The Apartment

Chapter 4

As he had promised he would, Max cooked dinner at the loft on Sunday night. He brought all the ingredients from the restaurant, and made two kinds of pasta, a big salad, and steaks for everyone. He had brought several loaves of French bread, freshly baked focaccia, half a dozen different cheeses, and a chocolate cake that had been baked that afternoon. Everyone was in good spirits, and gathered around the kitchen while he cooked. Morgan and Claire set the table. Oliver opened the wine to let it breathe. Greg made dressing for the salad. Abby was there, but Ivan had his meeting with the accountant, and was planning to read Daphne Blake’s play after that, so he didn’t come. And Sasha came home from work right before they sat down, and joined them wearing the familiar blue scrubs. Greg had put some music on, and the atmosphere was festive as Max poured the wine, and Morgan set the plates down at each place piled with food. It was a feast, and the kind of Sunday evening they all loved. They laughed and talked a lot. It was a family gathering of good people, good feelings in the home they loved. Abby seemed a little tense at first without Ivan, but she relaxed after her second glass of wine, and since she wasn’t on call that night, Sasha drank too.

“Where’s Valentina?” someone called out from the other end of the table, and Sasha answered.

“She’s still in St. Bart’s with a new guy. He’s French.”

“And rich,” Morgan added, and everybody laughed. She was sitting next to Max, and he put an arm around her as she thanked him for dinner. It was delicious, and they ate everything.

Claire made coffee for those who wanted it, and Abby served it. Everyone pitched in, it was a perfect evening, and at midnight, Oliver and Greg left. Greg had early practice the next day, and Oliver had to take an important client to Good Morning America at seven A.M. The others lingered for a while, and Claire and Sasha did the dishes, while everyone else sat and talked. No one wanted it to end. And after they all thanked Max for bringing the food and doing the cooking, he and Morgan went to bed. She had to be up early the next day too.

They disappeared into her room, and talked quietly, sitting on the bed. He loved spending nights with her there, although he teased her about it and said it was like sleeping in a girls’ dorm, but he loved the warm, welcoming atmosphere. It felt like a home, not just an apartment shared by four women. It made him sorry sometimes that he and Morgan didn’t live together, but he knew he could stay with her anytime he wanted to, and he usually did two or three times a week, but they both liked having time on their own too, and they both had busy lives, and jobs that demanded a lot of them.

He lay down on the bed and beckoned to her. “Come lie next to me.” They hadn’t been alone all night, and in the sanctuary of her room, he wanted to make love to her. She had the same thing in mind. After four years together, they often didn’t have the opportunity during the week, or weren’t in the mood if they got together late at night after he left the restaurant, but Sunday nights were special for them, when the stresses of their work week were forgotten, and they could just be two people who loved each other, and had the time to do something about it.

They lay in each other’s arms afterward, and a few minutes later, he was sound asleep, as she smiled at him. He was such a good man. She didn’t know how she’d been lucky enough to find him, but she knew it was a blessing that she had. She and Oliver had both been lucky with their partners, and they had created the kind of relationships they wanted, which were nothing like what they’d seen when they were growing up. Her life with Max was perfect just the way it was, and the loft in Hell’s Kitchen was her home, the women she lived with the sisters she’d never had. Max understood how much that meant to her, and he no longer tried to change it. He accepted her as she was, independent, hardworking, successful, kind to him, and phobic about marriage.

—

In the living room, Claire and Abby were sitting on the couch, and Abby had admitted to her that she was worried about Ivan, and told her about Daphne Blake and her play.

“I know he wouldn’t cheat on me, but she’s all over him, and she’s so young, and she has a rich father who wants to back a play. What if she traps him somehow? You know how men are. They’re so naïve.” Claire thought Ivan was anything but naïve, but she didn’t say it to Abby, and tried to reassure her as best she could, without saying what she thought of him again.

“You’re not exactly old, for God’s sake,” Claire said, sounding frustrated at how unaware Abby was of her many virtues, and Ivan’s equally numerous flaws, dishonesty being at the top of the list. She was sure that Ivan was lying to her about the girl, but she didn’t want to upset Abby. “She’s five years younger than you are, and who cares if she has a rich father? Ivan is in love with you.”

“I hope you’re right,” Abby said, sounding calmer and more confident than she felt. They both went to bed a little while later, and Claire strongly suspected that Ivan was cheating on her friend, and had before, possibly many times. There were so many nights he didn’t spend with her, with thinly veiled excuses, or just didn’t show up, or wouldn’t answer his cell when Abby called. But Abby always gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Sasha had already gone to bed long before, exhausted from work, and relaxed after the happy evening Max had provided for them.

Max left before the others got up the next morning, and whispered to Morgan that he had to go to the fish market in the Bronx, to get their fresh catch of the day. He liked to pick the fish, meat, and produce himself. Usually the cook went with him, and sometimes Max let him go on his own. He ran a tight ship at the restaurant, and everyone liked and respected him there too. He was loved by all.

Morgan was at her office before anyone else the next day. She wanted to get ready for her first meeting, and still had research she wanted to read, and to check some numbers on her computer. There was an investment that George wanted to make, and she had promised him her opinion before the meeting. She was looking through what she had on her computer, when something caught her eye. It was just a name, on the list of directors of the fledgling company they were looking into, and something about it rang a bell. She Googled the man’s name, and saw that he had been indicted by a grand jury five years before, but the charges against him had been dropped. He had been accused of insider trading by the SEC, but he had been cleared and was never prosecuted, but she had remembered the name. She didn’t like the fact that he was one of the directors of the company, and mentioned it to George later that morning, and he laughed.

“That was all a big mix-up, some crazy coincidence when someone in his family bought and sold some stock. Don’t worry about it—he was cleared. You get an A for doing your homework, though.” He smiled at her and looked pleased. “I’m proud of you.” But she still didn’t like the idea of their investing in a company where one of its directors had been accused of fraud, even if his name had been cleared. She was a firm believer in the theory that where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and she didn’t like the idea of having to explain it to their client. But the subject never came up, and George had told her before the meeting that it wasn’t worth mentioning, although she disagreed with him. It was one of the rare times when they didn’t agree, but he was her boss, and she followed his lead. The client was enthusiastic about the company, and they were supposed to go public in a year. It was the kind of young high-tech company that could make them all a lot of money if it took off.

She forgot about it after the meeting, and had other files to attend to and research to do. She didn’t see George again all morning, and she had a call from Claire at noon.

“I’m sorry to bother you at work,” she said apologetically.

“Something wrong?”

“No…yes…I’ve been fighting with my boss for the last month. It’s so frustrating. I need some good sound business advice.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I don’t know whether to stay and tough it out, or look for another job and quit. Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night and talk about it?”

“Sure.” Morgan was flattered to be asked, and it was obvious that Claire was troubled, and scared of what the job market would be like if she left. “Max’s at seven-thirty? I’ll tell him we want a quiet table in the back.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, grateful and relieved. She was sure that Morgan would help her figure out the right thing to do. She had a better head for business than Abby or Sasha, although they would have been willing to listen too.

“Happy to do it,” Morgan said, and then went back to work, as Claire went back to her drawings for the spring line, which she hated. And Walter seemed to be looking over her shoulder constantly, as though he didn’t trust her. And the little twit from Paris was driving her insane.

Sasha didn’t have to be at work until noon after their Sunday-night dinner, so she could sleep in, and still almost overslept anyway. She was rushing again as she got to the hospital. She was wearing black jeans and a white sweater, and grabbed her white doctor’s coat with her name on it out of her locker. She was surprised to see the resident from the NICU hanging around the doctors’ lounge again.

“You seem to spend a lot of time here. Business must be slow in NICU,” she teased him, and he didn’t want to admit that he’d checked the schedule and had been lying in wait for her.

“I never got to introduce myself the other night,” he said, feeling awkward. She was so damn beautiful it took his breath away, and she looked calm and cool. “I’m Alex Scott.”

“Sasha Hartman,” she said simply as she hurried to the door. She already knew she had three women in labor, one of them almost ready to deliver. She was a surrogate giving birth to someone else’s twins, and the parents of the twins were planning to be in the delivery room with her—it was going to be a zoo. The surrogate was married, in her thirties, and had three children. It was the second time she had lent her body for surrogacy. She thought it was a noble cause, and it was a good source of income for her. The twins’ biological parents had been desperate to have a baby, and had been willing to pay almost anything.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime…or lunch?” he blurted out as Sasha started to hurry away. She turned to him with a look of surprise on her face. The thought of sharing a meal with him, or anything more than coffee in the doctors’ lounge, hadn’t even occurred to her. He just seemed like a friendly guy at work, and she thought of him as collegial and nothing else. She didn’t have the vaguest idea that he was interested in her.

“Either one,” she said, noncommittal and businesslike, thinking about the babies she was about to deliver and hand over to their legal parents.

“Tomorrow?” he said quickly, looking hopeful.

“Tomorrow what?” She was in a rush to leave, and he could see it.

“Tomorrow dinner?”

“Lunch. In the cafeteria. I’m on duty.” He could sense that it was the best deal he was going to get for now.

“Sounds good. So am I. I’ll check in with you at noon to see how your schedule is looking.” She nodded, touched her forehead in a military salute, and flew out the door, and he almost let out a whoop as he threw away his empty coffee cup and went back to the NICU. It had already been a terrific day, and it was just minutes after noon. He could hardly wait for lunch the next day.

Sasha was already in the labor room, checking her patient, who was handling the contractions well. The parents were so excited they were already crying, and it wasn’t even time to push. They could hardly wait to get their babies in their arms. But for now, the surrogate was her patient, and Sasha was focusing on her. The babies were lined up nicely, and the monitors looked good, and Alex Scott was the farthest thing from her mind.

—

The theater was dark on Monday nights, but Abby went in that afternoon anyway. She had more scenery to paint, and a little carpentry to do. She and a janitor did the heavy cleaning on Mondays, and she had been calling Ivan since that morning, but he didn’t pick up, and hadn’t returned her calls. He had been MIA since the day before, and by the time she got back to the apartment at six o’clock, she was panicked when she ran in to Claire in the hall. They came up the stairs together while Abby told her that she hadn’t heard from him all day.

“He’s probably just busy, or sleeping, or reading that girl’s play. You know how he is. Sometimes he just disconnects for a couple of days.” Claire tried to reassure her. He had done it before, but Abby had a bad feeling about it this time. She didn’t like the adoring look of that girl. And why was he reading other people’s plays when he still hadn’t produced hers?

They were both breathless when they got to the fourth floor and unlocked the door to the apartment. The others hadn’t come home yet. Claire knew that Morgan was meeting a client for a drink, and Sasha wouldn’t be home for several hours since she had only started work at noon.

“Try not to worry about it,” Claire told her soothingly, sorry for the state she was in. “He’ll turn up. He always does.” Unfortunately, she added silently. The best thing that could happen to Abby, she knew, would be if Ivan really did disappear, but she also knew how upsetting it would be for her.

Claire went to her bedroom and changed out of her work clothes, trying not to think about her problems with her boss. And her mother called her a little while later, just to see how she was. Claire tried to talk to her at least once a week, but sometimes she got too busy, or forgot, or the time difference was wrong.

Her mother told her that she had taken another small decorating job, but Claire’s father didn’t know. She didn’t want to upset him, and it was just freshening up a living room and two bedrooms for a friend. She always belittled what she was doing, and made it sound like a favor, instead of work, which was how she portrayed it to her husband if he saw her with samples or found out. She had been treating her decorating work that way for years, although she did a beautiful job and her clients loved what she did. She usually came in under budget, and had a knack for finding good-looking accessories and furniture at reasonable prices. She and Claire had decorated the loft together nine years before, and added new pieces from time to time, to keep it up to date and interesting-looking. The others loved what Sarah did for them. She had a great eye for color, and had found great resources online. She was always sending Claire new Web sites to check out, or sometimes she just sent her things as a gift.

Claire and her mother had a close relationship, and now that she was older, she appreciated even more the education her mother had provided for her, with her small but steady informal decorating jobs, that she passed below her husband’s radar so he didn’t get upset. Claire thought her mother should have established her own interior design firm years before, openly, regardless of what her father thought, but that wasn’t Sarah’s style. Her entire marriage had been spent soothing his ego, bolstering his self-esteem, and encouraging him after he failed again. Her mother had never given up on him. She even helped him sell real estate by staging houses for him. Claire thought she was a saint.

Sarah loved hearing about New York from Claire. Thirty years after she’d left and moved to San Francisco with her husband, she still missed it, and the more interesting life she had led there. And their life in San Francisco had shrunk steadily over the years. Embarrassed over his many failures, Jim no longer wanted to travel or entertain, and Claire thought they led a sad life. He hated the opera, symphony, and ballet, which her mother loved, never went to the theater, and they had few friends. The only two bright spots in Sarah Kelly’s life were her daughter and her work, which didn’t seem like enough to Claire. She wished she could do more for her mother to repay her for everything she’d done for her growing up. But she seldom went to San Francisco, except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it always depressed her when she did. She wished that she could kidnap her mother and take her back to New York with her, and free her from the dreary life she led. She deserved so much better, but her mother insisted she was fine. Things hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped, but she was an intrinsically cheerful person and never complained. And she was happy for Claire that she was living in New York, which was where she would have liked to be herself.

“When are you going back to Italy?” her mother asked her as they chatted. She lived vicariously through her, and loved knowing that Claire got to Europe for work.

“Not for a few months. Maybe after Christmas, when our spring line is in production. I’m still working on the designs.” She didn’t tell her mother how bored and unhappy she was at work. She didn’t want her to worry about her. She had enough on her plate, listening to her husband complain. Claire didn’t want to add to it.

They chatted for half an hour and then Claire hung up, happy to have talked to her. And by then, Claire realized that Abby had reached Ivan, and was questioning him intensely, which Claire thought was a mistake. It was more attention than he deserved after disappearing and not returning her calls.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Abby asked him, sounding strident. “I left you six or seven messages yesterday, and five today, and I texted you too.”

“You know I hate technology,” he said. “And my cell phone died. I couldn’t find the charger. I just found it under the bed.”

“So what did you think of Daphne’s play?” Abby got right to the point, and sounded jealous, which Ivan could hear clearly. Claire silently cringed when she heard the question.

“It’s very good,” he said, seriously. “Not as good as yours, but I can honestly tell her father she has talent. I’m going to call him tomorrow, but I wanted to call you first and make sure you were okay. I was worried about you.” But not worried enough to call earlier, yet Abby was instantly snowed by what he said. All she heard was that he was worried, which was what she wanted to hear, that he cared about her. Her parents had been busy when she was growing up, and never there. They left her with a nanny, while they pursued their careers, and she had been starving for affection ever since. They loved her, but just didn’t have enough time for her. Even now, she had to speak to assistants when she called them. Her father was always in a meeting, and her mother was on the set of a new TV series.

“What are you doing tonight?” Abby asked him in a gentler tone, hoping he’d suggest they get together.

“I have a meeting with another potential backer. We need money to pay the rent.” And the theater wasn’t profitable yet. It never had been. He borrowed from Peter to pay Paul, and was always begging money from ex-girlfriends or friends. He owed everyone a fortune. And he was right, they needed an angel very badly. Maybe Daphne’s father would be it. “I’ll see you at the theater tomorrow,” he said in a loving tone, and a moment later he hung up.

“Where was he?” Claire asked her, trying not to sound as angry as she felt, on her friend’s behalf. But Abby looked relieved to have heard from him, and seemed satisfied with what he’d said.

“His cell phone died, and he couldn’t find the charger, so he didn’t get my messages. He was reading Daphne’s play, and he’s meeting with a potential backer.” It all sounded like gibberish and lame excuses to Claire. Ivan was the consummate bullshitter, but it always worked, because Abby wanted to believe him, and disappointment had become a way of life for her. It didn’t even surprise her anymore.

“What did he think of her play?”

“He said it was good. And supposedly her father is willing to put up some money. Ivan really needs the help.” Claire thought he needed a good swift kick in the ass instead, but she only nodded. There was nothing left she could say. They had said it all in recent years.

Abby told Ivan again how worried she had been when she saw him at the theater the next day.

“I was suddenly terrified you were with Daphne,” she said, embarrassed to admit it, and he put his arms around her and held her tight and then looked into her eyes.

“She’s just a kid. You know I love you.” But Abby also knew that she was a kid with a great figure and a pretty face. And a rich father.

“I couldn’t imagine where you were,” she said softly.

“I was digesting Daphne’s play. I had to read it several times, and I was thinking this morning, maybe we can get enough money from her father to produce your play too. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“When are you going to see him?” Abby asked gently, still nestled in his arms, which was like a drug to her.

“Probably sometime this weekend. I’m waiting to hear from him. He’s a very busy man. I hope he realizes how talented his daughter is, and that she deserves his backing. But you know how these important men are, their priorities are always screwed up.” It was a thinly veiled jab at Abby’s father, who had made it clear he would never give Ivan money to produce his daughter’s play. Her father had met him once and didn’t like him. Ivan’s credentials didn’t impress him, and he thought he was arrogant, a pretentious phony, and her father wanted her to come back to L.A. and work on her novel. But he and Abby’s mother felt she was old enough to make her own decisions, and mistakes. They weren’t going to force her to come home by cutting her off financially. They just hoped she’d see the light one day.

Her Off Off Broadway career had gone nowhere with Ivan. He had a thousand explanations and excuses, and begged her not to give up and be a commercial hack like her parents. He had nothing but contempt for what Abby’s mother wrote, no matter how successful she was. He felt that Abby had a much greater, purer talent, and he pleaded with her to hold out. So far she had. But at twenty-nine, she had nothing to show for it. And her parents felt sorry for her, and were sadly aware of how naïve she was.

Ivan left the theater early that night to meet with the partner of the backer he had met the night before. And Abby was relieved that there had been no sign of Daphne. Abby acted as house manager for him, and handled everything, as she always did. She got home at midnight, after everyone had gone to bed. The loft was quiet. And Ivan sent her a text message before she went to bed. He told her that he loved her. Everything seemed to be back on track with them again. Abby wasn’t worried about Daphne—she was just the conduit to the money they needed for the theater. And Ivan loved her. Abby was enormously relieved. That was all that mattered. The rest would fall into place sooner or later. All she had to do was keep believing in herself, and trust him, just as he said.