The Suite Life (20 page)

On Sunday afternoon Henri drove us to the airport for the long flight home and insisted on giving us an early-nineteenth-century porcelain bell as a souvenir. I tucked it into my pocket-book and into my heart, where the other cherished memories of my honeymoon had been stored for safekeeping.

It was still late Sunday night in New York when we got home, and when I woke up the next morning the first thing I thought about was how different my life had become in so many ways, and seemingly overnight. I was married, and I was secure beyond my wildest dreams. I had a future straight ahead that was every bit as real as tying the knot had been. I'd been to Europe for the first time and had added reams of worldliness to the sophistication I'd already been exposed to during Alec's courtship. And Hans had given me a taste of how the superrich, whose ranks Alec aspired to join, actually lived. I had also
gotten a healthy serving of life's raw underbelly in Amsterdam, and a taste for the two sides of Paris—an urban center of sophistication by day and a sexy, mysterious City of Light after sundown.

To think I didn't even know the difference between lunch and brunch a few months ago, and look at me now!

When Alec showed the first signs of stirring, I pulled on my robe, tucked my toes into my slippers, and headed to the kitchen to brew the coffee and rustle up some breakfast for him. I'd gotten used to lingering over coffee and the paper with him every morning. But when he dashed into the kitchen ten minutes later, fully dressed in a snappy suit, I realized that he'd already reverted to his quick-moving, hard-driving Wall Street mode.

“That's sweet of you to be cooking eggs,” he said, pecking me on the cheek. “Hate to dash off like this, but I'm already late for work.”

“You gonna go into battle on an empty stomach?”

“I'll order something as soon as I get to my desk,” he said. “We're closing the merger this week and there's no time to lose. As soon as I put it to bed, I'll be promoted to partner and the money will be beyond anything you could even imagine.”

I'm standing in a gourmet kitchen with the Manhattan skyline out the window. How much more could we possibly need?

“I couldn't be happier than I am right now,” I said.

“Stick around, Mrs. DeMarco,” Alec said. “I ordered a second AmEx card in your name last week, and I'm sure you'll have fun using it.”

I didn't know what to say. I'd never had any credit cards, much less an American Express card, in my name. He kissed me on the cheek as I stood in the kitchen, stunned.

“Good luck!” I called, switching off the burner as I heard the door close behind him. The apartment was silent.
What do I do
now?
If Alec didn't have a housekeeper I would have tidied up the apartment and done the laundry. Instead I decided to call Priti and set up lunch. She sounded almost as excited as I was to get together, and showed zero concern about ducking out for what was sure to be a longer-than-allowed midday break. Practically as soon as we hung up, the phone rang. It was Filomena, calling to check in. The next call was from Sofia.

“How's the new Wall Street wife doing?” she asked.

“I'm settling in, thanks.”

“You free for lunch today?”

“Gee, Sofe, no. I just made a date.”

“Playing the diva already, going shopping and getting your hair and nails done?”

“Just catching up with Priti, is all.”

“What about tomorrow? You free then?”

Oh, I'm free all right
 . . .

“That'll work,” I said.

“Great. Lena and I have a darling place where we can bond. My treat.” I knew that Lena was a friend of Sofia's who traveled in Alec's circle. She and her husband, Tom, had been at our wedding but I'd barely had a chance to say hello to them.

“That would be wonderful. I've been looking forward to getting to know Lena better,” I said, not really sure whether I meant that or not. And I really didn't know Tom at all.

“Tom's a social misfit.” Sofia chuckled. “I'm sure Lena will get around to telling you all about him. We just want to show you the ropes first.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” I said.

“I'll swing by and pick you up at noon.” Sofia bubbled with enthusiasm.

I hung up, thinking,
What kind of ropes are these Wall Street wives going to show me? There is only one thing I know for certain: I'm not in Bensonhurst anymore.

A couple of hours later, I stepped out into a brisk fall day and hopped a cab to a tiny café just around the corner from Priti's office. The stars must have been aligned because she was walking up to the entrance just as I opened the cab door.

“Hey, P!” I called to her.

She pivoted, danced to the cab, and grabbed my hand as I paid the driver.

“Timing is everything,” she said, quickly dragging me to a minuscule wrought-iron table by the window, which had become available right when we entered.

“I see what you mean,” I said, laughing as we squeezed into our chairs.

The Financial District was teeming with life and Priti was more upbeat than ever.

“Gotta love the energy in this city, P,” I mused, taking it all in.

“Gotta love the situation you find yourself in now, too.”

“I'm not complaining.” I grinned.

“I'd slap you if you did,” Priti teased as a waitress came over. “Let's order right away so we can get to the juicy stuff.”

“Have whatever you want, P. It's on me.”

“
I
won't complain about that,” she said, and we shared a laugh that reminded me of many we'd had before.

“It feels good to be with you again.”

“I don't think we were alone for a single minute at the wedding.” Priti sighed.

“Get in line—I feel like I didn't see anyone for more than a few minutes the whole night.”

“Well, we're together now, and I've got some news of my own.”

“Oh, wow, P. What is it? I should have known something was up when you seemed even more cheerful than usual.”

“It is good news, Sam, at least for me, but I'm sorry to say I
won't be around much longer.” She was trying to look serious but couldn't keep the smile off her lips.

“About a month ago,” she said, “my parents set up a meeting with a guy from a family in India they're close to. I didn't even mention it because you were so wrapped up in everything going on in your own life.”

“I always have time for you, P. You know that.”

Priti paused a moment and gazed out the window before turning back to me. “The whole truth, Sam, is that I just didn't think it was going to go anywhere.”

“Like a couple of other arranged dates you had.”

“Exactly. I don't have one foot in India and the other here, which is how my parents live.”

“You're as New York as they come, P.”

“Not anymore, Sam!” Priti grinned. “We hit it off big-time last week and I just know he's going to propose to me.”

“Wow, P,” I said softly. “It seems whatever I had is catching.”

“I'm sick with joy, Sam.”

I wonder how well I'll do without my security blanket.

“I suppose he'll take you back to India?”

“He's a brilliant oncologist in a famous practice, so I don't have a choice if I want a life with a guy who turns me on.”

“Don't tell me you did him already!” I teased.

“Oh, no.” Priti blushed. “He's much too proper for that.”

“You talk a big game, but you aren't exactly a slut.”

“Nope,” she said, pursing her lips. “I'm a lady when it comes to that . . . Just like you.”

“I'm gonna miss having you around, P.”

“You never know,” she said, pensive again. “The circle of life, right?”

“Our paths will cross again.”

“If not in this life, maybe in the next. But I have to tell you, getting to know you and seeing how self-assured you've become
these last few months gave me the confidence to just go with the flow.”

One day I want
The Blessed Bridge
to do that for millions.

“Don't kid yourself, P. I've still got a roller coaster rumbling around in my stomach and my head.”

“As I said, you're a lady.” Priti smiled again, as I wondered how many more of those smiles I'd get to see. “And you're on your way to being a grande dame who can handle anything with class.”

The budding grande dame stopped into Our Lady of Victory on the way home and said a prayer to the Blessed Mother, the grandest dame of all. As I left the church I knew I would be losing Priti soon, but my soul was at peace because I also knew I'd always have guidance whenever I needed it most in the uncharted waters ahead.

It was late afternoon when I got back to the apartment. When I got in I was startled by muffled sounds I couldn't place.

No way Alec is home already.

I took a hesitant step and the round, red-splotched face of Zosia, Alec's—and now my—elderly Polish maid, poked out from the bedroom doorway.

“Oh, it's you, Mrs. DeMarco,” she said in her thick accent.

I still got a thrill out of hearing “DeMarco” at the end of my name. I reminded the precious old lady that she should call me Samantha and asked how she was.

“Veddy well, tenk you. I a little late today.”

“That's okay, Zosia,” I said. “I'll stay out of your way.”

“I almost done. I can stay if you wan' and help prepare the food for Mr. Alec,” Zosia said, bringing up a topic we'd discussed when I met her for the first time shortly before the wedding. She had pulled me aside and asked if I was comfortable in the kitchen, and I confided that, when it came to dinner, my skills were somewhat limited.

“That won't be necessary, Zosia,” I said now. “But thank you, anyway.”

“Anytime you wan', I cook with you.”

“Yes, we'll do that,” I said. “Soon.” And I meant it, particularly since I'd had the pleasure of sampling some of her culinary delights.

“I'll be back on Tursday, Mrs. Samantha,” the maid said as she got into her coat.

“Be well, Zosia,” I said.
There but for the grace of God
 . . .

I bought some time by straightening Alec's desk, which didn't really need straightening, and finally went into the kitchen, wondering what I could come up with to feed my husband. A fast search of the nearly-empty refrigerator, freezer, and cabinets had me second-guessing my decision to let Zosia leave and also made me realize that I needed to do a good amount of food shopping. Thank God for the endless number of places to order in from in New York.

In the end, I needn't have worried because Alec didn't come through the door until almost nine, and when he did he was surly and totally exhausted, on edge after a long day. I ordered a pizza, which I thought would be the surest bet.

Alec barely said a word as we ate, and I didn't bother him with questions about how his day had gone. Afterward he pushed away from the table and shuffled off to bed with his dutiful wife close behind. The good-night kiss he gave me wasn't one that will go down in the record books.

The next day was a repeat of the previous one, except that this time I knew better than to make any breakfast. Alec was up and out the door before I even got out of bed. Lying there and contemplating all the time I had before Sofia would arrive to pick me up for our lunch, I realized that this was a golden opportunity to get back to my writing and revise the manuscript for
The Blessed Bridge
before sending it out to publishers again.
I hadn't touched a word of it since meeting Alec, but I was still determined to get it published.

I'd moved most of my possessions into Alec's apartment before our first wedding, and my manuscript was already sitting on the closet shelf. With a renewed sense of purpose, I headed for Alec's desk and started to reread what I'd written so long ago. Pretty soon I'd lost all sense of time and was startled out of my intense concentration when the house phone rang.
Shit, it's already twelve o'clock. How did that happen?

“Mrs. Falco is here,” the doorman said when I picked up the phone in the kitchen.

“Tell her I'll be down in a couple of minutes,” I said.

Ten minutes later, surely a showering and dressing record for me, I breezed into the lobby to find Sofia checking her nails and chatting with the doorman.

“Fashionably late,” she teased. “I can see you've got potential.”

“Sorry. It wasn't deliberate, Sofe.”

“Well, no problem,” she said, ushering me out the door and into the cab waiting at the curb. “I had the cab wait for me so we don't have to worry about finding another one. A little trick of mine—Lena and I have so many tips we could write a book!”

I thought of the stack of pages on Alec's desk, suddenly wishing I could be back upstairs working on my own book . . .