On Friday morning, hungover, ignoring a room service omelet, and trying to read the complimentary New York Times for the first time since the accident, she received a text from Jay:
Please meet me at my office.
This invitation—and the crapulous Nicole chose to read it as an invitation rather than an order—sent her into a tizzy. She quickly made an appointment to have her hair blown out. She peeled off her clothes and showered. Her pores sang as the steaming water coursed over her naked body. Her face was puffy from all the weeping but years spent strutting the runway had gifted her with a professional knowledge of powder and paint. She applied her makeup as if the brush belonged to Vermeer, who was on her mind because of his countryman Spinoza. The two were almost exact contemporaries. Delicately shading her eyes, she wondered if the painter and the philosopher were acquainted. Jay had just recently told her about a paper he had written in college linking them. How she missed talking to him. He once asked her who she would invite to a fantasy dinner party. She had so loved the question. What a fine thing it would be to have Spinoza and Vermeer to dinner. If she and Jay lived in Amsterdam four centuries ago, she would have put that together. If they remained married, she vowed to use her position to arrange dinners like that in the future. When Jay received the anticipated ambassadorship, she would establish the couple in whatever European capital President Obama saw fit to post them. They would be magnets for the international glitterati, their embassy a nexus of American glory. She would devote the rest of her life to the perfection of their marriage.
On the cab ride to the Gladstone offices, Nicole took out her phone and ordered a biography of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis from Amazon. That legendary dervish of the social whirl would be her new role model. But despite the enthusiasm to reclaim her life and direct it to new heights, all the while Nicole recognized the element of wishful thinking she was engaged in. The fact remained, it was highly likely Jay would divorce her. In his position, she suspected that is what she would do. Yet she did not feel hopeless because she was not going into the situation unarmed. If a divorce was what Jay wanted, Nicole had certain information to impart that might get him to reconsider. Her pulse quickened as the cab turned on to Park Avenue.
When a life-changing event occurs, say, a dire health diagnosis, or the death of a close relative or the dissolution of one’s marriage, the physical world can take on a different aspect. To Nicole’s relief, the lobby of the Gladstone building, with its immaculately waxed floors, gleaming gold elevator doors, and uniformed attendants who nodded in deferential recognition, was as reassuringly mundane as a favorite childhood meal.
In the elevator, she breathed deeply to steady her nerves. The young female receptionist offered a friendly welcome and instantly waved her toward the inner sanctum. On the walls of the hallway leading to the executive offices were brilliantly colored paintings of Gladstone buildings Bingo commissioned from a famous artist known for his portraits of sports figures. Although she found the work a little kitschy, Nicole always enjoyed seeing it. Franklin’s twin sons looked up from an architectural blueprint they were reviewing and greeted her as she passed. Bebe appeared from around a corner with a cell phone to her ear. She mouthed, “How are you?” Nicole gave a little wave and dearly hoped Jay had not revealed anything to his sister.
It was the previous autumn when Nicole last visited the office, and she had not seen the Renzo Piano model of the Sapphire, so when Jay rose from behind his desk but did not move toward her, she tried to defuse the awkwardness of the moment by effusively admiring the design.
“It’s just stunning,” she said.
“We’re hoping the Planning Commission approves it in the next week or two,” he said. There was an undeniable stiffness to his manner. She knew it was unrealistic to expect that their initial post-Bedford interaction would be anything other than prickly. “I spoke at the hearing before I went to Africa.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to build it.”
All the nervousness had been for naught, she reflected. Whatever the upshot, Jay did not seem angry or guarded. He thanked her for coming, rounded the desk, and indicated she should take a seat on the couch against the wall. She sat, but he remained standing.
“Should we order a drink?” she said.
He laughed and offered her coffee, which she declined. The first time Nicole visited Jay at his office confirmed her impression of him as a modern King Herod. The design and furnishing reflected an amalgamation of authority and taste and when she thought of her husband it was often in this majestic setting. Today Jay seemed less robust than usual. Although the bruises under his eyes had begun to heal, he still looked tired and drawn. She thought about asking after Aviva but realized that could set a negative tone and chose to let Jay take the lead.
Then he sat next to her on the couch. Nicole had expected him to take a seat in one of the guest chairs opposite, but here he was, nearby. She tried to tamp down the optimism his proximity engendered.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Terrible,” she said. Rather than embellish the story with a description of her forlorn, self-loathing, and semi-inebriated interlude at the Pierre, she allowed that one word to sit there and gather force. She thought about apologizing again, but knew there was nothing to be gained. He already knew how she felt. Then something remarkable occurred. Jay took her hand in his. She had not touched his flesh since they were standing at Dag’s bedside in the hospital. His hand was warm. She unspooled her fingers into his palm, and he caressed them. Her heart fluttered.
“How is D’Angelo?” she asked. “All I know is what I see on the Internet.”
Jay told her he had gone back to the hospital that morning, about the team of doctors he assembled, how they confirmed the uncertainty of the initial prognosis; they were all just waiting to see how the patient responded. She listened attentively.
“The doctors are cautiously optimistic,” he said.
“Thank God.”
For several moments, neither of them spoke. Nicole would wait. She didn’t want to fill the stillness with chatter.
“I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting,” Jay began. I have, too, she wanted to say but did not. “I’ve examined this from every angle, tried to take my ego out of it, and considered everything we’ve experienced together, all the things we’ve shared.” He stopped. She bit her upper lip. “And I think we should get a divorce.”
Like a guillotine, the cut was quick and final.
Removing her hand from his, she said, “All right.” Nicole had already decided not to argue if this was the outcome of their meeting. To push back would be unbecoming and she wanted to maintain decorum insofar as it was possible. To her relief, she did not have a visible physical reaction.
She said: “I understand.”
It felt as if her chest had collapsed.
“I’m going to have the prenuptial agreement voided.”
Nicole was dumbstruck. The contract was already generous and after what she had done, Jay was going to offer her more in the settlement? Beatific gratitude coursed through her. It was a relief to know that he valued their years together as much as she did.
“Thank you.” It seemed like the best response.
His eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. “I’m going to write you a check for two million dollars.”
She wasn’t sure she understood. “And then what?”
“And then that’s it. Herman Doomer is going to send you papers to sign, and the records will be sealed. If you contest it, you’ll get nothing.”
This turnabout confounded Nicole. Reeling from his declaration that the marriage was over, she absorbed the deathblow of his intent to void their agreement. It felt like an assault.
“Two million dollars? Jay, that’s preposterous,” she said as if he was offering her a loaf of bread and a glass of water. “What am I supposed to do with two millio
n dollars?”
“Under the circumstances, it’s generous.”
Searing heat moved through her body, veins burning. She felt lightheaded. Nausea stirred in her stomach. Everything began to implode.
“You can’t do that,” she managed to whisper.
“Read the agreement,” Jay said. “There’s a moral turpitude clause.”
Nicole rummaged through her memory bank and tripped over a vague recollection of the detail Jay was recalling. The lawyer who reviewed the contract on her behalf had advised getting the offending paragraph excised, but she assumed there would never be a need to invoke it and blithely signed the document.
Jay rose from the couch—he can’t be near me, she thought—and sat on the edge of his desk. For a full minute, neither of them uttered a word. When she recovered from the news he had delivered, her calculations were not about contrition because that was now a failed strategy.
“There’s something you should know about, darling.”
Darling? It was more of an incision than an endearment. Whatever she planned to sling in his direction, Jay was ready. Affecting boredom, he said, “You and Dag were carrying on for months.”
“No, we weren’t,” she said. “I never lied to you.”
He sighed. “What is it you’d like to tell me?”
“I made a tape that night,” she said. “Dag never knew. We were drunk, and it was stupid, but now I think maybe it wasn’t so stupid.”
“Nicole, this is so beneath you.”
“Your voice is on it.”
“My voice?”
“And you said something you might not want out there.”
He stared in disbelief then turned his head away from her until it rested at an oblique angle. She could see him scouring his brain, trying to recollect details of the scene. Wondering what he had said. Did he think she was bluffing? Did he remember the sex videos they made early in their marriage? The one she had mentioned to Marcy. This memory made Nicole recall the Seder and the way Jay had erupted at Imani. Would there be an explosion in the office? He had never interacted with her in that way, but the situation between them had only now degenerated to this point. Who knew what he might do? She wondered if perhaps it would have been wiser to conduct this business over the phone. Going toe to toe with Jay Gladstone was not easy for people far harder-edged than she. For all his congeniality, everyone knew Jay could play rough. The fierceness of the glare he fixed her with was unsettling.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Even if it’s true, if you’re threatening me and your threat involves you releasing some sordid tape, then I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll look a lot worse than I will.”
“Actually,” she said, getting up from the couch, “I’m not sure that’s accurate. Now listen, I want you to rethink what you said. Let’s not go nuclear. You’ll honor the prenup, and I won’t release the tape.”
“Be glad I’m not going to say what I think of you right now.”
“I’m not going to put it out there, Jay.” She pulled on her coat. “You just need to do the honorable thing. It’s Friday, so you have until Monday at the end of the day.”
Before leaving the office, she walked over to the model of the Sapphire. The building represented the world from which she was being cast out, and in her bitterness, it seemed like a relic of a lost civilization, a monument to vanity and arrogance. She turned to her husband and said, “I only want what’s fair for the both of us.”
He did not reply.
When she exited his office, every repressed emotion began to bubble to the surface. Nicole fumed past the paintings of Gladstone buildings, and the friendly receptionist. How dare he attempt to undercut their legally binding agreement? Yes, her behavior had been reprehensible—she acknowledged there was no excuse—but they were civilized people, and his idea of sentencing her to penury was simply not going to fly. Jay would learn that soon enough. Two million dollars in New York? A cruel jape. A spiteful insult! Any co-op she would be willing to live in required liquidity of at least three times the purchase price. A two bedroom on Fifth with park views would be a pipe dream, a one bedroom at an acceptable address out of reach. Did he expect her to live in some horrid nondescript high-rise rental on Second Avenue? What did he think she was going to do once she blew through the pittance he offered? Resume her Washington career as a subcommittee worker bee? Take up modeling again? Forty was hurtling toward her like a meteor! Nicole’s jaw stiffened as she prepared for battle. Her ability to not debase herself in Jay’s office with some shameful display of emotion was the quality of which she was most proud. As she rode the elevator to the lobby for what was certainly the last time, she congratulated herself on an admirable performance.
Ten minutes later her fury had not cooled, and she was in Central Park near the carousel. Having no particular place to go, she sat on a bench. Nearby, young mothers and nannies kept vigil while children rode the brightly painted wooden horses. The smells of the thawing earth and the reawakening trees, the sounds of the carousel and shouts of the children, and the sun’s rays, which had become exceedingly warm, were nearly overwhelming. Purchasing bottled water from a vendor, she returned to the bench and sipped it. To calm herself, she closed her eyes and performed visualization exercises. Swimming in turquoise waters off the white sand beach in St. Kitts, riding her horse on a trail near the house she and Jay owned in Aspen. And so on.
After she had been there for a few minutes, her mind began to unclutter. And it was then Nicole was seized by a thought: She did not want to get divorced. When she and Jay were married, she truly had meant it to last until one of them died. Why had she so readily agreed to his pronouncement? He was under unimaginable stress. It was nearly impossible to conceive what it was like for a man like Jay to face such punishing charges. She needed to be patient and let time pass. Perhaps he would begin to realize the benefits of their union. Marriages survived infidelity. After a spasm of self-laceration, it occurred to her to visit the hospital to see Dag. Given what had passed between them, that would be the humane thing to do. But Nicole had no idea whether she would be observed and didn’t want to risk doing anything to undermine her new plan. She was going to win her husband back.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Although he was glad to be rid of his wife, her departure left him morose. One of the benefits of marriage was to have someone at your side when life became difficult, but when those difficulties were caused by the person meant to assuage them, it threw the entire calculation into chaos. He would never have run Dag over if Nicole had not brought him to their home. Jay dealt with problems by isolating them from each other, prioritizing their severity, and attacking the most challenging one first. He had to euthanize the reeling Gladstone marriage, and now that was done. Doomer would handle the district attorney’s office. He called Dr. Bannister’s private number to check on Dag. The doctor informed Jay that the patient’s condition remained critical and he would contact him if anything changed. Had he been in touch with the medical team Jay had brought in? Yes, yes, they’re in the loop.
Jay and Bebe agreed to file a lawsuit against Franklin and ask for an injunction barring their cousin from participating in the day-to-day operations of the business. Jay suggested a plan for dealing with the aftermath of this move, a restructuring that would elevate Bebe to Franklin’s position, and she readily acceded. Boris would serve as her deputy, a position that would place him above Franklin’s sons. When Jay returned, he called Boris into his office and demanded to know whether there was any word from the Planning Commission. There was not. Jay asked Boris to remain in the office and indicated he should sit on the couch so recently occupied by Nicole. Had Boris seen Franklin today?
“About an hour ago. He was headed out.”
“Do you know where?”
“He doesn’t share his schedule with me.”
“I’ve held off on telling yo
u this.” Jay felt like a skydiver about to leap from a plane. Boris regarded him expectantly. “I’m going to try and have Franklin removed from his position in the organization.”
Boris was aghast and when he asked the reason why, Jay quickly led him through what had occurred.
“Can you do that?”
“It’s in the company bylaws.”
“What about Ari and Ezra?”
“They’ll report to Bebe.” Jay leaned back in his desk chair, contented with his plan. Boris couldn’t believe it. “When it happens, you and Bebe are going to fly to Asia and meet with all the executives over there.” Jay was not certain that Boris had absorbed all of this. His cousin was staring at the wall, rhythmically drumming his fingers on the couch cushion. “Say something.”
He stopped drumming and looked Jay directly in the eye. “Are you sure?”
“You’ve been shadowing me nearly ten years. You’re ready, and you’re going to be reporting to my sister. I didn’t make you the head of the company.”
“She’s down with this?”
“Happy to have the help. You’ll have to spend a lot of time in Asia, which isn’t something she wants to do.”
“When’s it going to happen?”
“Monday.” The look of amazement and gratitude on Boris’s face lifted Jay’s spirits. It pleased him to reward someone for their honest work. “Enjoy the weekend.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The team had won their only game in Dag’s absence, beating the Portland Trailblazers, and were now on the cusp of qualifying for the eighth and final seed in the playoffs. The Miami Heat were currently the best team in the league, and they were visiting Sanitary Solutions Arena on Saturday night. If the home team won, they were in. Jay envisioned ecstatic fans, the manna of playoff revenues, and a significant bump in the valuation of the team. Whatever was going on in his personal life, he intended to be in his courtside seats.
The Hazards of Good Fortune Page 40