“It’s okay,” Celia said, leaning back against the wall and covering a yawn with her hand.
He sniffed the air, unable to identify the smell. “Is that your perfume?”
She laughed. “Perfume? It’s rose-scented Glade. We use it in the restaurant office.”
“Believe it or not,” he heard himself saying, “it almost smells good on you.”
A mysterious smile was playing on Celia’s mouth and Howard felt a small shot of fear. He was afraid he was about to try to kiss Celia. She turned her head slightly toward him, as if she were reading his mind.
The elevator eased to a stop and he just stood there, looking at her.
“Your floor,” Celia said, stepping forward to punch her floor into the directory as the doors opened.
Still, he stood there. They were only about ten inches apart. He knew she would let him kiss her. The doors started to close and Howard slammed them back, then took her in his arms to kiss her. When he tried to open her mouth the elevator doors tried to close again and knocked his mouth off hers. This time he let the doors close and Celia stepped back against the wall, putting her arms back to rest on the railing, as if to invite his eyes to run over her body while the elevator descended. He stepped forward to touch her but she twisted away. “I’m sorry, Howard, but I don’t do married men. I don’t think it’s right.”
It was as if she had slapped him across the face. At once he was ashamed and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Celia, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, turning away from her. “I guess I shouldn’t have had that last drink, either.”
The elevator arrived at her floor and she stepped out. “Howard,” she said, waiting for him to look at her. “Forget about it. Because I already have.” And then the elevator doors closed. He slapped 11 and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. What the hell am I doing?
8
Cassy’s Monday Morning
“HOW GOOD OF you to telephone,” Mrs. Emma Goldblum said to Cassy.
“I would have called before, Emma, but I only just got back in town and received your message.” Cassy was speaking more or less in the direction of the speakerphone in her dressing room. She was slipping on a skirt, running late for the office. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It was very nice. We went to the Stewarts’, as you know. Amanda cooked a very nice dinner. Her parents were visiting. And Howard’s mother. Rosanne made a pumpkin pie and a mince pie. And you?”
Cassy had zipped up the skirt and was pulling down a pair of matching blue low heels from the organized shelves. “We had a full house.”
“Yes, I know, you’ll remember Henry brought over sweet William for me to see last week.”
“Did you say sweet, Emma?” Cassy said, searching through her vanity for earrings, necklace and a bracelet. She also hastily put on her wedding rings. “I love my grandson dearly, Emma, but please.” The sound of Mrs. Goldblum’s chuckle made Cassy smile as she scanned the upper rack for her new fitted blazer. Why she had waited so many years to get a personal shopper was beyond her. All she had to do was say, “I’d like a blazer that goes with this skirt,” and voilà, in a few days it appeared. (She knew why. Because they cost a fortune and she had not always had a fortune.)
“That is why animal crackers were invented, dear,” Mrs. Goldblum said. “It makes all children sweet for at least five minutes.”
Cassy laughed.
Scarf. She supposed she should wear a scarf. No, she hesitated, looking in the mirror, why start hiding her neck now with so many years to go? The sun did its work and that’s all there was to it.
Cassy put on a scarf.
The outfit looked good, she thought, turning to view it in the three mirrors. She had always liked her clothes to be as perfectly in place as possible. It had annoyed her no end when a therapist once said that it was common for children of alcoholics to grow up that way, obsessed with external order in an attempt to contain the emotional chaos they felt inside.
“I know how terribly busy you are, Cassy,”Emma Goldblum was saying, “but I’m calling to ask your help. Normally Sam Wyatt keeps an eye on my affairs but at present he is occupied with other matters so I am turning to you.”
This got her attention. Cassy picked up the phone. “What may I do?” She walked into the master bedroom to look out the largest window. It was cloudy outside, making the Hudson look gray. It was windy, too, creating white caps on the water. Directly below in Riverside Park the flag at the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument was flailing wildly.
“I have some legal matters to attend to and I wondered if you would be so kind as to accompany me to my lawyer’s office. It is downtown. I know it’s a great deal to ask, but I need someone I can rely on and I prefer not to have Rosanne with me because I don’t want to upset her. And she will be, that’s just the way she is when it comes to—” she hesitated “—wills and such.”
Emma meant death. Cassy imagined it was hard enough for Emma to face her mortality without Rosanne looking on.
“Did you have a specific day and time in mind?”
“I waited until I had spoken to you before making an appointment.”
“I should be in town this week,” Cassy said, “but let me get my calendar in front of me at the office and then I’ll call you back. In, say, an hour?”
“I’m very grateful to you, dear.” Pause. “I fear time is slipping away.”
“Don’t I know it,” Cassy murmured. “Listen, Emma, is there something going on at the Wyatts’? You said ‘concerned with other matters’ in a rather ominous tone.”
“I’m afraid nothing that I am at liberty to discuss.”
After Cassy got off with Emma she went to the kitchen and flipped open the address book to check a number and make a call. “Good morning. Is Sam there, please? It’s Cassy Cochran calling.”
After a few moments Sam Wyatt came on the line. “Hey, girl.”
“Girl, I wish.” She laughed, looking at her watch. She was late.
Sam had been a good friend to her. Their relationship had been a baptism by fire in the final stages of her ex-husband’s drinking. Cassy didn’t know what would have happened had Sam not been there to help her through it. “I’m good, Sam, but I just got a call from Emma Goldblum. She asked me if I would take her to her lawyer’s office, which I said I would.”
“I would have taken her if she asked.”
“She seems to think you have a lot on your plate right now and the way she said it—well, it made me wonder if everything was okay.”
Silence.
“Sam?” She imagined he was reading something on his desk and was distracted.
“So Rosanne goes home and tells Emma,” Sam said, “and then Emma calls you—is that how this works? I admire her restraint, it’s been three whole days.”
Cassy hesitated. She’d known Sam for years and was well acquainted with the fact that he could be—well, scratchy on occasion. Irritable. She wasn’t offended particularly; that’s just the way he was when stressed out. “Sam, no one has told me anything. And if everything’s fine then that’s great, I’ll just hang up and get to the office.”
“Now there’s a plan,” he told her.
Well, that was an exercise in futility, Cassy thought, hanging up and going back to the bedroom to retrieve her bag. She was using up so much energy living two lives to begin with she didn’t need to nose into the affairs