11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

DIOR

Nora

L ate the next morning, my phone rang in the elevator as it rose to my floor, bringing me home after I’d attended the most desperately annoying committee meeting of women who were planning to raise funds to pay for an exhibition to be brought from a museum in France and displayed at The Frick.

I looked at the screen, felt my face get soft, and took Jamie’s call.

“Hello, darling,” I greeted.

“Hello, baby,” he replied. “I know you have your Skype with your kids soon, but I wanted to run something by you quickly.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out, saying, “I have twenty minutes, and I can text them to share I might be a few minutes late if you need more time.”

“I sense I won’t, but I don’t want to make assumptions.”

Again, Charlene had warned Alyona of my arrival because my front door was open before I got there.

I smiled at her, pointed to the phone, and mouthed, Jamie .

She nodded, her gaze brightening with joy for me (I truly adored my Alyona) before I walked inside.

I went to the living room and sat down to get my weight off my high-heeled sandals while saying to Jamie, “I just got home, I’m no longer teetering on four inches, please share.”

“I asked Monica to pack a few more things to send to your place.”

“If the assumption you were referring to was that I wouldn’t have a problem with that, you assumed correctly.”

“No,” he said. “In making that request, I thought I’d ask her to pack all my clothes to send to yours, so we could live there while you get started on any changes you wish to make to the brownstone.”

I stared at the beautiful round coffee table situated between the sofa and two armchairs across from me.

“Nora?” Jamie called.

“You wish to move in?” I asked.

“Temporarily, until we both move to the brownstone. Is it too soon for you?”

I couldn’t begin to describe how not soon enough it was.

“No, it is not .”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured warmly.

“Please instruct Monica to see to transferring anything you need. And in the meantime, Alyona and I will tackle the Everest of finding space for your things in my closet.”

He was chuckling through his, “I’ll amend my request to Monica.”

“I’ve had an idea about the brownstone,” I announced.

“Of course you have,” he said with continued humor.

“I’d like to ask Dru to share the task of redecoration with me so we can retain some of her mother’s stamp on the home you all shared in ways that are meaningful for you both, but only Dru can share with me. This would also serve the purpose of Dru feeling she had a part in putting her stamp on the place, so it’ll aways feel like her home.”

The silence coming over the line was so complete, I wondered if a black hole had taken over the satellite we were bouncing off of.

Thus, it was my turn to call, “Jamie?”

His voice was hoarse in a way that hurt to hear, even if it was still lovely, when he said, “You don’t need to do that, baby.”

“You’re very wrong about that, darling,” I replied.

“I don’t want, and I’ll be clear, Lindy wouldn’t want to be a shadow over our lives together.”

“I think we can both agree that Rosalind was never a shadow, Jamie,” I assured. “I not only cannot erase your history to make you all mine, I wouldn’t want to. You are what your history made you, and that , I’m proud to claim as all mine.”

“Fuck, I love you,” he grunted.

“And I love you. Now, would you like to talk to Dru, or would you like me to?”

“I think that should come from me.”

“All right, darling,” I murmured. “Now, is that all? I don’t wish to let you go, but I have a busy day. First, as you know, the call with the kids. Then, as you also know, Mika is coming over for a late lunch. And news to you, after that, the G-Force will be descending.”

“The G-Force?”

“Yes. Remember, I told you about them on the boat?”

“I remember, but I thought I was dealing with Paloma.”

Oh, my Jamie.

He had so much to learn.

“You don’t decline an offer from the G-Force to get involved, my dearest. Good God. That would be akin to learning you’re to be awarded the Presidential Medal of Honor, and saying, ‘Yeah, thanks, but I’m good.’”

I heard his laughter, which, after our emotionally charged discussion, soothed me, and then he said, “Keep me informed of their schemes so I can be sure they don’t negate mine.”

Curiosity piqued. “What are yours?”

“Calling her and informing her that my father is keeping her due to using credit that’s running out. Further, the bank that holds the note on his over-leveraged ranch is going to call it, considering I own controlling shares in that bank. And last, I don’t think she’ll like squeezing into the two-bedroom apartment she’ll be sharing with Pop and Jeff if she doesn’t cut her losses right now.”

This sounded like a good plan, though not a comprehensive one.

However, Jamie wasn’t done.

“I’ll then tell her, if she ever fucks with you, or anyone I love, I’ll make it so she longs for a two-bedroom apartment, because, if I can reduce AJ Oakley to that, which I can, and am, I can ruin her, which I can, and will do, if she doesn’t stand down.”

“Although this seems thorough, I still think whatever the G-Force would do would be more entertaining,” I murmured.

He chuckled.

Then he said, “Now, if you’re good with that, I’ll let you go.”

“I’m good with it, more than good. Text when you’re on your way home?”

“I will. Much love, sweetheart.”

What a divine way to end a call.

“Much love to you too.”

We rang off and I rose from the couch to go to the kitchen to make myself a Perrier with lemon and lime before I went to the study to take the call from the children.

Glass in one hand, phone in the other, I hit the study.

I’d redecorated it post-Roland to rid it of the cloying, dark masculinity he preferred, so now it was bright, elegant and feminine, decorated in creams, salmons and peaches.

But before I moved to the desk where the PC was, I walked to the inlaid bookshelves, which were covered in pictures.

The one that had pride of place (for now, I often rearranged them) was a photo of all the gang at Mika and Tom’s wedding last year.

I smiled at it and then looked next to it, where a formal portrait of Allegra and her husband Darryn sat.

My daughter had elected to wear her grandmother’s vintage tulle extravaganza of a Dior wedding gown. Darryn had elected to wear a white jacket for his tuxedo, which worked beautifully with Allegra’s dress and his midnight skin.

I hadn’t been certain about Darryn for Allegra because doctors, on the whole, could be arrogant, surgeons often thought they were gods, but neurosurgeons thought they were the god. And Darryn was a neurosurgeon. And frankly, no one wanted to be married to a man who thought he was god.

But he’d won me over because he loved my girl unreservedly, showed it openly, he had an acerbic sense of humor I adored , and he was, indeed, delightfully arrogant because he also happened to be frighteningly intelligent, he knew it, and he didn’t suffer fools.

My Allegra was a nurse practitioner. They worked at the same hospital and had a stunning, newly built apartment in Battery Park.

I moved along to the wedding photo of Nico and his Felice. My daughter-in-law had gotten married barefoot and with flowers in her hair. She also made her own jam and maintained an herb garden on the fire escape off their apartment in the East Village. Being the good mother I was, regardless of all of this, I loved her anyway.

(Not true, I tried to love her, however, she wasn’t very lovable, but I could pat myself on the back because I hadn’t given up—on the other hand, she also wasn’t my biggest fan, but sadly, she wasn’t as good at hiding it.)

Then there came the picture of Valentina and her Archie. He was a cameraman at sporting events, she was the assistant to a line producer of a network evening news program. He resembled a bear. She had my grandmother’s delicate, petite frame. He was rough and rowdy. She could make a party out of a funeral.

They’d had their own commitment ceremony in the Bahamas that no one was invited to, so in my Valentina’s “wedding” photo, she was wearing a bikini.

I still had not forgiven her for that, any of it.

I didn’t care they didn’t want to be married.

However.

A bikini ?

And…

I wasn’t invited?

With a good deal of practice, I mentally set that aside, moved down the line and stopped at a black and white photo of Mother and Dad.

Mom was wearing Dior (again, Christian Dior had been her favorite). Dad had a precisely folded pocket square in his dinner jacket. Clamped between my mother’s two darkly enameled, perfectly manicured fingers was a long, elegant cigarette holder bearing a lit cigarette (ah, a tragic indication that ignorance was not bliss). Dad had his arm around her and was smiling down at her like she hung the moon. She was smiling haughtily at the camera like her husband had just given her the stars.

It was one of the only photos that depicted how much they did indeed love each other.

Of course, they were much younger. The photo had been taken before their children came along (I had a younger sister who moved to Florida after her divorce five years ago, and we both had a younger brother who was a law professor at Yale—we were all close, emotionally, but sadly not close locationally).

So, for Mother and Dad, in that picture, love was in first bloom, and they hadn’t yet settled into their personalities, their responsibilities, their places in society or the people they would become.

But I knew their first-bloom love had never died, I just wished they both felt freer to express it, share it with their children, and mostly, each other.

I wondered if Mother would have been different if Dad couldn’t allow her to pass within reaching distance without gliding a finger along the back of her hand.

Perhaps not. Perhaps it would be her beautiful little secret.

But perhaps she would.

I was just glad I knew before I lost her (and yes, it was to lung cancer), that Jamie had her approval.

I wouldn’t have cared if he hadn’t (case in point, she wasn’t Roland’s biggest fan, lesson learned: always listen to Mother).

But I was glad to know Jamie did.

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I looked to it.

It was a text from Mika, and I hoped she didn’t need to cancel our lunch. She would be great help with the overhaul of the closet.

I sat behind the desk, started the computer up, and looked at the text.

It was a photo, the sight of which, I gasped in delight.

It was a picture of a slender, white, long-haired cat with some nuanced gray shading around her eyes and ears. She had blue eyes and an expression on her face that stated plainly I cannot be dealing with you now .

In our conversation yesterday to set up lunch today, I’d told Mika that Jamie had said he wanted to adopt some pets, and since I’d been considering the same since the children had left (I just never got around to it), I decided to stop faffing about and see to that…for Jamie and for me.

I’d told Mika about this by asking her if she knew of any reputable shelters I should patronize.

Another text came in as my rhapsodizing gaze moved over the picture of the cat, and Mika told me, Her name is…get this…Heiress!

At this news, my thumbs flew over the screen, demanding, I have the call with my children now. Please contact whoever has custody of this animal at once to share I’m interested and wish to meet her as soon as schedules allow .

On it , Mika texted back.

I saved the photo and sent it to Jamie, with the message, We shall be meeting this darling soon. Warn Monica your schedule will need to be fit around it .

I was clicking into Skype when my phone vibrated on the desk.

I turned it over to read Jamie’s reply of, Trust you to find the most condescending cat in New York in only three days .

I didn’t share that I hadn’t found her, Mika had.

I said, I can’t be anyone other than me .

Thank God, he replied just as that annoying loop-de-loop sound of a Skype call coming in sounded.

I put my phone down and hit the camera to start the video.

Nico came up on screen.

He looked like his father, except far more handsome.

“Gotcha, Ma. I’m bringing in Allegra and Val now,” he said.

Shortly after, Allegra, who looked quite a bit like me, and Valentina, who, as mentioned, looked very much like her maternal grandmother, were in squares on my screen.

“She’s glowing,” Allegra said, grinning hugely.

“Mom’s totally getting herself some,” Valentina replied.

“Fuck. Stop talking about that,” Nico demanded.

“I love this so much ,” Allegra enthused.

“I’m delighted you do,” I entered the conversation. “Now, I’d like all three of you, Nico, you as well, if you feel like a day trip, to come to lunch with Jamie and Dru on Sunday.”

“I’m in,” Valentina said.

“I am too,” Allegra said.

“I’ll talk to Felice,” Nico put in. “Are spouses invited?”

“Always,” I drawled, though, if given a choice, I’d invite Darryn and Archie without reservation, Felice, with some reservations, and I would pretend to be very sad she couldn’t make it (since she often opted out of family gatherings), but in reality, I wouldn’t be sad at all.

“Yay! Darryn loves Jamie,” Allegra announced.

“Not as much as Archie does,” Valentina returned. “Since he gave us those courtside tickets to the Knicks, Jamie has been Archie’s favorite person.”

“It isn’t a competition, Val,” Allegra retorted.

I cut in before my two daughters could start bickering. Something, regardless of how much they loved each other, they were prone to do.

“I want no argument about this, you all knew it was going to happen, but when I move in with Jamie at his brownstone, I’ll be transferring the apartment to Allegra and Darryn.”

All my children’s stunned faces just stared from the screen.

“This apartment has been in the family now for three generations,” I reminded them. “And it always goes to the firstborn. So I don’t want any squabbling. Nico and Valentina, you know I’ll find a way to balance it out for you.”

“You two are moving in together?” Nico asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You’re leaving Grandmother’s apartment?” Allegra asked.

“Jamie’s brownstone is far from uncomfortable,” I noted.

“What’s going to happen to Alyona?” Valentina queried.

Oh dear.

I hadn’t thought of that.

Jamie had Monica, of course, but she didn’t cook, or clean, (though she did handle Jamie’s groceries and dry cleaning and the like). Jamie had a cleaning service that came in once a week, one that Monica managed.

He also didn’t have a small apartment where Alyona could have her own space.

“We…haven’t discussed that yet,” I admitted.

“Well, you need to,” Nico asserted. “Alyona has been with us for twelve years.”

She had indeed.

“If you’re leaving the apartment, just rent one for her, close to Jamie’s, so she can come to work every day from her home like normal people do. It’s utterly archaic to have a live-in these days, Mom,” Valentina declared.

“That’s actually a good idea,” Allegra said.

“I have good ideas all the time,” Valentina retorted.

Again, I cut in, “I’ll discuss it with Jamie, then discuss it with Alyona. They get along. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Nico grunted.

As you could see, I’d also instilled the philosophy that staff was family with my own children.

“How’s JT doing?” Allegra asked.

“He’s so adorbs . I love him , and I haven’t even met him yet,” Valentina decreed (obviously, I’d texted them all pictures). “We should all plan a family thing in Arizona sometime later this summer.”

“I don’t have time off to go to Arizona,” Nico said. “Maybe we could do something around Thanskgiving.”

“Darryn’s mom would murder me if I wasn’t at her table at Thanksgiving,” Allegra noted.

Darryn’s mother, Jaclyn, had maneuvered that tradition, with no fight from me. I was no cook. And I unwaveringly gave Alyona time off at Thanksgiving and Christmas. But Jaclyn cooked beautifully. I was always at Mika’s.

And since Nico, Felice, Valentina, Archie and I were invited to Jaclyn’s for every Christmas dinner, that worked splendidly too.

Would Jamie wish to go to Jaclyn’s for Christmas dinner?

Would Jaclyn, who was already cooking for fifteen people, want to add Jamie and Dru?

She would, but Jamie…no.

Because he and Dru went to Arizona to have Christmas with Judge, and I couldn’t imagine him wishing to make a change from that.

My.

It seemed Jamie and I needed to get our heads out of the clouds and have some important conversations.

“Ma, you okay?” Nico called.

I tuned into the conversation. “I’m fine. You two don’t seem to have an issue with the apartment going to Allegra.”

“Since you’ve been drilling that’s going to happen into us since we were babies, it’s not news, Ma,” Nico drawled. “And anyway, Felice would have a conniption if I tried to move us into that humungous space.”

She would. And then she’d realize she could house refugees here, and she’d be pleased as punch.

Darryn would redecorate, of course, but since he had superb taste, I didn’t mind.

“I don’t have long to talk,” Nico said. “I have to snarf down a sandwich and get to my next class.”

I truly wished my son didn’t use words like “snarf.”

Per usual, I said nothing.

I also understood why this was a lunchtime call, which wasn’t exactly convenient for any of them. It was so he could sneak it in, and Felice wouldn’t be the wiser or around to hear my voice over a computer.

Per usual, I buried that.

“What time for lunch on Sunday, Mom?” Allegra asked.

“Anytime after noon. We’ll eat at one thirty,” I told her.

“I think Felice and I can manage that,” Nico said.

This made me happy.

All of it.

All right, maybe the Felice part didn’t make me ecstatic, but I couldn’t wait to see my son.

We caught up a bit more, then Nico had to sign off. I continued to chat with my daughters, until they both had to get back to work from their lunch breaks.

And after I shut down the computer, I picked up my phone again.

Because I couldn’t delay any longer.

It would be awkward, considering I hadn’t heard from him, so there was no springboard from which to deny his suit, but I’d promised Jamie.

So I called Roland.

He didn’t answer.

But his voicemail did.

Thus, with no other choice, I left a message.

“Roland, although it’s not yours to know, but considering your recent behavior, and our last chat, I feel it’s fitting to share that Jamie and I are moving in together. As I believe you’re aware, my partner is not fond of your attentions toward me, and I’ll reiterate, I don’t welcome them either. Therefore, unless it has to do with the children, I require that you don’t contact me. This can’t come as a surprise. The house we built, you burned down. There is no phoenix that will rise from those ashes. So allow us both to move on.”

With that, I hung up.

Then I took my phone, my drink, and I went to my closet to form a preliminary plan to find Jamie no small amount of space.

Because the space I gave him in my closet was a metaphor for the space he occupied in my heart and in my life.

And that was not small at all.