“Another second and he would have been in traffic,” Dana said as she wiped snow from Wills’ face. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Thank you so much. You saved his life.”
The man shook his head slightly and grinned. “Glad to help. A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, if I’m correct. A very handsome breed.”
“Yes it is. And thank you again. Chivalry isn’t dead.”
“I should hope not,” said the well-dressed stranger. “Besides, we don’t own the dogs. They own us
.
Have a pleasant evening.” He slowly walked away, turned to wave, and then disappeared into the brisk sidewalk traffic.
Dana retraced her steps to the lobby of her building, thinking of the brief exchange with the man in the wool overcoat. She couldn’t help but think that the stranger had spoken more words to her in the space of two minutes than Brett sometimes said in an hour.
Have a pleasant evening.
It was such a simple phrase, but the four words were warm and comforting. They’d represented a kind sentiment on a dark evening. Dana smiled brightly as Wills looked up at her with big, round innocent eyes. Sometimes, she thought, Christmas angels wore wool overcoats. It had been a bright moment in an otherwise depressing, drab day.
• • •
Dana saw that Brett, his crossed legs stretched before him, had just ended a phone call.
“Just one more,” he said, holding up his left index finger. “Five minutes tops.”
Dana walked calmly to the chair, took the beige Princess receiver from his hands, and placed it on the cradle.
Brett was speechless, his mouth hanging open. “What are you doing? I have to call Patrick about a case next week.”
“Exactly.
Next
week. We have dinner reservations in an hour,” Dana said, “and the traffic isn’t moving.”
Brett wearily got to his feet and picked up his polo coat from the couch, mumbling “Somebody must have had a bad day.”
“What did you say?” Dana asked, her tone challenging. Brett’s behavior was clashing sharply with the kindness of Wills’ rescuer.
“Nothing. You’re acting very strange this evening. Can I pour you a sherry?”
“You said ’somebody must have had a bad day,’ and as a matter of fact, I did. I got shot down after pitching a new cosmetic section to Bea, and then Bob Campbell told me that I have to throw the teen contest. The winner, to be announced at the Sugar Plum Ball, has already been determined. It’s outright fraud.”
Brett sank back onto the chair and burst into laughter. “Is
that
what’s bothering you?”
“Of course it’s bothering me! There are five girls putting their heart and soul into—”
“Calm down, honey. B. Altman is practically run by the Archdiocese.” He winked mischievously. “You know the rumors—the Catholic Church secretly owns the store, which is why nuns and priests are constantly roaming every single floor. Just look at all the clergy discounts they offer. God will surely look past a little fraud since he’s the real CEO. Your place inside the pearly gates is assured.”
“That’s absurd, Brett, and it’s not just a
little
fraud, as you put it. We’re talking about people’s lives. This contest means everything to the five finalists. What if someone had pulled your article from the law review in your last year and given the space to someone else?”
Brett’s laughter was louder this time as he rolled his eyes in disbelief. “You’re not seriously comparing the law review to teen models, are you?” He wrinkled his face into a good-natured frown.
Dana paused, put her hands on her hips, and squeezed her eyes shut, not believing what she was hearing. “Yes, I most certainly
am
comparing this to your law review article. These young girls have hopes and dreams, too. You’re not the only one, Brett.”
“I know that, Dana. It’s just that—”
The phone rang, and Brett picked up the receiver before it could ring twice. He listened for a minute and then spoke briefly before hanging up. “Okay. Fine. See you then.”
He looked up at Dana. “That was Janice Conlon telling me that my meeting tomorrow was pushed back by thirty minutes.”
Dana’s jaw dropped. “We’re cutting down our Christmas tree tomorrow! The party is Thursday. We’ve had these plans for weeks.”
“Duty calls,” Brett said matter-of-factly. “Mr. Heller wants to meet tomorrow, and he’s a big client.”
“When were you planning to tell me!”
“I’ve got a lot on my plate, Dana.” He balled his two fists and extended his thumbs, proudly motioning to himself. “Don’t forget—the next partner at Davis, Konen and Wright is sitting before you.”
“I’m not going to dinner,” said a furious Dana. “I’m not in the mood anymore.”
“We’re going,” Brett said resolutely. “We can’t cancel the reservation at the last minute. I’m going to change now. Are you ready?”
Brett got up and went into the bedroom while Dana took his place on the chair and dialed Andrew’s number.
“Andrew? It’s Dana. Listen, Brett has to work tomorrow and—”
“Let me guess—you need someone to help you cut down a Christmas tree at the Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm like you’ve been planning. I’m sure I can convince Nina to come along as well. She’s got a VW Bug.
Nina Bramen was the antiques buyer for B. Altman.
“You’re the best, Andrew. I can always count on you.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Dana could sense that Andrew was withholding the phrase “Unlike your husband.”
“Thanks, Andrew. See you in the morning.”
Dana hung up and tilted her head back. The day had gone from bad to worse. And she was tired of hearing about Janice Conlon. The new litigator got more of her husband’s time than she did, Dana thought, as she got up and headed to the bedroom.
“Andrew and Nina will help me cut down the tree tomorrow,” Dana informed her husband when she reached the bedroom.
“Nina? B. Altman’s token feminist?”
Dana lowered her head in frustration at the cavalier use of the word “feminist.” “Nina Bramen believes in equal rights for women, as do a lot of employees at the store, both men and women. Is there a problem with that?”
Brett merely smiled. “I get it, honey.” He kissed her on the forehead and took her hand. “Shall we go?”
• • •
Brett and Dana sat at the small fifty-seat restaurant, Cheshire Cheese, a wood-paneled establishment with English fare and ambience to match. Brett waited for Cheshire Cheese’s famous prime rib to be served, while Dana looked forward to her Dover sole.
Brett McGarry was his charming self, the one Dana had fallen in love with many years ago. Instead of sitting across the small table from her, as was his custom lately, he sat in the chair adjoining Dana’s. He also covered Dana’s hand with the palm of his own as he spoke.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to help with the tree tomorrow,” he said softly.
“Brett, it’s not just the tree. It’s a day together in the country and lunch at an inn where we used to spend the weekend. You can’t even find a few hours on the weekend after Thanksgiving?”
“If the partnership pays off, we’ll get the house you want in Bedford, and we can spend
every
weekend in the country. Would you like that?”
“Brett . . . “ Dana was about to ask Brett about the distance between them—about the unexplored silences that hovered over their interactions—but the distance had suddenly evaporated. She had his full attention, but was it wise to lose the intimacy of the moment? He was away from the telephone and the office, and he seemed sincerely interested in his wife’s happiness and their lives together. He was speaking of their future, and Dana hadn’t heard such welcome words from Brett in . . . well, she couldn’t recall the last time when he’d been so attentive. Perhaps he’d noticed her displeasure back at the apartment, and now that they were alone and away from all distractions, he was making a conscious effort to be the thoughtful man she’d married. No, she wasn’t going to spoil the moment. She felt the same enthusiasm that she’d felt that morning while standing on the sidewalk with Andrew and Mark. Maybe the day would end with a little magic after all.
Dana was on the verge of tears—happy tears—so she took a sip of chardonnay and got up. “Let me run to the ladies room,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Dana looked in the mirror of the restroom as she dabbed away the moisture around her eyes. The face staring back at her was ashamed of the suspicions she’d harbored about Brett. She realized that his work was no less demanding than hers. She was worried about convincing Bea, Helen, and Bob that her ideas were sound, but Brett was in the very business of trying to make people come around to his viewpoint, whether it was partners, clients, or judges. Maybe she’d been guilty of underestimating the stress he lived with on a daily basis. She would erase her frustrations and look at this night as a point in time when she realized that Brett loved her and that marriage was often a demanding partnership. Partnership? Dana laughed aloud at the word her mind had ironically conjured to describe her relationship with Brett.
She returned to the table, and for the next hour the couple talked quietly as they enjoyed their meal. Brett said he hoped Phil and Virginia were still coming for dinner the following night. “You know,” he said, “your dad just naturally makes people feel good about themselves. And your mom is so much fun to be around.”
“They’re still coming,” Dana said. She continued to be stunned, for Brett hadn’t spoken of her parents in recent memory.
“Well, it’s been a long day,” Brett said after paying the check. “Let’s go home.”
On this particular night, Dana thought the word “home” sounded especially comforting.
They got up from the table and made their way to the restaurant’s front door, walking past a round table with a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“We meet again,” said a voice coming from the tall blue-eyed stranger who’d picked up Wills on Park Avenue. “Small world, as the saying goes.”
Brett glanced at Dana, a puzzled look on his face.
“This is . . . “ Dana paused. She had no name to attach to the kind face.
“Jack Hartlen,” the man said. “And this is my wife Patti and my parents, Ralph and Sandy Hartlen.”
Smiles and handshakes were exchanged as Dana related events from earlier in the evening. “Mr. Hartlen was kind enough to retrieve Wills when he slipped his leash on our evening walk.”
“It was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,” Jack said, turning to his wife. “And please, call me Jack,” he said, turning back to Dana.
“We’ve been thinking of getting the exact same breed!” Patti said. “Maybe this is a good omen.”
Patti was an attractive twenty-seven-year-old woman with dirty blond hair and violet eyes. She always looked everyone straight in the eye when she spoke, a habit some found unsettling.
“Thank you again, Jack,” Dana said. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too,” Jack said as Dana and Brett exited Cheshire Cheese.
Brett glanced over his shoulder at Patti. Her direct gaze had been very penetrating. Such direct eye contact was rare, and he found it refreshing. Janice often looked him in the eye, but she was a lawyer, and body language was very important when questioning someone on the witness stand. Most law students learned its value in Moot Court.
Brett took Dana’s hand and they walked towards Fifth Avenue to look for a taxi. Maybe Patti had found him attractive. He’d noticed his reflection earlier that morning at his office, and he’d liked what he’d seen. He had to admit that he was a good-looking man.
B
rett brushed Dana’s cheek with a kiss before she squeezed into the front seat of Nina Bramen’s yellow VW Beetle—Andrew had moved to the cramped backseat—and, wishing them a successful trip, waved goodbye before going back to the apartment. He poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a honey bun he’d gotten earlier from Mary Elizabeth’s. He had two hours before he had to be at 30 Rock, so he opened the
New York Times
and engaged in a ritual that was as sacred to many New Yorkers as going to church on Sunday: reading the
Times
. The morning was bright and clear, with sun pouring through the windows of the library, and he paged through the various sections, thinking, as Robert Browning had proclaimed in a poem, that all was right with the world. He had peace and quiet thanks to Dana’s day trip to Pennsylvania with Andrew and Nina, and he once again reflected on how well his life was positioned for advancement and personal achievement. He was secretly glad that work had prevented him from making the trip to Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm. And what a motley crew was packed into the Beetle: a gay man and a feminist. “Lord knows what the conversation will be like in that tiny excuse for an automobile,” he said aloud. He gazed down at the spaniel resting at his feet. “This is
our
time, right Wills?”
When he’d finished the paper, he went into the bedroom to put on a suit. He supposed he could have dressed down given that it was Saturday, but he was a rising star at the firm, and he intended to retain his competitive edge at all times. He would meet with his client and then take Janice to find some proper attire for the courtroom and office. She was the proverbial handful, but he thought that shopping with her might prove interesting. He would play Professor Henry Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle. It would be great sport.
• • •
Brett stepped into the office of Jacob Heller at 30 Rock ten minutes early. Janice was already waiting for him. She wore jeans and a turtleneck, as she had the day before.
Jacob Heller was a member of the Landmarks Preservation Commission, a client of Davis, Konen and Wright. The previous July, the State Court of Appeals had invalidated the landmark status of the venerable J.P. Morgan mansion on Madison Avenue. The LPC regarded the decision as a major threat to landmark preservation in general in the New York City area. Morgan had been one the richest American financiers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and his mansion was history in the truest sense of the word. And that’s what was at stake: history. Additional lawsuits had been filed in later months challenging the landmark status of other buildings, and the commission was preparing to fight the movement to undermine the countless treasures in the five boroughs of New York.