Toxic Bachelors

“Extremely good,” she said, beaming at him. He said he had some in the fridge.

She had only seen buildings like the one he lived in in movies. The doorman greeted them on the way in, and smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, and people looked at her everywhere they went. Adam pressed the elevator button marked Penthouse, and as soon as he let her into the apartment, she stood there in silence, staring at the view.

“Oh my God,” she said, just as she had about the Ferrari. “Just look at that.” He was on the thirty-second floor, and he had a wraparound terrace complete with hot tub, deck chairs, and barbecue. “This is a movie,” she said, staring at him, dumbfounded. “How did this happen to me?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” He teased her. The thing that made him sad for her, now that he knew her better, was that it hadn't happened to her. It had happened to him. After dinner, she would have to go back to the miserable tenement where she lived. He hated the realities of her life, for her sake. She deserved so much more than fate had dished out to her. Some things really weren't fair. All he could do was give her a pleasant evening, feed her well, spend some time together, and send Maggie back to her own world. Nothing he did would change the stark realities for her, but the funny thing was, she didn't seem to mind. She didn't have a jealous bone in her body, and whatever facet of his life she saw or heard about, she was happy for him.

Maggie was a totally different kind of woman from anyone he had ever met before. She looked like all the others, but absolutely nothing about her was the same. She was kind and gentle and funny, and everything about her was real. She was smart, and enjoyed sparring with him. And much to his delight, she thought he walked on water. The other women he went out with all wanted to use him. They wanted wardrobes, jewelry, charge cards, apartments, new cars, plastic surgery, and introductions for jobs or parts in movies. All the women he knew appeared to have multiple agendas. Maggie seemed as though all she wanted was to be with him and share a good time. There was an irresistible quality of innocence about her in contrast to all the women who had crossed his path in the past several years.

She made a big salad while he got the steaks out of the fridge and lit the barbecue. The steaks were huge and made an enormous meal, and afterward, they ate ice cream in cones on the terrace and dripped it all over themselves while they laughed at each other. Maggie had strawberry ice cream all over her feet, but didn't seem to care.

“Here,” Adam said helpfully, “stick them in the hot tub. No one will ever know.” He pulled the lid off for her, and the water was bubbling and warm. It was big enough for at least a dozen people, and she sat on the edge, stuck her feet in, and giggled.

“You must give a lot of wild parties,” Maggie said, looking at him, as she sat on the edge of the hot tub in her denim skirt and pink T-shirt. She looked more than ever like a little kid.

“What makes you say that?” he answered noncommittally. He never liked talking about the other women in his life, and he thought Maggie was about to ask him about that.

“Look at this setup,” she said, glancing around and then back at him. “Hot tub, penthouse, terrace, barbecue, great apartment, killer view. Hell, if I lived in a place like this, I'd have friends over all the time.” She hadn't gone at all in the direction he expected.

“Sometimes I do,” he said honestly. “Sometimes I like being here by myself. I work hard, sometimes it's nice to just chill out.” She nodded. When she got home from work at night, she felt that way too. And then he added with a gentle look, “I'm having a good time being here with you.”

“Me too,” she said simply, watching him from where she sat. “How come you don't want to get remarried?”

“How do you know that?” He looked puzzled.

“You said it on the phone last night,” she explained, and he nodded. He had been so sleepy much of the time that he had forgotten a lot of what he'd said. All he remembered was how nice it had been to talk to Maggie. “Don't you want more kids? You're young enough to have them.” It was the kind of exploration most women made with him, and never liked the answers they got. But he was always honest with them. He believed in truth in advertising, whether or not the women chose to believe him. Most of them didn't. He just became a bigger challenge once he told them the truth.

“I like the two I've got. I don't need to get married. I don't want more kids. And marriage wasn't such a great experience for me. I have a lot more fun being single than I ever did being married.”

“I'll bet you do,” Maggie said, laughing at him. “So would any guy with all the toys you've got.” She was the first woman who had ever acknowledged that to him. Most of them tried to convince him that marriage would be better. Maggie didn't. She seemed to think he was right.

“That's kind of how I see it,” he agreed with her. “Why give up all this for one woman who could disappoint you and make you unhappy?” Maggie nodded. He couldn't even imagine one who would not disappoint him and might make him happy. That seemed sad to her.

“Do you have a lot of girlfriends?” She suspected he did. He looked like the kind of man who would. If nothing else, the Ferrari said he was a pretty racy guy.

“Sometimes,” he said honestly again. “I don't like to be tied down. My freedom means a lot to me.” She nodded. She liked the fact that he didn't try to hide who he was. It was all open and easy to see. “Sometimes I don't go out with anyone for a while.”

“And now?” she asked with a look of mischief. “Lots, or none at all, or just a few?”

He smiled at her from where he sat. “Are we filling out a questionnaire again?” She had asked him a lot of questions the night before too. It seemed to be her style. “I'm not seeing anyone particular right now.”

“Are you auditioning?” she teased, looking more womanly than she had before. She was a beautiful girl. In broad daylight, he could see it more clearly than he had the night they met.

“Are you applying for the job?”

“Maybe,” she said honestly. “I'm not sure.”

“What about you?” he asked her quietly. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Nope. I haven't dated anyone in a year. The last guy I went out with turned out to be a drug dealer and wound up in jail. He seemed like a real nice guy for a while. I met him at Pier 92.”

“I'm not dealing drugs, if you're worried about that,” he reassured her. “Everything you see, I made from the sweat of my brow.”

“I wasn't worried about that with you.” He got up then, and went to put some music on. The evening seemed to be taking a romantic turn. When he came back, she asked him another question, one that was important to her. “What if we go out with each other one day? Would you be going out with other women at the same time?”

“I might. I won't put you at risk, if that's what you're worried about. I'm careful and I had an AIDS test recently.”

“So did I,” Maggie said matter-of-factly. She'd had it after the drug dealer went to jail.

“If you're asking if I would promise to be totally exclusive to you, Maggie, probably not. At least not at first. Where it goes after that, who knows? I like keeping my options open, and at your age, so should you.” She nodded. She didn't love what she was hearing, but it made sense to her too, and at least he was honest. He wasn't going to make promises and then cheat on her. But he was going to see other people. And so could she. “Even if we were dating, I like having separate lives. I've been single for a long time, nearly eleven years, and as far as I know, it's going to stay that way. I don't want to get all tangled up in someone else's life.”

“I still think you're wrong on that one,” she said easily, “about getting remarried, but that's up to you. I don't want to get married for a long time either. I'm too young. There's a lot I still want to do, at least for the next few years. But one day I'd like to get married and have kids.”

“You should.”

“I want to give my kids everything I never had. Like a mother for instance,” she said quietly.

“I never had one either,” he said, as he walked over to where she was sitting at the edge of the hot tub, dangling her feet in like a kid. “Not all mothers really are. Mine sure wasn't. I came along as a surprise nearly ten years after my sister, and fourteen after my brother, and everyone was pissed off all my life. They never should have had me.”

“I'm glad they did,” she said softly as he stood next to her. “I would have been really sad if they didn't.” She smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and then leaned down and kissed her. And then he suggested they take a hot tub together. He had a brand-new bathing suit for her to wear, in exactly the right size. He had a stack of them in the closet, and told her to pick one she liked. It really was the perfect, fully equipped bachelor pad. If he hadn't been as honest with her, it would have bothered her, but since he had, there were no hidden agendas and no secrets between them.

She put on the bathing suit and got into the hot tub, and a minute later he came out in his bathing suit and got in with her. They sat there talking and kissing for a long time, and then they took their bathing suits off, as night fell over New York, on a warm October night. They lay together side by side for a long time, and then he wrapped her in a towel and carried her inside. He laid her on his bed, and then unwrapped her like a gift. She looked exquisite as she lay there on his bed. He had never seen a body as beautiful as that in his life. He had even been startled to realize she was a natural blonde. There was nothing fake about Maggie O'Malley. Every inch of her was real.

He made love to her, and they were both surprised at how perfectly they fit, how much they enjoyed each other, and even laughed or said something silly from time to time. She was totally comfortable with him. Afterward, they lay side by side on his bed, and then went back to the hot tub again. She said it was the best night of her life, which was easy to believe. She'd had such a hard life until then, and still did. It was more than a little surreal for her, knowing that she would be going back to her tenement and her job, that nothing in her existence would change, but in her moments with him, she shared a life she had never even imagined before. He knew it was going to be interesting and challenging for her, if they continued seeing each other, while she went back and forth between two worlds.

They made love again one more time before she left. And this time, they were totally spontaneous, and their passion caught them by surprise.

He invited her to spend the night. Although ordinarily he didn't do that, he wanted to with her. He hated to send her back to the nightmare where she lived. But they were both going to have to get used to that, she to going back, and he to letting her. He wasn't offering her permanence, just respites from the life she led, and Maggie said that was good enough for her. But she still thought it was better for her to go back to her own place that night.

He insisted on driving her back to her apartment. He didn't want her taking a cab. It was too dangerous where she lived. She had been good to him, he wanted to be good to her. She felt like Cinderella again on the drive home, even more so this time, because the Ferrari was his, and not a rented limousine.

“I won't ask you to come up,” she said as he kissed her.

“You probably have a husband and ten kids you're hiding from me,” he whispered, teasing her, and she laughed.

“Only five.”

“I had a wonderful time with you,” he said, and meant it.

“So did I,” she said as she kissed him again.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he promised, and she laughed.

“Yeah… sure….” She got out of the Ferrari then, ranup the steps, let herself into the building, waved, and as she disappeared into the building and remembered his last words to her, she hoped he would, but she wasn't counting on it. Maggie knew better than anyone that nothing in life was sure.

14

ADAM CALLED MAGGIE OFTEN THE WEEK AFTER YOM Kippur. She spent the night with him several times. She had just been moved to the day shift at Pier 92, so her schedule worked well for him. And she loved sleeping with him at night. Everything seemed perfect with them, and they both stuck to their deal. She asked him no questions about the future, she had no reason to, and on the nights she spent at home, neither of them asked the other who'd they'd seen or what they'd been doing when they saw each other again.

In fact, Adam was so taken with her that on the nights he didn't see her, he called her anyway, usually late before he went to bed. On two occasions he was surprised and slightly upset to discover that she was out. But he didn't tell her he'd called, and left no message on the machine. She never said anything about having been out when he saw her again. But he admitted to himself privately that not finding her at home, waiting for his call, had bothered him. But he never said a word about it to her. They both continued to claim and reap the benefits of their freedom. Adam wasn't sleeping with anyone else during the early weeks of their relationship, he didn't want to, he was becoming increasingly addicted to her. And she told him openly that there was no one else for her. But as the weeks went by, there were nights when he called, that no one was home. He found as time went by, he hated that more and more. It made him think that he should start seeing other women one of these days, just so as not to get too attached to her. But as Halloween approached, he hadn't done anything about it. He was still being totally exclusive to her, after a month. It was the first time he had done that in years.

Adam was mildly bothered that he and Charlie hadn't seen much of each other since Charlie had gotten back a month before. But every time he called and invited him somewhere, Charlie was busy these days. Adam knew he had a heavy social schedule, and a lot of work to do for the foundation, but it irked him that they hadn't had time to get together. The good news was that it gave him more time to spend with Maggie. He was getting increasingly antsy about her, and worried about what she did when he wasn't around. As time went on, there were still a number of nights they didn't spend together, when she just wasn't home. And she never told him where she'd gone. She just reappeared bright and cheerful the next day, fell back into bed with him, happy as can be, with her utterly irresistible body. He was crazier about her every day. Without even knowing it, she was beating him at his own game. All the options he had so grandly told her he wanted in the beginning meant less to him every day. Judging by the number of times she was out when he called her late at night, she seemed to be taking advantage of her freedom more than he.

And Adam had seen even less of Gray. He had talked to him several times, but Gray was enjoying his blissful domestic scene with Sylvia and didn't want to go anywhere. Adam finally sent e-mails to both of them, and got Gray and Charlie to agree to a boys' night out, two days before Halloween. It had been over a month since any of them had seen each other. It was the first time in years it had been that long, and all three complained that the others had disappeared.

They met at a steak restaurant downtown, which was one of their favorite haunts, and Adam got there first. The other two walked in just behind him, and he could see that Gray had put on weight. Not a lot, but just enough to look fuller in the face. He said that he and Sylvia were cooking together a lot, and he looked happier than ever. They had been dating for two months, and known each other for three. As far as he was concerned, he said there were no red flags yet. His two cohorts were happy for him, but thought it was still early days. Gray said they never argued, and were happy with each other. He no longer stayed at his studio, but spent every night with her. But he still insisted that he wasn't living with her officially. Just “staying” with her. The semantics seemed like splitting hairs to Adam and Charlie, but apparently it made Gray feel better than saying they were living together.

“What about you?” Adam questioned Charlie somewhat querulously. “Where the hell have you been all month?”

“I've been out a lot,” Charlie said cryptically, as Gray grinned. Charlie had admitted to him a few days before that he had taken his advice and was seeing Carole Parker. Nothing major had happened yet, but they were having dinner a lot, and getting to know each other. They were seeing each other several times a week, but so far he hadn't even kissed her. They were moving slowly, and Charlie readily admitted that they were both scared to death of getting hurt.

Adam had seen the conspiratorial look on Gray's face, and forced Charlie to tell him too.

“Christ, you two, what's happening to you? Gray's practically living with Sylvia, or is living with her, but doesn't want to admit it to himself, and you sound like you're about to go over the hill too. Talk about traitors to the bachelors' code of ethics.” He complained goodnaturedly, but he was happy for both his friends. They had both wanted to find someone, and were long overdue. He wasn't as sure about himself. His relationship with Maggie seemed to be steadily on track, but was destined to go nowhere, as they had agreed from the first. They were just dating and maintaining separate lives and doing whatever they wanted whenever they weren't together. But when they were, she was one hot mama, and he loved being with her. He could never seem to get enough of her, and was occasionally even irritated by her independent spirit. That had never happened to him before. He was always the independent one in his relationships, but Maggie was more so. She seemed to need a lot of time to herself, which he always wanted too, but not with her.

“What about you?” Charlie asked Adam pointedly over dessert. “You've been awfully quiet about what you've been up to. Seeing anyone? Or just the lucky hundred, as usual?” Adam went out with more women than Charlie had ever counted. Preferably at the same time.

“I've been seeing someone for about a month,” Adam said casually. “It's no big deal. We agreed not to get serious. She knows I don't want to get married.”

“What about her? Is her clock ticking yet?” Charlie asked with interest, and Adam shook his head.

“She's too young to have a clock. That's the advantage of young ones.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Gray said, rolling his eyes, “tell me she's not fourteen. You're going to wind up in jail one of these days if you don't watch out.” They loved teasing him about the young women he went out with. Adam always said it was mostly envy on their part.

“Relax, guys, she's twenty-six, and a really nice person, with a totally great body.” And a great mind, which he didn't bother to list, or they'd know he had totally lost it, which he was beginning to fear he had. When he was falling in love with a woman's mind, he knew he was in deep shit. In truth, they all were, but none of them were ready to admit it to each other, or themselves. And none of their relationships had stood the test of time yet. They hadn't survived first arguments, or the ordinary disappointments that happened to everyone. They were still up to their ears in the novelty and the fun. What happened after that remained to be seen.

The three men sat around until after midnight, talking and drinking and enjoying one another's company. They had missed each other in the past month, and hadn't even known it. They were so busy doing other things, and spending time with the women they were involved with, that they hadn't realized how vital a part of each other's lives they were, and how vast a void it left when they didn't see each other. They promised to get together more often. And in the meantime they reveled in talking politics, money, investments, art, in honor of Gray's new gallery thanks to Sylvia, and their respective occupations. Adam had added two new major clients, and Charlie was pleased with the progress at the foundation. They left the restaurant reluctantly, and were the last to leave.

“Let's make each other a promise,” Gray said before they got into cabs and dispersed in different directions. “No matter what happens with the women we're seeing, or others who might come after them, let's see each other whenever we can, or at least talk on the phone. I've missed you two. I love Sylvia, and I love staying with her”—he looked at them both with a grin—“but I love you too.”

“Amen,” Charlie seconded the motion.

“Damn right,” Adam agreed.

A moment later, they got into separate cabs, and went back to their own lives and women. Adam called Maggie when he got home, even though it was late, and this time he was furious to find that she was out. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. What the hell was she doing? And with who?

Two days later, Charlie went to the Halloween party Carole had organized for the children at the center. She had asked him to come in costume, and he had promised to bring cupcakes for the kids. He loved visiting her there. He had taken her to lunch twice, once to Mo's and once to Sally's, but most of the time he saw her for dinner after work. It was more relaxing, and seemed more discreet. Neither of them wanted to get tongues wagging. They still hadn't decided whether what they were doing was friendship or romance, it was a little of both, and until they figured it out, they didn't want the pressure of other people knowing. Adam and Gray were the only people Charlie had told, and he didn't even tell Carole he had when he spoke to her the next morning. He just told her he'd had a great time with his friends, and she said that she was glad. She hadn't met either of them yet, but from everything Charlie said, she knew they were both interesting, worthwhile men to whom he was not only loyal, but deeply attached. He said both men had been like brothers to him, and she respected that. For Charlie, with no blood relations left in the world, his friends had become family to him.

The children looked adorable in their costumes at the Halloween party. Gabby was dressed as Wonder Woman, and Zorro was wearing a T-shirt with an S on it, and she said he was Super Dog. There were Raggedy Anns and Minnie Mouses, Ninja Turtles and Spider-Man, and a veritable coven of witches and ghosts. Carole was wearing a tall, pointed black hat and a green wig, a black turtleneck, and black jeans. She said she had to move around too much with the kids to wear a more elaborate costume. But she had painted her face green, and had worn black lipstick. She was actually wearing makeup these days when they went out at night. Charlie had noticed it immediately, and complimented her, when they went on their first official dinner date. She had actually blushed when he noticed, and said she felt silly, but she kept wearing it anyway.

Charlie had come to the Halloween party as the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. His secretary had gotten the costume for him at a theatrical costume shop.

The kids all had a terrific time, the cupcakes were a big success, and he had brought a ton of Halloween candy for them, since they couldn't go trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. It was too dangerous, and most of them were too young. It was nearly eight o'clock by the time Carole and Charlie left. They had talked about going to dinner afterward, but they were both exhausted, and had eaten too much candy themselves. Charlie had eaten a handful of Snickers bars, and Carole had an irresistible weakness for the chocolate pumpkins with marshmallows inside.

“I'd invite you to my place,” she said cautiously, “but it's a total mess. I've been out all week.” They had had dinner together almost every night, except the night when he'd had dinner with Adam and Gray.

“Do you want to come to my apartment for a drink?” he asked comfortably. She hadn't been there yet. He always took her out, they had been to a number of restaurants they both liked, and some they didn't.

“I'd like that”—she smiled at him—“but I won't stay long. I'm beat.”

“Me too,” he agreed.

The cab sped down Fifth Avenue, and stopped at his address. He got out wearing his lion suit, and she with her green wig and green face, and the doorman smiled and greeted them as though he were wearing a business suit and she an evening dress. They rode up in the elevator in silence, smiling at each other. And when he opened the door to the apartment, he flipped on the lights and walked in. She followed him in cautiously, and looked around. It was a beautiful, elegant place. There were handsome antiques everywhere, most of which he had inherited, and some of which he had bought over the years. Carole walked slowly across the living room, and admired the view of the park.

“This is wonderful, Charlie.”

“Thank you.” It was a handsome apartment, without question, but recently, he had found it depressing. Everything seemed so tired and old to him, and the place was always so deadly silent whenever he came home. It was odd, but lately he'd been happier on his boat. Except for the time he spent with her.

Carole stopped and looked at a table full of photographs, while he went to get them a glass of wine, and turned on the rest of the lights. There were several of his parents, a beautiful one of Ellen, and a number of other friends. And there was a funny one of him, Gray, and Adam on the boat that summer. It was while they'd been in Sardinia with Sylvia and her friends, but only the Three Musketeers were in the picture, and no one else. There was another photograph of the Blue Moon in profile, as she sat in the port.

“That's quite a boat,” she said, as he handed her the glass of wine. He still hadn't told her about the boat, he had been waiting for the right moment to do so. It was embarrassing, but he knew that sooner or later he'd have to tell her that he owned a yacht. At first it had seemed pretentious to him, but now that they were seeing so much of each other, and exploring the possibility of dating, he wanted to be honest. It was no secret that he was a wealthy man.

“Gray and Adam and I spend the month of August on her every year. That photograph was taken in Sardinia. We had a great time,” he said, somewhat nervously, as she nodded her head and sipped the wine, and then followed him to the couch, and sat down.

“Whose boat is it?” she asked casually. She had told him earlier that her family were all sailors, and she'd spent a lot of time on sailboats in her youth. He was hoping she'd like his boat, even though it was a powerboat, and generally sailors called them “stinkpots.” But there was no question that his was a beauty. “Do you charter it?” She was acting normal, and he smiled at her green face. His lion suit looked just as silly, as he relaxed on the couch and crossed his furry legs, while his lion's tail stuck straight up behind him, and she giggled. They were quite a pair.

“No, we don't charter her.” He answered her second question before her first.

“Is it Adam's?” Charlie had mentioned that he was enormously successful, and that his family had money. He shook his head. And then took a breath.

“No. It's mine.” There was dead silence in the room as she looked into his eyes.

“Yours? You never told me that,” she said, with a look of total surprise. It was an enormous yacht.

“I was afraid you'd disapprove. I'd just come back when we first met. I spend three months on her in Europe every summer, and a couple of weeks in the Caribbean in winter. It's a wonderful place to be.”

“I'm sure it is,” she said pensively. “Wow, Charlie … that's a big deal.”

It was such a visible sign of Charlie's enormous wealth, and in sharp contrast to the way Carole worked and tried to live, and all that she believed. Charlie's fortune was no secret to her, but she lived far more simply and discreetly than he. The hub of her world was the center in Harlem, and the people in it, not a yacht, floating around the Caribbean. In spirit, Charlie knew she was more spartan than he. And he didn't want her to think less of him for his extravagant indulgences. He didn't want to frighten her.

“I hope it's not a deal-breaker for you,” he said quietly. “I'd love you to come on her one day. She's called the Blue Moon.” He felt better having told her about it, although he wasn't sure yet how she felt. She looked a little shocked.

“How big is she?” Carole asked out of curiosity.

“Two hundred and forty feet.” Carole whistled in response, and took a long sip of her wine.

“Jesus…I work in Harlem… and you have a two-hundred-and-forty-foot yacht … there's a discrepancy for you. But on the other hand,” she said, excusing him for the extravagance of it, “you just gave me a million dollars to spend on my kids. I guess if you didn't have that kind of money, you couldn't help us either. So maybe it's a wash.”

“I hope so. I don't want something stupid like a boat to come between us.”

She looked at him solemnly, with loving eyes. “It won't,” she said slowly. “At least I hope it won't.” There was nothing showy about him otherwise, and she could see that it was important to him, and how much he loved his boat. It was just a very, very big boat. “That's a long time to be gone in the summer,” she said pensively.

“Maybe next year you can come with me,” he said hopefully. “And I don't have to stay away as long. I had no pressing reason to come back this year, so I stayed away longer than I usually do. Sometimes I dread coming back here. I get lonely.” He looked around the apartment as he said it, and then back at her. And then he smiled. “I have fun on the boat, especially with Gray and Adam. I can't wait for you to meet them.” But Carole and Charlie weren't quite ready for that yet. They both wanted more time to establish the relationship, and then he thought of something as he looked at her, and put an arm around her. He'd been wanting to do it for days. “So now you know my darkest secret. I have a yacht.”

“Is that as bad as it gets?”

“Yes. I've never been in jail. I've never been prosecuted for a felony, or even a misdemeanor. I have no children, legitimate or otherwise. I've never declared bankruptcy. I've never been married, or stolen some-one's wife. I brush my teeth every night before I go to bed, even if I'm drunk, which doesn't happen too often. I always floss. I pay for my parking tickets. Let's see, what else …” He paused for breath, and she laughed at him. The lion's tail was sticking straight up in the air at the back of the couch.

“You look so silly with that tail.”

“And you, my darling, look absolutely wonderful with a green face.” As soon as he said it, he kissed her, and when he stopped she was out of breath. It had been an evening full of surprises, but so far they were pleasant ones, even though she was a little shocked over the size of his yacht. To her, it looked more like an ocean liner than an ordinary boat. “I've always wanted to kiss a woman with black lips and a green face,” he whispered, and she laughed at what he said. And he kissed her again. She clung to him this time as he did. He was awakening things in her that she had forgotten and repressed for years. She had put her heart and soul into her work, and had forgotten all else. But in Charlie's arms, she remembered now how sweet it was to be kissed, and how much sweeter still to be cherished by a man.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he held her close. She had been so frightened to do that with him, to be close to him, and to let herself take the risk of falling in love again. He had gently led her over the threshold into his private world, and she felt safe with him. Just as he did with her.

He walked her around the apartment then, showed her some of his treasures, and the things he loved most. Photographs of his parents and sister, paintings he had bought in Europe, including a remarkable Degas that hung over his bed. And after she had looked at it for a moment, he led her from the room. It still felt too soon for them to linger in his bedroom, but seeing his Degas led them to talk about the ballet. She told him she used to dance.

“I was very serious about it until I was sixteen, and then I quit,” she said with regret, but he understood her posture better now, and the graceful way she moved.

“Why did you quit?”

She smiled sheepishly as she answered. “I got too tall. I would have been condemned to the back row of the corps de ballet forever. Primas are always small, or they used to be. I think they're taller now, but not as tall as I am.” There were occasional disadvantages to her height, though not many as far as Charlie was concerned, he loved how tall and lithe she was. She managed to remain both elegant and feminine at the same time, and he was considerably taller than she was, so he didn't mind at all.

“Would you like to go to the ballet sometime?” Her eyes lit up as he asked her, and he promised her they'd go. There were so many things he wanted to do with her. The fun had only just begun.

She stayed till nearly midnight, and he kissed her again several times. They wound up in the kitchen finally, where they had a snack before she left. They'd never eaten a proper dinner that night, just a lot of cupcakes and candy, until they made sandwiches and sat at the kitchen table, chatting.

“I know this sounds ridiculous, Charlie.” She was trying to explain to him how she felt. “All my life I've hated extravagance, and the snobbishness and arrogance of rich people. I never wanted to be special, unless I'd earned it. Not because someone I was related to had. I wanted to help poor people, and people who never had any luck. I feel guilty when I do things other people can't, or spend more money than they, so I don't. Not that I can anyway. But if I could, I wouldn't. It's just who I am.” He already knew that about her, so he wasn't surprised. She never spoke of her family, so he had no idea if they had money. Given the way she lived and the life she had devoted herself to, he suspected they didn't. Maybe some, but not much. There was nothing about her, other than her aristocratic good looks, that suggested she came from money. Maybe a good solid family of modest means, and sending her to Princeton had probably been a stretch.

“I understand,” he said quietly as they both finished their snack. “Are you horrified that I have a boat?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “It's just not something I would do even if I could. But you have a perfect right to spend your money any way you like. You do a lot of good for people through the foundation. I just always feel I should be living in abject poverty, and giving whatever I have to someone else.”

“Sometimes you have to keep a little and enjoy it yourself.”

“I do. But I'd rather give mine back. I feel guilty for taking a salary at the center. I just figure other people need it more than I do.”

“You have to eat,” he pointed out to her. He felt far less guilty than she. He had inherited an enormous fortune at an early age, and had lived up to the responsibility of it fully over the course of many years. He enjoyed his luxuries, his paintings, the objects he collected, and most of all his boat. He never apologized to anyone for it, except indirectly to Carole now. Their philosophies were very different, but not too different, he hoped.

“Maybe I've been a little too extreme,” she admitted. “Austerity allows me to feel I'm atoning for my sins.”

“I don't see any sins,” he said seriously. “I see a wonderful woman who has given of her life's blood to others, and works herself to the bone. Don't forget to have some fun.”

“I have fun with you, Charlie,” she said softly. “I always do when we're together.”

“So do I.” He smiled and kissed her again. He loved kissing her, and longed to go further, but he didn't dare to yet. He knew how frightened Carole was, of getting too attached, of getting hurt again, and he had his own fears to contend with too. He worried about the same thing, and he was always waiting for the fatal flaw to surface. In her case it was an obvious one, and not a hidden flaw. It was right out in front, like a flag. She came from a different background than he did. She was a social worker, devoted to her work in Harlem, and she was skittish about his world. She wasn't a debutante or a socialite, and if anything she disapproved of his way of life, although she totally approved of him. But the big question for him was whether or not she could overcome her reservations and accept the way he lived. If they were going to be together, and stay together, she was going to have to make her peace with that discrepancy, and so was he. At the moment, he thought they could. It rested more on Carole, at this point, than on him. She was the one who was going to have to be willing to forgive the frivolous extravagances of his world, without wanting to run away from him.

He took her home in a taxi, and kissed her at her front door. She didn't invite him up, but she had told him earlier that her place was a mess. He had never seen her studio, but could well imagine how challenging it was to live in one room. And she led a busy life.

He kissed the tip of her nose before he left her, and she laughed when she saw that he had green lips. Her face was still painted green from the Halloween party that night.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he promised, as he got back in the cab. “And I'll see about ballet tickets, maybe for next week.” She waved and thanked him again, and then disappeared into the house as he drove off.

His apartment seemed empty without her when he got back. He liked the way she filled his space, his life, his heart.

15

CHARLIE'S SECRETARY TOLD HIM THE NEXT MORNING that she'd gotten tickets to the ballet for Friday night. It was a supposedly excellent production of Giselle, and he left a message for Carole to tell her, and then sat down to open his mail. His new Princeton alumni directory had come, and just for the fun of it, he looked up Carole's name. He knew the year she'd graduated, so it was easy to look up. He flipped through the correct pages, and then frowned when he didn't see her name.

He thought about the year she'd told him, and he went through it again. She wasn't there, which was strange. There was obviously a mistake. He mentioned it to his secretary later that morning, and decided to do Carole a favor, and save her some time, since he was sure she'd want it corrected herself. He asked his secretary to call the alumni office and report the omission to them. He gave her Carole's full name, Carole Anne Parker, and gave the correct year of her graduation.

He was hard at work on some financial reports later that afternoon, when his secretary called him on the intercom, and he picked it up, looking distracted. He was trying to make sense of some extremely complicated financial projections far into the future, and had to concentrate on what she had just said.

“I called the alumni office, as you asked me to, Mr. Harrington. And I gave them Miss Parker's name and graduation. They said that no one by that name has ever graduated from Princeton. I asked them to check again, and they did. I don't think she went to Princeton. Maybe that's the mistake. The alumni office insists she didn't.”

“That's absurd. Give me the number. I'll call them myself.” He was annoyed at their stupidity, and he was sure Carole would be too. He even knew her eating club. It was all over her CV that she had gone to Princeton.

But when he called them five minutes later, they told him the same thing. They were in fact extremely disagreeable about it, and said they didn't make mistakes like that. Carole Anne Parker had never graduated from Princeton. In fact, according to their records, when they checked further, no one by that name had ever attended the school. As he hung up the phone, a cold chill ran down his spine. And five minutes later, feeling like a monster, he called Columbia's School of Social Work. They told him the same thing. She had never attended Columbia either. When he hung up the phone, he knew he had found the fatal flaw. The woman he was falling in love with was a fraud. Whoever she was, and however well intentioned her work for the center had been, she had none of the degrees she claimed she did, and had even conned a million dollars out of his foundation, based on falsified credentials and a phony reputation. It was nearly criminal, except for the fact that she hadn't wanted the money for herself, but to help others. He had no idea what to do with the information. He needed time to think about it and digest it.

When she called him that afternoon, for the first time since he'd met her six weeks before, he didn't take her call. He couldn't just disappear out of her life, and he wanted an explanation. But first he needed time to absorb it, and two days later, he was taking her to the ballet. He made a decision that afternoon to say nothing until then, and deal with it after that. He called her late that afternoon, and said the board of trustees was having a crisis and he couldn't see her until Friday. She said she understood perfectly, and those things happened to her too. But when she hung up at her end, Carole wondered why he had sounded so chilly. In fact, he'd nearly been crying. He felt completely ripped off and disillusioned. The woman he had admired so totally since the day they met was a liar.

He spent an agonizing two days waiting to see her again, and when he picked her up on Friday for the ballet, she looked lovely. She was wearing the regulation little black cocktail dress, high heels, and a simple black fur jacket. She was beautifully dressed, and had even worn a pair of very proper pearl earrings that she said had been her mother's. He believed not a single word she said now. She had tainted everything between them with her lies about Columbia and Princeton. He no longer trusted her, and she thought he looked stiff and unhappy. She asked him if everything was all right, as the curtain went up, and he nodded. He had barely spoken to her in the cab, nor when they got to Lincoln Center. Carole thought he looked awful. She could only assume that since she'd last seen him, something terrible had happened at the foundation.

At intermission, they went to the bar to have a drink, and before they went back to their seats, she excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and just as she was about to leave him, a couple swooped down on her before Carole could avoid them. She turned her head away, as though she were trying to hide from them, which Charlie noticed instantly and cringed inside. All she said to him was that they were friends of her parents and she couldn't stand them, and then she vanished. Charlie then realized who they were, as the woman in question bore down on him, and her husband quickly followed. He knew them too, and had to admit he didn't like them either. They were unbearable social climbers.

The woman prattled on endlessly about the performance, and said she had liked the previous season's production of it better. She went on ad nauseam about the strengths and weaknesses of the dancers, and then fixed her gaze on Charlie with beady eyes, and made a cryptic comment that meant nothing to him when she first said it.

“Well, you've made quite a coup, haven't you,” she said, sounding both knowing and nasty. Charlie had no idea what she was talking about as he stared at her, wishing Carole would come back. As angry as he was at her, standing awkwardly next to her was a lot more pleasant than being trapped by this dreadful woman and her mealymouthed husband, both of whom were glued to him because of who he was. “I hear she nearly had a nervous breakdown when her husband left her. I don't know what she needed him for anyway, the Van Horns have a lot more money than he does. All he ever was was new money. The Van Horns are the oldest fortune in the country.” He had no idea why she was talking to him about the Van Horns. He knew Arthur Van Horn himself, though not well. He was one of the most conservative men he'd ever met, surely the most uptight, and definitely the most boring, and how much money they had was of absolutely no interest to Charlie.

“The Van Horns?” Charlie asked blankly. She sounded like a madwoman as she spewed gossip and details of a situation that completely bemused him. She was talking about some woman whose husband had left her who had apparently been a Van Horn. It all sounded more than a little crazy to Charlie, as she looked at him as though he were completely stupid.

“The Van Horns. I was talking about the Van Horn girl. Wasn't that who I just saw you with when I walked over?” She looked at him as though he were demented, and then suddenly as he looked at her, he realized what she was saying. He felt as though he had been struck by lightning.

“Of course. I'm sorry. I was distracted. Miss Van Horn, of course.”

“Are you two seeing each other?” she asked him boldly. Women like her had no shame about asking questions. They thrived on gathering information to use later to impress others that they were insiders in the social group, though more often than not they weren't. They were acquainted with the “right” people, but disliked by all.

“We're business connections,” he said, nodding. “The foundation has been involved with her children's center. They're doing a great job with abused children. What was her married name, by the way? Do you remember?”

“Wasn't it Mosley? Or Mossey? Something like that. Dreadful man. He made an absolute fortune. I think he married a girl even younger than Carole after her. It's a shame it shook her so badly.”

“His name wasn't Parker, was it?” Charlie was now a man on a mission. He wanted to know the truth, from whatever source he got it. Even from the likes of this repulsive social climber.

“Of course not. That's her mother's maiden name. The Parker Bank, in Boston. Not quite as big as the Van Horn fortune, but very handsome. Nice for Carole she has two fortunes to inherit from, not just one. Some people are just born lucky,” she said, as Charlie nodded, and he saw Carole approaching. It was easy to spot her in the crowd in high heels, and he signaled to her that he would join her where she was, as he thanked his informant and departed. He had discovered so many lies in the past two days, that he no longer knew what to believe about Carole.

“I'm sorry I left you with that awful woman. I figured if I stuck around, she'd stay forever. Did she chew your ear off?”

“Yes,” he said succinctly.

“She always does. She's the biggest gossip in New York, all she ever talks about is who married who, who someone's grandfather was, and how much money they inherited or made. God knows where she gets her information. I just can't stand her.” He nodded, and they followed the crowd back to their seats. The curtain went up immediately, and Charlie sat, leaning away from her, looking wooden. Carole's fatal flaw, he had discovered in the past few days, was not the obvious one that she came from a different world, and a simple background, and was uncomfortable in his world, or even that she was a fraud, as he had thought on Wednesday. Her fatal flaw, as it turned out, was a much simpler one. She was a liar.

When the performance ended and the curtain went up, she smiled at him, and thanked him.

“It was really lovely. Thank you, Charlie. I loved it.”

“I'm glad,” he said politely. He had promised to take her to dinner afterward, but he no longer wanted to. What he had to say to her he didn't want to say in public. He suggested they go back to his apartment. She smiled at the suggestion, and said she could make him scrambled eggs. He nodded, and barely managed to make idle chitchat with her on the short ride back to his apartment. She had no idea what was wrong with him that night, but it was very obvious to her that he was upset about something. And she didn't have long to wait to find out what it was.

He opened the front door for her, turned the lights on, strode into the living room with her following him, and didn't even bother to sit down. He turned to face her with a look of outrage.

“Just what exactly did you think you've been doing all this time with all your goddamn pretentious bullshit about not liking eating clubs and the social scene, and people with money? Why the hell did you lie to me? You're not just some simple girl who devoted herself to slaving away to save the poor in Harlem. You come from the same world I do, you went to the same school I did. You're doing the same things I am for the same reasons I am, and you're every goddamn bit as rich as I am, Miss Van Horn, so don't give me any more lofty bullshit about how uncomfortable and ill at ease you are in my world.”

“Where did all of that come from? And it's none of your goddamn business how rich I am. That's the whole point, Charlie. I don't want to be admired and pursued and respected and kowtowed to because of who my grandfather was. I want to be respected and liked because of who I am. And there's no goddamn way on earth to do that with a name like Van Horn. So I use my mother's name. So what? So sue me, for chrissake. I don't owe you or anyone else any explanations.” She was as angry as he was.

“I didn't want you to lie to me. I wanted you to tell me the truth. How am I supposed to trust you if you even lie to me about who you are? Why didn't you tell me, Carole?”

“For the same reason you didn't tell me about your yacht. Because you thought it would scare me or shock me or put me off, or maybe you were afraid I was after your money. Well, I'm not, you idiot. I have my own. And everything I said about being uncomfortable in your world is true. I hated that world all my life, I grew up in it, I had it coming out of my ears. All the pomp and ceremony and bullshit and pretentious garbage I want no part of. I love what I do. I love those kids. And that's all I want now. I don't want a fancy life. I don't need it. I hated it when I had it. I gave it up four years ago, and I'm a lot happier now. And I'm never going back to that world, for you, or anyone else.” She nearly had steam coming out of her ears.

“But you were born there. You belong there, even if you don't want to be there. Why was I crawling around apologizing to you? You could have at least let me off the hook on that one. You could have at least told me who you are instead of making a fool of me. When were you going to tell me? Ever? Or were you going to pretend to be Little Miss Simple forever, and make me crawl around on my hands and knees apologizing to you for what I have, and who I am, and the way I live? And now that I think about it, I don't believe you live in a studio apartment either, do you? You own that whole house, don't you?” His eyes blazed at her. She had lied to him about everything. She bowed her head for a moment and then looked at him.

“Yes, I do. I was going to move to Harlem when I opened the center, but my father wouldn't let me. He insisted I get that house, but I didn't know how to explain it to you.”

“At least someone in your family has some sense, even if you don't. You'd have gotten yourself killed up there, and you still could. You're not Mother Teresa, for chrissake. You're a little rich girl, just like I was a rich boy, at way too early an age. And now I'm a rich man. And you know what? If people don't like it, screw them. Because this is who I am. Maybe one of these days you'll stop apologizing too. But until that happens and you figure out that it's okay to be who we are, you can't go around lying to people and pretending you're not who you are. It was a stupid, rotten thing to do, and you made me feel like a fool. I called the goddamn Princeton alumni office this week and told them they'd made a mistake and dropped you off the roster. They told me you'd never gone to school there, because I thought your name was Parker, of course. And then I thought you were a fraud. As it turns out, you're not a phony, you're just a liar. In relationships, people owe it to each other to be honest, no matter what that is. Yes, I have a boat. Yes, I have a lot of money. So do you. Yes, you're a Van Horn. So fucking what? But once you lie to me like that, I don't trust you, I don't believe you, and to tell you the truth, I don't want to be with you. Until you figure out who you are, and who you want to be when you grow up, I don't think there's a damn thing left for us to say to each other.” He was so upset he was shaking from head to foot, and so was she. She hated the fact that it had come out this way, but in some ways, she was relieved. She had hated lying to him. It was one thing not telling people who she was at the center, but it was an entirely different thing not telling him.

“Charlie, I just wanted you to like me for me, not because of my father's name.”

“What did you think? That I was after your money? That's ridiculous and you know it. You turned this whole relationship into a farce, and your lying to me about any of it was a complete disrespect to me.”

“I only lied to you about my name, and about where I come from. It's not important. I'm still me. And I apologize. You're right, I shouldn't have done it. But I did. Maybe I was just plain scared. And once you knew me as Carole Parker, it was a lot harder to explain who I really was. I didn't kill anybody, for God's sake, I didn't steal your money.”

“You stole my trust, which is worse.”

“Charlie, I'm sorry. I think I'm falling in love with you.” As she said it, tears rolled down her cheeks. In her own eyes, she had screwed up everything, and she felt terrible about it. She loved everything about him.

“I don't believe you.” He spat the words at her. “If you were falling in love with me, you wouldn't have lied to me.”

“I made a mistake. People do that sometimes. I was scared. I just wanted you to love me for me.”

“I was beginning to. But God only knows who you really are. I was falling in love with Carole Parker, a simple girl from nowhere with no money and nothing to her name. Now you turn out to be someone else. A fucking heiress, for chrissake.”

“Is that so terrible? You can't forgive me for that?”

“Maybe not. What was terrible was lying to me, Carole. That's the terrible part.” As he said it, he turned away from her, and stared out the window at the park. He stood that way, with his back to her, for a long time. They had said enough for one night, and possibly forever.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked in a choked voice.

He didn't answer at first, and then he nodded, and finally spoke. “Yes, I do. It's over. I could never trust you. You lied to me for nearly two months. That's a hell of a long time.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. He still had his back to her. He didn't want to see her face again. It hurt too much. The fatal flaw was hanging in the breeze.

She walked quietly out of the apartment, and closed the door behind her. She was still shaking when she got into the elevator, and when she got downstairs. She told herself that the whole thing was ridiculous. He was angry at her for being rich, when in fact he was richer still. But it wasn't about that, and she knew it. He was furious with her because she had lied to him.

She took a cab back to her house, and hoped that he would call her that night. He didn't. He didn't call her that night or the next day. She checked her voice mail constantly. Weeks later, he still hadn't called her. Finally, she realized that he never would again. What he had said to her that night was true. He had told her it was over for him, that he could no longer trust her. However good her intentions, she had broken the sacred trust between them, which was the essence of a relationship. He didn't want to see her anymore, or talk to her, or be with her. She knew she was in love with him now, but she knew that it wouldn't change anything. Charlie was gone for good.

16

TWO WEEKS BEFORE THANKSGIVING, ADAM AND Maggie were spending a quiet evening at his place, when out of the blue she brought up Thanksgiving. She hadn't thought about it before, but now that they were spending so much time together, she wanted to spend it with him, and wondered if he was going to be with his kids. She hadn't met either of them yet, and they had both agreed it was still too soon. They were together nearly every night, and he loved being with her, but as he told her, this was still the test drive, and they were taking their relationship out for a spin.

“Thanksgiving?” He looked at her blankly. “Why?”

“Are you going to be with your kids?”

“No, Rachel is taking them to her in-laws in Ohio. We alternate holidays. This is my off year.”

She smiled at him then. She hoped that meant good news for her. She hadn't had a real Thanksgiving, with people she cared about, in years. Not since she was a very little kid, if then. She'd cooked a turkey with her mother once, who had been too drunk to eat it and passed out before it was cooked. Maggie had wound up eating it at the kitchen table alone. But at least her mother was there, even if unconscious in the next room.

“Do you suppose we could spend it together?” she asked, cuddling up to him, and looking at him.

“No, we can't,” he said, looking grim.

“Why not?” She took it as an immediate rebuff. Things had been going really well between them, and the brusqueness of his answer took her by surprise and hurt her feelings.

“Because I have to go to my parents'. And I can't take you with me.” With a name like O'Malley, his mother would have a heart attack. Besides, who he was dating was none of her business.

“Why are you going there? I thought you had a terrible time on Yom Kippur.” What he was saying made no sense to her.

“I did. That has nothing to do with anything. In my family, you have to turn yourself in for holidays anyway. Like a warrant for your arrest. It's not about having a good time. It's about tradition and obligation. As much as they drive me nuts, I think family is important. Mine stinks, but I still feel I need to go and show respect. God knows why, but I feel I owe it to them. My parents are old, they're not going to change, so I suck it up and go. Don't you have somewhere to go?” He looked miserable when he asked her. He hated the reminder that he had to spend another rotten holiday with them again. He hated the holidays, and always had, because of that. His mother managed to ruin every single one of them for him. The only mercy was that his parents celebrated Chanukah and not Christmas, so he got to spend Christmas with his kids. That was fun at least. Holidays on Long Island never were. “Where are you going to be for Thanksgiving?”

“In my apartment, alone. The others are all going home.” And she, of course, had nowhere to go.

“Stop trying to make me feel guilty,” he nearly shouted at her. “I have enough of that with my mother as it is. Maggie, I'm really sorry you have nowhere to go, but I can't do anything about it. I have to go home.”

“I don't understand that,” she said unhappily. “They treat you like shit. You told me so. So why would you go home?”

“I feel like I should,” he said, looking stressed. He didn't want to defend his decisions to her. It was hard enough as it was. “I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted.

“No, I don't. I don't want to discuss this with you again. That's just the way it is. I'll be home that night. We can do something over the weekend.”

“That's not the point.” She was pushing, and he didn't like it. She was treading on dangerous ground with him. “If this is a relationship,” she pressed on at her own peril, “then I want to spend holidays with you. We've been together for two months.”

“Maggie, don't push me,” he warned her. “This isn't a relationship. We're dating. That's different.”

“Well, pardon me,” she said sarcastically. “Who died and made you king?”

“You knew the rules when we started. You lead your life. I lead mine. We meet in between when it works for both of us. Well, Thanksgiving doesn't work for me. I wish it did. Believe me, I wish it did. And I'd be happy to spend it with you if I could. But I can't. Thanksgiving with my parents is a command performance for me. I'll come home with a migraine, a stomachache, and a giant pain in the ass, but come hell or high water, they expect me to be there.”

“That sucks,” she said, pouting.

“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “For both of us.”

“And what was that bullshit about this not being a relationship? And all that meeting-in-the-middle crap?”

“That's what we've been doing. Not to mention the fact that I've been seeing you every weekend, which is a big deal.”

“Then that makes it a relationship, doesn't it?” She continued to push, missing all the danger signals from him, which was rare for her. But she was upset about Thanksgiving and not being with him. It made her braver about challenging him and his “rules.”

“A relationship is for people who eventually want to get married. I don't. I told you that. This is dating. It works for me.” She didn't say a word after that, and the next morning, she went back to her own place. He felt guilty all afternoon about what he'd said. It was a relationship. It had become one. He wasn't seeing anyone else, and as far as he knew, neither was she. He just didn't like admitting it, but he also didn't like hurting her feelings. And he hated not being with her on Thanksgiving. He hated all of it. And he felt like a shit. She was at work when he called her, and he left a loving message on her machine.

He never heard from her when she got off work. And she didn't turn up at the apartment. He called her that night, and she was out. After that, he called her every hour on the hour, until midnight. He thought she was playing games with him, until one of her roommates answered, and told him she was really out. The next time he called, they said she was asleep. She had never called him back. And by the following afternoon, he was beginning to steam. He finally decided to call her at work, which he rarely did.

“Where were you last night?” he asked her, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

“I thought this was only dating. Wasn't that the one where neither of us gets to ask questions? I'll have to look it up, but I think those were the rules, since this isn't a relationship.”

“Look, I'm sorry. That was stupid. I was just upset about Thanksgiving. I feel like a shit leaving you alone.”

“You are a shit for leaving me alone,” she corrected.

“Maggie, give me a break on this one. Please. I have to go to Long Island. Honest to God, I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. I don't mind if you're with your kids. That, I understand. But stop going back to spend holidays with your parents, so they can punish you.”

“They're my parents. I have to. Look, come over tonight. I'll cook you dinner and we'll have a nice time.”

“I have something to do. I'll be there at nine.” She sounded cool.

“What are you doing?”

“Don't ask me questions. I'll get there as soon as I can.”

“What's that all about?”

“I have to go to the library,” she said as he fumed.

“That is the worst bullshit excuse I've ever heard. All right, I'll see you tonight. Get there whenever you want.” He hung up on her then, and wanted to tell her not to bother to come at all. But he wanted to see her, and he wanted to know what was going on. There were at least two nights a week when he called her and she wasn't home. If she was seeing someone else, he wanted to know. She was the first woman he had been faithful to in years. And he was beginning to wonder if she was cheating on him.

He was sitting on the couch waiting for her when she got in that night, having a stiff drink. It was nearly ten o'clock, and it was his second drink. He had been looking at his watch every five minutes. She looked at him apologetically when she walked in.

“I'm sorry. It took longer than I thought. I came as soon as I could.”

“What were you doing? Tell me the truth.”

“I thought we weren't supposed to ask questions,” she said, looking nervous.

“Don't give me that shit,” he shouted at her. “You're seeing someone, aren't you? This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. For the past eleven years I've had a chorus line of women. You come along, and for the first time in years, I'm faithful to you. And what are you doing? Screwing someone else.”

“Adam,” she said quietly, sitting across from him and looking him in the eye, “I'm not screwing someone else. I swear.”

“Then where are you when I call you at night? You're out till nearly midnight. You're never goddamn home if you're not here.” His eyes were blazing, and his head was throbbing. He had a headache, and the woman he was crazy about was fucking someone else. He wasn't sure whether to cry or scream. It was poetic justice perhaps, for what he had done to other women, but it sure didn't feel good while it was happening to him. He was crazy about her. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you,” she said calmly. “I was at the library.”

“Maggie, please… don't lie to me at least. Have the balls to tell me the truth.” Looking at the agony in his eyes, she realized she had no other choice. She had to tell him the truth. She hadn't wanted to. But if he thought she was seeing someone else, he deserved to know what she was doing when she wasn't with him.

“I'm taking pre-law classes at school,” she said quietly but firmly, as he sat in his chair and stared at her.

“You're what?” He was sure he had misheard.

“I want to graduate and go to law school, and it's going to take me about a hundred years to get my degree. I can only take two classes a semester. I can't afford to take more than that anyway. I got a partial scholarship.” She exhaled deeply as she said it. It was a relief to tell him the truth. “I was at the library tonight, because I have a paper due. I have midterms next week.” He stared at her in disbelief and then his face broke into a grin.

“Are you kidding?”

“No, I'm not kidding. I've already been doing this for two years.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I thought you'd laugh at me.”

“Why on earth are you doing that?”

“Because I don't want to be a waitress for the rest of my life. And I'm not looking for a man to save me. I don't want to be dependent on anyone. I want to be able to take care of myself.” What she said to him nearly brought tears to his eyes. Every woman he'd ever known, or dated, wanted to take some poor slob for a ride, including him. Maggie was out there working her ass off, waiting on tables, going to college and aspiring to law school two nights a week. She had never asked him for a penny. And more often than he wanted her to, she showed up with a bag of groceries or a small present for him. She was an amazing woman.

“Come over here,” he said, beckoning her to him. She came over to where he was sitting, and he put his arms around her. “I want you to know that I think you're terrific. You're the most terrific woman I've ever known. I apologize for being an asshole, and I apologize for leaving you on Thanksgiving. I promise we'll celebrate on Thursday, and I'll never bug you about what you're doing again. And another thing,” he said, looking at her matter-of-factly, but there was a tenderness in his eyes she had never seen before. “I want you to know that I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered softly. He had never said that to her before. “What does that do to the rules?”

“What rules?” He looked confused.

“You know, the rules. Does that mean we're still just dating, or is this a relationship now?”

“This is I love you, Maggie O'Malley. Fuck the rules. We'll figure it out as we go.”

“We will?” She looked thrilled.

“Yes, we will. And the next time I tell you what the rules are, remember to tell me I'm full of shit. By the way, what's your paper about?”

“Torts.”

“Oh, shit. Tomorrow let me see what you've got. I'm too drunk to deal with it tonight.” But they both knew he wasn't that drunk. He was more interested in taking her to bed and making love. He was definitely not too drunk for that.

“Will you really help me?”

“Absolutely. We're going to get you through college and law school in record time.”

“I can't do that,” she said seriously. “I've got to work.” It wasn't a plea for help, it was a simple statement of fact.

“We'll discuss that some other time.” He scooped her up in his arms then and carried her into the bedroom.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked him as he set her down on the bed. “Or are you really drunk?”

“No, Maggie. I'm not drunk. And I meant it. I love you. I'm just a little slow at figuring things out sometimes,” although two months wasn't bad, especially for him. She smiled up at him, and he turned off the light.

17

GRAY CALLED CHARLIE IN THE OFFICE THE WEEK before Thanksgiving, and thought he sounded unusu ally glum.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing, as a matter of fact,” Charlie said. He had been thinking about that himself. The holidays were always hard for him and he hated to make plans. For him, holidays were a time for people with families to gather around and share their warmth, and for people who didn't have any to feel the bitter chill of all they'd lost and would never have again.

“Sylvia and I were wondering if you'd like to join us for dinner. She's cooking the turkey, so dinner should be pretty good.”

Charlie laughed. “Actually, I'd like that a lot.” It was an easy, painless way for him to spend the holiday with his friend.

“You're welcome to bring Carole, if you like.”

“That won't be necessary, but thanks anyway,” Charlie said, sounding tense.

“Does she have other plans?” Gray could hear that something was wrong.

“I assume so. As a matter of fact, I don't know.”

“That doesn't sound so good,” Gray said, worried about him.

“It's not. We had a major blowout two weeks ago. Carole and I are a thing of the past. It was fun, but not for long.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. I take it you discovered a fatal flaw.” He always did. You could count on him for that.

“You could say that. She lied to me. I can't be with a woman I don't trust.”

“I guess not.” Gray knew him well enough to know that once the fatal flaw had been discovered, Charlie was gone. His job was done. Gray told him to come to dinner at Sylvia's at six o'clock, and a few minutes later they hung up. Gray reported the bad news about Carole to Sylvia that night. She was sorry to hear it too.

“He always does that,” Gray said, looking unhappy. “He always looks for that one thing, whatever it is, that means she isn't a saint and can't walk on water, and then bang, they're gone, and he hits the door. He just can't forgive women their frailties or accept that it still might be okay to love them, and give them a break for once. He never does. He's so fucking afraid that he might get hurt or they might die or leave him that he hits the ejector button if someone coughs. I've seen him do it every time.”

“I take it she coughed,” Sylvia said, thinking about it. Although she didn't know Charlie well, she felt as though she did from hearing Gray talk about him. He talked about him a lot. They were more brothers than friends. And in both cases, the only family each had. Gray had told her he still had a much younger adopted brother out there somewhere, but hadn't seen him in years, and was no longer sure where he was. Charlie was the brother of his heart. And from what she knew of his history, it was easy to figure out what happened every time. He was terrified whatever woman in question would abandon him, so he ditched her first.

“The guy just has no flex, there's no give in what he expects.” They both knew from their own lives that in a relationship one had to bend. “He said she lied. Shit, who doesn't sometimes? It happens. People do stupid stuff.” Sylvia nodded, curious about what had happened.

“What did she lie about?”

“He didn't say. My guess, judging from past history, is that it wasn't something important, but he used it as an example, or an excuse, to illustrate that she could lie over something big. That's usually how it works. It's like Kabuki. He makes a lot of ugly noises and faces, and acts shocked. He 'can't believe …' Believe me, I know the drill. It's just such a goddamn shame. He's going to wind up alone for good one of these days.” In fact, he already had.

“Maybe that's what he wants,” Sylvia said thoughtfully.

“I hate to see that happen to him.” Gray smiled sadly at her. He wanted to see his friend as happy as he was himself these days. Everything between him and Sylvia was great, and had been since they met. They laughed sometimes over the fact that they hadn't had a single disagreement, or even a first fight. They knew that something would come up one of these days, but it hadn't yet. They seemed to be perfectly matched in every way. The honeymoon was still in full bloom.

Charlie showed up at exactly six o'clock on Thanksgiving Day. He brought two fabulous bottles of red wine with him, a bottle of Cristal, and another of Château d'Yquem. They were all set for a terrific evening of great wines, good food, and good friends.

“My God, Charlie, we could open a liquor store with all this,” Sylvia exclaimed. “And it's such fantastic stuff.”

“I figured if we were going to have hangovers tomorrow, we might as well do it on great stuff.” He smiled at her.

Sylvia was wearing black velvet pants and a white sweater, and had wound her long black hair into a knot. She was wearing small diamond earrings, and she smiled tenderly every time her eyes and Gray's met. Charlie had never seen his friend so happy, and it touched his heart. Gone were the nutcases and neurotics, the psychotic ex-boyfriends threatening their lives, the women who left him for someone else at the drop of a hat, or tried to set fire to his paintings on the way out. Sylvia was precisely what every man should have. And it was obvious to anyone who saw them that Gray meant just as much to her. Charlie was relieved to see that she treated him like a king. It warmed his heart to see it, but at the same time it made him feel left out. In the company of people who loved each other to that extent, one always felt the absence of all one didn't have. It was bittersweet for him. Sylvia had prepared a delicious meal with Gray's help. The table looked beautiful, the linens perfect, the flowers she had arranged herself just right. Gray was living well, and basking in the warmth of the love he shared with her.

The subject of Carole didn't come up until halfway through dinner. Charlie never mentioned her, but Gray finally couldn't stand the suspense anymore, and brought it up.

“So what happened with Carole?” He tried to sound casual as he asked him, but he sounded anything but, as Sylvia gave him a glance. She was sure it was a painful topic, and she didn't think Gray should ask. But it was too late to stop. He had jumped in with both feet. Charlie didn't react. “What did she lie to you about?”

“Oh, just a minor matter, like who she is. She didn't even tell me her right name. Apparently, she's traveling through life incognito, and didn't think it was worth telling me the truth.”

“Wow, that's too bad. Is she hiding from an old boyfriend or something? Some women do that.” He was trying to make excuses for her. Knowing how terrific Charlie had thought she was, he hated to see yet another good one wind up in the trash. For his friend's sake, if nothing else, he wanted to give their failing romance CPR. But from the icy tone of Charlie's voice, it sounded like it was already dead and Gray's well-intentioned efforts came too late.

“No,” Charlie answered slowly, “she's hiding from herself.”

“I've done that, so have you. Some people do it all their lives.”

“I guess that's what she had in mind. I found out by accident. I thought she was lying about her credentials at first. It turned out to be more complicated than that. She was concealing her identity from everyone. She pretends to be a simple girl who hates the fancy social world, and only respects people working in the gutters of life, as she is, which is admirable, but her humble origins are bullshit in her case. She had me feeling guilty for everything I am and have, how I live, and where I was born. I was even afraid to tell her about the boat.”

“So? She's not what she claims? She's a princess in disguise?” It didn't sound like a death penalty offense to Gray. But to Charlie, it was.

“It turns out she's a Van Horn, for chrissake. She's just as 'fancy' as I am, if you want to call it that. I didn't even bother mentioning it to her, but as I recall, her grandfather had a bigger yacht than mine.”

“A Van Horn Van Horn?” Gray looked surprised.

“Yeah.” Charlie said it as though she had had sex with his best friend in plain sight in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, while being filmed by the press.

“Wow! That's pretty impressive. The Van Horn thing, I mean. Shit, Charlie, that should make things easier for you. Why the hell are you pissed off? You're not playing Pygmalion here, which is hard to do. You know, 'you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear' and all that stuff, although a lot of people try, but it's damn hard and usually doesn't work. She has a pedigree of her own, which may even be better than yours. Is that what's bothering you?” Gray said insightfully, as Sylvia winced. Gray was not hiding what he thought.

“No, of course not. I'm not jealous of her pedigree.” Charlie looked annoyed. “I don't like the fact that she lied. She made a fool of me. There I was thinking that she was feeling shy about my kind of life, while I was tiptoeing around and apologizing, and it turns out she grew up just like I did. She may not like that world, but it's home base for her too. Simply put, she's full of shit. All that humble simplicity is just a lot of pretentious phony bullshit in her case.” He sounded furious as he said it, and Gray laughed.

“Don't hesitate to tell us what you really think,” he teased. “Okay, so she's pretending to be a nobody. So fucking what? That can't be an easy name to wear with the kind of work she does. Neither is yours. Maybe she doesn't want to play Lady Bountiful coming down to the masses from on high. She wants to be one of them and not have to deal with all that shit. Can you blame her, Charlie?”

“Yes, I can. It's fine to lie to the people where she works, if that's what she wants. But it wasn't okay to lie to me. She told me she lived in a one-room studio. Hell, she lives in a ten-million-dollar brownstone on the Upper East Side.”

“Really, how disgusting of her,” Gray said scathingly. “I'm shocked! And what do you think your apartment on Fifth Avenue with the breathtaking view of Central Park is worth these days? Five million? Ten? And let's see, what did you pay for Blue Moon? I can't remember. Fifty million?… Sixty?”

“That's not the point.” Charlie glowered at him. “The point is that if she lied to me about her name and who she is and how she grew up, she'd lie to me about something else, and probably already has.”

“Maybe not,” Gray said bluntly. It sounded like the proverbial tempest in a teapot to him. At Carole's expense. Charlie had poured the tea right over her head, and stormed out. It didn't sound like a fair fight to Gray. With Charlie, it never was. And in the end, although he didn't see it that way, Charlie lost. That much was very clear to Gray, especially now. His whole perspective on life had changed in the past few months. “Maybe all she wanted was to be like everyone else. Don't you want that sometimes? Do you always want to be Charles Sumner Harrington? I'll bet you don't. Shit, Charlie, give her a chance. Okay, so you felt stupid when you found out who she was. But is that so terrible? You really can't forgive her something like that? How perfect are you, for chrissake?”

“I don't lie to people I love. I don't even lie to my friends. I've never lied to you.”

“Okay, that's why we love each other. But I'll tell you one thing right now, I'm not leaving Sylvia to marry you.”

“Damn,” Charlie said with a laugh, “I was hoping you would.” He glanced at Sylvia. “Sorry, Sylvia, I saw him first.”

“I'm happy to share him with you,” she said honestly, and then decided to put in her two cents, for whatever it was worth. “I don't mean to butt in, and I see your point. It always worries me too when people do something I don't like. I figure there's more hidden somewhere that I don't know about yet, kind of the tip-of-the-iceberg theory. But I suspect in her case, her heart was in the right place, or it could have been. For people like you, and her, you never really know what people want, or who they see. I think Gray may be right in this case, she may have just wanted a clean slate. She should have told you at some point, and maybe sooner than she did. It's unfortunate you had to discover it for yourself. But she sounds like a terrific woman, from everything you said, and you have a lot in common. Maybe you should give her another chance. We all need a break sometimes. And you can always walk if you get another whiff of something you don't like. You're not committing for life. There are compromises in every relationship, as we all know. Unfortunately, none of us are perfect. You may need a bit of indulgence from her at some point. It's a trade-off in the end, a lot of things you love about someone, for a few things you don't. As long as the scale stays weighted on the positive side, it's worth putting up with a little shit. And it sounded to me, before this happened, that there's a lot about her you do like.” She fell silent as Charlie looked at her. She saw two deep pools of sadness in his eyes. There was a lot of pain in his soul that he never shared. There were tears in his eyes when he looked away.

“I just don't want to get hurt. Life is hard enough as it is.”

Sylvia reached out and touched his hand, as they sat next to each other at the beautiful table she had set. “It's harder alone. I know,” she said, with a lump in her throat. He looked back at her and nodded, but he wasn't sure he agreed. It was hard alone, but it was harder still losing someone you loved. He knew she had been there too. Her last lover's suicide had nearly taken her down with it.

“I don't know,” he said sadly, “maybe you're right. I was just so furious. I felt so ripped off. And I felt like such a fool when I found out. She has an absolute aversion to her own world and her own kind. She hates everything it represents. How healthy and normal is that?”

“Maybe her life wasn't so easy either as a kid,” Gray added. “We all think everyone has it so great. We don't know who was dumped on, who was abused, who was kicked around, who was neglected, who was molested by their uncle. You just don't know. We all have tough stuff to live with. No one gets off scot-free. Maybe hers wasn't such a cakewalk either. I've read a lot about her father, he's a pretty important guy, but he doesn't sound like a sweetheart to me. I don't know, Charlie. Maybe you're right, maybe she's just a lying piece of shit, and she'll break your heart, and your balls. But what if she isn't? What if she's just a decent human being who got sick and tired of being who she is, and growing up as the kid of one of the richest guys who ever lived? It's hard to imagine for someone like me, but you of all people should know that the responsibilities that come with who you are aren't a lot of fun sometimes. To tell you the truth, I love the things you have, and I have a hell of a good time on the boat with you, but honestly, when I take a good look, I'm not sure I'd want to be you every day. Sometimes it looks like a lot of hard work and goddamn lonely to me.” It was as honest as Gray had ever been with him, and Charlie was touched. More than his friend knew.

“You're right, it is hard work, and lonely at times. But you don't get a choice in the matter. They pass you the baton at some point, sometimes sooner than later, as happened to me, and off you go. You don't get to sit on the sidelines and whine, and say you don't want to play. You do the best you can.”

“It sounds like she is. Maybe she just needed a break from being her.”

Charlie looked pensive as he pushed some crumbs around the tablecloth, thinking of what Gray and Sylvia had said. There was a possibility that it was true. “The woman who told me who she is said that she'd nearly had a nervous breakdown when her marriage fell apart. She pretty much told me that herself early on. Her ex-husband sounds like an abusive bastard, and a sociopath. I've met him, and he's not a nice guy. He made plenty of money on his own, but I think he's a real shit. I have a feeling he may have married her because she's a Van Horn.” Gray had made a good point. Maybe she needed to take a break from all that. She had been living her life in hiding for nearly four years. She felt safer on the streets of Harlem than she did in her own world. It was a sad statement about her life, and all that had happened to her, some of which he knew she hadn't told him yet. It was just too hard for her. “I'll think about it,” he said, and then they all breathed a sigh of relief as the subject of conversation moved on to other things. It had been heavy for all of them talking about his feelings about Carole. They all had issues of their own, scars and pain and fears. Life was about how you managed to get around the shoals and reefs of life without running aground and sinking the ship.

Charlie stayed with them until ten o'clock that night, talking and chatting about what they were all doing. They told funny stories about themselves and each other, about living together. He talked about the foundation, and the subject of Carole never came up again. He felt nostalgic and hugged them both when he left. It touched his heart to see them so happy together, but increased the sharp focus on his own loneliness too. He couldn't even imagine what it felt like to be like that, two people slowly weaving their lives together after so many years on their own. He would have liked to try it, he thought, but at the same time so much about it frightened him. What if they got tired of each other, or betrayed each other? What if one of them died, or got sick? What if they simply disappointed each other and the erosion of time and the ordinary agonies of life just wore them down? What if tragedy struck one or both of them? It all seemed so high-risk.

And then as he lay in bed and thought about them later that night, as though possessed by a force stronger than he was, he leaned over and picked up the phone. His fingers dialed her number before he could stop himself, and the next thing he knew he heard Carole's voice on the phone. It was almost as though someone else had called her, and he had no choice after that but to say hello.

“Carole?” He sounded almost as surprised to hear her as she did to hear him.

“Charlie?”

“I…I…I just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving,” he said, nearly choking on his own tongue. She sounded stunned.

“I never thought I would hear from you again.” It had been nearly four weeks. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” he said, lying in bed with his eyes closed, savoring her voice. She sounded as though she was shaking, and in her own bed, hearing the sound of his voice again. She was. “I had Thanksgiving dinner tonight with Sylvia and Gray.” Something they had said to him must have gotten into his soul somehow, or he knew he never would have called. For the first time ever, he had put on the brakes, stopped and looked around, and slowly doubled back. He was on the final turn, and land was in sight again. “It was nice. How was yours?”

She sighed, and smiled at the sound of him. It was so wonderful to be speaking of mundane things. “The way it always is. About all the wrong things. No one in my family is ever thankful. They're just embarrassingly overconfident about how wonderful they are. It never even occurs to them that other people don't have what they do, and maybe even wouldn't want to. It's not about family for us. It's about how wonderful we are for being Van Horns. It makes me sick. Next year, I'm just going to have Thanksgiving at the center with the kids. I'd rather eat turkey sandwiches, or peanut butter and jelly if that's all we've got after your money runs out, than drink champagne and eat pheasant with my family. It just sticks in my throat. Besides, I hate pheasant. I always have.” He smiled at what she said. Sylvia and Gray were right. Maybe he'd been wrong. It was hard work for her being a Van Horn. She wanted to be like everyone else. Sometimes he felt that way too.

“I have a better idea,” Charlie said quietly.

“What's that?” she asked, holding her breath. She had no idea what he was about to say, she just loved the sound of his voice. And everything else about him. She had right from the first.

“Maybe next year you and I can have Thanksgiving with Sylvia and Gray. The turkey was pretty good.” He smiled at the memory of the cozy evening he had shared with them. It would have been better yet if she'd been there.

“I'd love that,” Carole said with tears in her eyes, and then decided to tackle her perfidy again. She had thought about nothing but that for the past four weeks. Her motives had been good, but she knew what she'd done had been wrong. If she was going to be with him, and love him, she had to tell him the truth, even if he didn't like what he heard, or it scared her to say it. She had to trust him enough to let him see who she was, whatever the risk or cost. “I'm sorry I lied to you,” she said sadly. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

“I know. I do stupid things sometimes too. We all do. I was afraid to tell you about the boat.” It had been a sin of omission rather than commission, but he had done it for the same reasons. Sometimes it was just hard being out there, visible to all. It gave people a tremendous target to focus on and take aim at. Sometimes even he felt like he had a bull's-eye painted on his back, and apparently she did too. It wasn't an easy way to live.

“I'd love to see your boat sometime,” she said cautiously. She didn't want to push, she was just grateful he had called. More grateful than he knew, as quiet tears of gratitude slid out of the corners of her eyes onto her pillow. She had even prayed about his coming back, and for once her prayers had been answered. The last time she had done that, they hadn't, when her marriage failed. In the end, God knew better.

“You will,” Charlie promised her. One day he wanted to spend time with her on the Blue Moon. He couldn't think of anything better. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing. I thought I'd drop by the center. The office is closed, but the kids are there. They get antsy on long weekends, and holidays are hard for them.”

“They're hard for me too,” he said, honest with her. “I hate them. This is the time of year I hate most.” It brought back too many memories for him, of loved ones lost. Thanksgiving was hard. But Christmas was always worse. “How about lunch tomorrow?”

“I'd love it.” She beamed as she lay in bed.

“We can go by the center if you want. I won't wear my gold watch,” he teased.

“Maybe you should wear your lion suit. You've earned it. This was very brave,” she said, with a voice filled with admiration that he had called her.

“Yes, it was.” It had been hard for him, but he was glad he'd done it. He knew they had Sylvia and Gray to thank for it. Thanks to them, he had gotten up the courage to call her. “I'll pick you up at noon.”

“I'll be ready… and Charlie… thank you.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

18

THE DRIVE TO LONG ISLAND WAS INTERMINABLE, AS Adam crawled along the Long Island Expressway in the Ferrari. He hadn't spent the night before with Maggie, because he didn't want to deal with her comments, however accurate, when he left to see his family in the morning. He had dropped her off at her place the night before, and knew she was spending the day alone. There was nothing he could do about it. He felt that some things in life couldn't be changed or avoided. It was his code of ethics, and sense of duty to his family, however painful they were for him. Thanksgiving with his family was a responsibility he felt he couldn't shirk, no matter how unpleasant. Maggie was right, of course, but even that didn't change anything. Going to spend the day with them felt like facing a firing squad. In spite of the aggravation, he was grateful for the traffic that slowed him down. It almost felt like a reprieve. A flat tire would have been nice too.

He was nearly half an hour late when he finally arrived. His mother glared at him as he came through the door. Welcome home. “Sorry, Mom. The traffic was unbelievable. I got here as fast as I could.”

“You should have left earlier. I'm sure if it was to meet a woman, you would.” Bam. First shot. More to come, he knew. There was no point trying to respond, so he didn't. Her score. And never his.

The rest of the family was already there. His father had a cold. His nephews and nieces were outside. His brother-in-law had a new job. His brother made cracks about Adam's work. His sister whined. No one ever talked about anything he cared about. His mother said she had read that Vana was on drugs, why did he want clients like that? What kind of firm did they run, catering to drug addicts and whores? Adam's stomach tied itself into the appropriate knot. No worse than usual, but uncomfortable all the same. His mother talked about getting old, one of these days she wouldn't be around, and they'd better appreciate her while they still could. His sister stared into space. His brother said he'd heard Ferraris were built like shit these days. His mother rhapsodized about Rachel. His father fell asleep in his chair before lunch. Cold pills, his mother said. His mother made a crack about his blowing it with Rachel, and that if he had been more attentive to her, maybe she wouldn't have left him for someone else, an Episcopalian yet. Didn't he worry about his kids being brought up by a Christian? What was wrong with him anyway? He hadn't even made it to synagogue on Yom Kippur. After everything they'd done to give him a decent upbringing, he never went to temple anymore, not even on holidays, and he went out with women who looked like prostitutes. Maybe he wanted to convert. As Adam listened, time stood still. He heard Maggie's voice. He thought of her alone in the apartment in the tenement in New York. He stood up, as Mae walked into the room to tell them lunch was served. His mother stared at him.

“What's wrong? You look sick.” His face was white.

“I think I am.”

“Maybe you have the flu,” his mother said, turning away to say something to his brother. Adam didn't move. He just stood rooted to the spot, looking at them. Maggie was right. He knew it.

“I have to leave,” he said to everyone in the room, but looking at his mother.

“Are you insane? We haven't eaten yet,” she said, looking right at him. But whatever she saw, he knew it wasn't him. She was seeing the little boy she had berated all his life, the one who had intruded on their lives and her bridge games. The one she had criticized since he was born. Not the man he had become, with accomplishments and achievements, disappointments and pain. Not one of them cared about his pain. Not even when Rachel left him. It was his fault. It always was. It always always always was, and always would be. And maybe he did go out with women who looked like whores. So what? They were nicer to him than anyone in his family had ever been. And they didn't give him any shit. All they wanted was boob jobs and new noses, and a couple of shots at his charge cards. And Maggie didn't even want that. She wanted nothing except him. His father woke up then and looked around. He saw Adam standing in the middle of the room.

“What's happening? What's going on?” No one in the room was moving. They were all looking at Adam. He turned to speak to his father.

“I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore.”

“Sit down,” his mother said, the way she would have if he'd been five years old and stood up at the wrong time. This wasn't the wrong time. It was the right one. And it was long overdue. Maggie was right. He shouldn't have come. He should have stopped coming years ago. If they couldn't respect him, if they didn't care who he was, and didn't even see him, if they thought he deserved all the shit Rachel had put him through and still was, then maybe they weren't his family after all, or didn't deserve to be. He had his kids, that was all he wanted, and they weren't there anyway. These people were strangers to him, and always had been. And they wanted it that way. He no longer did. He was forty-one years old, and he had finally grown up. It was time.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” he said calmly. “I just can't do this again.”

“Do what?” His father looked confused. The cold pills had addled him a bit, but not as much as it looked. Adam sensed that he knew exactly what was going on, but wasn't going to deal with it. He never did. It was easier not to. Today was no different. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going home,” Adam said, looking around the room at the people who had never failed to make him miserable for years. They had never let him in. So now he was choosing to stay out.

“You're sick,” his mother said as Mae stood in the door, not sure whether to announce lunch or not. “You need a doctor. You need medication. You need a therapist, Adam. You're a very sick man.”

“Only when I come here, Mom. Every time I leave here, I have a knot in my stomach the size of my head. I don't need to come here and feel sick anymore. I'm not willing to do it. Happy Thanksgiving. Have a nice day,” he said then, turned, and walked out of the room. He didn't wait for further comment, or further abuse. He'd had enough. Mae caught his eye on his way out, and winked. No one tried to stop him, and no one said a word as he walked out the door. His nieces and nephews didn't know him. His family didn't care. And he didn't want to care anymore either, not for people who cared so little for him. He imagined that they sat staring at each other, as they heard the Ferrari drive away, and then they walked into the dining room. No one mentioned him again.

Adam gunned the car as he drove home. There was less traffic as he drove back into the city. He made good time, and was on the FDR Drive within half an hour, smiling to himself. For the first time in his life, he felt free. Truly free. He laughed out loud. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he was nuts. But he had never felt less nuts in his life. And his stomach was feeling great. He was hungry. He was starving. And all he wanted now was Maggie.

He stopped at the supermarket on his way to her apartment. They had everything he needed. A prestuffed, precooked, prebasted, everything but pre-eaten turkey, with all the trimmings. He bought the whole shebang, cranberry jelly, sweet potatoes, biscuits that only needed to be warmed, mashed potatoes, peas, and pumpkin pie for dessert. For $49.99, he had everything he needed. Ten minutes later, he was ringing her doorbell. She answered in a cautious voice. She wasn't expecting anyone, and was stunned when she heard Adam. She buzzed him in immediately, and was wearing her nightgown when she opened the door to the apartment. She looked a mess, her hair wasn't combed, her face was streaked with mascara in patches. He could see that she'd been crying. She looked at him in confused amazement.

“What happened? Why aren't you on Long Island?” She looked confused.

“Put your clothes on. We're going home.”

“Where?” He looked like a madman. He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, and a tie. His shoes were shined. He looked immaculate, but his eyes were wild. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope. Cold stone sober. Get dressed. We're leaving.”

“Where are we going?” She didn't move, as Adam looked around the apartment. It was awful, worse than he had expected. It had never dawned on him that she lived in a place that looked like that.

There were two tiny unmade roll-away beds in the bedroom, and sleeping bags in the living room on two tattered couches. Both lampshades on the room's only lamps were broken. Nothing matched, everything was dirty, the window shades were broken and torn, there was a bare lightbulb hanging from a frayed wire in the middle of the room, and the carpet was filthy. The springs of the two couches they'd bought at Goodwill were sagging to the floor, and there was an orange crate as a coffee table. He couldn't imagine living like this, or her coming out of a place like that looking even halfway decent. There was dirty laundry all over the bathroom floor, and dirty dishes everywhere. The hallway when he'd come up had smelled of cats and urine. It made his heart ache just seeing her standing there in her nightgown. It was an old frayed flannel nightie that made her look like a little girl.

“How much do you pay for this place?” he asked her bluntly. He didn't want to say “shithole,” but it was.

“My share is a hundred and seventy-five dollars,” she said, looking embarrassed. She had never let him come up before, and he hadn't asked, and now he felt guilty about that too. The woman slept in his bed nearly every night and he said he loved her, and when she left him, she came back to this. This was worse than Cinderella cleaning up her stepmother's house, scrubbing floors on her knees. It was a total nightmare, and the rest of the time she was getting her ass pinched at Pier 92. He had had no idea how she lived. “It's all I can afford,” she said apologetically, as he fought back tears.

“Come on, Maggie,” he said softly, putting his arms around her and kissing her finally, “let's go home.”

“What are we going to do? Don't you have to go to your parent's house?” She thought maybe he hadn't left yet, and had come to see her on his way out of town. In her dreams, he would ask her to come to his parents' with him. But she didn't realize the full extent of how miserable that would have been.

“I already went. I left. I walked out. I came home to be with you. I can't put up with that shit anymore.” She smiled at him as he said it. She was proud of him, and he knew it. At least someone was. And he was too. It was the ballsiest thing he had ever done. Thanks to her. She had opened his eyes, and when he looked and listened, he couldn't take it anymore. She had reminded him that he had a choice.

“Are we going out for lunch?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. She looked a total mess, and hadn't expected to see him till that night.

“No, I'm making you Thanksgiving dinner at my place. Let's go.” He sat down on one of the couches, and it sagged right to the floor. Everything looked so filthy, he hated to sit down. He couldn't even imagine living there. It never occurred to him that people lived like that. Let alone that she did. It made his heart ache for her. It took her twenty minutes to dress. She just put on jeans, a sweater, a Levi's jacket, and boots, washed her face, and combed her hair. She said she'd shower and put on makeup at his place, and she had decent clothes there. She hated to leave them in the apartment, because her roommates always took them and never gave them back, even her shoes. It was inconceivable to him now, having seen the place, that she ever looked as good as she did for him. You had to be a magician to come out of a hole like that and look, act, and feel like a human being, but she managed it somehow.

He followed her down the stairs, and two minutes later they roared off in the Ferrari and went back to his place. She helped him carry the groceries and cook dinner, after she showered and they made love. She set the table while he carved the turkey, and they had Thanksgiving dinner in his kitchen wearing bathrobes. After dinner they went back to bed, and he held her as he thought of everything that had happened that day. They had come a long, long way.

“I guess this must be a relationship, then,” he said, pulling her closer and smiling at her.

“What made you say that?” She smiled. He looked so beautiful to her, as she did to him.

“We just had a holiday together, didn't we? Maybe we even started a tradition. We'll have to get dressed next year though. My kids will be here. And I'm not taking them to my mom's.”

He still had a decision to make about Chanukah, but that was weeks away. He didn't want to keep his children from his parents, but he was no longer willing to sacrifice himself, or be burned at the stake to please them. Those days were over. There was a slim chance that his walking out might teach them to treat him better, but he doubted it. All he knew right now was that he was happy with Maggie, and his stomach didn't ache. That was a lot, and a vast improvement.

It was Sunday night before he asked her what had been on his mind all weekend. It was a big step, but having seen her apartment, he couldn't bring himself to let her go back there. It scared the shit out of him, but it wasn't marriage for chrissake, he told himself.

They were cleaning up the dinner dishes on Sunday night before she left. They had finished all the leftovers of their turkey at lunchtime. It had been delicious. His best Thanksgiving to date, and surely hers.

“What do you say you move in? You know … kind of try it out… see how it goes… you're here most of the time anyway… and I can help you with your homework …” His voice trailed off as she turned to look at him, uncertain. She was touched, but scared.

“I don't know,” she said, looking confused. “I don't want to be dependent on you, Adam. What you saw is all I can afford. If I get used to this, and you toss my ass out of here one day, it would be hard to go back.”

“Then don't. Stay here. I'm not going to toss your ass out, Maggie. I love you. And for now, this is working.”

“That's the point. 'For now.' What happens if it doesn't? I can't even afford to contribute to the rent.” He was touched by the thought, and looked pleased with himself when he answered.

“You don't have to. I own it.” She smiled, and kissed him.

“I love you. I don't want to take advantage of you. I don't want anything from you. Just you.”

“I know that. And I want you to move in. I miss you when you're not here.” He put on a basset hound face. “I get headaches when you're not here.” Besides, he liked keeping track of her and knowing where she was.

“Stop giving me Jewish guilt.” She stood looking at him then and slowly nodded. “Okay …I will. But I'm keeping my apartment for a while, just in case. If it doesn't work, or we get on each other's nerves, I'll go back.” It wasn't a threat, it was a sensible move on her part, and he respected her for it. He always did.

She stayed with him that night, and as he cuddled up next to her, just as they were about to fall asleep, she tapped him on the shoulder, and he opened one eye. She had a way of wanting to discuss earth-shattering events with him, or life-altering decisions, just as he was drifting off to sleep. Other women had done that to him before, he figured it was something in the chromosomes, determined at birth. Women liked to talk when men wanted to sleep.

“Yeah? What?” He could barely stay awake.

“So what does this make it now?” She sounded wide awake to him.

“Huh?

“Well, if we're living together and had a holiday, I guess this really really makes it a relationship, right? Or if you're living together, do you call it something else?”

“You call it sleep, and I want some … you get some too…I love you… we'll talk about it tomorrow… it's called living together… that's something good …” He was almost asleep.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling to herself, too excited to go to sleep. She just lay there looking at him, as Adam rolled over, dead to the world, and snored.

19

CHARLIE PICKED CAROLE UP PROMPTLY AT NOON ON Friday and took her to lunch at La Goulue. It was a fashionable restaurant on Madison Avenue, with a good menu and a lively crowd. He felt less compelled to take her to simple down-to-earth restaurants, now that he knew who she was, and it was fun for both of them to go someplace nice. They had a delicious lunch, and then wandered up Madison Avenue, looking into the shops.

For the first time, she opened up with him about her early life. Gray had been right. Blue blood and fancy houses didn't necessarily make for a happy childhood. She talked about how cold and distant her parents had been, how chilly with each other, and emotionally and physically unavailable to her. She had been brought up by a nanny, never saw her parents, and she said her mother was a human block of ice. She had had no siblings to comfort her, she was an only child. She said she had gone weeks sometimes without seeing her parents, and they were deeply upset about the path she had chosen for her life. She had come to hate everything her world represented, the hypocrisy, the obsession with material possessions, the indifference to people's feelings, and lack of respect for anyone who hadn't been born into that life. It was obvious, listening to her, that she had been a lonely child. She had eventually gone from their icy indifference to her to the lavish abuses of the man she had married, who, as Gray had suspected, had married her because of who she was. When he left her finally, she had wanted to divorce herself not only from him, but from everything that had drawn him to her in the first place, and a set of values she had hated all her life.

“You can't do that, Carole,” Charlie said gently. There had been times when he wanted to do that himself, although not to the degree she had, but she had paid a higher price. “You have to accept who you are. You're doing wonderful things for the children you work with. You don't have to strip yourself of everything you are to do that. You can actually enjoy both worlds.”

“I never enjoyed my childhood,” she said honestly. “I hated everything about it from the time I was a little girl. People either wanted to play with me because of who I was, or didn't want to play with me because of who I was. I never knew which to expect, and it got to be too much work to figure it out.” He could see how that would happen, and it reminded him of something as they walked along. He hesitated to mention it to her so soon after they hadn't seen each other for so long. But it was as though they had never been apart. Her arm was tucked into his as they strolled up Madison Avenue, chatting as though he'd never left. He felt as though he belonged in her life, and she had exactly the same feeling.

“You're probably going to kill me for this,” he began cautiously as they crossed Seventy-second Street, heading north. The weather had turned cold, but it was crisp and clear. She was wearing a wool hat, and a cashmere scarf and gloves, and he had turned up the collar of his coat. “I go to an event every year that you probably don't want to go to, given everything you've said. But I always feel I have to, and this year two of my friends' daughters are coming out. I go to the Infirmary Ball every year, where they present the debutantes. Aside from the obvious social complications, it's always a nice party. Would you come with me, Carole?” he asked hopefully, and she laughed. After the speeches she'd been making him about how much she hated “their world,” she knew he was probably terrified to invite her to an event where blue-blooded young girls were presented to society and “came out.” It was an archaic, snobbish tradition, but certainly one she was familiar with, as she turned to him and smiled.

“I hate to admit it”—she laughed ruefully—“but I came out there myself. My parents go every year too. I haven't been since I came out. But it might be fun, with you. I wouldn't go otherwise.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling broadly at her. He was dying to go somewhere nice with her and show her off in a pretty dress. He loved seeing her at the center, but he still enjoyed formal events like that himself. It was fun dressing up once in a while, and the event was white tie.

“It's a yes,” she said, as they walked on. “When is it?” She had to buy a dress. She hadn't worn a ballgown in years, although she could have borrowed one from her mother, but didn't want to ask. They were the same size. She wanted to look beautiful for Charlie, and her mother's gowns would look too matronly on her.

“It's not for a few weeks. I'll look it up when I go to the office.” She nodded. Going to the deb ball with him was a big step for her, backward into her old life. But she also knew it was just a one-night oddity for her now, not a way of life. As a tourist, she could handle it, though she didn't want more of it than that. It was a compromise and gesture she was willing to make for him.

They fell silent as they continued to walk uptown toward her house, and then turned east on Ninety-first. They were both ice-cold by then. It felt like it might snow. When they got to her front door, she turned to him and smiled. She could invite him in since he now knew it was her house, and no longer believed she was renting a small studio in the back.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked him shyly as she looked for her key and finally found it, at the bottom of her bag, where it always was.

“Is that all right with you?” he asked cautiously, and she nodded. She wanted him to. It was getting dark by then. They had been together since lunchtime, and had had a long lunch. They had a lot of time to make up for now, and had admitted over lunch how much they had missed each other. He had missed talking to her, knowing what she did, and sharing the excitement and complications and daily details of his own life with her. He had gotten used to her sage advice and wise counsel in the month they'd been seeing each other, and had felt her absence sorely once she was gone, as she had his.

They walked into a small distinguished-looking vestibule as they walked into the house. It had an elegant black-and-white marble floor. There were two small sitting rooms on the ground floor, one of which led into a handsome garden, and one flight up the stairs was a beautiful living room with large comfortable upholstered chairs and couches, a fireplace, and English antiques that she had taken from one of her parents' houses with their permission. They had more in storage. The house was elegant but at the same time warm and cozy, as she was, distinguished but playful. There were objects everywhere that were meaningful to her, even artwork by the children at the center. It was a wonderful mélange of old and new, expensive or priceless objects that had been made by children, or unusual objects found somewhere on her travels. There was a big comfortable kitchen, and a small, formal dining room with dark red walls and English hunting prints that had been her grandfather's. Upstairs, she had a large sunny bedroom and a guest room. She used the top floor as a small at-home office. She gave him a tour of the office, and he was greatly impressed as they walked back downstairs to the kitchen.

“I never invite anyone over, for obvious reasons,” she said sadly. “I'd love to have people for dinner here sometime, but I just can't.” She was pretending to be poor, and leading a secret life. Charlie knew it had to be lonely for her, just as his life was, for different reasons. She still had parents, but didn't like the ones she had, and had never been close to them. They had been emotionally absent all her life. He had no one. By different routes, they had arrived at the same place.

She offered him hot chocolate in the cozy kitchen, and they sat at her kitchen table while it got dark outside. He mentioned again how much he hated the holidays and was dreading them, as he always did. She didn't ask him what his plans were, she thought it was too soon to ask. He had only that day walked back into her life. He offered to light a fire in the fireplace then, and they settled down on the couch in the main living room once it was lit, and talked for hours. Their lives scattered around them like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that they were slowly fitting together one by one, a piece of sky here, a tree there, a passing cloud, a house, a childhood trauma, a heartbreak, a favorite pet, how much he loved his sister, how devastated he had been when she died, how lonely she had been as a child. It all fit together seamlessly, better than either of them could have planned.

It was after eight o'clock when she finally offered to cook him dinner. And he politely offered to take her out. It had just started snowing, and they both agreed it was much cozier inside. In the end, they made pasta and omelettes, standing together at the stove, with French bread, cheese, and salad. By the time dinner was over, they were both laughing at funny stories she told, and he told her about exotic places he'd been on the boat. And as they walked back into the living room, he took her in his arms and kissed her, and then suddenly he laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, sounding slightly nervous.

“I was thinking about Halloween and your green face. You looked so funny.” It was the first time he had kissed her, and they both remembered it well. All hell had broken loose between them shortly after that.

“Not nearly as funny as you with your lion's tail sticking up straight behind you. The kids still talk about it. They loved it. They thought you were really cool, and it gave Gabby something to hang on to, while she followed you around.” They hadn't gone to the center that day, and Carole said she was going the next day. Charlie said he wanted to go with her. He had missed the kids, especially Gabby. “I told her you were away.” He nodded. He had missed all of it, but Carole most of all. And then, as he kissed her again, she looked into his eyes. There was something so gentle and peaceful there that she felt as though she'd come home. “Do you want to go upstairs?” she asked him gently, and he nodded. He didn't say anything to her as he followed her up the stairs to her bedroom, and then he stood looking at her for an endless moment.

“Are you all right?” He didn't want to push her. He remembered how reluctant she had been to date, and that had only been two months before. A lot had happened in the meantime, and his four-week absence had told her that she loved him. She was willing to take the chance. For her, it had been a long, long time.

She nodded in answer to his question, and they settled comfortably into her big bed, where she slept in the middle when she was alone. She lay next to him feeling as though they had been there before. Their lovemaking was comforting and joyous, passionate and cozy at the same time. It was precisely what they both wanted so much, intimacy much needed and equally shared. And as the snow fell outside her windows that night, it looked like a Christmas card, and lying in each other's arms was like a dream.

20

THE THANKSGIVING WEEKEND WAS EASY FOR GRAY and Sylvia. She went to the gallery on Saturday, and had errands to do. Gray went to his studio to paint, and on Sunday they sat in bed with The New York Times strewn around them, while he coached her on the crossword puzzle, and eventually they made love, and went back to sleep.

They hadn't heard a word from Charlie since Thanksgiving dinner, and they hoped he'd taken their advice, but they didn't know if he would. There were four inches of snow on the ground on Sunday morning, and that night Sylvia cooked dinner, while Gray read a book in the living room. They were chatting easily about nothing in particular over dinner when Gray asked her when her kids were coming home. He hadn't thought about it till then, and when he asked her, he looked worried. She knew he'd been anxious about meeting them, and afraid they might disapprove of their romance.

“A few days before Christmas, I think. Gilbert said the twenty-third, but Emily is always a little vague. She'll catch a plane at the last minute, and blow in here like a hurricane. She always does.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Gray said, looking anxious. “Sylvia, I just don't know if that's a good idea.”

“What, my children coming home for Christmas? Are you kidding?” She looked stunned. They were, and always had been, the light of her life. There was no way she was going to tell them not to come home, even for him. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying,” he said, taking a deep breath, “that I don't know if I'm up to meeting them. I think I should stay at my studio while they're here.” She had a tiny studio apartment downstairs that they used when they were home. The rest of the time she used it for storage, so there was no reason why Gray couldn't continue to stay with her, and she had already explained that to him weeks before.

“Sweetheart, they're going to love you,” Sylvia said easily, trying to dispel his fears.

“I don't do well with kids.”

“They're not kids, they're adults.”

“That's what you think. Kids are kids, I don't care if they're eighty years old. If someone's hundred-year-old mother has a boyfriend, their eighty-year-old kid is going to be pissed. It's the law of nature.” He sounded convinced.

“Bullshit, they never gave Gordon any problems, and they were younger then.” Gordon was her lover who had died. “Trust me, they're great kids, you're going to love them.”

“Maybe not,” he said sadly, and she looked up at him, worried.

“What are you saying?” She sensed that there was more to it than what appeared. She knew he was anxious about children, but not to this degree.

“I'm saying that that level of involvement makes me nervous. As long as we're just dealing with each other, I'm fine. But once you start dragging kids into it, I freak out.”

“Gray, for God's sake, that's insane. They'll only be here for a few weeks.” She was taking them skiing the day after Christmas, and she wanted Gray to come. They already knew there was a man in her life, and both seemed fine with it. They knew how lonely she had been since Gordon died.

“Maybe I should just stay out of the picture till they're gone,” he said firmly, growing more resolute by the minute, and Sylvia looked hurt, angry, and shocked.

“Let me get this straight here,” she said through clenched teeth. “You don't want to meet my children, and you don't want to see me till they leave. Is that it? Did I get that right?”

“Yes, you did. You can come over to see me at the studio whenever you want.”

“Fuck that,” she said, as she strode nervously across the room and began to pace. “I'm not going to be in a relationship with a man who won't even meet my kids. They're wonderful children, and I love them. And I also love you. They're part of me, Gray. You don't even know who I am until you know them too.”

“Yes, I do. And I love you too,” he said, looking more than a little panicked. He hadn't expected her reaction to be so extreme. “But I'm not going to be forced into a situation I know I can't handle. I can't deal with that level of commitment. I just can't. I know myself. I've never wanted kids of my own, and I don't want anyone else's either.”

“Then you should be going out with a woman who has no kids.”

“Maybe so,” he said, staring at his feet.

“Just when did you decide all this?” She was horrified by everything he'd said. She had never expected him to be as unreasonable as this.

“As soon as you told me they were coming back here for Christmas. I just figured I'd bow out gracefully for a few weeks.”

“And what about next summer? You don't come to Europe with me either?” She liked having time alone with them, but his reasons for it struck her as ridiculous, and even mean. He wasn't willing to make any effort whatsoever to meet her kids, or be part of her life, an important part of her life, in her eyes. “I wanted you to come skiing with us,” she said, looking disappointed. She had rented a beautiful house for them in Vermont.

“I don't ski.” He remained unconvinced.

“Neither do I. But they do. And we always have a nice time together.”

“You will this year too. I just won't be there.”

“You're a shit!” she said, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door. And when she came out two hours later, he had gone back to his studio, to spend the night there for the first time in three months. It was a terrible situation, and when she called him, he said he was working and didn't want to talk.

“Fuck,” she said to herself, and paced some more. She had no idea how to win him over. She knew how bad his childhood had been, and how insane his family was. He had told her early on that family life was not for him. She just hadn't expected him to take it to these extremes. He didn't even want to see them. He only wanted her. She knew that if he remained firm on it, it would impact their relationship sooner rather than later. She wasn't sure whether to just let him be, and see if he'd relent on his own, or draw a line in the sand, and give him an ultimatum. Either way, she could lose him.

The Three Musketeers, as Sylvia now called them, met for dinner in a Chinese restaurant two weeks before Christmas. All of them were stressed and busy. Charlie said he had a million things to do for the foundation before he left on the boat. Adam's clients were all going nuts, and he was going to Vegas for the title fight of one of his clients that weekend. And Gray just looked depressed.

“So how are the lovebirds?” Charlie teased him as they started dinner. Gray just shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means Sylvia and I are barely speaking to each other. It's been a tough couple of weeks since Thanksgiving.”

“What happened?” Charlie looked stunned. “You two looked fine when I was there.” They looked better than fine. They were terrific.

“I don't do kids.”

“I know that.” Charlie smiled. “That's Adam's department. Twenty-two-year-olds. Sylvia is adorable, but she's no kid.”

“No, but she has kids. And I don't want to meet them. They're coming in for Christmas, and I just can't go there. I can't. It makes me nuts. Every time I get around families, it makes me nervous. I feel psychotic. I get depressed. I don't want to meet her kids. I love her, not her children.”

“Oh, shit. And what's she saying about that?” Charlie looked worried.

“Not much. She's pissed. I guess she's hurt. She isn't saying it, but I get the feeling that if I don't back down, it's going to be over with us, and I'm not backing down. I have to respect myself. I have limitations. I have issues. I grew up in the Addams Family on LSD. My sister is a Buddhist nun. My brother is a Navajo I haven't seen in a million years, and don't want to. And both my parents were head cases. I am allergic to families.”

“Even hers?” Charlie tested the waters.

“Even hers,” Gray confirmed. “They're going to Vermont after Christmas,” he said as though they were going by rocket ship to another planet. “To ski.” He made the electric chair sound more appealing.

“You might have fun.”

“No, I won't. They're probably not as nice as she thinks. Even if they are, I have my own problems. I don't want to be involved with her family, only with her.” But he also knew that if he stuck to that, he might blow the deal. Gray felt he had no choice, and Charlie felt sorry for them both. He knew how much it must mean to her. She was so proud of her kids. And also in love with Gray.

“I hope you guys work it out,” Charlie said gently. “It would be a shame if you don't.” Gray had been so much happier since he'd been with her. And then he told him and Adam about Carole. “I took your advice,” he said proudly, and then added, “I hope you take mine, and compromise a little. I think you'll be sorry later if you don't.”

“I'm sure I will,” Gray said, looking resigned. He was fully prepared to pay the price for his decision, and lose her if he had to, rather than meet or get involved with her children.

“I have a little bit of news,” Adam said shyly, as the other two looked at him. “Remember Maggie, from the Vana concert?” He reminded Charlie, and he nodded. “She just moved in.” He looked half-proud and half-embarrassed as the other two stared at him.

“She what?” Charlie asked him. He remembered how she had looked that night, and feeling sorry for her. She had seemed like a nice girl and something of a lost soul. “You? Mr. I'll-never-get-tied-down-again-I-have-to-have-my-freedom-and-a-million-women? How did that happen?” She hadn't looked like a conniver to him, but who knew? She had done something to turn him around, whatever it was.

“She's taking pre-law classes at night school, and I figured I could help her with her papers,” he said, trying to sound casual, and the other two guffawed, hooted, and jeered.

“Try that on someone else.”

“All right, all right…I really like her… love her… what do I know? One minute we were dating, and the next thing I knew, I didn't want her out of my sight. I haven't told her yet, but I'm taking her to Vegas this weekend. She's never been.” She hadn't been anywhere, and he was planning to change that soon.

“Have you told her about the boat?” Charlie asked him. Adam was flying to St. Barts to meet Charlie on the boat on December 26, as he did every year, after he spent Christmas with his kids.

Adam shook his head, trying to look unconcerned. “I thought I'd tell her after this weekend.” He was hoping that she'd be so thrilled after the weekend that she wouldn't make a fuss about the boat. “I can't change everything. We've been doing that trip for ten years. Have you told Carole?”

“No, but I will. I don't do holidays,” Charlie said firmly.

“I don't do kids,” Gray said just as firmly.

“Do you want to come to St. Barts with us?” Charlie suggested. “If you're not going to be with Sylvia over the holidays, you might as well.”

“I don't do the Caribbean either,” he said sheepishly, and then laughed at himself. “Christ, among the three of us, we have enough baggage to start an airline.” But you didn't get to where they were in life, and come the long, hard road they had, without paying a price for it. They had all paid their dues.

“I don't do marriage,” Adam added with a grin.

“Tell me that this time next year,” Charlie said, laughing at him. “Shit, you're the last person on the planet I would have expected to be living with a woman. What happened to all the others that you always juggle so expertly?” He was curious about it. Adam had never had less than four women going at once, often five, sometimes six in a good week. And once, seven.

“I gave them up for her.” He looked sheepish. “I didn't want her doing the same thing to me. I thought she was. It turned out she was going to college. I thought there was another guy. To be honest, it nearly drove me insane. And then I realized I was in love with her. I like living with her.”

“I'm only staying with Sylvia,” Gray informed them. “I'm still not living with her.” He sounded proud that he hadn't given in.

“That just means that your clothes are all over the city and you never have the right shoes in the right apartment,” Adam translated for him. “And you're not going to be 'staying' with her either, if you don't meet her kids. Or at least that's my guess. I think that's a biggie for her. It would be for me too. I would have a fit if the woman in my life refused to meet my kids. It would be a deal-breaker for me.” It was insight for Gray, but he still shook his head.

“Have your kids met Maggie?” Charlie asked Adam with interest.

“Not yet. But they will. Probably before the holidays. I don't do mothers anymore either, by the way. Or at least I didn't on Thanksgiving. I went out to my parents', and I was sitting there listening to all the same bullshit getting dumped on me. I got up and walked out before lunch. I thought my mother would have a stroke if I ever did that, but she didn't. Actually, she's been very polite since then, whenever I call.”

“What did your father say?” Gray asked.

“He fell asleep.”

The rest of their dinner was uneventful. They talked politics, business, investments, art for Gray's sake. He was having a show in April, but they had already sold three of his paintings that they'd hung in the gallery in the meantime. Sylvia had done a wonderful thing when she opened that door for him, and he was grateful to her, but not grateful enough to meet her kids. Some things he just couldn't do. And Adam and Charlie talked about how excited they were about spending two weeks on the Blue Moon. They encouraged Gray again to join them, but he wouldn't. He said he had a lot of work to do to get ready for his show.

As usual, they were the last to leave the restaurant, and had had a fair amount to drink. None of them drank unduly on his own, but once together, all bets were off, and they let it rip.

Gray went back to his apartment that night. Maggie was asleep when Adam got in, and Charlie went home, smiling to himself thinking about the weeks he was about to spend on his boat. He was leaving four days before Christmas. It was the perfect way for him to pretend that Christmas did not exist.

21

ADAM TOLD MAGGIE ABOUT THE WEEKEND IN LAS Vegas the following morning, and she was thrilled. She had the weekend off from work anyway, and she had to do a paper, but she said she'd take her books with her and do it there whenever Adam was busy. She threw her arms around his neck and couldn't believe her good fortune. They were flying there on his plane.

And then she turned to him with a look of panic.

“What'll I wear?” Now that she was living with him, she no longer had access to her roommates' wardrobes, but they wouldn't have had anything appropriate anyway. Adam had already thought of it, smiled, and tossed a credit card at her.

“Go shopping,” he said generously, and she stood staring at it for a minute, and then handed it back to him.

“I can't do that,” she said sadly. “I may be poor, but I'm not cheap.” She knew that other women had done that to him before her, and no matter what happened, she knew she never would. She'd make her own money one day. And in the meantime, she managed on what she had, which was the salary and tips she earned at Pier 92. “Thanks, sweetheart. I'll figure out something.” He knew she would, but his heart always ached for her. Her life was so much harder than his, and always had been. He wanted to help her more than he did, and she never let him. But he respected her for it. She was an entirely different breed from any of the women he had known.

They were leaving for Vegas on Friday afternoon, and she was so excited she could hardly stand it. She threw her arms around his neck, and thanked him. He loved doing things like that for her. He was looking forward to showing her around, and making it special for her. He wanted to make up to her for all the hard times she'd had, and she was always grateful to him, and never took anything for granted. The following weekend, after the trip to Las Vegas, he told her he wanted her to celebrate Chanukah with him and his kids. He told his mother they wouldn't be there. Times had finally changed.

When Charlie picked Carole up to go to the debutante cotillion, she was dressed and waiting for him. She took his breath away when he saw her walking toward him. She was wearing a pink satin dress and silver high-heeled sandals, with her hair in an elegant French twist. She had borrowed a white mink jacket from her mother, and bought the dress at Bergdorf's. She hadn't been there in years. She was wearing diamond earrings and a diamond bracelet that had been her grandmother's, and she carried a small silver purse and long white kid gloves.

For a long, long moment, Charlie just stood there and stared. He was wearing white tie and tails. They made a spectacular-looking couple. Carole looked like a cross between Grace Kelly and Uma Thurman, with a dash of Michelle Pfeiffer thrown in. And Charlie was somewhere between Gary Cooper and Cary Grant.

Heads turned as they walked into the ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria, and Carole looked absolutely regal. It was a far cry from the woman he'd met in blue jeans and Nikes at the center, or the green face and wig on Halloween. But the best part was that he loved all three sides of her. It was fun being out with her in public, and seeing her all dressed up.

They went through the receiving line and met all the debs, and Carole reminisced sotto voce about her own presentation there. She said she had been scared to death, but had fun in the end, in spite of herself.

“I'll bet you were gorgeous,” he said with an admiring look. “But even more so now. You look absolutely beautiful tonight,” he said, and meant it, as he whirled her around the dance floor in a slow waltz. He was an exquisite dancer, and so was she. All their early life and training showed its colors at moments like that, dancing school, deb parties, all the things that Carole shunned and tried to forget now. But tonight she was back in her old world, though just for a brief visit. Charlie knew he wouldn't get her to do things like that often, and he didn't mind. He was somewhat tired of them himself. He just liked having the option to do them now and then.

They ran into her parents shortly before dinner. Carole pointed them out to him, and they made their way politely to her parents' table. They were sitting among the scions of New York, and her father stood up as soon as he saw them. He was a tall distinguished man and looked a lot like Carole. He held out a hand to Charlie when she introduced them, and his face looked as though it had been carved from ice. Charlie had met him years before, but he doubted that the older man recalled.

“I knew your father,” Arthur Van Horn said grimly. “We were at Andover together. I was very sorry to hear about what happened. It was a tragic loss.” It was not a happy topic for Charlie, and Carole tried to get him off the subject. Her father had a way of casting a pall on everything, it was just the way he was. She also introduced him to her mother, who sat in glacial silence, shook his hand, nodded, and turned around. And that was it. Carole and Charlie went back to their table and then danced some more before they sat down.

“Well, that was a little daunting,” Charlie admitted, as Carole laughed. Their greeting had been typical of her parents, and had nothing to do with him.

“For them, that was warm.” They were caricatures of the upper class to which they belonged. “I don't think my mother ever hugged or kissed me. She always walked into the nursery, as she referred to it, looking as though she was visiting animals in the zoo, and was afraid she'd be attacked if she stuck around, so she didn't. I never saw her for more than five minutes. If I ever have kids, I'm going to lie on the floor with them, get dirty, and hug and kiss them till they scream.”

“My mother was like that, the way you just described wanting to be with yours.” It made it that much harder for him when she died. She had always told him how much she loved him, as did Ellen. His father had been his mentor and best friend until he died. His hero. It had been a lot to lose. His whole world, in fact. He remembered his father as a happy, debonair man who looked like Clark Gable, and loved yachts. It was probably why Charlie had bought one in honor of him, when they died. He wanted to have boats that his father would have approved of, and commented to Carole how odd it was that those things followed one into adulthood, in fact all one's life.

“I guess we never get over wanting to please our parents,” he said as they sat down for dinner.

The evening was fun for both of them, the girls were pretty, the moments tender to watch. The girls danced first with their fathers, holding their bouquets, and wearing elaborate white gowns. It was almost like a wedding, and once upon a time it had been the precursor to that. Debutantes had been presented to society in order to find husbands. Now the girls just had fun, and at the end of the evening changed into miniskirts and went to discos with their friends.

“Technically, I disapprove of it,” Carole admitted to him, “and everything it stands for. But the truth is, it doesn't mean much, it doesn't hurt anyone. It's not PC, but the kids seem to have a good time. So why not?” He was relieved that she saw it that way, and he looked at her again with pleasure, as they drove back to her house afterward in the limo he had rented for the occasion. The evening had been very grand, and they had both enjoyed it. “Thank you for taking me.” She smiled at him, as he leaned over and kissed her. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he was proud to be with her, although he'd been slightly horrified by her parents. He couldn't imagine growing up with two people like that. It amazed him that she was normal, and grateful that she was not like them. She was warm and kind and compassionate, gentle where they were stiff, and easy to be with. She was smiling at him happily as they approached her house. “I can hardly wait to spend Christmas with you.” She smiled at him. “I love the holidays. I thought I'd buy my tree tomorrow, and we can decorate it.” He looked at her then as though he had been slapped, and there was a strange awkward moment between them. He knew he had to say something now. If he didn't, he was a liar. He had to tell her the truth, just as he had told her, when they got back together, that he expected it of her.

His voice was very sad and soft as he spoke. “I won't be here.”

“Tomorrow?” She looked startled, and he looked chagrined.

“No. For Christmas,” he said carefully. “I hate the holidays, every moment of them, everything about them. I don't do Christmas anymore. It's too hard for me. I spend it on my boat every year. I'll be gone for three weeks.” There was a long silence between them as she stared at him, as though she found it hard to believe.

“When are you leaving?” she asked, looking as though he had hit her in the head with a brick. He almost expected to see blood trickling from her ear. It made him feel sick. He hated to disappoint her. But there were some things he just couldn't do for anyone, and this was one.

“Next week.” He sounded pained but determined.

“Before Christmas?” He nodded.

“I'm going to St. Barts with Adam. It's a tradition. We do it every year.” As though that excused it, but they both knew that in her eyes, it didn't.

“He leaves his kids for the holidays?” Her voice was filled with disapproval, it sounded incredibly selfish to her.

“He comes the day after Christmas. I always go down a week before.”

“Why don't you go down with him the day after? Then we could be together on Christmas.” It seemed like a reasonable compromise to her, but Charlie shook his head.

“I can't do it. I know myself. I just can't. I want to get out of here, before everyone gets maudlin, or I do. Christmas is for people with children and families. I don't have either.”

“You have me,” she said sadly. In some ways, she knew it was too soon to expect it of him, but they had a relationship, they said they loved each other, and Christmas was important to her. That was supposed to mean something. And apparently, to Charlie, it didn't. Or maybe it meant too much.

“We'll do something fun when I get back,” he said by way of consolation, but she was staring out the window, thinking.

“I can't get away then. I wasn't expecting to do anything spectacular.” She turned to look at him again. “I just wanted to be with you. I have to work then anyway. I can't just walk out on the kids for no reason when you get back, just because you don't want to spend Christmas with me.”

“It's not about trying to avoid you,” he explained to her, looking unhappy. “I hate the whole goddamn thing. It was designed to make people miserable and feel left out. Even kids, they never get what they want. People argue, children fight. Santa Claus is a lie we tell kids and then disappoint them later, when we think they're old enough to take it, and tell them it's not true. I hate the whole damn mess, and I won't do it.”

“Maybe love is always about disappointment,” she said, looking straight at him.

“I was hoping you'd be a good sport about it,” he said, looking strained as they pulled up in front of her house.

“I was hoping you'd be here.” The prospect of spending Christmas alone with her parents depressed her even more, for obvious reasons. She was planning to spend most of it at the center, and the rest with him. So much for that.

He helped her out of the car and walked her to her front door. He had cast a pall over the evening with his announcement, and he was afraid to even kiss her. Although she hadn't said it in so many words, it sounded as though it was a deal-breaker to her. He feared it would be. But he knew this was one thing he couldn't do for her, and wouldn't.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said gently, as he walked her into her house. He didn't ask to stay, nor did she invite him. She was too upset about what she'd just heard. Apparently, it wasn't the relationship she thought it was. Not if he wouldn't spend Christmas with her. Or New Year's, if he was going to be gone for three weeks. She had another lonely New Year's Eve to look forward to as well.

“Goodnight,” she said quietly, as she kissed him on the cheek, and a moment later he left. She stood at the window watching, as the limousine drove away.

As they drove toward his house, Carole's words were ringing in his head. “Maybe love is always about dis appointment.” It was a damning statement, and maybe he deserved it. But this time they were both disappointed. He expected her to understand how painful it was for him. She didn't. She expected him to be with her. And he couldn't do it. Even for her, no matter what the cost to them.

22

THE WEEKEND IN LAS VEGAS WAS FABULOUS, AND Maggie loved everything about it. The shows, the shops, the lights, the gambling, the people, and even the title fight. In the end, he had bought a dress for her and a little fur jacket, and she had worn them to the fight. She had won five hundred dollars on the slot machines on a fifty-dollar investment of her own money, and she was thrilled. Flying back to New York, on his plane, she sat there feeling like a princess, as Adam smiled at her with pleasure.

“I'm glad you had fun.” He loved spoiling her, being with her, and showing her off. She had looked absolutely gorgeous in the new dress and fur jacket.

“I had a ball,” she confirmed again, and thanked him profusely.

They were about to land at JFK when for no reason in particular she brought up New Year's Eve, and said it would be fun to spend it in Las Vegas. She had loved it. She fit right into his world, instead of complaining about it like his mother.

“Yeah, maybe sometime,” he said vaguely.

“What about this year?” she asked, looking excited. She knew he went often, and he had the plane, so they could go anywhere they wanted, which was a new concept for her. She felt like a bird with giant wings.

“I can't,” he said, looking out the window, and then, like Charlie, he knew he had to tell her. He had to sooner or later, and the time was now. “I go away with Charlie every year, the day after Christmas.”

“You mean, like a guy thing, a hunting trip or something?” She looked disappointed.

“Yeah, sort of like that.” He was going to leave it at that for now, but she wouldn't.

“Where do you go?”

“St. Barts, on Charlie's boat.” Maggie stared at him in outrage.

“To the Caribbean? On a yacht? Are you kidding?”

“No, I'm not kidding. He hates Christmas. He goes down a week before I do. And I come after I have Christmas with the kids. We do it every year.”

“Yeah, and what? Screw every bimbo in the Caribbean?”

“Previously, yes. Now, no. I have you.” He said calmly. He didn't want a fight with her. Nor was he willing to change his plans. His trips with Charlie were a tradition that meant a lot to him.

“And you're not asking me to come with you?” she said, looking as though she was about to throw something at him. But fortunately for him, nothing suitable was at hand.

“Maggie, I can't. It's Charlie's trip, and he'll be alone. It's a guy thing.”

“Like hell it is. I know what guys do when they're alone. All the same shit you did till you met me.”

“Charlie's not like that. He's very proper. And he has a girlfriend now too.”

“Is she going?” Maggie asked suspiciously, as Adam shook his head in response.

“No, she's not. It's just the two of us.”

“For how long?”

“Two weeks.” He winced at her expression.

“Two weeks? You think I'm just going to sit here, while you go off picking up women for two weeks? If you think that, you're crazy.”

“Don't threaten me,” he said, looking angry. “I know you're upset, but I can't help it. I can't let Charlie down. And I can't just ask Charlie if you can come. It would be weird for him, and he expects me to come alone.”

“Great, then have a terrific New Year's Eve, kissing him. Maybe that's what this is really all about. Is he gay?”

“Oh, for chrissake. We're friends. We travel together twice a year. I'm sorry it happens to be over New Year's Eve, but I didn't know you were coming. I'm sorry.”

“And next year will be different?”

“Maybe. I don't know. I'm not making promises now for a year from now. Let's see where this goes.” He tried to sound calmer than he was. Just listening to her, he was getting a headache. A bad one.

“I'll tell you where it's going. It's going right down the tubes, if you think you're going to dump me for holidays, and go off on trips with your buddies. If you don't want to spend holidays with me, fine, but then you can take your goddamn rule book about dating and shove it you know where. Because people in relationships spend holidays together, and especially New Year's Eve.”

“Thank you for the information.” He was holding his head by then and she ignored him. She was furious with him. “Look, we just had a nice time in Las Vegas, let's not spoil it. I want you to meet my kids next week. I love you. I want this to work. I just have to go away for a couple of weeks. Can't you relax about it and be nice?”

“Nice people always get fucked over. And you don't have to go. You want to. What did Charlie's girlfriend say about it?”

“I have no idea,” he said grimly.

“I'll bet she's not happy about it either.”

The battle about not spending New Year's Eve together raged between them throughout the week. Maggie managed to put it aside long enough to meet Adam's children the following weekend, and after some initial cautious exploratory moves, they decided they loved her, and she was crazy about them. Adam was thrilled. The four of them went skating together, Maggie took Amanda shopping for a Christmas present for her father. They explained to her all about Chanukah. She even showed Amanda how to do her makeup, baked cookies with Jacob, and gave him tips about girls. They thought she was the best thing since sliced bread, she was young enough to have fun with them, and old enough to be someone they looked up to. Adam had expected some resistance to her, and got none. The three were fast friends when Amanda and Jacob left. And then the war began again. The cease-fire only lasted through the weekend.

Charlie had dinner with Carole twice after the debutante ball, and a decided chill had settled in between them. She didn't say anything about it initially, and then finally the second time she saw him, she asked him if he had changed his plans. He shook his head.

“Carole, I can't.” She nodded and said nothing. He had wanted to spend the night with her, but didn't have the courage to ask her, and went back to his place instead. He had the distinct impression that if he left for Christmas, their romance would be over when he got back. She particularly didn't understand what he was doing, since he was going alone for the first week, over Christmas. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason for him to go before the twenty-sixth, when he could have gone with Adam. He stopped trying to explain it to her, and decided to deal with it when he got back. If she was still speaking to him by then.

Adam called him in the office the day before Charlie was leaving town. Charlie was in a mad rush trying to finish everything on his desk. And Adam said his office was just as bad.

“All my clients fall apart at this time of year. If their marriage has been lousy, they decide to get divorced. If their mistresses have been cranky, they get knocked up. If their kids are crazy, they wind up in jail. If a singer hates her contract, she tears it up. And half my athletes get drunk over the holidays and go out and rape someone. It's a lot of fun. I really love it this time of year.” Adam sounded beyond stressed.

“Me too.” Charlie laughed. In spite of Carole's reaction to it, he was looking forward to their trip. “I assume despite everything you just described, everything is still on track. You're still coming, right?” It was always good to check. And much to his surprise, there was a pause. It had been a rhetorical question, but suddenly he heard something in Adam's voice.

“I'm having a hell of a time with Maggie,” he admitted. “She thinks we're going to be cruising the Caribbean picking up everything in sight, with our dicks hanging overboard. She's not too pleased.” Charlie laughed at his description, and then sobered quickly. “She didn't voice it quite that way, but Carole is pretty upset too. She thought we'd be spending Christmas together, and I told her I don't do Christmas. I was hoping she'd understand, but she doesn't. This could be a deal-breaker for her.” But he wasn't willing to be forced into staying home. If she couldn't live with it, then that was that. He wanted her to accept him as he was, warts and all. And one of his warts was that he was phobic about the holidays ever since his parents' death, and worse yet since Ellen's.

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Adam said sadly. “I'm worried that Maggie feels that way too. It's a shame that they can't just let it go, but holidays are a big deal to some people. There's something about holidays and women, if you don't do it right, they fire you.”

“Apparently,” Charlie said, sounding annoyed. But he was upset about Carole too. It had taken a big bite out of them ever since he told her. And he was planning to be gone for three weeks, which was a long time for her to stay upset with him. Particularly since they'd only just gotten back together. They didn't need another major bump in the road, and they'd already hit one. He was almost sure the relationship wouldn't survive another. He hated to lose her. He was afraid he would. But not enough to stay. His phobia was as powerful as her need for him to stay home with her.

“And to complicate matters further at my end, my kids just met Maggie this weekend, and they were crazy about her. To tell you the truth, Charlie, I hate to piss her off.” More than that, he hated to hurt her, and this would. A lot.

“What are you saying? That you can't come?” Charlie was shocked.

“I don't know. Maybe times have changed. For both of us. Me, in any case.” He wasn't sure how committed to Carole Charlie was at this point. It was hard to tell. And he suspected Charlie wasn't sure himself. He and Maggie were living together and further along.

“Let me think about it. I'll call you back.”

“Call me on my cell phone. I'll be out at meetings all afternoon. Believe it or not, all joking aside, I actually do have to bail one of my clients out of jail.”

“Lucky you! I'll get back to you,” Charlie said, and hung up.

It was nearly five o'clock when Charlie got back to Adam, and both men sounded strained. Adam had had a nightmarish afternoon, juggling both client and press. And Charlie was trying to chase elephants off his desk at year end. But beyond that, he was worried about Carole. He had paid close attention to what Adam said. Times had changed. And if he wanted more than he'd had in his life until then, he had to change too. He felt like he was leaping off a cliff. Hopefully, not into cement. That remained to be seen.

“Okay,” Charlie said, as though he were about to suggest they both jump out of a plane without parachutes. “Let's do it.”

“Do what?” Adam sounded confused, and there was a lot of noise where he was. He was still at the jail, trying to keep the press at bay. It sounded like the birdhouse at the zoo. “Why don't you bring Maggie to the boat? I like her. You love her. She loves you. We'll have fun. What the hell. Your relationship may not survive if you don't.” He didn't want to be responsible for that. He could tell that Adam had his back to the wall, and maybe even wanted her along. “If you want to bring her, you can. It's up to you. I'm inviting Carole too.”

“Charlie, you're a hero.” Adam hadn't wanted to ask him, but he wanted to bring her. “You're a prince. I'll tell her tonight. What about you?”

“I'm probably crazy, and I'm not sure we're there yet, either of us. But I'm going to invite Carole too. I would have liked it better if she could let me do this. But if she can't, or she doesn't, I think it will be a big loss for me. Maybe bigger than I think.” They had invested something in the relationship, honesty, truth, courage, love, hope, and he wasn't willing to cash it in. Not yet. And leaving her over the holidays might force him to, whether he liked it or not.

“Holy shit,” Adam said, laughing. “What's happening to us?”

“I'm afraid to think,” Charlie said wanly.

“Yeah, me too. Scary stuff, bro. But you're a real mensch to do this. At least we won't have to worry about getting laid, or depend on the natives for help.”

“I'm not sure I would say that to Maggie if I were you.” Charlie laughed.

“No shit. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Have a good trip. I'll see you on the twenty-sixth. We'll see you on the twenty-sixth. And by the way, I'll give Carole a ride down there on the plane, if she wants. Give her my number, and tell her to call me.”

“I will. Thanks,” Charlie said.

“No, thank you.”

They hung up then, and Charlie sat staring into space for a minute. Adam was right. Times had changed.

Charlie left his office at five-thirty, took a cab to the center, and got there at six, just as Carole was closing her office. She was surprised to see him, and wondered if something was wrong. Something else. There was a lot wrong lately. Christmas. New Year. Him away for three weeks. It had put a damper on her holidays. He hadn't even seen her tree.

“Hi, Charlie. What's up?” She looked tired. It had been a long day.

“I came to say good-bye,” he said as he walked in.

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.” She nodded. What else was there to say? She knew it would be over by the time he returned. For her anyway, if not for him. She felt as strongly about this as he had about her lying about her name. If you were in a relationship, as far as she was concerned, you spent the holidays together. He didn't see it that way. They didn't even exist for him. And maybe neither did she. She needed someone emotionally available, not someone who couldn't allow himself to feel anything, because it hurt too much. Life hurt too much, but was to be lived. Together, hopefully.

“Have a good trip,” she said, as she stuck a fat file into a drawer.

“You too,” he said quietly.

“Me too what?” She didn't get his drift. She was too tired to play games with him.

“You have a good trip too.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” She stood up straight and looked at him.

“Yes, you are, or at least I hope you are … or I hope you will.…” He stumbled over his own words as she stared at him. “If you're willing, I'd love you to come down with Adam and Maggie on the twenty-sixth. He's flying down then. And he's bringing her. We worked it out today.”

“And you want me to come too?” She looked stunned as she smiled at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.” Perhaps even more so than he wanted to be. “I'd love you to come down, Carole. Will you?” he asked, looking at her. “I hope you can get away.”

“I'll try. And I hope you know I wasn't trying to shove my way into your trip. I just wanted you to be here over Christmas, and leave on the twenty-sixth with him.”

“I know. I can't do that. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day. But if you can do it, we can have two weeks together there.” It sounded fantastic to her, and even to him now. It was a great idea. He was glad Adam had called him.

“I don't think I can stay for more than a week. I'll see.”

“Whatever you can do,” he said, and then kissed her. She looked at him longingly and kissed him. And then they took a cab back to her place, and spent the night together before he left the next day. He even saw her tree.

When Adam got home that night, he handed Maggie a credit card. She was sitting over her law books and didn't look up when he came in. He dropped the credit card on the desk.

“What's that for?” she asked, without looking up. She was still angry at him over the trip. Their weekend with his kids had only been a brief respite from open warfare. Now they were back to the cold war.

“You need to go shopping,” he said, as he took off his tie and threw it on a chair.

“What for? I don't use your credit cards. You know that.” She threw it back at him, and he caught it, and stood holding it.

“You need to use it this time.” He set it down next to her again.

“Why?”

“Because you need a lot of stuff. You know, bathing suits, wraparounds, sandals, girl stuff, what do I know? You figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” She still didn't get it.

“What you need for the trip.”

“What trip? Where are we going?” She wondered if he was taking her to Vegas again, as a consolation prize.

“We're going to St. Barts on Charlie's boat.” He said it as though reminding her, and she stared at him.

“No, you're going to St. Barts on Charlie's boat. I'm not. Remember?”

“He called today and invited you too,” he said gently, and she stared at him and put her pen down.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. So is he. I told him I didn't want to upset you, and I don't think he wants to upset Carole either. He's going to invite her too.”

“Oh my God! Oh my God! OH MY GOD!!” She kissed him and ran screaming around the room and then jumped into his arms, as he laughed at her.

“Does that do the trick?” He could see that it did. And then some.

“Are you kidding? Oh my God! I'm going on a yacht with you to the Caribbean! Yes yes yes YES!” And then she turned to him with a grateful look. “Adam, I love you. I'd have loved you anyway, but I was so hurt.”

“I know,” he said, kissing her again.

“I really love you,” she said, clinging to him. “I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, baby…me too.…” And then he kissed her. Come December 26, they'd be off to the Caribbean.

23

THE ARGUMENT BETWEEN SYLVIA AND GRAY, OVER HIS seeing her children, continued until nearly Christmas. He was staying at his studio now nearly every night, and she wasn't pressing him to stay at her apartment. She was too angry at him. She understood that he had “issues,” but as far as she was concerned, he was taking it too far. He wasn't even trying to deal with them. Gilbert was arriving in two days. And Emily the day after. And Gray had dug his heels in. He was not going to meet them.

“If you're that upset about it, then go to counseling,” Sylvia had shouted at him in the course of their last fight. They were having them nearly daily. It was a hot topic, for both of them. “What's the point of reading all those goddamn self-help books, if you're not willing to help yourself?”

“I am helping myself. I'm respecting my boundaries, and so should you,” he said grimly. “I know my limitations. Families freak me out.”

“You don't even know mine.”

“And I don't want to!” he had shouted, and stormed out.

Sylvia was profoundly depressed over what had happened, and the position Gray had taken. It had been going on for nearly a month, and had taken a toll on the relationship. The joy that they had shared in discovering each other had all but disappeared. And when Gilbert arrived two days before Christmas, she hadn't seen Gray in two days. She tried to explain it to her son, when he asked about him, but it sounded nuts even to her. As she had pointed out to Gray, people their age were supposed to be saner than that, but apparently he wasn't, and was making no attempt whatsoever to get his neuroses in check. He was reveling in them. Like a pig in slop.

The only good thing about it, for him, was that he was so upset, it was driving him to paint more. He hadn't stopped painting in weeks, and had finished two paintings since Thanksgiving, which was fast for him. His dealer was thrilled. The new work was great. He had always said that he did his best work when he was unhappy. And he was proving it. He was miserable without her. He couldn't sleep. So he painted. Constantly. Day and night.

He was hard at work late one night, after their most recent argument, when his bell rang. He thought it was Sylvia, come to drive her point home one more time, and without asking who it was, he hit the buzzer and let her up. He left the door to his apartment open, and braced himself for another round as he stared at the canvas, frowning. It was almost becoming a game between them. She begged him to see her kids. He said no. Then she blew her top. And so did he. It had become a vicious cycle. She refused to let go, and he refused to give in.

He heard the door open, and looked up, expecting to see her, and saw a wraithlike young man looking at him instead. “I'm sorry… the door was open…I didn't mean to interrupt. You're Gray Hawk, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.” Gray looked startled. Whoever the young man was, he looked sick. His hair was thin and short, his face looked like a cadaver's, and his eyes were sunk deep into his head. His skin was concrete colored. He looked like he had cancer, or something just as bad. Gray had no idea what he was doing there, or who he was. “Who are you?” He wanted to ask him what he was doing in his apartment, but he had left the door open so it was his own fault that there was a stranger standing there.

The man hesitated for a moment and stood where he was. “I'm Boy,” he said softly, as though he didn't have the strength to say more.

“Boy?” Gray said, looking blank. It took a moment to register, and then he looked like he'd been shot. He went almost as pale himself, as he stood rooted to the spot. “Boy? Oh my God.” He had thought about him, but not seen him in so long. He was the Navajo baby his parents had adopted twenty-five years before and named Boy. Gray walked slowly toward him and then stood in front of him, as tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. They had never been close. There were twenty-five years between them, but he was a ghost from a piece of history that had haunted Gray all his life, and still did. It was at the root of his battle with Sylvia now. He wondered for a moment if it was a hallucination. Boy looked like the Ghost of Christmas Past. Gray put his arms around him then and just held him as they cried. They were crying for what might have been, what had been, and all the insanity that they had experienced separately but in the same place and for the same reasons. “What are you doing here?” he finally managed to choke out. Gray had never even tried to see him, and probably wouldn't if he hadn't been standing there.

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “I'm sick.” Gray could see that. His whole being was almost translucent, as though he were disappearing and filled with light.

“What kind of sick?” Gray asked sadly. Just seeing him brought it all back.

“I have AIDS. I'm dying.” Gray didn't ask him how he had gotten it. It was none of his business.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and meant it. His heart went out to him as they looked at each other. “Do you live here? In New York? How did you find me?”

“I looked you up. You're in the phone book. I live in L.A.” He didn't waste time telling Gray about his life. “I just wanted to see you… once… you're the reason why I came here. I'm going back tomorrow.”

“On Christmas?” It seemed like a sad time to travel.

“I'm in treatment. I have to get back. I know this sounds stupid, but I just wanted to say good-bye.” The real tragedy was that they had never said hello. The last time he had seen Boy, he was a child. And then once at their parents' funeral. Gray had never seen him again, nor wanted to. Gray had spent a lifetime closing the door on the past, and now this man had put a foot in it, and was keeping the door open, and shoving it wider, with his deep sunken eyes.

“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” Maybe he needed money. Gray didn't have much. But the young man shook his head.

“No. I'm fine.”

“Are you hungry?” Gray felt as though he should do something for him, and then asked him if he wanted to go out.

“That would be nice. I'm staying at a hotel nearby. Maybe we could go out for a sandwich or something?”

Gray went to get his coat, and a few minutes later they were outside, walking toward a nearby deli. He bought him a pastrami sandwich and a Coke. It was all he wanted. Gray had a cup of coffee and a bagel, and slowly they began talking about the past, as they each knew it. It had been different for Boy, their parents had been older then, they didn't move around as much, but were just as crazy. He had gone back to live on the reservation after they died, then to Albuquerque, and finally L.A. He volunteered that he had been a prostitute at sixteen. His life had been a nightmare. And nothing their parents had done before that had helped. It amazed Gray that Boy was still alive. Looking at him, it was hard to make sense of any of it, and the memories came flooding back. They scarcely knew each other, but they cried for each other and held hands. Boy kissed his fingertips, and looked into his eyes.

“I don't know why, but I just had to see you. I think I wanted to know that one person on this earth will remember me when I'm gone.”

“I always did, even though you were only a kid the last time I saw you.” He had only been a name to him, and now he was a face, a soul, a heart, one more person to lose and to cry for. He didn't want it, but it had come to him, like a gift. This man had come three thousand miles to see him to say good-bye. “I'll remember you,” Gray said softly, engraving him on his memory as he looked at him, and as he did, he knew that one day he would paint him, and he said as much to Boy.

“I'd like that,” he said to Gray. “Then people will see me forever. I'm not afraid to die,” he added. “I don't want to, but I think it will be fine. Do you believe in Heaven?”

“I don't know what I believe in,” Gray said honestly. “Maybe nothing. Or God. But for me, it's kind of free-form.”

“I believe in Heaven, and in people meeting each other again.”

“I hope not.” Gray laughed. “There are a lot of people I've known that I don't want to meet again, like our parents.” If you could call them that.

“Are you happy?” Boy asked him. Everything about him was surreal and ethereal and transparent. Just being there with him was like being in a dream. He didn't know how to respond to Boy's question. He had been happy, until lately. He had been miserable for the past month, over all the bullshit with Sylvia. He told Boy about it.

“Why are you afraid to meet them?”

“What if they don't like me? What if I don't like them? Then she'll hate me. What if we like each other and I get attached to them, and then we break up? Then I never see them again, or I see them but I don't see her. What if they're a couple of spoiled little shits and they make trouble for us? It's all so fucking complicated, I don't need the headache.”

“What have you got without the headache? What would your life be like without her? You'll lose her if you don't see them. She loves them. And it sounds like she loves you.”

“I love her too. But I don't love her children, and I don't want to.”

“Do you love me?” he asked then, and Gray was suddenly reminded of the Little Prince in the Saint-Exupéry book, who dies at the end of the book. And not knowing why he said it, he answered him. He was honest, as though they had been friends and brothers for years.

“Yes, I do. I didn't love you until tonight. I didn't know you. I didn't want to know you,” he said honestly. “I was afraid to. But now I do. Love you, I mean.” He hadn't wanted to know him for all those years, or even see him. He had been afraid of the pain of caring about him, or having a family. All Gray knew was that families hurt, and disappointed you. But Boy wasn't disappointing, he had come to see Gray, as a gesture of pure love for him. It was the gift of love no one in his family had ever given him. It was both painful and beautiful, as only love could be.

“Why do you love me? Because I'm dying?” Boy's eyes were haunting as they bored into Gray's.

“No, because you're my family,” Gray said in a choked voice as tears rolled down his cheeks and wouldn't stop. The floodgates of his heart had opened totally. “You're all I have left.” It felt good to say it. The two men held hands across the table.

“I'll be gone soon,” Boy said matter-of-factly. “And then she'll be all you have left. And her children. They're all you've got. And me.” It wasn't much, and Gray knew it. He didn't have much to show for fifty years on the planet. As crazy as they were, his parents had more. Three kids they'd adopted and made a mess of, but they tried at least, to the best of their limited abilities. They had each other. And all the people they touched as they roamed the world. Even Gray's paintings, and the agony that had inspired them, were somehow an outcropping of the two people who had adopted him and Boy. They had done a lot. More than Gray had ever thought or admitted. He saw that now. His parents had been crazy and limited, but at least they tried, even as messed up as they were. And Boy had tried too. Enough to come and see him. In comparison, Gray felt he had done far less with his emotional life, until Sylvia, and now he was limiting that too, and hurting her because he was scared. Terrified in fact.

“I love you, Boy,” Gray whispered as they sat holding hands across the table. He didn't care who saw them or what they thought. Suddenly he was no longer afraid of everything that had frightened him for so long. Boy was the final living symbol of the family Gray had run from for years.

“I love you too,” Boy said. He looked exhausted when they finally got up, and cold. He was shivering, and Gray gave him his coat. It was his best one. He had grabbed it on the way out, but it seemed a fitting gesture for the dying brother he had never known. He wished he had gone to see him before that, but he hadn't. It had never occurred to him, or in fact it had, and he had run from the idea. He realized now that he had run from so much, and all of it to avoid life, and getting hurt again. His family had become the symbol of all he feared. Boy was slowly lifting the fear from him.

“Why don't you stay with me tonight?” Gray offered. “I'll sleep on the couch.”

“I can stay at the hotel,” Boy said, but Gray didn't want him to. They went to pick up his things and went back to Gray's place. He said he had to leave by nine in the morning to catch his plane.

“I'll wake you up,” Gray promised as he tucked him gently into bed and kissed him on the forehead. He felt almost as though Boy were his son. Boy thanked him and was asleep before Gray closed the door.

Gray painted all night. He did sketches of him, dozens of them, so he wouldn't forget every detail of his face, and laid down the foundation for a painting. He felt as though it were a race against death. He never went to bed all night, and he woke Boy at eight and made him scrambled eggs. Boy ate about half, and drank some juice, and then said he had to leave. He was taking a cab to the airport, but Gray said he'd go with him. Boy just smiled, and then they left. He had to be there at ten for an eleven o'clock flight.

They stood close together after Boy checked in, and then they called the flight. Boy looked panicked for a moment, and then Gray reached out and pulled him into his powerful arms, and held him there while they both cried. They were tears not only for the present but for their lost past, and all the opportunities they'd missed, that they had tried to recapture in a single night. They had done well, both of them.

“It's going to be all right,” Gray said, but they both knew it wouldn't, unless Boy's theories about Heaven were right. “I love you, Boy. Call me.”

“I will.” But he might not, Gray knew. This could be the last moment, the last time, the last touch. And now that Gray had opened his heart to him, it would all hurt so much. So much too much. But it was a clean hurt this time. The clean sharp sword of loss. It was like severing a limb surgically, instead of having it torn off.

“I love you!” Gray called after him as he boarded the plane. He said it again and again so Boy would hear it, and when he reached the door to the plane, Boy turned and smiled. He waved, and then he was gone. The Little Prince had vanished, as Gray stood watching the place where he had been, and cried.

Gray walked around the airport for a long time. He needed to think, and to catch his breath. All he could think of now was Boy and the things he had said. What if he had never existed, if Gray had never seen him again? If he hadn't come all this way to see him. He seemed like a messenger from God.

It was noon when Gray finally called Sylvia on his cell phone. He hadn't talked to her in two days. And he hadn't slept all night.

“I'm at the airport,” he said, sounding gruff.

“So am I.” She sounded surprised. “Where are you?” He told her what terminal, and she said she was at the international terminal picking Emily up. It was Christmas Eve. “Is something wrong?” Yes. No. It had been. Now it was fine. It wasn't fine. It never had been, but at least he was now. He felt whole for the first time in his life. “What are you doing at the airport?” She was suddenly worried that he was leaving to go somewhere. Everything between them had totally fallen apart.

“I was seeing my brother off.”

“Your brother? You don't have a brother.” And then she remembered, but it sounded crazy to her, and it was.

“Boy. We'll talk about it. Where are you?” She told him again, and he hung up.

She saw him walking across the terminal toward her, and he looked a mess. He was wearing an old sweater and jeans, and a jacket that should have been thrown out years before. Boy had left in his good coat. Gray wanted him to have it. He looked like a madman, or an artist, and he looked as though he hadn't combed his hair in days. And then suddenly he had his arms around her and they were crying and he was telling her he loved her. He was still holding her when Emily walked out of customs with a big grin as soon as she saw her mother.

Sylvia introduced them, and Gray looked nervous, but shook her hand with a cautious smile. He asked her how the flight was, and picked up her bag. They walked through the airport with Gray's arm around Sylvia's shoulder, and Emily holding her mother's hand. They went back to the apartment, where Gray met Gilbert, and Sylvia fixed them all lunch. Gray helped her cook dinner that night, and he told her about Boy in bed that night. They talked for hours, and the next morning, they all exchanged gifts. He had nothing for her, but Sylvia didn't care. The children thought him eccentric but nice. And much to his own surprise, he liked them. Boy was right.

They called Gray on Christmas night. Boy was gone. The friend who called said he was sending Gray his journal and a few things. The next morning, Sylvia and her children left for Vermont. Gray went with them, and he walked out into the snow one afternoon at dusk, and stood looking at the mountains. He could feel Boy near him, and hear his voice. Then quietly, he walked back to the house where Sylvia was waiting. She was standing on the porch, watching him and smiling. That night, as he stood outside with her, he looked at the sky, saw the stars, thought of Boy, and the Little Prince.

“He's up there somewhere,” he said sadly. She nodded. They put their arms around each other, and walked back into the house.

24

CAROLE, MAGGIE, AND ADAM FLEW DOWN TO ST. Barts on Adam's plane. It was the first time either of them had met Carole, and it was a little awkward at first, but by the time they landed in St. Barts, Carole and Maggie were fast friends. They were as different as two women could get. But while Adam slept, Carole talked about the center and the children she met there, and Maggie talked about her early life, the time she'd spent in foster care, her pre-law classes, her job, and how lucky she was to be with Adam. Carole loved her long before they got off the plane. She was genuine and honest, kind, and incredibly bright. It was impossible not to like her, and Maggie felt the same way about Carole. They had even giggled conspiratorially about how furious they had each been that Charlie and Adam had wanted to go off on their own over the holidays, and how grateful they were that they hadn't.

“I was really pissed!” Maggie confessed in a whisper, as Carole laughed.

“So was I… actually, I was more hurt. Charlie says he doesn't do Christmas. That's really sad.” They talked about his lost family then, and how close the three men were. Maggie was glad they had finally met. She knew they had broken up for a while, but she didn't tell Carole. And then she talked about spending Christmas Day with Adam's kids. It had been great. They were taking them skiing in January over a long weekend. They had covered all the bases by the time Adam woke up, just before they landed.

“What have you two been cooking up?” he asked with a yawn.

“Nothing,” Maggie volunteered with a guilty grin, and then she said she hoped she didn't get seasick. She had never been on a boat before. Carole had. She had been on lots of them, though mostly sailboats. Maggie was amazed at how down-to-earth she was, since Adam had told her who she was. He was struck by Carole's beauty, her gentleness and kindness. How normal she was. Charlie had done it right this time. Adam just hoped he didn't blow it, or chicken out. It was going to be fun being a foursome for a change. It was a major difference in their lives.

Gray had called him just before they left. He was on his way to Vermont, and said he had met Sylvia's kids. Everything was fine. Adam had no idea how it had happened, but Gray had said he would tell him about it over lunch when he got back.

Charlie was waiting for them at the airport with two crew members and the captain, and he already had a tan. He looked happy and relaxed, and thrilled to see Carole. When they got there, Maggie couldn't believe the boat. She walked from one end to the other, looking at everything, talking to crew members, asking questions, and she said she felt like Cinderella all over again when she saw their cabin. She said it was going to be like a honeymoon, and Adam gave her a dark look.

“Oh, relax,” she teased him. “I don't want to get married. I just want to stay on this boat forever. Maybe I should marry Charlie,” she said, jokingly.

“He's too old,” Adam said as he pulled her onto the bed with him. They didn't go back on deck for several hours, and when they did, Charlie and Carole were relaxing. Carole looked totally at home. She had brought the perfect wardrobe of white jeans and shorts, little cotton skirts and blouses, she even had deck shoes, which Maggie checked out, and was impressed. She had brought a lot of really dressy stuff, along with bikinis, and shorts, but Carole assured her she looked great. She was so young and pretty and had such a great figure, she could have worn garbage bags and looked terrific. Her style was completely different from Carole's, but in her own way, she was exotic and sexy, and her look had toned down a lot in her months with Adam. What she had bought wasn't expensive, but she'd paid for it herself.

They went to their cabins before dinner to change, after a quick swim, and then came back up to have drinks on the aft deck as they always did. Adam had tequila, Charlie a martini, and the girls both had wine. They were leaving for St. Kitts the next day, but not until the girls had a chance to do a little shopping in the port, as Charlie had promised. That night they went dancing. Everyone came back exhausted and happy, and slept late the next day.

They had breakfast together, and then Charlie and Adam went windsurfing while Carole and Maggie went shopping. Maggie didn't buy much, and Carole bought pareos at Hermès to wear on the trip. She offered to lend some to Maggie. By the time they left port late that afternoon, all four felt as though they had been traveling together forever. The only dark cloud on the horizon was that Maggie got seasick on the way to St. Kitts, and Charlie had her lie down on deck. She was still a little green when they anchored just outside the port. But she was fine at dinner, and they all watched the sunset together. Everything was perfect day after day, and their only complaint was that the trip went too fast. It always did. Before they knew it, it was the last day, the last night, the last swim, the last dance. They spent their last night on the boat, and Charlie teased Maggie about getting seasick, but she'd been a lot better for the last two days. Adam had even taught her how to sail. Charlie had taught Carole to windsurf, she was strong enough to do it, Maggie wasn't. They all hated to see the trip end.

Carole had only been able to stay a week, and Adam and Maggie had to go back too. His clients were complaining, and Maggie had to get back to work. They all did, except Charlie, who was staying on. He had been quiet for the last two days. Carole had noticed it, but didn't say anything until the last night, after Maggie and Adam had gone to bed.

“Are you okay?” she asked him quietly, as they sat in deck chairs in the moonlight and he smoked a cigar. They were at anchor that night, instead of in port. Charlie always preferred it, and it was more peaceful on the water than having people walk by all night on the quay. Carole preferred it too. She'd had a wonderful time with him and the others.

“I'm fine,” he said, looking out at the water, the lord of his domain. She could see why he loved being on the boat. Everything about the Blue Moon was perfect, from their cabins to the food, and the impeccably trained crew. It was a life one could easily adjust to, it seemed a million miles away from real life and all its problems. It was a life of being constantly and totally pampered.

“I've had a wonderful time,” she said with a lazy smile. It was the most relaxing week she'd spent in years, and she loved being with him. Even more than she had expected to. He was the perfect companion, perfect lover, perfect friend. He glanced over at her through his cigar smoke, looked at her strangely, and worried her again. He looked as though he had something on his mind.

“I'm glad you like the boat,” he said with a pensive expression.

“Who wouldn't?”

“Some don't. Poor Maggie, she got so seasick.”

“She got used to it in the end.” Carole stuck up for her new friend. She was looking forward to seeing her again, and she was sure she would. Maggie wanted to come up to the center to see what they did. She said she wanted to be an advocate for children when she graduated from law school, which was years away.

“You're a good sailor,” Charlie commented. “And a good windsurfer.” She had learned quickly, and she'd gone scuba diving with him several times, and snorkeling with Adam. They had all taken full advantage of the comforts and delights of his boat.

“I used to love sailing as a kid,” she said, looking wistful, she hated to leave him the next day. It had been so nice sharing a cabin with him, waking up with him in the morning, and cuddling up to him at night. She was going to miss that when she went home. For her, it had been one of the great advantages of conjugal life. She hated sleeping alone, and in good times had enjoyed the constant companionship of marriage. Charlie had seemed to enjoy sleeping with her too, and didn't appear to mind the intrusion in his cabin. “When are you coming back?” Carole asked, smiling at him. She thought he was staying for another week.

“I don't know,” he said, looking vague. He seemed troubled, and then glanced back at Carole. He'd been thinking about them all week. She was so perfect in so many ways, she had the right breeding, right background, she was intelligent and fun to be with, gracious, thoughtful, nice to his friends, and made him laugh. He loved making love to her, in fact there was nothing about her he didn't like, which scared him to death. The most terrifying thing about her was that there was no fatal flaw. There had always been one that he could use as an escape hatch. But not this time. He was worried that in the end, he wouldn't want to settle down. And then everyone would get hurt, they always did. He had finally met a woman he didn't want to hurt, nor did he want to be hurt by her. There seemed to be no avoiding it if you got close. He didn't know what to do about it.

“Something's bothering you,” Carole said gently, wanting to know what it was.

He hesitated for a long time and then nodded. He was always honest with her.

“I've been thinking a lot about us.” The way he said it sounded like a death knell, and she was frightened the moment she saw his face. He looked tortured.

“What about?”

He smiled through the cigar smoke again. He didn't want to worry her unduly, but he was concerned. “I keep wondering what two commitment phobics like us are doing together. Someone could get hurt.”

“Not if we're careful of each other's wounds and scars,” and she was. She knew the things that upset him now. Sometimes he just needed space. He had been alone all his life. At times she sensed that he wanted to be alone, and had left the cabin, or left him to his own devices on deck. She tried to be sensitive to his needs.

“What if I never want to get married?” he asked her honestly. He wasn't sure he did. Maybe it was too late. He was almost forty-seven, he wasn't sure he could make the adjustment anymore. After a lifetime of searching for the perfect woman, now that he seemed to have found her, he wondered if he was the right man. Maybe not. He was coming to that conclusion.

“I've been married,” she said calmly. “It wasn't so great.” She smiled sadly.