“Nicole, mother of a kid from Ethan’s first year at Iron Hills, has a boarding house. Rents rooms, my ass. Ethan’s moved in with her. Not to mention Vegas with Misha our housekeeper. Former housekeeper. Maybe one or the other. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Who the hell knows when your major issue is trust.”
“You and Ethan both suspecting the other’s screwing around is old news. There’s got to be more.”
“There is. I’m so pissed at Julian I have to work at not compromising our relationship and everything professional. You know I’m in critical condition when a six-thousand-dollar shopping spree doesn’t help.”
She leaned against her desk. “Emma, taking on Mayfair has been the best thing to happen to you since we’ve been together. And frankly, it’s more than the work. You’re pumped. Even when our asses are dragging, you’re out ahead, trouble shooting, smoothing the waters.”
“I admit I’m a workaholic.”
“It’s more than the work. It’s Julian Petrenko. He sought you out to observe and consult and you land him the fragrance deal of the decade. Not only a power broker move out from under far stronger comparable, but you take on the whole package. Two years and you’re running Mayfair for him. And flawlessly.”
“Oh, please.”
“Emma, you’ve always spent more time with your bosses and career than with Ethan and the marriage. Julian keeps a very low profile but he doesn’t make a Mayfair move without you. The industry sees you two as inseparable. Oh, sure there’s a husband out there somewhere with his parallel life, moving on a parallel track, but that’s, I don’t know, incidental.”
“I’m completely frustrated by him.”
“Are you?”
“What do you mean?” She waved it off.
“Jen, I need truth, damn it.”
“You’re a walking basket case. You might honestly be unaware that you’re falling in love with him.”
“What the hell!”
“Damn close then. There he is, all British and Russian; all Savile Row and James Bond-ish. Blue eyes and cheekbones to die for plus, plus, plus the brains to recognise your talents. And here you are: his total package. A babe, couture down to your Louboutins, also with brains.”
“This is not what I expected from you.”
“It’s after five and we’re both exhausted, but Ems, you’re my boss and a friend I care about. I want to help. Yes, you and Ethan have an unconventional marriage. If I see this change in you, Doesn’t he? Maybe Ethan assumes you’ve found something – Not a groupie, baseball kind of hook up he’d know how to handle. Something else. A soul mate, someone he can’t compete with. That’s what’s new.”
“Then stay on my side,” I replied from the door.
“Just let me know which side that is.” At that point I couldn’t be sure I knew.
At nine the next morning the sound of the foyer door brought me face to face with Ethan. “I told you to call first.”
He glanced at his watch. “This is your Saturday workout time. I thought you’d be at the gym.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I’m meeting Adam for racquetball, I’m only here for my other sneakers.” He started for the bedroom.
“Do you want a divorce?”
“Emma, don’t.”
“Ethan don’t,” I shot back. With my heels dug into this rutted road, we were back to his few words and my wringing every nuance out of them. “It’s a fair question. It deserves a fair answer. You’ve put me in La Land for a week.”
“Fair answer? Face it, as long as you’ve had this career I’ve been the guy on the side, the phantom husband out there somewhere chasing his half-assed dream. I’ve been okay with that but we’re spinning our wheels. Why call this a marriage? It’s anything but. Maxine’s right. It’s way past time to figure out what the fuck we’re doing. And what we’re doing to each other.”
“And your idea of figuring it out is moving across the river, not seeing each other, not speaking.”
“Yes! We do any better talking? I found a place where I can look at what a mess we’ve made. I want, hell I don’t know, two or three weeks away. Away where I can think things through.”
His phone rang. “Okay. Lobby in fifteen.” He shoved it in his pocket. “Adam’s got a quick call on the fifth floor.”
“Then give me those fifteen minutes.”
He found his sneakers and sank onto the couch. “I’m asking for time, Emma. You keeps saying wait till the launch is over. So okay, by then the launch’ll be over. You’re practically living in LA and London, anyway.”
“Okay. You need time? Take some. No contact till the board meeting’s finished. But the concert? The boys asked to meet you, a real baseball player.”
“All right. And one more thing. You’re accusing me of plotting this job change behind your back with Julian.”
“I found it Jacoby’s business card in plain sight.” I laid out the scenario, from the Isle of Wight to Zurich, including my outrage at Julian and his complacency. “He wasn’t embarrassed or scrambling as if I’d caught him at something. Just completely surprised you hadn’t told me.”
“And you bought it.”
“Ethan! You’re telling me he’s lying? I work with this man twenty-four seven, most of the time from different continents. Trust is our cornerstone.” He stood. “As opposed to what we have.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You really don’t see it, do you? You’re in love with him.”
Ethan left. For the second Saturday in a row I ricocheted along Madison Avenue. Who wouldn’t be fascinated by Julian Petrenko? Who wouldn’t be comfortable and grateful? Yes his nonessential perks offset, even speeded up, tasks. His generosity provided comfort and efficiency. Who wouldn’t enjoy his company and appreciate his compliments? Who wouldn’t be drawn to him emotionally and physically?
