The First Wives Club (26 page)

Yet Chris was already there waiting, and in a banquette! She supposed she’d have to suffer the draft. Annie returned his welcoming smile and was pleased when he stood to receive her. “Chris, how nice! But we’re only having a drink, how did you get a table?”

“Well, maybe I’ll force some blini on you, you anorectic.” Chris smiled.“‘Anyway, Faith knows me now because of Dad.”

Of course. Aaron knew all the first-class restaurateurs in the city.

Nice of him to initiate Chris, she thought. Part of the Paradise legacy, she supposed, always to be given a good table.

”What would you like?” Chris asked her.

“Just some white wine, I guess.”

He waved toward a waiter, placed her order, and asked for another Perrier.

”Well, so how are things?” Chris asked. His tone seemed overly hearty to Annie, unlike him.

“Fine,” she said. ‘Sylvie seems fine, and Alex called Saturday.”

“Uh-huh. Anyone else call?”

She looked at him. “Brenda Cushman,” she told him. For a minute he looked confused.

“Who?” he asked blankly.

”My friend Brenda. Chris, what is it that you’re trying to find out?”’ ”Dad didn’t call?”

Her stomach tightened, but she was sure she kept her face blank.

”Mom, Dad’s asked me to his wedding.”

She tried hard not to let her face change, not to show her feelings.

“Well, I’d expect him to. You are his son.”

”His second son,” Chris said, almost bitterly, Annie thought.“‘Anyway, did he call you and tell you about it?”

She had always hated the thought of this moment. She’d decided long ago that she wouldn’t drag either of her sons into her private life with Aaron nor would she attempt to tarnish him. It was a reprehensible thing to do. She smiled at Chris.

“No, but he doesn’t have to. He’s divorced. He’s free to do what he wants—” ”Oh, come on, Mom! Stop protecting him,” Chris broke in.

“Stop being so goddamn fair.” He looked away, collected himself, and turned back to her. “You know, I’m not a kid anymore. I deserve to know what the hell is going on!”

”Well, apparently, you do. Your father is getting married.”

“Yes, to your psychiatrist.”

Annie blinked. “I terminated with Dr. Rosen some time ago.”

“Jesus, Mom.”’ Chris shook his head. He sighed. “Mom, I’m trying to find out how I feel about this and you’re not helping.”’ “It seems to me that you’re trying to find out how I feel about it.”

”Well, that’s part of it, Mom. I haven’t really been comfortable with some of Dad’s behavior at work. He’s …” Chris paused, and Annie saw the hesitation, the pain in his eyes. Chris was loyal, she thought. He was loyal to his sister, to her, to his father. Would it be possible to be loyal to all of them at once, or would he be torn apart? Lucky Alex, removed from it all, she thought. Alex was like Aaron, Chris, she recognized with a start, was more like herself.

“Dad’s tougher than I thought,” Chris finally said.

“You have to be tough to run a business, Chris.”

“He embarrasses Uncle Jerry. He does it in front of the other staff members.

He blames him when it’s not his fault.”

“Partners often have problems,” Annie said.

“I don’t think Dad wants to be partners with Jerry anymore. Wouldn’t it be better if he just said so?”

He paused and reached out and took her hand. “Mom, I was there at Alex’s graduation. I saw the two of you, Dad and you, holding hands.

And then I left when we got back to the hotel.” He sighed. “Mom, I’m involved with someone. A woman that I think I could really love, and it’s made me, well, sensitive to things. So I know what was in the air between you and Dad up in Boston. I wasn’t just being a child when I thought that maybe the two of you were getting back together.” Annie felt her lips tremble. There was no way to protect anyone in this bitch of a world, she thought bitterly. ‘No,” she told him, “you weren’t just being a child.”

“But it didn’t work out?”

“No. It didn’t.”’ “But has Dad been a complete bastard?”

Oh, God. How could she answer that question? How could she be fair to Chris, to Aaron, and to herself?

“No one is a complete anything, Chris.” It was, at the moment, the best she could do, and perhaps it was good enough. “Chris, go to your father’s wedding, if you can. He isn’t a monster.” She was suddenly exhausted. The thought of dinner with Stuart Swann was almost more than she could bear. She took a deep breath.

“And now,” she said, “I have to go. I actually have a date.”

“Well, actually, Mom, so have I. And I wanted you to meet her.”’ He raised his head to a woman at the bar, a real woman, not a college student or a girl, Annie saw with surprise. Why, she had to be ten years older then he! But she was, Annie saw immediately, a nice looking woman. She wore a white jacket, long, and a short beige skirt with matching hose and pumps. She was far more finished, more sophisticated, than anyone whom Annie expected Chris to be with.

The woman, dark haired dark eyed, approached the table. She smiled, and it was a nice smile, a bit tentative, and it showed the fine wrinkles around her eyes.

“Mrs. Paradise?”

“Annie.”

“Annie. We met last Christmas. I’m Karen Palinsky.” She slid beside Chris in the booth and he took her hand.

Of course. Annie recognized her. She was one of the staff at Aaron’s shop.

“Yes, I remember you. Nice to see you again.” Karen looked better, softer, than the last time Annie had seen her.

“Mrs. Paradise, Annie, I just wanted to thank you for raising such a wonderful man,” Karen said as she turned to smile at Chris.

“Pshaw,” Chris said.

“No, I mean it. It’s so rare to meet a man who isn’t closed off or defensive or who dbesn’t hate women.”

“Is it?” Annie asked.

“Well, you haven’t been single for long,” Karen said, and laughed.

“That or you’ve been lucky.”

“I have? Perhaps,” Annie said, feeling dazed. “And now, I’ve got to go.” She rose and turned to Chris. ‘I see I leave you in good hands.”

She kissed him before she left.

Ten minutes later, Annie stepped into the magnificently ornate building on West Fifty-eight Street that housed Petrossian’s. A baroque, cast-concrete extravaganza, it had been reclaimed from the pigeons only a few years ago and was now the elegant site of the best caviarteria in the city.

She hoped Stuart would not be late, although if he could be late for Cynthia’s funeral service … Annie had never felt comfortable sitting alone at a bar.

Not enough self-confidence, she supposed. She always thought of poor Alice Adams, sitting at the sidelines of the dance, forcing herself to make bright little smiles as if she were remembering something amusing.

Dr. Rosen had been right about one thing, Annie identified with victims. Well, she just wouldn’t, not now, anyway. This evening she was nervous enough. She was a cross between an adolescent wallflower and a middleaged Mata Hari. And she was still reeling from her meeting with Chris. Aaron’s getting married, she thought, and then tried to push it from her mind. If Stuart wasn’t there, she’d just order a Campari and stare at her manicure until he arrived.

But Stuart was already seated, having a drink. He stood up and smiled at Annie. They hugged briefly.

“You look wonderful, darling,” he said, looking at her intently. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, Stuart,” Annie responded, returning his direct gaze.

And it was. Stuart was still good-looking, in his scrubbed way. Of course, he had gained some weight, but most people did. Light, as Cynthia had been, his hair and lashes and brows were all a beige color that blended with his skin tone. He had those fine tiny freckles, the kind that seemed more like careful little dots than splotchy freckles.

His eyes were brown, but a brown with a lot of yellow in it. The iris was multicolored. Annie remembered with a start that she used to call him Speckle Eye. She smiled at him. Yes, perhaps this would be fun.

“I’m so grateful that you came. I don’t see you often enough.” He paused. “And it was so awful last time, at the cemetery. God, I was so wretched. I rushed like hell from Tokyo—almost got angina in the process—only to find the service over. Damn Gil. But seeing you there did me good.” He picked up his drink, something colorless on the rocks, and sipped it. “I know I behaved badly that day. Of course, it was a shock. And I was jet-lagged. But beyond that it all seemed so damn false and wrong—like not one person there cared about my sister—except you, that is. I just felt somehow, when I looked at you, that you were real and that you actually did care about her.”

Stuart stopped abruptly.

“Stuart, you don’t have to apologize … ,” Annie began.

Inopportunely, the waiter arrived.

“Good evening, madame, would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Yes, please, a Campari and soda.”

“Yes, and I’ll have another. Make it a double.” Stuart turned to Annie. ‘And if it’s all right with you, let’s start with their special salad ! ” Annie nodded. ‘Fine.” How much had he had to drink? she wondered. Was it gin or vodka? It must be gin. She felt her eyebrows begin to furrow. Stop it, she told herself.

“So, what’s it been? Maybe ten years since I saw you last? I mean, aside from the cemetery.”

“Yes. Well, no. I saw you at Carla’s funeral, and then we saw you in Vail, remember?” He had been with his second wife, very drunk, standing outside Cookie’s, the apres ski rendezvous that everyone went to when they were in Vait. Yes, she realized. He had been very, very drunk.

“No. Did you? Well,” he said, smiling, “perhaps you did.” Thley were silent for a moment. Covertly she looked at his face. Puffiness under the eyes. She sighed, feeling like a tire with a slow leak. It was her hope deflating, she thought ruefully. Well, at least she could still drive somewhere before she was flat out of air.

“So, what’s going on at work?” Anne asked as casually as possible.

“Oh, the usual. Nothing new to talk about.”

“It must be exciting, being involved in all those takeovers and big deals.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, I sound like Lorelei Lee. Next I’ll be calling him a big, strong man.

Stuart didn’t seem to notice. ‘Not very inspiring, actually.”’ “What’s the next target for takeover, or aren’t you allowed to tell?”’ she asked, feeling guilty at her probing.

Stuart started to look at her more closely. “Annie, are you looking for a tip?

Do you need money?”’ She blushed. How dreadful. “No. Not at all.

I’m quite comfortable.”

“You’re not thinking of gambling in the market. It’s no place for a small investor. Believe me. I know.”

“Is it as crooked as they say?” She hoped he wouldn’t ask who said.

“Let’s just say that an outsider doesn’t have a chance. And when he does move in big, he’s destroyed. Look at Milken. He was handed over.

Pissed off too many of the real powers.” Stuart took another drink.

”So I shouldn’t invest? Not at all?”

Stuart paused. “Look, I shouldn’t say anything, but I do know that Gil Griffin is about to go for Mitsui Shipping. If he gets it, the stock will rise. Buy some of that, if you have to, but only spend what you can afford to lose.”

“Is it great working with Gil?” She blushed. Oh, she had to drop this ingenue bit.

But Stuart didn’t notice, he only snorted. “Yeah, if your last job was as Prometheus’ standin. Gil only picks out my liver once a week or so.”

“He’s that bad?”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“Does he still drive that XKE of his?”

“Are you kidding? It’s his life.”

“Where does he park it?”

”It has its own office.”

Annie laughed. ‘No, really?” she pushed.

“Annie, what’s with all these Gil Griffin questions? Are you in love?”

Annie was startled. “Of course not. Au contraire … well . .

.”

She paused, confused.

Stuart nodded. “So what about Gil?” He looked at her closely.

“Annie, you’re not thinking of trying to antagonize him?”

“Well …”

“Annie, don’t be crazy. He’s not human. Leave him alone. You know, when Cynthia died, Gil didn’t tell me. If my secretary hadn’t wired me condolences, I wouldn’t have known.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Don’t even think about crossing him. He’s worse than a cobra. He’s invincible. And the bitch that he’s married is almost as bad. They deserve each other.” He took another swig of his drink. “The thing about Gil that you have to try to understand is that he doesn’t like to crush people.” Annie nodded while Stuart finished his drink. “He doesn’t like to—he needs to.”

Despite herself, Annie felt a shiver run up her back and make gooseflesh along her arms. Once again, she was cold. But she wasn’t frightened. This was drunken exaggeration. This was melodrama.

“Come on, Stuart. Isn’t the destruction just a side effect of his steamroller will? I used to know the man. He’s immature, selfish, but he isn’t the devil.”

“Oh, no. No. That’s where you’ve got it wrong.” He motioned for the waiter and got another refill. “I’m no psychiatrist, but there’s something really wrong with the man. I’ve never been spooked by anyone the way he spooks me. You look into his eyes, and there’s nothing there, Annie. Nothing.”

“Do you mean he has no soul? Come on, Stuart.”

“Listen, I don’t know about God. Let’s face it, who does? But there’s the Light. You know, the Organizing Principle.”

“I was always in trouble with the assistant principal,” Annie joked, trying to lighten things up.

“Annie, there’s no light in Gil Griffin’s eyes. Only darkness.”

Annie tried to look calm. What were she and Brenda and Elise getting into? Was Stuart right, or was he just a bitter, frightened drunk, excusing his weakness by exaggerating his foe’s strength?

The waiter came to take the rest of their order. Annie ordered caviar, hard-boiled egg yolk, and toast points, all the little bits she loved to mix into minute open sandwiches. She never ordered blinis or, worse yet, potatoes with her caviar. And she was a strict vegetarian, but for caviar she made her one guilty exception.