Chapter 9
C
’est Moi was one of the best French restaurants in the city. Located in affluent Brooklyn Heights, it was just off the promenade, a walkway along the East River with stunning views of the Manhattan skyline. Now, this was where Bailey would love to buy a condo. Imagine looking at the glittering city every night from your balcony while sipping a glass of wine.
Despite its reputation, Bailey had never been to C’est Moi. Prices started at about six hundred dollars a person. Bailey didn’t think she’d spend that much on one meal even if she ever did become extremely wealthy, but from the sounds of it, the Fairytalers were regulars. How quickly life could change. She and Brad were now driving a Jag and eating at C’est Moi. Not that she was able to just let go and enjoy it. It was all slipping away. Once they moved into the lighthouse, this would all be a distant memory, a sliver of the life they once had. They came early and walked the promenade hand in hand. Bailey’s new blue silk dress made her feel feminine and pretty, and she’d even had what was left of her nails filed and applied a clear polish. The silver coyote ring was back on her finger—there was only so much she was willing to change for their new friends. To his credit, Brad was no longer complaining about the double date. Bailey wondered if he had a clue as to the prices of the restaurant. Probably not, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. She had a feeling the Fairytalers would treat. Bailey and Brad would balk, of course, as was customary, then the Fairytalers would insist and slip the waitress their credit card before Brad could even see the bill. Or maybe they just had a running tab. Either way, on the off chance that Bailey and Brad did have to pay their half, they could always sell the Jag.
The restaurant was on the top floor of the tallest building in Brooklyn Heights, and the table offered front row seats of the skyline. The décor was sleek and understated, allowing the food and the view to reign supreme. The seats were so soft you could sink into them. Champagne was brought to the table the second they sat down, along with little plates of appetizers. Crab-stuffed mushrooms, caviar, and pâté. The Fairytalers had a definite standing order.
“Isn’t this the cutest,” Allissa said after they toasted.
“It’s stunning,” Bailey said. Seriously. The cutest? The little Mexican restaurant near them where the salt shakers wore sombreros was the cutest.
“I’ll betcha you appreciate everything so much more now,” Allissa said to Brad.
“I do,” Brad said. He leaned forward in his chair, and his voice rose in excitement. “Every day is this incredible gift.”
“Wow,” Allissa said.
“But the best part is—I’m not afraid of the end anymore either.”
“As in—death?” Greg said.
“They should find a new name for it,” Brad said. “Death is not it. We do not die.”
“Look at this view,” Bailey said. Seriously. Wasn’t there a law against talking about death at dinner?
“Do you believe in life after death, Bailey?” Greg asked her. It was as if he knew she’d been trying to change the subject, but he preferred to stir things up.
“We’ve always considered ourselves agnostics,” Bailey said with a quick glance at Brad. “We just don’t know what’s out there.” A collage of memories rose to Bailey’s mind, conversations she and young Brad had with all the religious folks they’d met during their travels over the years. Always someone, somewhere shoving a brochure at them with pictures of people’s faces contorted in rapture or hell, sometimes it was hard to tell which. Acting as if they had all of life’s answers, as if everyone else were doomed. Brad and Bailey always listened politely, but held firm in the knowledge that when it came to the existential questions like where did we come from and what happens after we die, they took comfort in the fact that they just didn’t know.
“I do,” Brad said. “I know.”
Bailey wanted to kick him under the table. Her husband was like a rescued kidnapped victim still being loyal to his captors. But fighting at the dinner table in front of their new friends was definitely not kosher. Bailey turned to Greg. “And you?” she asked. “What do you believe?”
Greg also glanced at Brad before answering. “Nothing,” he said, throwing out his arms and sloshing a bit of champagne. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”
Allissa threw both hands over her ears and shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no,” she said.
Brad leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “It’s not the end,” he told her. Bailey suddenly wished it was the end. She wouldn’t mind if the building they were in tumbled into the river. She only hoped there would be a few seconds of something before the big nothing just so she could take one last look at Brad and say, “I told you so.” She was feeling so stubborn that she’d actually rather eternity be an endless sea of nothing than listen to his sudden assurances of something. He looked like her husband, he smelled like her husband, and he smiled like her husband. But sometimes, when he opened his mouth and spoke, he just wasn’t her husband.
And it left Bailey feeling like she had a tiny hole inside her, slowly ripping her apart, or maybe they had a tiny hole between them, the identity you create when you’re a couple, there was a tiny hole in
them,
and it was slowly ripping them apart. In less dramatic terms, it felt like she was back in gym class and he wasn’t picking her for his team anymore. They used to roll their eyes at each other or play footsies under the table whenever someone started remotely preaching. But his foot was nowhere near hers, she could tell from how he was sitting, leaning away from her, and she longed for it. She longed for his foot to play with hers under the table in solidarity. Since it wasn’t, it made her want to take her foot and give him a good kick in the shins. A waiter arrived and Greg ordered for all of them. Bailey didn’t care, as long as they kept the champagne coming.
“Tell them your news,” Bailey said.
“Our news,” Brad said. A tiny bit of relief flooded Bailey. He’d said “our.” Maybe their “them” was still intact after all.
“Oh my God,” Allissa said. “Are you preggers?” Bailey felt her heart catch. Brad put his hands up.
“Definitely not,” he said with a laugh. “Can you imagine?” Bailey focused on the breadbasket. She wanted to throw it at Brad’s head. She bit the side of her mouth. She couldn’t believe he’d just said it. That tone. As if it would be the worst thing in the world, as if it would ruin his new zest for life.
Definitely not. Can you imagine?
For the first time in her life, Bailey understood why monkeys threw their feces.
“Not yet,” Bailey said. “But we’re working on it.” There. Take that. “But first we have a little lighthouse to deal with.” From the look on Brad’s face, the word “little” definitely hit its mark. She wouldn’t feel guilty; he knew how much she wanted a baby.
Definitely not.
Since when was it so definite?
“A lighthouse?” Greg said. Brad, who seemed to still be stewing over the word “little,” didn’t say a word. So Bailey filled them in, trying to impart the news with the neutrality of a journalist, sticking to just the facts. Allissa reacted like a cheerleader. She squealed. She clapped her hands. She leaned forward and stared at Brad as if he were the only man in the room.
“You bought her a lighthouse!” She playfully hit Greg. “Greg’s only bought me jewelry, and trips, and shoes, and clothes, and cars.”
“He didn’t buy it for me,” Bailey said.
He bought it behind my back. Big difference.
“I bought it for us,” Brad said.
“It’s so symbolic!” Allissa cried. Bailey was surprised Allissa even knew the word “symbolic.” She felt as if she were back in the book group. If only Jesse were here to commiserate with. Funny, she used to commiserate with Brad. But that was before his angelic take on everything.
“Has anyone read
Clown Down
?” Bailey said, hoping someone would pick up on her sarcasm. But nobody did. Allissa and Brad continued chatting about the lighthouse.
“I take it a lighthouse wasn’t your first choice,” Greg said, once again addressing Bailey.
“Well,” Bailey said. She tried to sound upbeat. “I like the idea of having a getaway. Like a vacation lighthouse. I’m just not so sure about a bed-and-breakfast. I think we should ease into it. Keep our condo as our main residence—”
“No, no, no,” Allissa said. “Not if you’re starting a business. You have to throw yourselves into it body and soul.” Bailey suddenly wanted to throw her. And who cared about the soul, just tossing her skinny body across the room would suffice.
“Exactly,” Brad said.
“Like we say in the model biz, every calorie counts!” Allissa grinned and Brad grinned and Bailey was saved by the arrival of dinner. Bailey dug into her meal with gusto. She would make every calorie count all right! She would stuff herself until it hurt, anything to take her mind off this hideous evening. Allissa, she noticed, sniffed everything, but ingested next to nothing.
“We’re going to come,” Allissa said. “We’re going to stay at your lighthouse.”
“Really?” Bailey said. From the way they were throwing money around tonight, it was the best idea she’d heard so far.
“Totally,” Allissa said. “And we know so many people, don’t we, Greggy?”
“Can’t argue with that,” Greg said.
“We’re going to totally pimp your lighthouse,” Allissa said.
“Classy,” Bailey said. Another look from Brad. Wasn’t he the one who said how phony the rich behaved? Why was she getting all the looks?
Dessert was richer than the main course, something Bailey didn’t think was possible. Glasses of port were served alongside it.
“I’m going to tell him,” Allissa shouted. She sniffed her dessert, then pushed it away. Greg shook his head slightly, but Allissa was already leaning into Brad. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “I was touched by an angel.”
“Touched?” Bailey said. “Like, fondled?”
“Bailey!” Brad said. It was a joke, but she and Greg were the only ones who laughed. Bailey openly, but Greg tried to hide his by coughing into one of the red linen napkins. Too much champagne had loosened Bailey’s tongue. She turned to Brad.
“What’s with all the reprimanding you’ve been doing tonight?” she said. “Am I embarrassing you?”
“Bails,” Brad said. “Please.” Bailey couldn’t believe it. He was embarrassed by her. In the few hours they’d been there, Allissa had shrieked, clapped, sniffed her food like a hound dog, said “preggers” and “pimp” at the top of her voice, and yet Brad was embarrassed by Bailey.
“I’m sorry, Allissa,” Bailey said. “Please continue.” Nothing like a little angel incest story, she added silently. Now, that one would have deserved a look. Thank God she held her tongue.
“I’m going out on the deck for a smoke,” Allissa said. “Would you care to join me? Hear my angel story?” She was looking at Brad, and Brad only. Bailey waited for him to tell Allissa that he couldn’t stand being around cigarette smoke.
“Of course,” Brad said. “I’d love to.” Bailey tried reversing the roles and giving Brad a look, but if he picked up on it, he didn’t show it. Allissa put her hands on Bailey’s shoulders.
“It’s a horrible habit,” she said. “You’re so lucky you’re not under constant pressure to be thin. God, I envy you.” Silence fell between Greg and Bailey the minute they were alone.
“I’ve heard the angel story a million times,” Greg said after a while. Bailey nodded.
“I didn’t mean to make fun of it,” she said.
“You were fine,” Greg said. “You certainly have a great sense of humor.”
“Thank you.” His gaze was so open and steady that she found herself looking at the view while he looked at her. She couldn’t even say for sure that he was coming on to her; perhaps having a boatload of money gave you the confidence to just sit and stare at someone like they were a painting or an odd piece of furniture, one you liked but that just didn’t quite fit in with the room.
“Tell me the angel story,” Bailey said.
Greg looked like he’d rather chew glass, but after a moment he gave her the CliffsNotes. “When she was ten years old she had a high fever. Woke up in the middle of the night and saw a young woman all in white sitting—or hovering, I guess—above her bed.”
“Huh,” Bailey said.
“I don’t think there was any touching involved,” he added with a wink. Bailey tried to control herself but ended up in another laughing fit that Greg seemed to thoroughly enjoy. He was more down to earth than she’d imagined him. Suddenly he leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he said. Bailey was aware of him, his scent, his gaze, his good looks. For some reason it made her ache for Brad. The old Brad. She wasn’t so sure about the one out on the deck tolerating cigarette smoke just so he could hear what turned out to be, in Bailey’s opinion, a very lame angel story.
“Sure,” she said.
“
Clown Down
was the worst book I’ve ever read.” Bailey exhaled. For a moment there she thought he had been about to say something a married man shouldn’t say. How could she have been so crazy? First of all, he’d only been married for a few months; second, he was married to a model. He winked at her as if he knew this.