Gwen swoops up the plans. “We were just discussing how we might rework the spaces.”
“Well, I hope you rework it to take advantage of the views, because that’s what adds the zeroes to the property value. Sven and Jackson, do you have architects working with you?”
“We prefer to work alone,” Jackson says with a fake British accent. Dude, this is San Francisco—like we don’t know a fake accent when we live in one of the world’s most international cities.
“You may prefer it, but this building has very strict codes, and all changes must be approved by the co-op board. I can tell you, you’d never get these plans past the co-op board.” And if we have any luck at all, Daddy will never get his new fiancée past the board. But alas, they have no jurisdiction there.
I don’t know why I don’t like her. Daddy’s had girlfriends before, but they always made sense to me. They were either scandalously young and beautiful or some social mogul’s widow who could provide entry into a new circle he hadn’t yet broken. There’s always a reason my father does anything, and this particular girlfriend doesn’t give me that reason. She’s not wealthy, or I would have heard of her, and the fact that she has a real job makes this whole scenario completely intimidating. I don’t think my father is actually capable of true love, so it can’t be that.
“Morgan,” my dad says gently. “You probably want to freshen up for dinner, and then we’ll discuss this further. Go ahead.”
I look at Gwen, and then Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and make my way into the bedroom. Oh my goodness, I feel absolute euphoria seeing my room, its view, and the six hundred-knots-per-inch rug my father bought me.
May I
never take it for granted again,
I think as I bend down and kiss it. Then I rush to my bed, tear off the covers, and touch my sheets. Oh, it’s heaven to feel a real thread count. Oh Auntie Em, I had a terrible dream.
The lights below are just starting to flicker on one by one, twinkling against the deep violet sky. That’s another thing I’ve taken for granted. In Lilly’s neighborhood, the sun disappears so quickly, but on Russian Hill it slowly descends behind the mountain, putting on a light show for all who care to watch. Being at the edge of the ocean, we are some of the last to bask in the daily sunshine.
In my bathroom, I see my sunken tub with its city-lights views calling out to me, and I run the tap to fill. Normally, I’m a shower girl, but something about this day calls for decadence and the luxury of a bubble bath. I find some bath gel that’s been imported from Italy to sit on display and pour it lavishly into the streaming water. The scent of lavender and honey fill my senses, and I feel as though I’m dreaming. Have I always lived like this? Because today it feels like I never actually noticed.
There’s a knock at my door. With the way I’m feeling, I’m just certain it could be Johnny Depp. But I open the door to Mrs. Henry, her face pinched, clearly upset that she had to schlep downstairs and pay the indigent cabby. She sees such jobs as beneath her. I suppose I did, too.
“Yes?” I ask kindly. The fact is Mrs. Henry has the answers I need about my mother, so this is my first attempt at making nice. I think about the threat my father made about Saturday night and sniff the bubbles, knowing all I’ll have to give up if I don’t answer to him. And Gwen.
“Dinner is nearly ready. I wanted to give you fair warning,” Mrs. Henry says.
“What about your room? Where will it be? In the elevator shaft?”
“Miss Morgan, I can’t really say.” She pauses, composing herself from her true emotions. “It’s your father’s home and if he and the future Mrs. Malliard choose to remodel, that’s their private business.”
I laugh. “If you think I’m going to sit back and let this woman take over our home, you haven’t learned a thing about me in all these years, Mrs. Henry.”
“I know you have enough of your mother in you to fight.” She gives the slightest smile. “This is a phase. An infatuation. Your father has had them before.”
I look out the door and watch Gwen rub her hand along my father’s arm. “What can he possibly see in her?”
Mrs. Henry crosses her arms. “She’s bossy. He likes them bossy. Always has. The more they kick him to the curb, the more attractive they are to him. I think he likes to see himself as a professional bull rider who can last longer than the eight seconds.”
I laugh out loud. “I’m sure there’s a Freud story in there somewhere. But in the meantime, I think I’m going to need your help, Mrs. Henry.”
What Mrs. Henry lacks in warmth, she more than makes up for in work ethic. I don’t ever remember her missing a day of work or
being sick. The
Mrs.
part of her name is a little misleading. She divorced early on, but she kept the missus-nomer because she thought it gave her more credibility.
Occasionally, I see what my mother must have seen in Mrs. Henry. I see a friend and a confidante, and an ally who will not let my father go down without a fight.
Mrs. Henry leaves me to my bath and I sit and ponder the situation. The one thing that really doesn’t add up is Gwen’s lack of beauty. My father deals in beautiful, sparkling goods, and he once held my shimmering mother in his case for all to envy. Gwen Caruthers has something I’m missing, and I’m bound and determined to find out her appeal. It’s not that I care that she’s homely—hey, if that’s what he wants, I’m all for it. It’s just so completely outside Daddy’s nature.
I may be working on separation anxiety for myself, but that does not mean I’m leaving my father with a faulty piece of Velcro, either.
I
turn the bathwater off and scoop up a handful of bubbles to sniff them as I gaze out into the twinkling lights across the Bay. “Life is good.” Well,
this
life is good, anyway.
Just as I’m about to slip off my robe, the bedroom phone rings. I think twice about answering it, but what can I say? I’m a slave to the phone. Isn’t it every girl’s hope that Prince Charming is on the other end? Remember, I just want that one good fish.
“Hello.”
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” It’s Lilly. “One offer of Cup O’ Noodles, and you slip off into the night? Morgan, weren’t you even a Girl Scout?”
“No, that green is horrible on me. Besides, the other mothers didn’t want their daughters around my mother. They said she wore too much cleavage and set a bad example for their girls.”
“Enough of the woe-is-me pity party. I don’t think the girls would have even known what cleavage is. You’re making this up. Are you coming back here? Nate said he put you in a cab, and Max was worried because he said you were white as a sheet.”
I look at the bath and take a whiff of the swirling, aromatic scents. “I don’t think I’m coming back, no.” Because life here is really good.
Lilly is quiet for a moment.
“So, we’ll do a spa trip soon?” I ask cheerily.
“No, we won’t do a spa trip soon,” Lilly barks. “You are nearing thirty. You cannot live with Daddy forever, Morgan. Maybe it’s none of our business. Maybe you’d prefer if Poppy and I just stayed out of your life. But you said you wanted our help. You said you wanted to be responsible for yourself and learn about reality. Well, Cup O’ Noodles is reality, honey. You can buy them for a paltry fee at Costco and live large for a month.”
“Dried vegetables gross me out, Lilly. Besides, it was really more your comment that ticked me off.” Currently, I can smell fresh artichokes cooking, and I know Mrs. Henry will have a delicious cream sauce on the side for dipping. Maybe real butter and lemon juice—oh, I so love that. Maybe she’ll have the beef with tarragon she makes. I feel my mouth watering at the thought. “Yeah, I’m not coming back.”
“Fine, Morgan, this is your life, I’m not going to meddle. If you want to be the princess of San Francisco, you go right ahead. It’s good work if you can get it.”
I should have known Lilly wasn’t going to offer up any apologies. “It really is my life.”
“I know now when you say you want help, you just really want to be told your life means something. I can understand that. Your life means something—you’re Richard Malliard’s daughter. Woo-hoo!”
“What are you mad at me for?” I ask, suddenly incensed.
“I’m mad at you because you say you want to get out of this vicious cycle you’re in. You say you wish your church did more to help the poor. You say you wish your father would have faith in something other than diamonds. You say all these things, but they mean nothing to you, Morgan. Not really. If they did, you’d do something to change your life, not fall back into your precious down comforter and city views. Get yourself a life!”
I look out the window and feel a pang of guilt. It does rock up here.
“Someone has to witness to the wealthy,” I say confidently.
“Last night at singles, did you meet anyone who cared who you were?”
“Not a one. It’s like those people never pick up a paper. Which is good and bad, I suppose. They don’t know about my history, but they probably don’t know if we’re out of the Cold War either.”
Lilly exhales. “You are living in a fishbowl, and there is an entire world out here waiting for you. People who gaze up at the bowl, but who actually get to be part of the audience and participate. Climb down out of your tower, Morgan, or don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” She acts like I’m in a Lifetime movie or something. “I’ll be suffocated in a bad facial accident?”
Again she’s silent for far longer than is comfortable. “I think your faith is part of the show, Morgan.” She clears her throat. “Personally, I think right now if Jesus Himself walked up to your doorway and asked you to come with Him, you’d look back.” She pauses to let this soak in, and I have to say, it’s like a fist across my jaw. “Just like Lot’s wife, just like the rich, young ruler. You’re about the stuff.”
My first instinct is to deny every word and turn right back on Lilly and her self-righteous preaching. “Letting your boyfriend sulk and wait around for you to come around to marriage? Where is that on your faith scale? It is by faith we are saved, not by works so that no man can boast.”
“Faith in what, Morgan? Your daddy’s credit card? How is living one day in my apartment and not finding a job having any faith?”
Her words pierce me. I’ve never had my faith questioned by anyone, and how dare she? She doesn’t know my heart, nor my motives. How can I possibly leave my dad in the clutches of that woman who will systematically destroy all he’s built, starting with this penthouse?
“Lilly, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but my father is going to marry someone who I think is out for his money. I have to stay here or I’ll find my trust fund dwindled to nothing, not to mention the crime she wants to perpetrate against this penthouse. Would you let your nana suffer when you could stop it? My dad has worked hard for all he has; he’d be crushed if it were gone.” I don’t relay the fact that I miss my great bathtub, or that I was completely the third wheel at the loft, and that I just feel lonely and so falling in my soft, downy nest is just what I need to do right now.
“It’s his money, Morgan. If he chooses to give it to his new bride, that’s precisely the reason you need something to fall back on. What if they marry and your dad keels over without ever changing his will?”
“You didn’t answer me about Max. Are you going to marry him?” I tap my foot against the travertine.
She ignores the question again. “We’re not talking about me. Let the money go. If you get a job, you won’t need your dad’s money. You can live in my place for as long as you want, and Poppy would love to have you if you want to get away for the weekend. She’s bored senseless down there in Silicon Valley.”
“Newsflash: I’m not qualified for anything, Lilly. My résumé is a mishmash of celebrity parties and grunt retail in my dad’s store. I can barely remember what I majored in, much less any of the information I learned. Basically, I have a Stanford degree in Johnny Depp movies, because that’s about all I remember, and that’s not exactly marketable.”
“You’re not trying. Nate talked to Max, and he’s going to get you a job as a concierge in his father’s hotel until you can find something better.”
I swallow hard and look at my bath drawn to perfection and steaming up the beveled window’s view, creating a frosted, hazy, Monet-like scene. “I don’t know anything about being a concierge.”
“Max is here. I don’t want to dress up, but I want good food for dinner, and within walking distance of Nob Hill. Where should we go?”
“The Nob Hill Café on Taylor.”
“No, wait a minute,” Lilly backtracks. “I think I’m in the mood for Italian.”
“Venticello, but you should probably dress a little. Not too much—dressy-casual. Doesn’t Max know where he wants to take you?” And how on earth did we get from me renouncing my Christianity to restaurants?
“Well, we’d like to see a play afterward, and I heard
Cats
was good.”
I start to laugh out loud. “Lilly, I don’t think
Cats
has played here for a decade or so. Gogol’s
Overcoat
is playing at A.C.T.; see if you can get into that. I think you’d love it!”
“You’re hired!” A male voice comes on the line.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Max,” the deep voice says. “My father is looking for a new concierge, and you’re our woman. We can’t pay what the Mark Hopkins or the Fairmont pays, but then again, you don’t know French or Japanese,” he stops for a moment. “Do you?”
“Max, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but–”
“But what, Morgan? You forget I’ve lived your life. Do you really want out? Or do you just want to fall back into Daddy’s arms and have the rest of us leave you alone? It’s your choice, but there’s no going back once they’ve taken full possession.”
Max Schwartz was offered a significant share in his father’s hotel chain, but he turned it down for his love of words and television. Perhaps it isn’t the most lofty of positions, but he did escape with enough money to live in the Marina and be on speaking terms with his parents.
I peek out and see Gwen bent over my father, her rustic cleavage enticing him to avoid the facts laid out before him in blueprints: tanking real estate.