We toasted our success with first rate Tattinger, at a perfect table surrounded by Rules’ famed cartoons, sketches and oils. Over a superb dinner he promised private tours at the National Portrait Gallery and Victoria and Albert Museum. He moved on to books and I confessed to wanting my own library. “Good books that I’d actually read,” I added.
“Pop into Sotheran’s,” he replied. “The oldest antiquarian booksellers in England, if not the world. Life’s too short not to have everything you deserve and the correct environment appreciate what’s been acquired.”
Deserve. Interesting word choice.
We returned to the hotel in easy silence peppered with easy conversation. I explained ways he could combat possible corporate backlash over our amazing UK-C score. As we waited for the elevator, he expounded on de rigueur London experiences.
“Including finally treating myself to Claridge’s renowned afternoon tea. Right here under my nose but back in the day strictly Marsha Johnson’s domain for her tete a tetes. Off limits unless, of course, she needed me to deliver a file.”
“A must!”
“We seem to be mentoring each other.”
“Simpatico,” he replied, as the doors slid open.
In the morning he’d meet with the big wigs to sign off on the deal documents; I had an early appointment with fragrance developers before my departure to the airport. We congratulated each other for the hundredth time and said goodbye as the ‘lift’ arrived at my floor.
When I checked out the next day, the desk clerk handed me a small box wrapped in plain paper. “I’m to tell you it’s to be opened in flight.” Wheels up and I pulled it from my satchel, laid back the paper and opened a worn leather-bound book. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. 1813. Julian’s handwriting filled his monogrammed card.
Dear Emma,
A memento for your return across the pond. May this first edition start that personal library. Always take time to enjoy the best life has to offer.
Warm Regards,
Julian
I thought of aficionados’ love of the feel of the page, the musty smell, the history seeping from the pages. Jane Austen. My perfect place to start. I turned to Chapter One.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
It put me off balance long enough to realise I was contemplating innuendo that didn’t exist. I arrived at Teterboro well rested, two hours after Ethan’s scheduled arrival from Dallas and reached my apartment just after noon. No Ethan, nor any sign he’d arrived. Calling his cell was useless but I did.
No weather delays. Perhaps mechanical trouble in Texas. I rattled around the apartment, unpacked, wrote a checklist for Alyssa, our housekeeper due in the morning, and went for a Central Park run to get my mind off plane accidents. At five I called the airport. The flight had landed at four-thirty, almost six hours late. Ethan walked in at six-ten.
“Thank God! I’ve been trying not to worry. Six-hour delay! I hope you didn’t sit on the tarmac all that time.” His all-too familiar expression matched my already frayed nerves.
“What?”
“Look, we won, okay? Two incredible games. Last night was wild and Julian’s passes made me eligible for a major VIP celebration today. How could I not offer that to the guys? We joined the players in the locker room, met a ton of people. Your job is fucking fabulous. We’re both benefiting.”
“It’s no benefit to think you’re dead on the road or the plane crashed. You never answer the phone; I have no way to know if you even get my messages__”
“You know I get them.”
“How do I know? Damn it, that’s not the point. It’s rude and annoying with so much is going on in my life.”
“And you’re still in meltdown mode. That’s not communicating. It hardly makes me want to answer my phone.”
“You were totally preoccupied. You hurt my feelings.”
He sighed. “Okay, I get that. I totally get we were both tired and could barely hear each other, but you went ballistic. Why tell you I was staying on in Dallas? To hear more fucking rants?” He picked up his carry-on.
“It’s not just Julian’s game passes and VIP boxes. You go to his outings and forget our plans. I’m working my ass off for this. We agreed we’d spend this afternoon together. I have a million amazing, incredible things to tell you. The least you can do is communicate with me.”
“I agree I should be better, but we need to put this off. Like I said, I’m spent. You’re right, I blew our plans, okay? Shelve it till tomorrow so we don’t get into a fight.”
“Shelve it! Guess what, we’re already in a fight. Yes, I’m pissed off. I could hear plenty, including women’s voices.”
“Well, here’s a headline. Believe it or not, plenty of women are sports fans. Some women enjoy hockey, and basketball, and football. Even baseball, Emma. What a fucking concept.”
“Sports fans. Get real. This isn’t about sports fans.”
“Damn it, I don’t want to lie. A few strippers showed up at the corporate box each night.”
“Julian sent strippers?”
“Part of the package. Relax. Adam loved it and invited them back to the suite. Nothing happened with me. Nothing. Yes, the girls were noisy; yes, Adam cranked it up. I kept the lid on. No damage to the room; no noise complaints. Nothing to embarrass you or your precious reputation with the hotel.”
“That sure as hell doesn’t cheer me up.”
“I told you I didn’t do anything. Even tempted I wouldn’t go there. You should know that. You do know that.”
“Well, congratulations for resisting. Sleep on the couch or in the guestroom. I don’t give a damn where except my bed.”
“Our bed. Nobody turns on a dime like you, Emma. This is the worst in a long time. Look in the mirror. This isn’t all about me.” He wheeled his carry-on to the wall and left.
I scratched up dinner and went to bed angry, sad, confused and alone. How did we constantly put ourselves in this state? Most likely Ethan had behaved and he wouldn’t care if I had a first edition unless it was Babe Ruth’s autobiography.
