. He smiled as he placed Wills into Dana’s outstretched arms. He was tall, perhaps six-foot two, and had a friendly smile and light blue eyes.

  Dana wrapped Wills, cold and wet from the snow, in her soft cashmere scarf and held him so tightly that the man started to laugh and said, “I didn’t save him so you could suffocate him.”

  “Another second and he would have been in traffic,” Dana said as she wiped snow from Wills’ face. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Thank you so much. You saved his life.”

  The man shook his head slightly and grinned. “Glad to help. A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, if I’m correct. A very handsome breed.”

  “Yes it is. And thank you again. Chivalry isn’t dead.”

  “I should hope not,” said the well-dressed stranger. “Besides, we don’t own the dogs. They own us. Have a pleasant evening.” He
slowly walked away, turned to wave, and then disappeared into the brisk sidewalk traffic.

  Dana retraced her steps to the lobby of her building, thinking of the brief exchange with the man in the wool overcoat. She couldn’t help but think that the stranger had spoken more words to her in the space of two minutes than Brett sometimes said in an hour.

  Have a pleasant evening.

  It was such a simple phrase, but the four words were warm and comforting. They’d represented a kind sentiment on a dark evening. Dana smiled brightly as Wills looked up at her with big, round innocent eyes. Sometimes, she thought, Christmas angels wore wool overcoats. It had been a bright moment in an otherwise depressing, drab day.

  • • •

  Dana saw that Brett, his crossed legs stretched before him, had just ended a phone call.

  “Just one more,” he said, holding up his left index finger. “Five minutes tops.”

  Dana walked calmly to the chair, took the beige Princess receiver from his hands, and placed it on the cradle.

  Brett was speechless, his mouth hanging open. “What are you doing? I have to call Patrick about a case next week.”

  “Exactly. Next week. We have dinner reservations in an hour,” Dana said, “and the traffic isn’t moving.”

  Brett wearily got to his feet and picked up his polo coat from the couch, mumbling “Somebody must have had a bad day.”

  “What did you say?” Dana asked, her tone challenging. Brett’s behavior was clashing sharply with the kindness of Wills’ rescuer.

  “Nothing. You’re acting very strange this evening. Can I pour you a sherry?”

  “You said ’somebody must have had a bad day,’ and as a matter of fact, I did. I got shot down after pitching a new cosmetic section to Bea, and then Bob Campbell told me that I have to throw the teen contest. The winner, to be announced at the Sugar Plum Ball, has already been determined. It’s outright fraud.”