by Isabel Jolie
“Is it not good? You can send it back.”
“It’s fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Gabriel? What’s going on?”
I knew she wouldn’t let it drop. “Two blocks away, there was a homeless woman. I keep thinking about her.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
“You’ve lost your city armor.” She sipped her tea and assumed her all-knowing posture.
“What do you mean?”
“You spend enough time here, and the homeless become invisible. You’ve been away so long, they aren’t invisible. Give it enough time, it won’t bother you.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked, incredulous my mother would even think like that.
“Honey, it is, and it isn’t. We have so many homeless, what are you going to do? You can’t hand out money to everyone you see.” I stared down at the black grout between the white hexagon tiles on the floor. “If it really bothers you, you can find a good charity that gives to the homeless. That’s what your father and I do. I bet if you ask Caroline, she can give you a good idea of the charities she favors.”
That got my attention. “Why would you mention Caroline?”
“Well, you know, dear, she and I spend a lot of time together.”
“Mom…nothing is going on with Caroline and me. You know that, right?”
She strummed two of her thick, squarish nails against her lips and squinted behind her tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses.
“You like the girl on the island. The one we didn’t get to meet. Am I right?”
I thought of Poppy’s tear-streaked face, her hand held high in a vigorous wave. The pain reflected on her face matched the ache ripping my insides to smithereens. I crumpled up a paper napkin then realized my mother waited for my answer.
“I do like her. Why?”
“Is it true, what they said? Is she a prostitute?”
“Wha—who is they?”
“Caroline. And Lauren. They told me about her.”
“How do they know anything at all about her?” Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I knew the answer. Reed.
My mom held her hand up in a defensive gesture, shaking her head to assure me she didn’t know. I exhaled and took the pressure off her.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re wrong. She was a…model. She earned quite a bit from a modeling business, but no, Mom, she was never a prostitute.” She placed her hands in her lap, and her lips did the peculiar puckering thing she did sometimes when she doubted something. “It’s okay. I promise you. She sold her photography business and is now launching her own restaurant. She hopes to build it into a chain.”
“What you call photography, Lauren explained it to me.”
“And?”
“You can do better than her.”
“Why? Because she built a business and a portion of that business had to do with photos?”
“In lingerie.” Her chin tilted upward, defiant.
“What gives you the right to be so judgey?”
“And you didn’t judge her?”
The waitperson stopped by our table. I let Mom deal with him, as I thought over her question. After he moved on to his next table, I could have let her question drop, but I needed to get it off my chest.
“I did judge her, in the beginning. But now, I don’t. She built a business. I look at models. I watch porn. Who am I to judge the people who participate?”
“So, she did do porn.”
“No. She didn’t. I was making a point.”
“Don’t you think you’d be happier with someone like Caroline? Someone with your background?” She immediately held up her palm to keep me sitting. “I’m not saying Caroline. Someone like her.”
I stretched my neck and debated. “I admire Poppy. She didn’t grow up with all the advantages I had. When times got tough, she did what she had to do. And she was good at it. What she did, it’s competitive. It’s not easy. And yes, she posted some sexy photos. But you can find similar photos in magazines. Why are people so judgmental?” I lifted a napkin and wiped the corners of my mouth out of habit, not because I’d taken a bite of food.
“You care about her.” Her eyebrows knitted together, and she held her teacup with one hand.
“I do.” It wasn’t exactly news. “She’s a good person. She has a lot of drive. If you’d met her, you’d like her. She’s full of energy, she’s funny. Warm. Creative. Talented. Everybody down there loves her.” I trailed off. “So, where did you say you’re meeting Dad?”
“Gabriel…if you have feelings for her, why aren’t you with her?”
“She’s got a life there, Mom. And I have no interest in living in North Carolina permanently.”
“Well, of course not. That would be preposterous. But we have restaurants in the city. Surely she’d rather live here than out in the middle of nowhere.” I couldn’t be positive, but it looked like she trembled. “If she loves you, she’ll move here. People make accommodations for those they love. Many a woman has moved for the man she loves.”
“They’re breaking ground on her restaurant this week.”
“So? Did you ask her to move here?”
“Of course not.”
“Honey, this is the first time you’ve ever, in your entire life, talked to me about a girl. And you even attempted to introduce us. Something is there. Although maybe wait to invite her up until you’re cemented into Caroline’s father’s firm. No sense ruffling feathers.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I think he has dreams of you and Caroline eventually working out. I think Caroline has those dreams. And speaking of, you need to be careful. She’s at a marrying age, and you don’t want to lead her on or waste her time.”
“I haven’t spoken to her since you and Dad visited. I don’t—Caroline and I have been over for years. Where is this coming from? You and her dad. Both of you. I have done nothing at all to lead her on.”
“I’m sure that’s true, honey. I know she cares for you. Maybe her father read into the situation when she asked him to consider taking you on.”
“But you did, too.”
“No, no. I…hoped. That’s different. She’s a good friend of Lauren’s, so it would make for pleasant holidays. Ideal, really.” Her nail tapped her lip again. “Maybe just get a few weeks in before you—”
“Ruffle feathers?”
“Exactly.” She smiled and lifted her teacup.
Later that evening, I swung open the heavy glass door into Cipriani Wall Street. A heavy deja vu sensation washed over me. I’d swung these doors open countless times. All the meetings blurred together into one.
The managing director from Scott’s firm had a conflict with our interview time for tomorrow and asked if he could meet me for drinks after the business dinner he had scheduled here. The back-to-back meetings were the kind of thing I used to schedule regularly. Back when every fifteen-minute block of time had a purpose.
The young blonde hostess smiled at me before leading me to my table. She could have pointed me to the bar, but she ushered me to the stool. Her fingers lightly stroked my forearm. It could have easily been an accidental brush as she stood, waiting for me to sit so she could hand me my menu, but it felt flirty. I jerked away, turned off. The vision of her fingers on my arm repelled me. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was about her, but I had no interest in a one-night stand, or whatever she might be offering. I had no interest in her phone number, or her name. I directed my attention to the television screen over the bar.
“I’ll be over there if you need anything.”
I gave a curt nod in response.
A weather map on screen showed a disturbance somewhere out over tropical waters. Arrows showed possible paths, and several arrows pointed directly to North Carolina. The subtitled captions stated it was remarkably early in the season to see these formations occurring.
I pulled out my phone.
* * *
Are you w
orried about the tropical formation?
* * *
A response came through immediately.
* * *
Haven’t heard anything about it. We broke ground today.
* * *
A photo came through of Poppy, Suzette, Mr. Baird, and a few men I didn’t recognize. A yellow backhoe dominated the background, and Suzette and Poppy both held champagne glasses.
* * *
Congrats! Wish I could have been there.
* * *
My chest constricted. If I was there, I’d take her out for a nice celebratory dinner, order her the most expensive wine on the menu, or champagne if she preferred. I’d make sure we had a window with a stunning view over the ocean and have them set up a candle-lit table with flowers. Or, hell, maybe we’d order in. Or charter a sailboat for a sunset cruise. But I’d like to hear her tell me all about it. No, I wished I’d been the one taking the photograph.
The weather report ended. A commercial for State Farm Insurance aired. I glanced around at the familiar scene. Suits at almost every table. Business in action.
* * *
How did your meetings go? Is the case behind you?
* * *
Not behind me, but I gave them everything. Answered all their questions.
* * *
What kinds of questions were they asking?
* * *
Interestingly, not as much about my business as you would think. Much more about the parties in Asia that I’d been to, who had been there. Places Cyr owns that I’d been to.
* * *
They had drilled me about which celebrities attended. Jewelry he’d given as gifts. Things I suspected they could dig up with a Google search or a perusal through TMZ. They were on a hunt all right, but after sitting through hours of questioning, it became clear the Justice Department saw me as an information source. Now, the SEC…
* * *
How do you feel about it?
* * *
Better.
* * *
And the interview?
* * *
Now that I didn’t feel better about. I wasn’t about to try to explain to Poppy via text the odd vibes Caroline’s father had given. I wasn’t against leveraging connections, but I preferred to believe he wanted me for my skill set rather than for some bizarre seventeenth-century dream I’d be with his daughter.
“Mr. Chesterton?” A balding man in a suit extended his hand.
“Mr. Drake. Please, call me Gabe.”
“And call me Phil.” He slid out a barstool and joined me.
“How was dinner?”
“Superb.”
“Just a moment.” I picked up my phone to return her text.
* * *
In another interview now. Can I call you later?
* * *
God, I missed her. I wished when I finished this meeting, she’d be at home for me—a bizarre notion for a man like me.
The guy droned on with cordial conversation. Five minutes in, and I determined his mission was to determine if I’d fit within the company culture. He gave zero hard-hitting questions. He didn’t stoop to sports talk, but he delved into politics, preferred trade publications, and research sources.
Poppy’s response came through, and the entire room blacked out as I zeroed in on the screen.
* * *
I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not sure my heart can take it. I do wish you all the best. Good luck!
Chapter 30
Gabe
* * *
The lights overlooking the city twinkled. At least, the lights in the distance twinkled. Closer up, in buildings across the street, solid sheets of light blinked on or off. A man in the apartment building across the way sat down on his sofa and leaned over his coffee table. He faced a blue light emanating from the wall. I could only see the shadow of his shape, but for some reason I was drawn to him sitting alone, forking what was most likely a microwave dinner into his mouth.
My buzzer rang, sharp and high-pitched. I checked the time. Just a little after seven. I wasn’t expecting anyone. After working out in the building gym, I’d spent the day in the apartment. I’d meant to unpack. Search for a new assistant. I accomplished nothing.
The buzzer continued. Buzz. Buzz.
Fuck.
I strode into the kitchen and pressed the intercom. “Yes.”
“Mr. Chesterton. Ms. Caroline Anderson is here to see you.”
I pressed my forehead against the wall. “Send her up.”
The dull ache behind my eyes intensified, and I squeezed the bridge of my nose, seeking relief. The heavy mechanical sound of the elevator door opening sounded, and I dropped my hand to my waist. Caroline stepped into the entryway. She wore bright red heels and a charcoal gray trench coat that fell above her knees. It was Saturday night, so it fit that she’d be dressed to go out. But stopping by unannounced wasn’t exactly a New York thing to do.
I stood, legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed, waiting for her to travel down the hall. She looked up at the ceiling and along the walls, then smiled widely when she finally stared straight ahead and noticed me.
“Gabe. You haven’t changed a thing.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Can’t I stop by to check on a friend? One who just returned?”
I stood, arms crossed, and waited.
“Reed said you didn’t want to go out tonight. So, I stopped by to drag you out.”
“Not in the mood.”
“Come on now. I have reservations at three different restaurants. You can take your pick. Then there’s a new club—”
“Caroline, you should’ve called. I’m not in the mood.” I’d considered Reed’s invite, but I had no desire to sit through a lengthy meal and make small talk. I’d grown bored of the club scene years ago, and I really wasn’t in the mood to dance.
“Since when do you not go out?”
“I haven’t gone clubbing in years.”
“Well, you don’t have to go. At least come out for dinner. What are you going to do? Stay in?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What’s with the jogging pants?”
“They’re soft. Comfortable.”
She took off down the hall, toward my bedroom. Every click of heel against the marble floor echoed in the expansive room. My head throbbed.
I sat down on my sofa, kicked my socked feet up on the coffee table, and waited.
She returned with one of my ironed shirts on a hanger and a pair of black jeans.
“Change into these. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“I’m not going. You shouldn’t have stopped by.”
“If you really want to stay in, I can do that too.” Her bottom lip protruded, and she scooted next to me on the sofa. She attempted her puppy dog eyes, a look that back in college worked for her, but now she’d either overused it or it didn’t work on a woman her age.
I rested my head on the back of the sofa and closed my eyes, wishing her gone. The slight touch of fingers trailing up my thigh snapped my patience. With one quick move, I grabbed her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“If you want to stay in—”
“Caroline, what is going on? Your father seemed to think something was up with us, too. There’s nothing between us. As you are well aware.”
Her spine straightened, and she placed her hands in her lap. “I had to make my dad think we were dating. Otherwise, he would have never taken you on.”
“You do realize I don’t need a firm? Right? I’ve done well. I can go out on my own. You didn’t need to lie for me.”
“But don’t you miss your old life? You loved it. I saw it.”
“I did. You’re right. But I’m not desperate for it. Not like I thought I would be. Now that I’m back here, it’s not…I’m not sure I’m going to accept your dad’s offer.”
“But why? What will you do?”
“I’m weighing options. I’ll still i
nvest. My portfolio alone is a full-time job. But I’m toying with ideas. Ethical investing practices. Maybe Tate’s rubbed off on me some, but I’ve had some ideas about—”
“Does this have to do with the homeless woman you saw?”
“What?”
“Your mom told me. She mentioned you might be interested in learning more about area charities. She thought I might have some suggestions.”
“No. It doesn’t have anything to do with…you spoke to my mom?”
“Yes. We’re close. Our families are close.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose once more, again wishing Caroline would leave.
“Are you hung up on that girl? Is that why you’re rethinking everything?”
“What exactly am I rethinking?”
“Everything you ever wanted. You wanted to be a partner in an investment firm. Remember? A yacht, a driver, penthouse in Manhattan, two kids and a place in the Hamptons. Have you forgotten?”
I vaguely remembered an afternoon in Caroline’s bed, throwing out things we wanted one day, sometime after graduation. And in truth, I’d ticked off quite a number of those things. Had the penthouse, owned a place in Aspen. The Hamptons scene hadn’t appealed as much as I thought it would.
“Gabe? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. But you better get going. Don’t want to miss your reservations.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand. I looked up that girl. Poppy Smith.” Her name pulled me to attention. “She doesn’t even have a college degree. You know she’d never fit in here. Not in this world. Not in our world. Your family, your mother—”