Authors: Christina Ross
The
latter wasn’t going to happen.
I
was too fond of him to let go now, so I just needed to suck it up and
understand that his life with all of the complications that came with it was on
a much higher level than mine.
Dating Alex wasn’t going to be like dating someone who had a normal
life.
This was a completely
different arena, and I needed to be prepared to either go with it
gracefully—or bow out of it gracefully.
I
opted for the former, and apologized to him.
An
hour later, we were back on a plane to New York.
He asked if I’d like to sit next to
him.
But I chose to sit in the seat
across the aisle from him because I had a feeling that he’d rather be
alone.
I also needed to come to terms
with what being with him was going to be like.
Once I wrapped my head around that and
accepted it, things would be easier.
Once
we had lifted off, it was a silent trip home with neither of us engaging each
other along the way.
I kept my head
lowered to my Kindle and attempted to read a new thriller, but I was too
distracted to see the words on the page.
I was trying to read a situation that was escaping me, and I was failing
to do so.
I glanced over at him a
few times.
His nose was buried in
his laptop while he typed furiously.
What was he writing?
Who was
he writing to?
And what was going
on now that caused us to leave five days early?
It
was mid-morning when we arrived at La Guardia, and despite it being September,
the air nevertheless was humid when we departed the plane.
Two men, whom I knew on sight were part
of Alex’s security team, greeted us.
Alex acknowledged them with a nod, but he didn’t speak to them.
At least not in my presence.
We
left the airport and stepped outside where a limousine was waiting to take us
into the city.
Two black Cadillac
Escalades were parked behind the limo.
I watched the two men step inside one of them, and the SUVs followed us
as we pulled into traffic.
I
didn’t comment on anything I saw.
Instead, I removed my cell phone from my handbag and texted Lisa.
“Home in 30.”
“If
that was to Lisa, please give her my best.”
“I
will when I get home.”
“I’ll
make this up to you,” he said.
“There’s
no need to.”
“Yes,
there is.”
“We
can talk about that at some other time.”
“Are
you angry with me?”
“No.”
“But
you’re distant.”
“I’m
just disappointed.”
“Would
you sit closer to me?”
I
looked at him, and saw that he was at once distracted, tense and
apologetic.
Everything he was going
through was reflected in his features, especially his eyes.
How could I deny him?
I scooted over to him and leaned my head
against his shoulder, which had a calming effect I hadn’t expected.
He put his arm behind my back and held
me close.
Physically, he was a
strong man, which was one of the things that attracted me to him.
Strong and silent
, I thought.
Especially now.
When
we crossed the bridge into Manhattan, I knew our time together was closing in,
so I took his hand in mine and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you for a wonderful time,” I
said.
“Regardless of how brief it
was, I’ll never forget it for many reasons.”
I shrugged.
“What can I say, Alex?
Being with you spoiled me.
I wanted those five extra days with
you.
I won’t apologize for that.
I loved being with you.
It’s that simple.”
“I
wanted them as much as you did.
When can I see you again?”
“Soon.”
“How
soon?”
“Call
me when you have things under control, or I’ll see you at Wenn on Monday
morning.
We can always talk at
night.”
When
we approached my apartment on Fifth, the car pulled to the left and I looked up
through the window at my beautiful new home.
I stepped out when the car stopped, and
without looking back at Alex when he reluctantly released me from his embrace,
I walked across the busy sidewalk with my handbag slung over my shoulder.
I gave the doorman a little wave with my
fingers when he opened the door for me, and with a heavy heart that now was
unexpectedly filled with sadness, confusion and longing, I disappeared from
Alex’s sight.
*
*
*
To
my delight, Lisa was waiting for me in the lobby.
When she saw me, she leaped out of one
of the stylish chairs in the center of the cavernous space and hurried over to
me.
It had only been a couple of
days, but I’d missed her terribly, and we hugged each other fiercely when we
had crossed the distance between each other.
“So
much for a week,” she said.
“So
much for a week,” I sighed.
“Are
you all right?”
“We’ll
talk upstairs.
Not here.
Is it too soon for a martini?”
“Girl,
please.”
“I
can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the place.
If I know you, it’ll be perfection.”
She
started to speak, but hesitated.
I
knew her too well not to catch that look.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“There
isn’t a problem.
At least, I don’t
think
there’s a problem.
You’ll be the judge of that.”
“What
does that mean?”
“Pretty
much everything you’re about to see?
It wasn’t me.”
I
pressed a button for one of the elevators and looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s
just say you’re not going to believe it when you see it.”
“Alex,”
I said.
“Who
else?”
“He
had the place decorated for us, didn’t he?”
“Um,
yeah.
You could say that.
You also could say that’s an
understatement.”
*
*
*
When
we entered the apartment, it was like entering another space—one I didn’t
recognize from the last time I was here when the penthouse was empty.
Lisa
and I walked from room to room, and I just took it all in, knowing that he’d
done it out of kindness, and also knowing that I’d never be able to keep him
from extending his generosity.
To
his core, that’s who he was.
As
difficult as it was for me to accept it, I needed to learn to accept it and
appreciate it.
“It’s
beautiful,” I said.
“I
was hoping you’d say that.”
“Look
at these Persian rugs.”
“Real.”
“And
these paintings.
I love the way
they pop against the gray walls.”
“Real.”
I
moved into the dining room and saw a clutch of sunflowers sitting in a unique
vase I recognized on sight.
Seeing
the sunflowers was enough to make me catch my breath because of the message
they sent after Alex and I had purchased sunflowers ourselves at the farm stand
on the Point.
The vase was another
treasure.
“I know why the
sunflowers are here, but this vase is ridiculous.
It’s Lalique.
It’s their Bacchantes vase.
It’s one of their most celebrated pieces.
And it looks as if it’s antique.”
“That’s
because it is.
Rene himself signed
it.
I checked the bottom when it
arrived.
His name is carved there.”
“That’s
worth a fortune.”
“What
isn’t?
Have a look around.
And by the way, what’s the significance
with the sunflowers?”
“We
bought sunflowers at a farm stand on the Point, but that was just
yesterday.
When did these arrive?”
“This
morning.”
Oh, Alex.
“Come
look at your bedroom.”
We
went to it, and found that apparently I now had a massive, king-sized sleigh
bed crafted in deep mahogany and covered with rich, glorious bedding that
complemented the light green walls and the maple flooring.
I
stepped into the room, looked around, and noticed that on the nightstand to the
right side of my bed—where Alex knew I slept—was a black-and-white
photograph of him framed in silver.
It
was a portrait of him wearing a tuxedo, which he knew I loved him in, so even
this was intentional.
What
I was witnessing wasn’t just some random designer coming in here and taking
control with his or her own vision and tastes.
Somehow, at some point, Alex had
designed much of this with me in mind.
He must have directed as much of this as he could from Maine, though I
wasn’t sure when or how.
Had he
done it late at night when I was asleep?
Or that morning I slept so late?
Did he order the sunflowers from the plane when he was on his computer?
It didn’t matter.
There were too many personal touches
throughout the apartment to be just something he dumped money into without
giving it serious thought.
I felt
touched by the gesture.
I felt
guilty for walking away from him so cooly a moment ago.
“You
need to see my bedroom,” Lisa said.
We
went to it.
It was beautifully
finished, but what she brought me to was the movie poster of the original
version of “Dawn of the Dead.”
The
director, George A. Romero, had signed it, and it featured a massive zombie
head rising in the background.
It
was an original, probably bought at auction, and he’d had it framed.
“Can
you believe it?” she asked.
“Are
you going to be able to sleep with that thing in here?”
“Girl,
please.”
I
looked at the poster, which was on the wall to the left of her bed, near the
window, and I admired it not only because of what it meant to Lisa, which was a
great deal, but because of what it represented.
He was acknowledging that this was
Lisa’s and my home.
By giving her
this poster, he’d gone out of his way to make sure that we both knew that he
knew that.
“So,
I have to ask you,” I said.
“Did a
certain person oversee this?”
She
smiled at me.
“Blackwell?”
I asked.
“The
legend herself.”
“You
know, when I first met her, I didn’t like her.
She was really rude, dismissive and caustic
with me.
But things have
changed.
Time and again since then,
she’s gone out of her way for me.”
Lisa
looked carefully at me.
“She’s paid
to.”
“I
think it’s more than that.”
She
thought about that for a moment, and then reconsidered.
“Actually, that was pretty cynical of
me.
We all had a fine time looking
at this apartment.
And then we had
a great lunch and a fun conversation, which was loose and freewheeling, but not
fake.
Though I have to say that she
is venomous if you eat anything other than salad.”
“Tell
me about it.
But she is who she is,
and I kind of love her for it.
She’s a straight shooter.
We
both appreciate that.
She did a
great job here.”
“Over
a two-day period, she put about thirty hours into what you see.
She was tireless.
At one point, I think there must have
been twenty people in here.
She was
on the phone a lot, too.
I think
she was speaking to Alex.”
“I
know she was,” I said.
*
*
*
“Martini?”
“Yes,
please,” I said.
In
the living room, I fell into a chic, comfortable sofa.
Beyond the massive expanse of windows
was the Park.
At this height, the
view made you pause and realize that in this city, there was a greater design
that you didn’t necessarily see from the street.
The trees—still green here even
though they had begun to turn in Maine—were magnificent.
I wondered how any of this could
be.
For months, we’d lived in a
shitty little prison camp of an apartment on East Tenth Street, and now we were
in a penthouse on Fifth Avenue.
It
didn’t make sense to me, but I was grateful for it.
Within
days, I’d also need to earn it.
Lisa
came out of the kitchen with two martini glasses filled with what Russians
called their “dear little water,” which, in this case, was coddled with olives
and vermouth.
We touched glasses,
Lisa sat next to me, and we sipped.