Emily & Einstein (22 page)

“What do you mean, Mr. Portman?” She pulled back and gave me a schoolteacher’s stern look. “You’re good at loving me.”

Loving her. I had never been able to say the words, admit the kind of weakness that would make me vulnerable. Instead, I found myself pulling her close and kissing her with what I can only call a desperate passion, desperate to erase the niggling feeling that even Emily wasn’t enough to make me whole.

It was during our third year of marriage, by then my discontent a constant and uncomfortable companion, when my father barged into my office, berating me over yet another deal that he felt was beneath the firm. Something inside me snapped. I let my father finish, then forced myself to remain calm, practically counting each step I took in order to keep my mind from circling out of control as I left the office. I had the driver take me to the garage where I kept my own car. After slamming into the BMW, I careened out to the Hamptons, that place that had always soothed me. But hunger and anger pushed me on until I nearly killed myself and a family of six I almost ran off the road.

I hadn’t snapped because I desperately wanted my father’s approval. I snapped because seeing my father standing in my office, having the same argument we’d had so many times before, only proved that I worked for my father in the same building he had worked in for the better part of his life, a building that his mother’s father had worked in for the better part of his life, and his father before that. I felt trapped in a predetermined life, my future seen as clearly as if a gypsy had forced me to look inside a crystal ball.

I came home to Emily cooking and dancing, and I realized she was content, happy, and it had nothing to do with money or family connections. She was successful and highly thought of at work, and she had achieved it on her own. I should have been proud. Instead I felt angry. She was successful in a way I wasn’t, at ease in the world in a way that I couldn’t manage.

The first affair was born of a sheer unadulterated need to get away from doubt and frustration. The woman was young, pretty, with a body that begged to be touched. I didn’t even know her name.

Later at a firm party, a colleague slapped me on the back. “I hear you were out with that new young thing from your firm.”

It took me a second to recall who he was talking about.

“Don’t play naïve with me,” he added with a chuckle. “No one could believe you stayed faithful as long as you did. We had bets going. Though not a single one of us thought you’d last over two years. I guess we all go soft eventually.” The man glanced at my stomach, which was no longer flat and toned.

My anger flared into fire. I was angry at Emily for tempting me with things like lasagna, angry at the home she had built for us, a place that made me want to watch DVDs and drink wine and talk late into the night instead of staying strong and lean.

When I ran into the young woman again, we ended up in a hotel room. We had hot, rough sex that numbed my mind. Afterward she wanted to curl close, go again. All I wanted was for her to be gone. The anger had shifted to the same hunger I had felt before I met Emily, now combined with a cold numbness. I felt like I was dying.

I started working out at the gym to get back in shape. Surely that would ease the hunger. But a week later I slept with another woman. Then another. Frantically, I went through women like a drunk throwing back shots. The buzz was elusive, and all I knew was that I wanted out of my life. On that snowy February day that everything went awry, my mother had called to express her disdain about something else my wife had done. After we fought I had dialed Emily, asking her to dinner so I could tell her I was divorcing her. One way or another, I was determined to put an end to the deadness.

Now here I was, really dead, living in some capacity as a dog. The irony was that I had gotten exactly what I wanted. Out of my old life.

A shiver ran down my spine.

The old man gave a firm nod, made the cookies disappear, then brushed crumbs from his hands.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s look at the bright side. You’ve made progress.”

“Wanting to put an end to this farce is progress?”

“Yes. It means you’ve finally accepted that more than likely your days as Sandy Portman are over.”

Renewed misery hit me, and I wished I had finished things off in the lake regardless of where that would have sent me. Heaven, hell, purgatory. Because, really, what was there if I didn’t get my body back?

“Alexander, stop feeling sorry for yourself. As we’ve established, you’ve made progress. Now go back to the original question: Do you want to fade away to nothing or are you finally going to help Emily? And I’m not talking about getting her dressed and back to work or throwing money at the problem. I’m talking about really helping her.”

“And if I do?” I might have sounded petulant. “What do I get?”

The old man heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, but I don’t see that I have a choice. If I get questioned, I’ll point out what a stubborn case you are.”

“Call me what you will, but deflecting blame hardly seems like perfect behavior for a triage specialist.”

“Well, there is that.” He shrugged, then smiled. “All I can do is my best.”

“You read that in a book.”

A flush slid through his cheeks. “Again, not the point. Look, this is the deal. If you don’t want to fade away to nothing you’ve got to become greater than a mere mortal ruled by mortal desires.”

I was rather fond of my mortal desires. And I had to say, the old man wasn’t so far beyond them either. I wasn’t the one eating cookies.

He grumbled. “We all slip up now and again.” He inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as if reestablishing his strength. “I can do this. I
am
doing this. I simply have to have a positive attitude. Believing. Having faith.”

“More words of wisdom from that book of yours?”

The old man muttered something. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “But get it right this time, Alexander. Help Emily regain her footing. Help her move on. Help her find her way back to herself. Then, I promise, great things will happen for you.”

He disappeared. As in, one minute he was there, the next he was gone. Like magic. And I must say, a sizzle of surprising excitement raced through my little body along with my mind. The old man had said I could be great. Really great. As in a magical kind of great. All I had to do was help Emily. Really help her this time.

If I played my cards right, I could still achieve my dream of greatness.

emily

My mother was known for her belief that “being careful” was for weak women whose need for white picket fences trumped the desire for the kind of life that was worth living. As I got older and saw how she had changed her own life after I was born, her belief struck me as odd. But the one time I asked her why she gave up her life as a crusader for women’s rights, she only looked at me with a strange, yearning expression, then turned away.

—
EXCERPT FROM
My Mother’s Daughter

chapter twenty-four

When I got home from work Einstein wasn’t waiting for me in the gallery.

“Einstein?”

The apartment was silent.

“Jordan?”

Nothing.

“Where is everyone?”

There was a note on the gallery credenza from Jordan.

Emily, I’m meeting friends. Don’t worry about me for dinner. I took E out at noon. Jordan

But still no evidence of Einstein.

I found him in the kitchen, walking back and forth in front of the center island. Had he not been a dog, I would have sworn he was pacing while trying to figure something out.

“Come on, E, let’s go so you can take care of business.”

When he continued to pace, I went to the pantry and pulled out his favorite treat. Generally just the sound of the snacks rattling against the box sent Einstein into a frenzy of excitement, his body quivering, his mouth salivating. This time Einstein barely afforded me a glance.

I shook the box then retrieved one of the tiny fake steaks. “Don’t you want a yummy Steakin’?”

His nose twitched. Encouraged, I waved it close to his nose. Almost despite himself, he stopped and gave a halfhearted snap at the treat.

“No way. You have to go out if you want it.”

I’m pretty sure if he had been able to speak he would have peppered me with some pretty colorful language.

I tugged Einstein out the door and down the elevator. After he peed at the curb, I gave him the treat. Thinking he’d want to go straight back inside, I headed to the gate. But Einstein wouldn’t budge. I glanced down, saw that he stood transfixed by a small group of runners heading into Central Park.

For half a second he whined, as if wishing he were running with them. Then his spine stiffened as if something had occurred to him. With what I can only call an excited bark, he spit out the Steakin’ and started scrambling down the street in the opposite direction from the park.

“What is it?”

He tugged me toward Columbus Avenue. I couldn’t have been more surprised when he stopped at the closet-sized newspaper and magazine store toward the end of the block, then pulled me inside.

“What do you want, E?”

The man behind the counter looked at me oddly. Dogs might be welcome in many New York City stores, but a crazy owner who acted as if the animal was in charge of the purchases … well, not so much.

Einstein nosed through the magazines on the low shelves, his eyes squinting, his head cocking this way then that, before he craned his neck to look at the magazines lining the wall. His head went row by row, up and down, until he stopped and barked. His body quivered with excitement.

“What is it, E?”

He barked again, jumping slightly toward the magazines. Without thinking, I started pointing at them one by one.

“This?”

Growl.

“That?”

More growling.

I went row by row until I came to the magazine that made my dog weep with delight.

“You want
Runner’s World
?”

More happy weeping.

Both the store clerk and I exchanged an incredulous glance.

“Your doggie likes to read?” he asked with a laugh, his foreign accent heavy.

“So it would seem.”

Einstein turned around, facing the counter, as if ready to pay.

“But I didn’t bring any money, E. These aren’t free.”

The clerk leaned over the counter, studying my dog. “You take,” he said to me. “Bring money later.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Your doggie wants to read.” He shrugged. “So you get him magazine.”

I glanced between the clerk and Einstein. “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”

“Yes, okay. Now out,” he added, shooing us out of the tiny shop.

We left, Einstein prancing.

“Emily?”

I whipped my head up to find Tatiana walking toward us wearing skintight workout clothes, bottled water in her hand. Her dark, chin-length hair was pulled back with a sleek band, not a strand out of place. She could have been a model for a health food ad.

“Ah, hello,” I said. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

“At the Majestic. I’m on my way to spinning class.”

The Majestic was another A building on Central Park West where both rich and famous people lived.

“Shouldn’t you be busy catching up on work?” she asked.

My mouth opened and closed.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” She shook her head. “Charles was too easy on you. I’m not so easy, Emily. I have to wonder if Charles promoted you prematurely.” She unscrewed the cap on the water. “Perhaps you’re not ready to work on your own list.”

“But I am!” I blurted.

“Well, well, there’s that gumption again.”

Einstein swung his head back and forth, taking in the conversation. Why I was embarrassed in front of my dog, I couldn’t say.

“So tell me, Emily. What is it that you’re doing while you’re at the office? I hear you’re behind on all your projects. And you haven’t bought anything new in months.”

Blood drained out of my face. Einstein seemed to notice this too and moved closer to my leg, then barked.

Tatiana paid him no mind. “How are you going to get back up to speed?”

Einstein craned his neck to look at me, then turned back to Tatiana and barked again, tugging on the leash. When Tatiana tried to say something else, he barked even louder, the sound surprisingly ferocious for such a small dog.

The new president of Caldecote Press gave him a wry smile. “Fine, Toto, take her away from the awful green witch. But you can’t protect her in the office.”

Tatiana continued on toward Columbus, downing the water.

“This can’t be good,” I said.

Einstein just looked at me, and I swear he was once again evaluating me, or the situation. Though for once, it felt like he was on my side.

*   *   *

The next morning, Jordan was home but still asleep when I left Einstein with his magazine.

“Don’t eat it,” I told him.

I dropped money off at the little store and caught the C train to Fifty-ninth. I was running late, and it was no surprise that my mood wasn’t the best when I arrived at the Trigate building.

“Look who’s here at a reasonable time for a change.”

At the sound of Victoria’s voice, I grimaced. She looked at me with the dewy-eyed innocence of someone who hadn’t just stolen credit for a book I had slaved over.

I scowled and pushed through the revolving doors, all but running for the security turnstiles. Balancing my belongings, I dug around in my purse for my credit card–sized ID. I hit the turnstiles, zipping my card through the reader at the same time I pushed through the metal arms. But halfway through, the metal arm yanked to a halt, stopping me. A copy editor from production who had raced in behind me, slammed into my back.

Nick was a large man and I grunted. He lifted his arms and backed up fast, as if to say, “Not my fault.”

I tried to move forward again, but the strap of my satchel had tangled up in the rotary arms. A line started to form.

“Come on!”