Power Play: A Novel (23 page)

He showered and shaved before he went downstairs, and he felt better having made the decision. Lindsay was still asleep, and he was dressed when he walked into the kitchen. Liz was wearing her nightgown, and she looked tired. She had gotten up early to make sure he was all right, and had gotten up several times during the night too. And he was sleeping peacefully every time. He looked as fresh as a daisy when he sat down at the table, and no one would have guessed he’d had an angiogram the night before.

“How do you feel?” Liz asked him with a worried look.

“Like a fool,” he admitted to her with a sheepish grin. “I feel incredibly stupid. I thought I was dying, not having an anxiety attack. Isn’t that something only girls have?” The doctor had told him otherwise the night before, but it was embarrassing anyway.

“Apparently not,” Liz said, as she sat down across from him with a cup of tea. “I still want you to slow down. All that means is that you’re stressed out of your mind, and you will have a heart attack one of these days. I’d like to avoid that. I don’t want to be a widow.”

“You won’t be,” he promised, as he ate the eggs she’d made him, and helped himself to a piece of toast just the way he liked it.

“Why don’t you come back up to Tahoe with me and Lindsay, and
take a couple of days off?” She was hoping he would, and she wanted to spend time with him. She felt like she had almost lost him the night before, and had been afraid she would before she and Lindsay could even get there.

“I can’t,” he said matter-of-factly in response to her suggestion. “I have to go to L.A. tomorrow. I have some things to take care of there too. Connie asked me to handle it yesterday.” It was almost true, and had the ring of truth to Liz as he said it. “I’ll try to come up to the lake early on Friday. That’s the best I can do.” He was back to being himself now. The CEO of UPI, with a thousand things to do and responsibilities that were always the priority to him. Liz sighed as she watched him, and wondered if he would ever slow down. Probably not, for a hell of a long time. He was only fifty-one years old, and he didn’t even look it. She felt as though she did, and had aged another ten years the night before.

“Well, try to go a little easy today at least. And if you scare me like that again tonight, just because you stress yourself out today, I am coming down there to punch you in the nose.” And then she thought of something. “Do you want me to stay until you leave for L.A. tomorrow? I don’t have any plans at the lake. Lindsay and I could stick around and spend the night tonight.” She looked hopeful. She hated to leave him so soon. But he was already looking at his watch and anxious to get to work.

“It’s not worth it, but thanks, Liz. I’ll probably have a long day today, be exhausted when I get home tonight, and leave at the crack of dawn in the morning. We’ll spend some good time together this weekend,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her, as Lindsay walked into the kitchen.

“How do you feel, Dad?” she asked, still looking worried. He had scared them both the night before.

“As good as new. We can all forget about what happened last night,” he said, anxious to put it behind him.

“Good,” Lindsay said with a grin as she sat down. “Then I can get that tattoo now, right, Dad?” she said, teasing him, and they all laughed.

“Great idea,” her father quipped back. “I think I’ll get one with you. Like a giant dragon on my ass, so I can moon the stockholders at the next meeting and have something to show them.”

“I like that,” Lindsay approved. He kissed them both goodbye then and left a minute later. They could hear the Aston Martin roar off. “You okay, Mom?” her daughter asked her, concerned about her too, and Liz nodded. Lindsay had seen how scared her mother had been the night before and how much she loved him. “He’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Liz said, and put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher after she rinsed them. She suddenly felt a thousand years old. The night before had taken a toll. “He worries me though. He pushes so hard,” she said sadly.

“That’s who he is, Mom. He’s never going to slow down.
That
would probably kill him.”

“Maybe so,” Liz said, smiling at her daughter. “Thank you for being so sweet last night,” she said gratefully. It gave her hope that she and Lindsay might actually have a decent relationship one day. There was a good person in there.

“I love you, Mom,” Lindsay said, and put her arms around her to hug her.

“I love you too,” Liz said, and an hour later they left for the lake,
and talked on the way. Lindsay explained why she wanted to take a gap year, and it didn’t sound quite as crazy. She wanted to travel for a few months, and then come back and take serious photography classes to see if it was a career she wanted to pursue, and she said she didn’t feel ready for college yet. And Liz wasn’t sure she was wrong. She felt closer to her daughter than she had for a long time as they drove back to the lake, at far more reasonable speeds than they’d traveled the night before.

When Marshall got to his office, he didn’t tell anyone what had happened the night before. Not even Ashley. He didn’t call her at all, and knew he’d be seeing her the next day. He didn’t want to mislead her by calling and telling her he loved her. He did, passionately. But he had made his decision. And he knew it was the right one. For him, his family, and his career, and for Ashley in the long run too. And he would always see his girls. They were his, forever. Ashley wasn’t. He would have to tell Liz about the twins eventually, but not yet. Maybe when they were older. And if he’d been away from Ashley for long enough by then, maybe Liz wouldn’t mind the girls so much. One day he would like to introduce them to their brothers and sister. They all had a right to know each other, they were siblings, and he loved them all. And as he walked into his office, as hard as it was, he was happy with the decision he had made. All he had to do now was tell Ashley the next day. And once he did that, the worst would be over. And he could tell the board that the situation had been handled, and they had no cause for concern. That was all he wanted. And without knowing it, Liz would be the lucky winner. His relationship with Ashley was a sacrifice he’d have to make for his career. He was sure.

On Monday night, while Marshall was having his anxiety attack, unbeknownst to Ashley, she was spending a quiet evening at home. After the twins went to sleep, she checked her website, to see if she’d received any e-mails from galleries. She had recently sent images of her work to several galleries on the East Coast, hoping to show her work with them. She needed to do something to get her career going, and her new therapist had suggested it, when she complained that nothing was happening or moving forward in her life, neither with Marshall, nor with her work. The therapist had pointed out that she couldn’t force Marshall to act, but advancing her career was up to her. And Ashley realized she was right. It was still early to hear back from the galleries she’d approached, but she was hoping for an e-mail or two, if any of them were excited about her work.

There was one, as it turned out, from a gallery she wasn’t very interested in, in Florida, telling her that they weren’t taking new artists on at the moment, but they had liked her work very much. She was disappointed, but there were seven others she was more
interested in anyway, and she hadn’t heard from any of them yet, and knew she probably wouldn’t for a while.

After she read the standard gallery response, she noticed another e-mail on her website. It was from an unfamiliar e-mail address, gmiles@gmail, which meant nothing to her, and the subject window said “Are you?” She opened it, and it was brief and to the point. It said, “Are you the Ashley Briggs who went to the Harvard Westlake School in L.A.?” and gave the year. “If so, my name is Geoffrey Miles. I moved to London when I was thirteen, and you were twelve. I just moved back this week, and would love to hear from you.” He gave her his cell phone number. “The mention of a white horse we saw on the beach before I left may jog your memory. I hope this is you. If it is, I’d love to see you. Best, Geoff.” The reference to the white horse made her burst out laughing. She knew exactly who he was. She had been madly in love with him when she was in seventh grade and he was in eighth. Geoffrey Miles. He had been a cute kid who looked like Alfalfa from
Our Gang
, down to the cowlick. They had gone walking on the beach in Santa Barbara when her parents took them there for the day. And as a rider on a white horse galloped past them, he had seized the moment to lean over and kiss her. He was the first boy she had ever kissed, and it had been clumsy and harmless, but at the time she thought he was the most exciting boy she’d ever met. His mother had been American, and his father was English, and a successful playwright, and a month or two after the kiss on the beach, they moved to England. She vaguely remembered that he had an older sister in high school. And she had heard from him once or twice after he left. It had been before e-mail, and his letters had taken forever to get to her, from a remote boarding school he hated in the wilds of Scotland. And after a few letters, they’d stopped
writing, and she’d never heard from him again. She hadn’t thought of him in years, but she remembered everything about him, and that ridiculous, awkward kiss that had seemed so exciting at the time, and seemed very sweet to her in memory, eighteen years later.

She was smiling when she answered his e-mail. She had nothing else to do, and the girls were sound asleep. And Bonnie was working again, till all hours, so they hadn’t talked in days. They never did when she was working.

“Yes, I am that Ashley Briggs. And I remember the white horse perfectly, and what you did when we saw it. Where are you? How are you? Why are you back? And what have you been doing for the last eighteen years (in ten words or less)? I live in Malibu, by the way. Lots of beach. No white horses. Love, Ashley.” She thought about using the word
love
, and decided it was okay for a childhood friend, although she wouldn’t have signed herself that way to someone she just met. But they had been good friends.

He responded three minutes later, just enough time to read it, and she smiled when she saw it. This was fun. And livened up her evening.

“Dear Ash, sorry to hear there are no white horses in Malibu. I’ve been living in London and New York, writing screenplays. It’s genetic. I just got hired by a TV show here. Got here three days ago, looking for an apartment, preferably somewhere around West Hollywood. That’s more than ten words. Best I could do. What about you? Married? Single? Divorced? A dozen kids? I see you’re an artist. Nice work. Love, Geoff.”

To which she responded just as quickly. “Dear Geoff, Santa Monica and Westwood are nice too. So happy you’re back. Congrats on the new show. Thanks for the comment about my work. I’m single, and
have twin girls who are seven. Would love to see you. Let’s get together. Love, Ashley.” She included her cell phone number that time.

He answered even faster. “Me too. How about lunch tomorrow? The Ivy, 12:30? I don’t start work for another week or two. I came early to look for an apartment. I’ll call you in five minutes.” She waited to see if he’d call before she responded, and her phone rang three minutes later. His voice was even the same as she remembered, although it was a deeper, more grown-up version, and he had just a faint hint of an English accent. He’d been gone for a long time.

“Is that you?” he asked when she answered. He sounded thrilled to hear her, and she was delighted too. It was like a breath of the fresh air of her childhood, which had been a better time. Her parents had gotten divorced a few years later, her mother had died when she was in college, and her father had remarried and moved away, and died a few years after that. But when she’d known Geoff, everything was simple and happy, for both of them. And she knew his father had died too. She had read about it, since he was well known. “Is it really you?” he said again, laughing.

“No, it’s the neighbor,” she teased him, laughing too. “I can’t believe you came back. That’s so cool. And how great that you’re working on a show here. You must be a good writer to get hired to come out here. There are lots of good writers in L.A.”

“I just got lucky,” he said modestly. “I was writing for a show in England, and I think my agent sent them a script. They probably wanted a little British humor on the show. What about you, with twin girls? That must keep you busy!”

“They’re adorable,” Ashley said proudly. “Do you have kids?” She had forgotten to ask him, she was so happy to hear from him. And she remembered perfectly the huge crush she’d had on him. He was
a very cute boy. They had gone to school together for about five years, but only fell in love when she was in seventh grade. And then he left.

“No wife. No kids,” he answered her question. “I had a girlfriend for four years, whom I lived with. A crazy French woman, an actress, who drove me insane. We broke up a few months before I got the offer to come here, and I was feeling sorry for myself. She dumped me,” he said, but didn’t sound upset about it. “So I decided to come to L.A. and close up shop in London. I’m glad I did. I love being back. I’ve been driving around for three days looking at landmarks from our childhood. I love this city. I always missed it. I lived in New York for a year, but I hated it. The weather is as bad as it is in London. I missed the sun. It’s so great living in good weather. Everyone in London is depressed all the time, because it’s either raining or freezing cold. I can’t wait to see your girls. Do they look like you as a kid?” They had met when she was about that age, so he would be able to tell when he saw them. But she thought they looked more like Marshall except for their hair.

“A little. They look a lot like their father.”

“Who is, or was? I notice you said you’re single.” He assumed that meant she was divorced, and she didn’t explain.

“He’s a fascinating man. A ‘captain of industry,’ as they say. He’s twenty-one years older than I am. And it’s a long story.”

“Save it for lunch. How’s tomorrow for you? The Ivy?”

“Perfect. Twelve-thirty,” she confirmed. She couldn’t wait to see him and wondered what he looked like now. Eighteen years later, it was like finding a long-lost brother, or best friend. She wasn’t looking for romance, just old times. And she was sure that that was what he wanted too.