After the Fall

by Brad Graber

  “But you did get in,” Harry reminded him. “Most definitely . . . in.”

  “Not the way I hoped,” Edward answered, biting his lower lip. “I had thought that maybe there was still hope for us. Maybe one last time . . . you might reconsider.”

  Harry took Edward’s hand and brought it up to his lips. He gently kissed it. “I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you. You believe that life is like the ending of one of my novels. Where everything ties up nicely.”

  “No,” Edward said, as he withdrew his hand. “That’s not true, Harry. Life is not like one of your novels. There is no audience. You only need to satisfy yourself. No one else really matters. You can have a happy ending.”

  “Life doesn’t work that way,” Harry assured him. “Nothing ever really ends well. It’s all about mess.”

  Edward shook his head. “Dear God, Harry. Whatever you do, don’t put that in your next book. It’s such a downer.”

  ◆

  Evelyn took a breath. “Do you know you’re named after him?”

  Of course! Rikki thought. Why hadn’t she realized that? “So he’s dead,” Rikki stated the obvious.

  Evelyn nodded. “Yes. He died before you were born.”

  Rikki had hoped that perhaps her uncle might still be alive. That he might be someone to whom she could talk about her mother. At once, a dark cloud descended, blocking her view of Evelyn. She was alone in the bedroom. Alone in the world.

  Evelyn seemed to notice the change in Rikki’s demeanor, rushing ahead with details to salve the wound. “He was very bright,” she said. “I remember your mother telling me that he excelled in everything he did.”

  “But what was he like as a person?” Rikki still wanted to know. “And why is it that Rita never mentions him?”

  “I can’t really tell you all that,” Evelyn admitted. “I know he left home to go to college when he was sixteen. I remember your mother talking about that. He had a scholarship to Cornell. A full ride, your mother said.”

  “Those are facts,” Rikki said, somewhat disappointed. “Like telling me his height and weight.” And then she realized she didn’t even know those details.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” Evelyn offered. “I really don’t know much more. Your mother did talk to me about him, but to be honest, it’s hard to remember any details about someone you’ve never met. If there is anything to tell . . . well, you should try talking to his friend.”

  “Friend?” Of course, Rikki thought. He must have had friends.

  “Yes. He’s a writer. I think he lives in Phoenix, Arizona.”

  ◆

  Edward stepped out of the shower, a white towel wrapped about his waist as Beetle started barking wildly.

  “Whoa, boy,” Harry said, hopping off the bed and opening Beetle’s crate. The terrier was out in a flash. “Who the hell is ringing the doorbell at this time of night?”

  “Expecting a booty call?” Edward asked, peeking out from the master bath as the excited terrier lunged at the bedroom door.

  Harry caught the scent of Irish Spring. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he shouted over the noise, suddenly aroused again by the sight of Edward, all fresh and clean.

  “Well, you’d better answer the door before Beetle tears his other ACL.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re right about that,” he said as he rushed over, still in his underwear, and opened the bedroom door. “Beetle, chill!” he ordered, but the terrier took off down the hall with Harry in close pursuit. “No, Beetle!” he shouted, hoping to slow the dog down.

  It didn’t work.

  Flipping on the hall light, Harry jumped with fright. A face peering into the side panel of glass stared back at him.

  What the hell? he thought, partially opening the door. “What are you doing here?” His tone was sharp.

  Lil smiled apologetically. “I thought you might like some company,” she said, eyebrows arched. “It is Christmas Eve.”

  “Not tonight, Lil,” Harry answered, speaking through a two-inch crack in the door, not wanting to hurt her feelings and yet annoyed that she’d shown up without calling. “You know I sometimes work at night,” he lied. “Haven’t we agreed you need to call first before showing up?”

  “Oh, Harry Aldon,” she said, pushing the door open and stepping inside. “Like I’ve never seen you before in your underwear. When did you get so shy?” She knelt down and rubbed Beetle’s head. “You’re really too much. Such a stick-in-the-mud. Hey, Beetle, baby. How are you?” she intoned, practically singing. “I brought you something wonderful.” Beetle eagerly sniffed the package in her hand.

  “Lil, this isn’t a good time,” Harry repeated, feeling foolish standing in the hallway in only his briefs as he lectured Lil. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Why?” Lil asked, looking up at Harry. “What’s the big deal?” She eyed him. “I’ve seen you in less.”

  Harry felt a blush rising on his cheeks. “Lil, please,” he practically begged.

  “Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” she said, assuming her full height of five-foot-three. “But let me just put this in the kitchen for Beetle.” She walked on through to the kitchen with Harry and Beetle in close pursuit. “I met some friends tonight at Wally’s on Camelback and 44th. Six very single ladies, all on their own. The most depressing thing you’ve ever seen. Eggnog and men. That’s what we talked about. I had some prime rib left over. It’s perfect for Beetle.”

  “Lil, that’s kind of you, but this is not a good time for a visit.”

  Together they stood in front of the open refrigerator.

  “Really, Harry, you should go shopping every now and then,” she scolded as she placed the container on the top shelf. “There’s nothing here to eat.”

  “I’m doing just fine,” Harry answered, stepping back from the cold.

  “Hello.” Edward’s voice rang out as he entered the kitchen. The white towel was still tightly wrapped about his waist.

  “Oh, hello,” Lil answered, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. “Harry, why didn’t you tell me you had company?” She pushed past Harry. “And you are . . . ?” she asked, extending a hand.

  “Edward. I’m Harry’s editor.”

  “Oh!” Lil said. She looked from Harry to Edward and back again as if there was another explanation for why an attractive stranger, dressed in only a towel, was in the kitchen of the man she adored. “Did you fly in to work on Harry’s new novel?”

  Edward glanced over at Harry. “That was the reason,” he said in a confident voice.

  “And here I am interrupting,” she continued. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We were just getting ready to go to bed,” Harry said. “Edward flew in from New York and needed a shower.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Lil eyed Edward once more. “I can see that. Well, I’d better be getting home,” she said as she knelt down to rub Beetle’s head. “And as for you,” she said to Harry, up on her tiptoes to offer him a peck on the lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ◆

  “Really?” Edward asked.

  Harry shoved his tongue into his cheek.

  “Oh, this is rich.” Edward laughed. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

  Harry didn’t answer.

  “And here I’ve been feeling so sorry for you. Poor Harry. Living alone. Only his dog to keep him company. And you’re screwing the next-door neighbor.”

  “She isn’t the next-door neighbor,” Harry objected. “She lives down the street.”

  “Who cares?” Edward offered. “Next door, down the street. These are minor details.”

  Harry crossed his arms. “What can I tell you?”

  “Nothing,” Edward said, laughing. “It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Does she know?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Harry defended himself. “Nothing.”

  Edward placed his hands on his hips. “Not exactly true,” he said. “There’s an awful lot to tell.”

  Harry headed back to the bedroo
m. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Oh Harry, don’t shut me down now,” Edward called after him. “I may want to use this in my debut novel.”

  “You’re not writing a novel,” Harry said, certain that, if Edward had been, he himself would have known about it.

  “Not now,” Edward admitted. “But the future looms brightly,” he said, close on Harry’s heels. “And with this kind of material, hell, I think I might have a best-seller.”

  Harry leaned against the wall in the hall. “She overwhelmed me,” he admitted.

  Edward nodded. “I can see that. She is about five-foot-three,” he said. “A big guy like you had no chance against her mighty ways.”

  “She doesn’t take no for an answer,” Harry burst out. “And she pushes and pushes until there’s no getting away from her.”

  “Ah.” Edward bowed his head. “Now it’s getting clearer. She forced you into bed and against your wishes you had an orgasm. Oh, Harry, how do you manage?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous. I know,” he admitted.

  “So, you’re bisexual?” Edward waited for an answer as Harry ran a hand through his hair.

  “I don’t know what I am.”

  “Well, you have to be something,” Edward insisted.

  “Do I?” Harry asked. “Can’t I just be a human being?”

  ◆

  Rikki awoke early on Christmas Day. She slipped into a pair of blue sweatpants and her favorite red cashmere sweater, and wandered into the kitchen. Evelyn was dressed in a pink bathrobe, her brown hair pulled away from her face, and was placing dough from an opened Pillsbury pop-and-bake container onto a greased pan.

  “Oh, my God,” Evelyn cried, a hand to her chest as she spotted Rikki. “You just took two years off my life. I hadn’t expected you to be up so early.”

  “I had trouble sleeping,” Rikki admitted, as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “Merry Christmas,” she said, as she rubbed her face with both hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Oh honey, I’m just so used to living alone. Well, never mind. It’s wonderful to have you here. You’ve made my Christmas so special. And I thought, since we’re together, I’d make my famous homemade cinnamon rolls.” Evelyn lifted the empty tube. “I sold the recipe to Pillsbury, you know.”

  Rikki smiled.

  “There’s nothing like hot cinnamon rolls in the morning. Unless you’re diabetic.” Evelyn arched a brow. “Thank goodness that doesn’t run in my family,” she said in a sing-song voice. “How about some orange juice?”

  Rikki shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m trying to watch my weight.”

  “Oh honey, not on Christmas day. You can’t. It’s practically un-American,” Evelyn said as she passed Rikki a cold glass of orange juice. “Do you think Barney might enjoy a big breakfast?”

  Rikki ran her fingers though her long wavy hair. “Oh, I’m sure he would. Barney likes to eat.”

  “Oh, good,” Evelyn said rubbing her hands together. “It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for a man. I think this morning, I’m going to pull out all the stops.”

  “Hey, good morning,” Barney called out over the clatter as Evelyn sorted through the pots and pans. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt. A cowlick stood up from the back of his head. His feet were bare. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing yet,” Evelyn assured him as she lifted a pan and placed it on the stove. “Aren’t your feet cold?” she asked, pointing.

  Rikki giggled as she spotted Barney’s bare feet. To her, even Barney’s feet were beautiful.

  ◆

  At breakfast, Rikki watched as Barney wolfed down scrambled eggs and pancakes while she picked at a bowl of oatmeal. She couldn’t muster an appetite.

  “Are you okay?” Evelyn asked as she slid into the chair next to Rikki’s, a mug of coffee in her hand.

  “‘Okay?’” Rikki said dramatically. “I thought I’d discovered a relative, only to learn that my mother’s brother died before I was born.”

  “Oh, honey.” Evelyn offered a sympathetic look.

  But Rikki was not comforted. “My whole family is dead. I’m an orphan on the end of a dead limb of a tree. I’m it. The last stop. Finito.”

  Barney stopped eating. “I know how you feel.” He placed his fork down on the plate. Two half-eaten pancakes drenched in syrup awaited. “But the good news is, you still have your grandmother,” he said, his mouth stuffed with scrambled eggs.

  Grossed out, Rikki passed Barney a napkin. He wiped his mouth.

  Evelyn offered a sympathetic nod. “I know it’s not easy. But you’re young. One day, you’ll have a family of your own. Then, you’ll feel different.”

  “I don’t want to be like Rita,” Rikki said, tears running down her face. “She’s just awful. Sometimes I don’t think she even likes me.” Rikki covered her eyes with her hands.

  “Sure she does,” Evelyn said, passing Rikki a clean napkin. “Of course. She’s your grandmother. She loves you.”

  “Then, why is it every time I talk about my mother, she shuts me down? And why is it I’ve never heard about Richard?”

  Evelyn looked at Barney as if searching for help in answering the questions. “All I know is,” she began, “when some people are hurt in life, they react strangely. They get angry, and instead of holding on dearly to those they love, they push them away. They make it impossible for anyone to get close and hurt them again.”

  Rikki stopped crying.

  “Your grandmother,” Evelyn continued, “is a difficult personality. Your mother had issues with her. But then who doesn’t have problems with their parents? I had problems with my mother.”

  “Sure,” Barney agreed as he stuck a fork into the pancakes. “Still, no one has the right to hurt a young girl who has lost her mother.”

  Evelyn’s eyes scolded Barney as she worked to change the subject. “So, what are you going to do now? Do you want to stay with me until it’s time to go back to Rita? We’d have the entire week. We’ll be spending Christmas Day together. Or Hanukah,” Evelyn laughingly corrected herself. “Whichever one makes you happy.”

  “No,” Rikki said emphatically. “I want to go find my Uncle Richard’s friends. You said there was a writer who lived in Phoenix. I want to find out what happened in the family.”

  Barney smiled. “Good for you.”

  “Brave girl,” Evelyn said, twisting her napkin into a knot.

  ◆

  “You’re such a little thing,” Bill Allington remarked as he appraised Elle’s new outfit.

  Seated at his mahogany desk, he looked positively regal.

  “Now turn,” he ordered, an index finger spinning. “Knockoff Dior,” he said with derision.

  Elle could hear the tsk, tsk, tsk in his voice.

  “I thought after we promoted you, you’d be able to afford something a bit more becoming,” he said emphatically.

  Elle was aghast. How could he be so rude?

  “And those shoes.” Bill rubbed his chin and nodded. “Well, there is nothing designer about those shoes. Are you trying to put Jimmy Choo in an early grave?”

  Elle had no idea who Jimmy Choo was or why he might be dying.

  “Where are you shopping?” Bill demanded to know.

  Elle gathered her wits. “Loehmann’s.”

  “Well,” Bill said in an exasperated tone. “That explains it. You can’t be wearing discount clothes here. You need to be shopping at Saks or Neiman Marcus. Our clients expect the best.”

  Elle’s heart sank. Did her clothes really matter? Didn’t the work stand for itself?

  “Now, you turn around this very moment and head over to Saks,” he insisted. “Give them my name. I have an account. Shop and buy what you need.”

  “I can’t go now,” Elle explained. “I have a meeting with the client in three hours and I wanted to go over the plans with you one more time.”

  Bill clicked his tongue. “There’s nothing more to discuss. Those p
lans are wonderful. Why do you think we offered you the job? Talent is what we’re all about at H&L.” He swiveled about in his chair and then stood up. “And you’re exquisitely talented.” He bowed his head.

  Elle blushed. “But I still need your initials.” She pulled out the design boards tucked under her arm.

  “Of course.” Bill laughed, stepping slightly back and eyeing her. “My God, those boards actually improve the look of that dreadful suit.”

  “Bill!” Elle said, exasperated. “You’re really hurting my feelings. How can you expect me to work here when you belittle my taste in clothes?”

  “It’s not your taste,” Bill said as he leaned over the boards on his desk and scribbled his initials. “It’s your price point.”

  ◆

  “Maybe you should first ask your grandmother about your Uncle Richard,” Evelyn advised. There was a gentle quiver in her voice.

  “Do you think your grandmother will tell you anything?” Barney asked, perking up at the challenge before Rikki.

  Rikki shook her head. “There’s no way,” she said with certainty. “Whatever happened, Rita would never tell me.”

  “But now that you know,” Barney added, “surely she’d have to. What’s the point in keeping a secret that you’ve already figured out?”

  “But I haven’t,” Rikki answered. “I still know essentially nothing,” she said as she looked over at Evelyn.

  Evelyn raised two fingers in the air. “Girl Scout’s honor. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “But there’s got to be more information,” Barney insisted. “It’s a big country. You just can’t search for someone without knowing anything about them.”

  Two faces turned to Evelyn.

  “Honestly, I don’t know anything else,” she said. “But maybe,” and it seemed as if a thought was percolating, “maybe someone else would.”

  Rikki leapt at the chance. “Who? Who else is there?”

  “The people at H&L,” Evelyn offered. “Elle made some very close friends there. If anyone would know—they might.”

  Rikki was heartsick. “But that’s all the way back in New York City. I don’t want to go back to New York,” she blurted out, to Evelyn’s astonishment.