Riverside Park (25 page)

“
CASSY! IT'S BEEN
too long!” Georgiana said, jumping up from the settee to give her a kiss and a hug. She held Cassy's hands in her own for a minute, looking at her with genuine fondness. Then a hint of pain appeared in her eyes. Cassy knew she had to be thinking of all the dinner parties, cocktail parties, fund-raisers and birthday parties they had shared because of Alexandra.

“I'm so surprised to see you,” Cassy said honestly.

“Howard and I are talking about some possible book projects,” she said, releasing Cassy. She dropped her voice. “Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe wanted him to approach me about writing an autobiography. I told him a party or two might not be wild about me writing a kiss and tell—” She half grimaced. “And told him, no, I wouldn't do it.”

Cassy nodded. What else could she do? Then she remembered why she had been sent out here. “Howard asked me to tell you he needed a minute with Amanda. A close mutual friend of ours is dying. Amanda just saw her.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry. What does your friend have?”

“Cancer. But she's older—”

“That doesn't make it any easier when you love someone.” She turned to look out the window. “That snow doesn't look too promising for my flight out tonight, does it?”

“I think the airports are probably closed,” Cassy said. “It's only supposed to get worse.”

Howard came in and Georgiana said she really needed to get going. When they moved to the front hall to retrieve Georgiana's coat, Amanda appeared, apologizing for barging in. Georgiana took one look at her and threw her arms around her in a hug, murmuring, “I know, I know, it's very difficult,” while Howard and Cassy awkwardly looked on. Then Georgiana gave Amanda another brief hug, kissed Cassy goodbye, saying they should get together soon, and Howard saw her to the elevator while Amanda and Cassy returned to the kitchen.

Amanda made a pot of tea and Howard brought the tea cart in from the living room. Cassy drank a cup of tea but passed on the food, watching the clock. As soon as it was polite to do so she made her apologies to leave and promised Amanda they would keep in touch.

In the elevator, Cassy leaned back against the wall, holding the bridge of her nose a minute. She had the worst headache, either from the weather or the stress, she didn't know. She did know she was on overload.

As she crossed the lobby her heart sank when she saw the limousine waiting out front in the snowstorm. She knew who it was. She took a breath, pulled her shoulders back, and, as if she didn't know who it was waiting for her, stepped out under the awning and pulled up her hood. Almost immediately the mirrored rear window of the limo went down.

“You were right,” Georgiana called, “the airports are closed.”

“I thought they might be,” Cassy said, pulling on her gloves as she walked over.

“Please get in,” Georgiana said. Before Cassy could respond the door had swung open and Georgiana was sliding across the seat to make room for her.

She had no choice but to get in.

“Where are you going?” the actress asked her.

“Only home, at Eighty-eighth—”

Georgiana told the driver to go down Ninetieth and circle around to Eighty-eighth Street. Then she raised the barrier between them.

“I'd invite you up for a drink,” Cassy said, pulling her sleeve back to look at her watch, “but I have a conference call shortly.”

“This won't take long,” the actress promised, unhooking her coat and crossing her legs in Cassy's direction. “I only wished to ask if you know what really happened, why Alexandra suddenly bolted.”

Cassy was at a loss.

“At first I thought it was cold feet about the baby.” She met Cassy's eyes. “But Alexandra's not the type to get cold feet about anything.”

Georgiana was exquisitely beautiful and needed not a dab of makeup to achieve it. She had her mother's porcelain skin and some of Lillian Bartlett's features as well—certainly the eyes, hair and body—but it was the refined features of her father that most successfully contrasted her more sensuous gifts. They called her the sophisticated man's ideal.

“I've longed to call you, Cassy, but to be perfectly honest, I wasn't ready yet to hear what anybody else had to say.” She paused, dropping her eyes. “I was too upset.” Looking back up she said, “Please tell me what you know.”

Cassy felt like the lowest form of life. “I can't speak for
Alexandra, but I think, given the circumstances of her life, she may have felt it wasn't fair to the child for her to become a parent.”

“She used to say that. And I was the one pushing for a child,” Georgiana said, dropping her eyes again. After a moment she looked up and touched Cassy's arm. “Thank you. I knew you would know.”

She would probably burn in hell for this.

“I'm not convinced that was the reason, however,” Georgiana added, withdrawing her hand. “From the beginning she always said that she loved me, but was afraid she might not love me the way she should.”

Cassy's forehead wrinkled.

“She was being honest. You know Alexandra. She never pulls any punches.” She looked out the window. “Except at the very end. One day we were going to have a child and the next—” She turned back to Cassy. “She said she was sorry. And that was the end of it. Gone. Like those four years had never happened.”

“I'm sorry,” Cassy said.

And she was.

Sitting here looking at Georgiana it was difficult to believe Alexandra had chosen her. Of course there was the child aspect; had that issue not come up Alexandra might very well still be with her.

It was pointless to try and second-guess what had happened and what could have happened.

“I'm sure there's somebody else,” Georgiana said. “There was someone before, before me, who she would never talk about. So I knew.” She started to cry. “I vowed I would not do this anymore.” She leaned forward to snatch some tissues from the holder and looked out her window as she wiped her
eyes. “I was so sure Alexandra was the one.” She wiped her nose, sniffing. After a moment she turned to Cassy, trying to smile. “I'm sorry to do this to you.”

“Please don't apologize,” Cassy said. In this moment she thought if she had any decency left she would go home, call Alexandra and tell her she was never leaving Jackson and that Alexandra must reach out to Georgiana before it was too late. Georgiana would be so much better for Alexandra in so many ways.

Although, Cassy remembered, there had been clouds on the horizon of their relationship. Cassy got the distinct feeling from Alexandra that at one point Georgiana had some kind of fling with her male costar on location. (He was gorgeous, a kind of swashbuckling superstar.) Had that been the cause of their first separation? Cassy had never been sure.

“You would think with all the world has to offer, and all the world has blessed me with,” Georgiana said, sitting back against the seat, “I could simply move on.”

“Give yourself some time,” Cassy said quietly. “I think it's clear you need to have some kind of resolution with Alexandra. When you're feeling up to it. To talk through it.”

“The difficulty does not lie with me, Cassy. As you know, Alexandra is not terribly keen on messy emotional encounters.”

And there you are wrong, Georgiana. Alexandra and I have done nothing but wade through messy emotions for years.

“She will opt, every time,” Georgiana said, “to steal off in the night.”

The limo had stopped on the side of Riverside Drive right across from the Soldiers' and Sailors' monument at 88th. There was almost no traffic now, though the M5 bus was braving Riverside Drive through the storm, the windshield wipers flailing madly, the glow of inside lights inviting.

“I only wish to know to whom she was going,” Georgiana said to Cassy.

Her eyes were large, luminous. And moist. Georgiana was a wonderful actress, which Alexandra said had been part of the problem.

“If you knew who it was,” Georgiana said, “would you tell me?”

Cassy shook her head. “I'm sorry, but it's not my place.”

“So you do know who it is.” Georgiana's voice had taken on a slightly accusatory tone. She looked out her window for a moment before turning back to Cassy. “You're right, of course, it's not your place. I must ask Alexandra directly.”

“If it's that important to you, of course you must,” Cassy said.

“Perhaps it's vain of me, Cassy, but I can't imagine what another woman could bring to the relationship that I didn't. We not only loved each other, but we got on so well! Surely you must have seen that.”

Cassy nodded, looking down at her lap.

It was now or never.

Alexandra had never told Georgiana about her. She had been trying to protect her. And them. And others, including Jackson and DBS. If Georgiana ever decided to go public with the story, they would lose all control over the situation.

Cassy raised her head. “You don't have closure, do you?”

“No.” She had reached for another tissue and was dabbing at her eyes.

After a moment she said, “I'll speak to Alexandra.”

Georgiana lowered the tissue. “Would you? She'll listen to you. And then I won't have to get hysterical while trying to explain myself.”

Cassy nodded. “Yes, I will,” she promised.

SAM GOT ON
the last flight out of LaGuardia. It was also the last to land in Binghamton before that airport shut down because of snow. When he emerged from the terminal it was practically a blizzard. Actually, it was a blizzard, but these Binghamton people seemed only energized by the storm and continued driving (and sliding) around on the roads muffled by snow. Sam climbed into a cab, gave the driver the address and off they went, tire chains spewing snow behind them. The address was on the south side of the city, the driver explained, and he thought it best to get on 81 for a while. Trucks and other high-riding four-wheel-drive vehicles kept a one-lane caravan moving on the New York State Thruway and there were only occasional passenger cars spun out and abandoned on the side of the road.

Sam had his seat belt buckled and looked out the window, willing the car to stay on the road until they reached the office complex. It appeared that snow never closed anything down around Binghamton except the airport.

“Mr. Washington?” an attractive secretary asked Sam when she appeared in the waiting room of Ericksson Laboratories & Pharmaceuticals. “Mr. Culmathson is ready to see you. If you'll just follow me.”

“Mr. Washington,” the man said jovially, striding to the door extending his hand. “Steve Culmathson.”

Steve Culmathson was about Sam's height, six-two, and he was a big guy, just like Sam. Not overweight but later he'd have to watch it. He appeared to be in his late-thirties, maybe early-forties. He was definitely white. He had brown hair, a receding hairline and brown eyes. He was also a sharp dresser. His handshake was firm and dry and he touched Sam's arm with his other hand while they shook, implying he liked Sam already. Well, he should. Sam had told his office he was a purchasing agent for a group of New York hospitals who had heard so many great things about the service Culmathson's sales people provided.

Culmathson asked him if he'd had any trouble getting in from the airport and Sam told him, no, he'd taken a cab, but the airport was closed now. Culmathson said he'd get him a great hotel room nearby to stay over.

Sam tucked his folio under his arm and walked straight over to the windowsill to pick up an 8 ½-by-11 framed picture. It was of an attractive but heavyset woman and two boys, around ten and six maybe. “Are you a family man, Mr. Culmathson?”

“Steve, call me Steve. And, yes, I am.” He walked over. “That's my lovely wife, Karen, and our boys, Steve Jr. and Scooter. Well, Peter's his real name.”

“Nice-looking family,” Sam said, handing the picture off to him.

“Thanks. I think so.” He put it back on the windowsill. “Help yourself to a seat.”

“I will, thank you,” Sam said, sitting down. “So how long have you been married?”

“Almost thirteen years.”

“That's great,” Sam said. “I find it's generally better to deal with family men in business.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Culmathson said, plunking down behind his desk and folding his hands on top of it.

He would agree with anything Sam said because he was a salesman. “Your children look very happy and very healthy.”

He grinned. “They are. Karen says too healthy sometimes.”

“And how do they do in school?”

There was the slightest flicker of a question in Culmathson's eyes. “Steve Jr.'s the scholar and Scooter's the athlete.”

“Did you play sports?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I wasn't great, but I got my three letters in high school. Football, basketball, baseball.”

Sam was looking up at the degree on the wall.

“I went to Oswego State. I didn't play sports there. I was a business major.”

Was his smile now just a trifle nervous? Whether it was or wasn't, Sam decided Culmathson's teeth were bonded. He hoped his grandchild wouldn't inherit bad teeth. They were excellent on Samantha's side of the family.

“So,” Steve said, leaning forward, “I'm dying to know what hospitals you represent.”

Sam opened his folio and took out a manilla folder. He saw Steve's smile expand in expectation. Sam leaned to hand it to him.

“Okay, let's see what we've got here,” Steve said, opening the folder. Almost immediately he frowned, his eyes skipping around on the page. He turned to the next page and his look of dismay grew. He closed the folder. “Who the hell are you?”

“Name's Sam Wyatt.” He let his words hang in the air a moment. “I'm a family man, too.”

It could have been a full minute of silence that they glared at each other.

“What do you want?” Culmathson said, breaking eye contact. His face was set like granite.

“You have some papers there you need to sign.” He kept his cool. “When you sign the top two you are giving up all rights to the child my daughter is about to give birth to.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “Got a problem with that?”

The guy's stony expression didn't change. “No.”

“Didn't think so,” Sam said, looking at the picture of Culmathson's family.

“What are these other papers?” Culmathson asked. He had opened the folder again and was looking through it.

“Just fill in your social security number and then sign and date it. You've agreed to undergo a complete medical workup and to provide a complete medical—” his eyes narrowed slightly “—and dental history.”

He had gone on to another page. “I can't just sign these without my lawyer looking at them.”

“Sure you can. Or maybe you want your lovely wife, Karen, to look them over, too.”

Culmathson was reading. “I don't know what Samantha's told you,” he said quietly without looking up, “but she was not an innocent in this.”

The rage caught Sam in the back of his throat and he told himself to hang on. “On the other hand, if you just out of the blue
died
,” Sam mused aloud, “before you signed those papers, then your black child would get a nice chunk of your estate. And two half brothers. How much life insurance did you say you had?” He didn't wait for a response, but got up and went
to the doorway. “Could I trouble you for a minute? We have some papers here that Mr. Culmathson is signing and we need a witness. Would you mind?”

The secretary came in and Sam and Culmathson locked eyes. “Unless you want her to proof them for you, Steve, it would be fine if you just signed and dated each document, and then had her sign and date them as well as you go through them.”

The secretary smiled, raising her pen and waiting for where it was to be directed. After a moment Culmathson covered a document with his arm and then signed it. He waved her over. “Here?” she asked.

“Where it says
witness
.” She signed it. And then they worked their way through the folder. When Culmathson finally closed the folder his secretary left.

Sam reached over for the folder. “Thank you.” He took care in putting it back in his folio.

“Samantha said she'd already taken care of this.”

“I like filling in the blanks more than she does,” Sam said, standing up. The two men gauged one another warily.

“I care about Samantha,” Culmathson finally said. “Don't think I don't. Because I do.”

“She's nineteen, shithead,” Sam said. And then he left.