The First Wives Club (34 page)

“Her name was Ivy and she was a counselor. We used to sneak into the craft room after lights-out and cuddle on the floor on a blanket.”

Brenda didn’t look at Annie. “We talked about everything those nights.

During the day we ignored one another, but those nights, snuggling into her in the damp darkness, not able to see her face, I knew something special was happening to me. The night before I left for home, we made love. I should say she made love to me, I just accepted it. The next morning I went home, and I never saw her again.”

Tears glistened in Brenda’s eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, Annie. I wanted to, but she said it would be best not to, to just hang on to what we got, because it might have to last a long time. So, it lasted me while I was married to Morty.

Now it’s run out, and I feel so empty and alone.” Brenda allowed the tears to fall. “I want to feel loved again, Annie. I know you can understand that, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. Honestly, Brenda, you have so much love to give.

Don’t hold back.”

Brenda blotted her eyes with a crumpled Kleenex. “Thank you, Annie.”’ Elise stepped into the dark interior of Shea’s Lounge on Second Avenue and stood nervously, her eyes straining to adjust to the subdued lighting of the bar-restaurant that so contrasted with the sparkling sunlight at her back.

Although she lived on Park Avenue only three long blocks away, they were in the wrong direction. Park Avenue matrons did not shop or dine on Second. But she had been here, once or twice, long ago. The barkeeper approached and asked, “Ms. Elliot?” She nodded, surprised, having gotten used to being unrecognized. But he had been sent by Larry. The barkeeper led her to a corner table in the back room, replete with red-checkered tablecloth and regulation candle in a Perrier bottle. Two decades ago, when she had last dated, she thought wryly, they had been Chianti bottles. Larry stood up as she approached and, reaching for the chair opposite before the maitre d’ pulled it out, settled it under Elise as she dropped her bag on the table.

Giving herself time to also settle her nerves, Elise pulled off her gloves and looked around the room with obvious pleasure. “You picked the perfect place, Larry,” she said, turning her attention to him and smiling. “It’s a nice oldfashioned bistro, despite the cutesy name.”’ Larry beamed with pleasure. He had obsessed for days about where he could take her to lunch. He wanted it to be perfect. Someplace inexpensive, but good. Not too new. Definitely not flashy. ‘When I was at Columbia, I had a friend from school who worked here as a waiter on weekends. So this was always our jumping-off spot on Friday nights.

I had some great times here.”

Elise noticed how much like a college boy he still looked, dressed in his tweed jacket and blue oxford shirt. “Me, too,” was all she said.

“A long time ago, I used to come here also. It was after the summer I had spent in Rome.

That was the year every publication in America had that picture of me cavorting’ in the Trevi Fountain, with two carabinieri wading in to arrest me.” She smiled at the memory.

“I remember that picture!” Larry said. “I’ve seen it. It was a great shot. The reporters said you jumped in, but you insisted you were pushed. Which one was it, Elise?”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, over the memory. “Neither,” she said with a self-satisfied grin. “I was carried in. Publicity for a movie.

Even the carabinieri were actors.” She looked down at the martini Larry had ordered for her and longed to take a drink. No, she thought, the double I had before I left the house will have to be enough. She’d stick with the Pellegrino in the water glass. “And when I came back to New York, I came here with friends.

There was an Australian soccer team celebrating a victory, and they recognized me from that picture. They made me the team mascot that night and taught me naughty words to Waltzin’ Matilda.” I had such a wonderful time. It was 1961.

” “That was the year I was born,” Larry said.

n embarrassed silence fell between them. Elise was relieved to see the waiter appear at their table, pad in hand. “Would you like to order?” he asked. Elise didn’t need the menu. ‘I’ll have a small salad,” she said. “And your famous ranch dressing, if you still make it.”

Larry ordered a chopped steak and fries, then turned his attention toward her once again, picking up the thread of their conversation.

“Elise, I’m so happy you agreed to see me. I wanted so badly to see you again. I did everything I could to reassure Mr. Bloogee I mean you no harm.” He paused, then stammered, ‘In fact, I hold you in the highest regard. I would never hurt you.”’ He felt himself flush.

Elise was moved. He was, in a way, wonderfully oldfashioned, she thought. He seemed mature beyond his years. Uncle Bob was right. He had said Larry was a unique individual. Elise was beginning to see what he meant. His manner was almost courtly, she realized. When was the last time Bill, or any man, had been tender to her?

Not wanting Larry to misunderstand the reason she was meeting with him, she quickly said, “Larry, I’ve read the draft of your screenplay.”’ She could see Larry take in his breath and hold it for what seemed like minutes. ‘And I think it’s wonderful.” He exhaled. “You have a very visual eye. It’s as if it were written with a camera. Do you know what I mean?”

He blushed. The boy actually blushed. Elise sighed. He was nice, maybe too nice. And young. Too young. ‘There are some things, though, that I think won’t work.”

“Really, what?”

“When she goes into the church. All of that seems so, well, selfconscious.”

“Too arty, you think?”

“Yes. And the ending. Why the happy ending? It seems so unlike the rest of the piece. So tacked on.”

“I know. I didn’t see it that way originally. I think I just couldn’t bear to see you unhappy.”

“Well, it’s the wrong ending. Wrong for the character.”

“Elise, I wrote it with you in mind. This film is for you.”

Elise had already known that. Every page of the script was written as if through her character. Nonetheless, she hadn’t been prepared for Larry’s statement. The screenplay seemed so personal, which was what made it so powerful. There was something about him that made emotions safe. But she wanted to defuse the heightened atmosphere.

This is only a business meeting, she reminded herself. Don’t make a fool of yourself again, she told herself sternly as she pushed her untouched drink away and picked up her fork. She wished for—longed for—a real drink, not the useless Pellegrino water. But she didn’t touch the martini. She was determined not to lose control today. “To be honest, I haven’t considered acting for many years, Larry. But my life is changing now, perhaps the timing is right. I think I could play this role better than someone else.”

Their food arrived and looked uninspired. Well, the place was a dive, really.

Larry didn’t touch his plate, his excitement at seeing Elise again and the possibility of her taking the starring role—her role— tying his stomach into knots. “There is no one else, Elise,” he said almost in a whisper.

Elise, purposely misunderstanding, said, “Of course there is. Dina Merrill could play it.”

”That’s not what I mean, Elise. I mean, I have never felt this way before in my life. I’m in love with you.”

Elise lowered her head to hide the blush of pleasure his declaration brought to her cheeks. This was ridiculous! He was talented, and the screenplay was a good one, but the rest was nonsense, she warned herself. “You don’t know me,” she said as quietly as he. “It was just one afternoon.”

“I’ve known you all my life. I’ve always loved you.” He touched her hand holding the fork, then seeing her face, let go quickly.

Oh, this has to be a scam, she thought. Or he’s deluded. Thank God I’m not drinking or I’d fall into bed with him and be in real trouble.

Her lips trembled.

Before she recovered, he asked, “Can I see you again, Elise? I must see you again. We could just talk. About the screenplay. Or your career. Or mine, if I had one. I want to make you happier than you’ve ever been.”

Then she remembered. That was what he had said that afternoon at the Carlyle.

“Oh, God, Larry, I don’t know. I don’t know.” I can’t give in to this, she thought. He’s less than half my age. He’s a child. He’s a manipulator. Or else he doesn’t know what he wants. I’m just an experience. “Larry, let me first make a decision about acting again.

Let me start there.”’ His face tightened.

Oh, God, I’ve hurt him, she thought. “I’m so confused. Please, Larry, leave me alone. My life is upside down right now.”

She reached for her pocketbook and the check at the same time. Larry reached over quickly and took the check. “This is on me, remember? I asked you to lunch. And I appreciate your advice on the script.”

She stood up and offered him her hand. He held it for a long moment while they both looked at one another. “Fine,” she said. ‘And I would like to see the screenplay when it’s revised.” She impulsively leaned forward, kissed him on one cheek while holding the other in her warm palm, then turned and walked quickly to the door.

”I’ll wait for your call,” she heard him say as she stepped out into the glaring sunlight. She put her sunglasses on, grateful to them for hiding the tears welling up in her eyes.

But that night Elise slept well, for the first time in weeks. The next morning, going up to her office in the elevator, she replaced her sunglasses in her bag and gave another q lick look at herself in her mirror. She was surprised to see a glowing, happy face reflected back, instead of the sad, bloated one she had expected. She took this as a good sign.

As she walked into her office, she was again surprised, finding Annie and Brenda sprawled on her couch in excited, happy conversation. They both looked up at her with pleasure. Brenda, of course, was the first to speak.

“Where have you been, kid? Hot date?” Brenda had the uncanny ability to pick up the truth from the air like a radio. This time, thank goodness, she didn’t know it.

Annie said, “What a beautiful outfit,” eyeing Elise’s Ungaro. “It makes you look twenty years younger, I swear. Or is it your hair’?

What have you done?”

“Oh, I’ve been making a new life or myself,” Elise said airily as she sat down on the chair angled next to the sofa, crossed her long, slim legs, and turned her attention to her friends. “I think I might act in a film again. And who knows, maybe even produce it.”

“Wonderful,” Annie said. ‘It’s just what you need, Elise. Do something for yourself.”

“Good girl,” Brenda said. “Do you have a movie in mind, or are you doing a remake of Sunset Boulevard ?”

Elise laughed. “Yes, I have a script in mind. But before I do that, I have other unfinished business to handle. Which leads me to my question, What are you two cooking up? Brenda, you look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Make that a rat,” Brenda said. “Here’s the thing, Morty’s welshed on our agreement. He’s not going to give me the second check. So, I figure, what’s the next best thing to money? Revenge. Let’s give him to the IRS. I’m ready. I got a shitload of goods on him.

She threw a handful of jelly beans into her mouth from the bowl Elise now kept filled on the coffee table. “Whattya think?”

Elise didn’t hesitate. “I say stick it to him. If you really believe you’re not going to get the money, throw him to the lions. This may be the crack in the wall.” She sat back and shook her head. “What a bastard !

“Diana suggests I get a tax expert to go over the returns to determine how this would affect me. Diana says maybe I could get immunity when I turn him in.”

Before Brenda could continue, Elise joined in. “Why don’t I call my tax attorney and get him over here? He’s the best, Brenda.”

Brenda was happy that Elise offered before she had asked. “Yes, please, Elise.

And the sooner, the better.”

Annie watched. Brenda had lost a million dollars and could laugh. Why couldn’t she? That morning Aaron had called to say he’d hit ‘a little glitch.” He wouldn’t be able to make up the losses until after the end of the year. But meanwhile Annie had to pay for this quarter of Sylvie’s school, and the next would be due before the end of the year.

Aaron had been sharp with her. He called her a nag. She’d threatened to go to court or go see Gil Griffin. He’d warned her not to.

“Annie, are we all together here?” Brenda asked, sensing that Annie’s thoughts were focused elsewhere.

“Sure.” She nodded and spoke for everyone when she said in a mock Brooklyn accent, “Are we good, or what?”

They laughed together, like sisters.

.

As Bill got off the elevator on the fortieth floor of Wade Van Gelder’s office building, he felt his courage wane. Walking toward the gleaming reception desk at the end of the large, carpeted room, he reminded himself why he was here.

Last night, lying next to Phoebe, listening to her breathing, he realized that unless he took steps, his future with Phoebe was seriously threatened. The one person standing in his way was Phoebe’s uncle Wade, the spokesperson for the Van Gelder family and the trustee of the family’s huge trust. Bill had called for an appointment first thing this morning and had been surprised to be given one so soon.

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Wade,” Bill said as he settled into the leather chair in front of the mahogany and leather desk. He looked past Wade’s head, noticing the collection of antique flintlock rifles hanging on the wall.

“I assumed I would be hearing from you one of these days,” Wade answered.

“I think we have some mutual concerns,” Bill said a little too hurriedly, “so I thought it best to get them on the table. I have a feeling our concerns are similar.”

Wade looked down at his hands clasped on his round abdomen, then back at Bill.

“I don’t believe they are. My concerns have to do with Phoebe’s well-being.

Quite frankly, it seems that the escalation of Phoebe’s drug use and the decline, shall we say, of her artistic expression seem to coincide with the beginning of your relationship with her.” Wade’s hands moved to align the already perfectly positioned blotter on his desk. “You can see how this coincidence could lead to the very unfortunate conclusion that you are not good for Phoebe.” He tilted back in his swivel chair.