The Apartment (18 page)

“George is no Bernie Madoff.” Max smiled at her, and then looked serious again. “I'm not worried about his cooking the books, but I am worried about Claire. After eight days, it's not looking good, and there aren't a lot of possible explanations, except a bad one for her. I feel terrible for her,” he said gently. He was very fond of Morgan's roommates. They were all nice women, and he liked them better than some of his own sisters.

“I feel awful about it,” Morgan said too. “It's a hell of a blow. I think she trusted him completely and is really in love with him. I don't know how she'll get over it if he never shows up again.”

“She may have to,” Max said sensibly. “He owes her an explanation, but it doesn't sound like he wants to give it to her. By now he would have contacted her, if he was going to.” Morgan nodded, as they both thought about it.

It pained Morgan to see how normal George looked in the office. He acted as if nothing had happened. And while he joked and chatted and went in and out of meetings, Claire was dying a thousand deaths in the apartment, staying in bed, and looked like a zombie.

Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Claire had still never heard from him. She had thought of going to his office to demand an explanation and confront him, but it seemed too melodramatic. She wrote him a letter asking him what she had done to offend him, and told him how much she loved him, and dropped the letter off at his apartment. She had written him several e-mails. It was impossible to understand. He had told her he loved her, that she was The One, and he wanted her to be the mother of his children, and then he had vanished. It made no sense and sounded crazy to all of them. If he had changed his mind, it would be awful, but all he had to do was tell her. It was obvious to everyone by then, and most of all to Claire, he had scared himself to death, panicked, and run. But he had been the one to set the pace and move so quickly. He had been the one to pursue her and convince her while he wooed her, and tell her he loved her almost on their first date. But whatever his reasons, he was gone, in silence. After two weeks, Claire could no longer make excuses for him—it was over. And she had never lived through as much pain. It was like a death, of hope and dreams, and love, and everything he'd promised. She had lost ten pounds and looked like a woman in deep mourning.

She had gone back to work after a week, and to make matters worse, Walter was torturing her. And even he could see that something terrible had happened.

“What's going on?” Alex asked Sasha the first time he saw her after Thanksgiving. “Did one of her parents die?” He couldn't imagine any other explanation for the way she looked, unless she was sick herself, and he hoped not.

“It would appear that she got dumped. George never said anything to her—he just disappeared.”

“What do you mean disappeared? As in left town?”

“No, as in he wouldn't talk to her or see her. He just shut her out without a word of explanation.”

“What a shithead,” Alex said, looking angry. “He was giving her the full-court press the whole time we've been dating. How can he not say something to her?”

“I don't know. But that's what he did.” The others were trying to comfort her just by being around. But Claire was going straight from work to bed every day, and sleeping all the time.

And two days later Walter called her into his office. It was ten days before Christmas, and she thought he was going to hand her her end-of-the-year bonus. She had worked hard, and their numbers had improved slightly. And much to her delight, Monique was going back to Paris. Her internship was over.

“I've been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Walter said, playing with two paper clips on his desk, which seemed to have his full attention. “I was going to talk to you two weeks ago, but you were out sick. You still look like hell, by the way. You should get checked out.”

“I'm fine,” she said bleakly, waiting for him to hand her the check so she could leave his office.

“I know you don't need this job anymore, with your fancy boyfriend waiting in the wings. You're going to be a billionaire any day now.” Claire wanted to throw up as he said it, but it was none of his business that George had dumped her, and she didn't intend to tell him. She didn't comment. “But whether you marry the guy or not, I know this isn't the kind of company you want to work for. You want to work for one of the big high-fashion companies, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik, one of the sexy brands.” He glanced up at her then. “And to be honest, you've got the talent. I hear you've been sending your CV around, and I'm sure one of them will snap you up. The truth is, your talent is wasted here, and I can't afford you. I'm letting you go, Claire. I'm sorry. It's not personal, it's business. We do best with our own classic styles. We just don't need a high-powered designer on staff, who wants to make changes. And our numbers are going to be a lot better without you. I can make whatever modifications we need myself.” She was staring at him as though she didn't understand him, as though he were speaking another language.

“You're firing me?” Her voice was a squeak, and he nodded. “Because I've been sending my résumé around?”

“No, I've wanted to let you go for six months. Keeping you doesn't make financial sense. You need to go make your sexy shoes for someone else. I'm sorry. Good luck. You'll probably marry the guy anyway, and won't want to work anymore. But whatever you do with him, I can't afford you. I wish you all the best.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers, and she shook it, feeling numb, and then turned in the doorway.

“Are you giving me my end-of-the-year bonus?” He shook his head. “Severance?” She had worked for him for four years, and hated every minute of it. She should have gotten combat pay for that.

“Two weeks,” he responded in a flat tone. “It's not personal, it's business,” he said again. He was giving her as little as he could get away with. She couldn't believe it. She was in shock. She walked into her office, put her sketches and personal belongings in a cardboard box, and walked out carrying it, and once in the street, she hailed a cab. It was snowing, and she was soaking wet when she got in.

“You look like you've had a rough day,” the driver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“I got fired,” she said with tears and melted snow running down her face with her mascara. She looked a mess.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and threw the flag on the meter to stop it. He took her home and didn't charge her when she glanced at the meter. It was blank. “Merry Christmas,” he said, looking sorry for her, and she wished him a merry Christmas too, with tears pouring down her cheeks as she walked upstairs to the apartment. The other girls were there when she walked in, saw her, and were startled by how bad she looked.

“What happened?” Morgan asked her as she came to help her with the box, and Claire stared at her in amazement.

“I just got fired. ‘It's not personal, it's business.' Two weeks' severance, no end-of-the-year bonus.” It was one blow too many after the hellish weeks of mourning George after he dumped her. And she had no idea what to say to her parents when she went home.

And that night, as though he had radar and needed to add insult to injury, she finally heard from George. He sent her a text. She read it in disbelief, but now nothing surprised her. “I'm sorry, I got in over my head. It's my fault not yours. I've thought about it carefully. This is the right decision for me. We don't belong together, Claire. I don't want a long-term relationship, marriage, or kids, or a partner. I'm a lone wolf at heart, and want to be. Best of luck. Merry Christmas. G.” She stared at it for a long time and read it over and over, and then she started laughing hysterically. She walked into the kitchen, holding her cell phone, while the others stared at her, terrified that she was finally losing it.

“It's official. I just got a text from George after almost three weeks. He dumped me. By text. He said it was the best decision for him. And merry Christmas.” She sat down at the kitchen table with them, feeling mildly hysterical. “Wow, dumped and fired in the same day,” she said, sounding as though she was in shock. Abby put an arm around her without a word as Claire burst into sobs. But she was strangely relieved to have heard from him. At least it was nothing she had done. He had set the pace, he had wanted her so desperately and convinced her to go out with him, said he loved her and wanted to have babies with her, and now he had dumped her. The irony and the cruelty of it was almost unbearable, and she knew that she would never trust any man again. Her roommates put her to bed that night, and sat with her. Sasha lay on the bed next to her. Abby sat on the floor and stroked her hair. Morgan sat at the foot of the bed, looking miserable, watching her, and occasionally patting her foot under the covers. They were there with her—there was nothing else they could do. And Claire finally cried herself to sleep.

Claire was the only one going home for Christmas. The others were all staying in New York. Morgan's office was always closed from Christmas until after New Year's, and she helped Max at the restaurant during the Christmas rush, seating people at the tables, when he needed her to, and helping him with the books. It was the only way to see him during the holidays, since he worked night and day, seven days a week, and was grateful for her help. She had no family to go home to anyway, and Oliver and Greg were skiing in New Hampshire with friends.

Abby's parents were in Mexico, and she stayed in New York to work on her novel. And Alex and Sasha were on duty at the hospital over both Christmas and New Year's. At least they'd be together.

Claire was sorry she wasn't staying with them too. By the time she left for San Francisco on the twenty-third, she felt like she was moving under water and drowning with the shock of everything that had happened. She wasn't even angry—she was in despair.

Morgan was furious at George. Although she had respected him before, she no longer did. It was impossible to respect a man who could be so cruel to her friend. Claire was reeling from having her heart broken into a million pieces. She could barely face the thought of Christmas and wished she wasn't going home. She would rather have stayed with her friends in New York, but didn't want to disappoint her mother. Before she lost her job, Claire had bought her mother an expensive handbag she hoped she'd love, and her father a sweater, neither of which she could afford now, but it was Christmas and she hadn't told them she'd been fired. She dreaded spending the holidays with them. They had no idea that George had dumped her and she'd lost her job. She was going to tell her mother while she was there, after Christmas, and ask her to tell her father after she left. She couldn't face dealing with his concern, and depressing view of life. Failure was familiar to him.

The flight was delayed by three hours due to weather in San Francisco, and there were storms all across the country, which made for a turbulent flight. She didn't care. If the plane crashed on the way out, it would be a relief. She wouldn't have to collect unemployment then, or look for a new job, or spend the rest of her life without George, hating him for what he'd done.

She was planning to send her CV out again when she got back, and tell them she was available immediately now and had left her job. When they checked her references, they would know she got fired. She was sure that Walter would tell them, but there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She took a cab from the airport, and her mother was waiting for her at home. They had finished dinner, and her father was already in front of the TV, watching the Discovery Channel with a drink in his hand, and her mother followed her to her room while she unpacked.

“You've gotten awfully thin,” her mother said, looking worried. Claire had lost ten pounds or more in the four weeks since Thanksgiving.

“I had the flu. We all had it at the apartment,” Claire lied to her, not ready to tell her the truth. She couldn't put the horror of it all into words.

Her mother had put up a tree in the living room, as she always did, and her father complained that it was a fire hazard. Claire had no idea how she was going to get through the four days she planned to be there.

“How's George?” her mother asked with a gentle smile as she watched Claire unpack. This time she had brought very little, and seemed to be living in jeans and black sweaters. She was in some kind of mourning, for George, and her heart, which had died.

“He's fine,” she said vaguely, pretending to look for something in her suitcase so her mother didn't see her face.

“What did he give you for Christmas?”
A kick in the teeth
was the only answer she could think of, as she continued to dig through her suitcase. Sarah had been wondering if he would give Claire an engagement ring, or maybe he was waiting for New Year's, which Claire had originally said she'd be spending with him.

“A purse” was the insane response that came to mind as she turned to face her mother. “I hate to do this to you, Mom, but it's three hours later for me, and I'm still tired after the flu. Would you mind terribly if I go to bed?” She knew her mother counted on her for company when she was home, but she just couldn't do it tonight. And she still had Christmas Eve and Day to get through.

“Of course not, dear. We can talk tomorrow. Would you like a cup of herbal tea?” Her mother was always so sweet to her that Claire felt terrible shutting her out, but she needed to be alone, just for tonight.

“I'm fine.” Claire gave her a fierce hug, and a minute later her mother left to go back to her own room, to read as she did every night. And twenty minutes after that, Claire was sound asleep.

She helped her mother bake cookies the next day, and watched her prepare the turkey and stuffing and put it in the oven. Claire set the table for her, and Sarah had decorated a beautiful Christmas table for the three of them, as she always did. And afterward the two women would go to midnight mass, at Grace Cathedral. Claire's father hadn't gone with them in years.

It was cold when they came down the steps of the cathedral across from Huntington Park, with brightly colored lights hung in the trees, and Claire tucked a hand into her mother's arm as they looked at it for a minute. Sarah didn't ask her anything, but she could sense that something was very wrong, and she had seen Claire wipe away tears during the service. They got into the car to drive home, and Claire was very quiet.

“Thank you for coming out here,” Sarah said softly, as they pulled up in front of their garage. “I know it's not fun for you.”

“I like being with you, Mom,” Claire said honestly. That much was true, and then she couldn't lie to her anymore. She turned to her mother in the car. “George dumped me, and I got fired. I didn't want to tell you on the phone, and I'm sorry to tell you now.” Her mother silently put her arms around her and held her as she cried.

“I'm so sorry,” she said soothingly. She didn't ask what happened. It didn't make any difference. The end result was all that mattered, and her daughter's broken heart. “I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said to her mother, as she pulled away and smiled through her tears. “He said he's a lone wolf. But he's the one who rushed into everything, and acted like we'd been together for years. He scared the shit out of himself, and then he ran away.”

“Do you think he'll calm down and come back?”

“Not a chance.” She was bracing herself to see his name any day, linked with someone else, on Page Six. She knew it would happen sooner or later. He was finished with her, and she didn't want to give herself or her mother false hope. His text had made it clear. “And Walter is an asshole, and I hate his shoes.” She laughed and blew her nose in a tissue her mother handed her, and this time Sarah laughed too.

“Even I wouldn't wear them at my age,” she said to Claire, and they both chuckled.

“I'll start sending my résumé out after New Year's. Something will turn up.” And she had the credentials to design more than just shoes. Footwear was her strong suit and her passion, but she was willing to design clothes too, and had the training for it from Parsons. “I'm sorry to tell you all this tonight. I was going to wait until after Christmas.” But she was relieved that she had told her now. Her mother was always so comforting and positive. She was suddenly happy to be home, with her broken heart. “Don't worry about me, Mom. I'll find a job.” She didn't want her mother to think she was going to be a burden on them. At twenty-eight, she wanted to stand on her own two feet. And her parents didn't have the money to help her. She expected nothing from them, except her mother's love. “And could you do me a favor, and don't tell Dad until after I leave? I don't want to hear about it from him.” Sarah nodded, she understood.

They went into the house then and had a cup of chamomile tea in the kitchen. Claire's father had gone to bed, and the house was quiet as the two women sat talking. Sarah was looking pensive, thinking of what Claire had shared with her, and a little while later, they went to bed.

In the morning, Claire and her mother exchanged gifts sitting next to the tree. Sarah loved the Chanel bag and was touched by what it must have cost her, especially now. And Claire gave her father his sweater when he got up. He actually liked it and thanked her for it, and everyone was in a good mood.

Claire went into her room then, and sent e-mails to her roommates, wishing them a merry Christmas, and as she turned the computer off, her mother walked into the room, and quietly shut the door behind her, and then sat down on her daughter's bed. She looked as though she had something important to say. She had thought about it all night.

“Is something wrong?” Claire was instantly worried, but her mother shook her head.

“No, there's something I want to share with you that I've never told anyone. You know, I've been doing a lot of small decorating jobs for years. Your father never knew about most of them, but it gave me money for you for school, and some pocket money. Well, I did some bigger jobs too, and I've been putting the money away for many years.” Claire could see where her mother was going, and she shook her head.

“I don't want money from you, Mom. I have a little saved up, and I can live on that and my unemployment until I find another job. I'm going to see a headhunter when I get back. I want you to keep your money for you.”

“I want you to hear me out,” she said with a determined look. “I have more than you think put aside. No one knows about it, except you and me now. I have an idea. I'd like to invest that money in a small shoe company. I know how to run an interior design business, and shoes can't be that different. We could start very small, on a tight budget. And you could design the shoes you want to. If we're successful, you can pay me back one day. But I don't expect that. I'd like to be partners with you.” Claire was looking at her in amazement, and then her mother stunned her further. “I could come to New York for a few months, maybe even six months or a year, and help you get it off the ground. I could stay with you, if that's all right with you and the other girls, and we could work on it together.” She told her then how much she had put aside, and Claire nearly fell off the bed. It was more than enough to get a small shoe company off the ground. She knew the figures of Walter's business, and her mother had more than that. And with that much to capitalize the venture, they could get a loan if they needed more.

“What about Dad?” She couldn't imagine her leaving him for as long as she said.

Sarah hesitated before she answered. “I think it's time for me to go back to New York and take my life back. I've been thinking about it for a while. This would be a perfect opportunity for both of us.” She smiled at Claire, who came over to hug her fiercely.

“You are unbelievable, Mom. And I'd love to have you stay with me, if you don't mind sharing a bed. I'll ask the others, but I'm certain they'll say yes. But are you sure? That's a big step for you to take.” She had been in San Francisco for thirty years, and unhappy for a long time, and she wanted to do something before it was too late. And if she could help her daughter in the process, it felt like the right decision to her. She had no doubts.

“It's time for your father to look at his own life, and figure out what he wants to do, before he's too old to enjoy himself. And if he doesn't want to, that's up to him.” She looked sad as she said it, but smiled at Claire.

“Holy shit, Mom.” Claire was grinning at her. “I can't believe you'd do this for me.”

“Who else would I do it for? You're my only child.” Sarah was beaming, and so was Claire as they hugged each other again. It was a plan.

“You know, we could use the same factory Walter does in Italy. They do great work, and they're reasonable. We could try Brazil, but I like the finish work better in Italy.” Claire's mind was already racing ahead. Her mother had just turned the worst Christmas of her life into a hopeful one. She was going to start her own shoe business, and she was going to do everything she had to to make it a success. And then Claire was serious again. “When are you going to tell Dad?”

“After you leave. You don't need to be part of that. I'm going to tell him that we're starting a business together. He doesn't need to know where the money comes from. And I intend to tell him I was leaving him anyway. I don't want you getting blamed for it. And it's true. I was going to tell you before you left that I'm leaving him. It's long overdue.”

“Do you still love him, Mom?” Claire asked quietly. She knew what a big step this was for her mother. She had protected him for thirty years, like a child, and sacrificed herself and everything she wanted in the process.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “He's hard to love the way he is. Not just the drinking, but his whole outlook on life. I love the way he used to be before his business ventures failed. He believed in himself then, but he's become a very sad, bitter man. I don't want that poison in my life anymore. It's too toxic. It's bad enough to get old—I don't want to do it with a miserable old man. I'd rather be alone. Maybe this will jolt him into making some changes. And I want to try living in New York again. I have wonderful decorating clients here, but I'd love to play in the big leagues again. Or I thought that was what I wanted—now we're going to do shoes!” She almost giggled as she said it, and Claire grinned. “But I want you to ask the girls about my staying in the apartment. I'll understand if they say no. It would save some money if I can stay with you, but I don't have to. I can get a small place of my own for a few months, if that's better for you.”

“It would be fun to have you at the loft with me, and they all love you. I'll ask them, and tell you the truth. When do you want to come?”