A Paris Apartment (16 page)

April couldn’t recall how many deals there’d been in their seven years of marriage, or during the nine years they’d been together. She couldn’t remember what percentage required international travel. All she knew was that the last time it happened Troy went to Singapore. And in Singapore he had sex with someone else.

“Yes,” Troy said. “A closing. We’re acquiring a 90 percent stake in a manufacturer of bearing components. I think I told you about it.”

“All right.” April paused for several beats. “And you are telling me because—?”

“Well, I thought telling your spouse before you left the country was compulsory. Most wives like that sort of thing.”

Was he trying to be rude or funny? Sometimes it was so very hard to tell.

“Only London, or do you have to go further?” she asked.

Having left the desk and her hastily scribbled notes about Goy-something-or-other handbags, April returned to the window. Standing in purple lacy boy shorts and a camisole, she watched the people below her. The friends, the couples, the lovers—people in twos. April thought of her husband, in London by tomorrow, a train ride away. Why don’t we meet up for dinner? He might say. A romantic rendezvous on the Continent. But he would not say this tonight. And she would not ask.

“London is close to Paris,” April said flatly, attempting to erase the hopefulness from her voice.

He had to make the first move. It wasn’t a test or a game, but April couldn’t stay in the marriage without some modicum of desire, lust, and/or good old-fashioned effort on his part. And if she suggested they meet, April would never know if he’d acquiesced out of pity or guilt. Troy needed to show her what she meant to him.

To be fair, April could not quite remember if the old Troy would’ve come to see her in France or just waited until they were both back in New York. For the past few months it hadn’t been easy to separate the person April fell in love with from the person she wanted him to be; both impossible standards. Unfortunately and probably also unjustly, it was still too easy to see Troy as a cheating, heartless villain and not a regular person, flawed and prone to mistakes.

“Huh,” he said. “I guess you’re right. No need to worry about time-zone issues then.”

“Yeah. Time-zone benefits.” April exhaled. “So. Well, have fun, I guess.”

“Do you not want me to go? Is that the problem?”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to go? It’s fine!”

“Well I haven’t been gone overnight since—”

“Yes, I know,” April snapped. “And I’m okay with it.”

Was she okay with it? Yes, no, not really. What choice did she have? April couldn’t tell him not to go. There was a pact, unspoken but a pact all the same. You couldn’t keep punishing someone for the same crime no matter how badly you wanted to. Fish or cut bait. April was on the pier, whether she was coming or going she did not yet know.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, sounding like the very best or the very worst of deal makers, depending on where at the table you sat. “You should know that Willow Weintraub is traveling with me. She worked on the transaction, too.”

April didn’t respond. Troy sighed.

“No reaction?” he said. “There’s nothing you want to say?”

“Nope. Not really. Other than, you know, maybe avoid sleeping with her this time.”

“April, that’s not fair.”

“You are correct. But, hey, glad she’s joining you. I’m sure her presence at the dinner is highly necessary.”

“She’s in the middle of her engagement. Like it or not, she is part of this team. I would have suggested she not come, that she find other work, but I’d be forced to cancel her contract, and it would require a lot of explaining to my partners and to our portfolio companies who have been working with her. Plus I could get sued. So there’s that.”

“Forget it,” April said. “Just. It’s fine.”

“I won’t cheat on you ever again. I don’t know how many more times I have to say it.”

“I actually don’t want you to say ‘ever again’ at all.” April stepped away from the window and walked toward the bathroom, all too aware of the full backside exhibition she offered the street below. It made her feel good, almost, as if she were punishing Troy. Other people can see me naked, too! Of course Troy would not care an inch.

“Action over words,” he said.

“Something like that.” April ran her toothbrush beneath the faucet. “People have work dinners. With members of the opposite sex. Attractive ones, even. I get it.”

If April wanted to bring up drinks with Luc, now was the time. For a second she considered it, but what was there to say? She didn’t want to be spiteful, and, honestly, there was a small amount of joy in keeping the news to herself. Of course this could’ve been the very thing Troy once thought about Willow.

“Oh,” Troy said, sounding hesitant. “Okay. Well, good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

April wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, but “good” (end of sentence, full stop) was not it.

“I was thinking.” Troy’s voice was distant, tinny. April turned the phone away from her mouth and started brushing. “Maybe when you get back we should go into counseling.”

April spat into the sink.

“You know how I feel about counseling,” she said.

“But it can’t hurt, right?”

“Can’t it?”

“I’m not sure why you’re so certain your dad doesn’t benefit from the person he sees. It’s taken a long time—”

“That’s an understatement!”

“But he’s gained an entirely new perspective on stuff with your mother.”

“First of all, I’m not even going to ask how you know about my father’s perspectives, new or otherwise,” April said. “Second of all, do not bring up my mother when we’re in a middle of a
thing
, okay? It will end badly for you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Troy asked, forever pushing, forever needling the spot that hurt. “You’ve been though a lot in your life. This stuff with your mom, it’s intense. People see a counselor for far lesser reasons. Why are you so averse to the concept?”

“Because therapy doesn’t work, and I don’t need it. We’ll get through this. One way or another, we’ll get through this.”

In other words April’s life might be in shambles but she would not actually die from a broken heart. It was not physically possible. Her father was proof of that.

April moved into the bedroom. She peeled back the comforter and slid between the sheets. Shivering, she looked at the clock, she looked at the lamp, she looked at the worn little nubs on the blanket. Troy said nothing. She couldn’t even hear him breathe.

“Sounds like you’re on your way out the door,” April said as a printer groaned in the background. She heard the clack of his computer and the muffled leather thump of his briefcase on the desk.

“Yes. The car will be downstairs any minute. I love you, April.”

“I love you, too.”

“And I miss you. Already.”

“Then come,” she blurted, surprised at herself. Damn wine. “Come to Paris. It’s so close. We’ll be so close! Even if only for dinner one night. A romantic rendezvous. It actually sounds kind of sexy.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he said immediately. “But there won’t be any time. This is strictly an in-and-out kind of deal.”

In-and-out. It was precisely the kind of transaction April feared, in more ways than one. Troy knew she was still upset, still insecure about where they stood with each other, but he didn’t even
attempt
to consider making the London-to-Paris trip. April tried to look forward, to envision how she’d feel in hindsight. Would this be the moment when she knew it was over?

“Oh! Car’s out front. Okay, I need to go. I’ll call you from the road. I love you.”

“Maybe I could pop over to London…” April started, but he’d already hung up.

Sighing, April reached over and flicked off the lamp. It was too silent. Sad, almost. She threw off the covers and padded in bare feet to the windows, where she stood near-naked in the moonlight for the third time tonight. She bent over to unlock one of the paned frames, letting in the night air.

Once back in bed, April pictured Marthe and Jeanne and bat guano magnates as she waited to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Paris through her open windows. She tried not to hear Troy’s words. “There won’t be any time.” It was the first time he’d rejected her outright. Then again, it was the first time April had given him the opportunity.

Chapitre XXVII

It was Friday.

It was also April’s fifth day in Paris and Troy’s second in London. He was due home by Monday. As he said, it wasn’t a lot of time. Yet when April considered Willow Weintraub and all the things that could happen between now and then, it felt like forever.

She spent the morning inventorying the pieces now transferred to the basement of the auction house. Despite Olivier’s initial pessimism, they’d been able to make room. April culled through the assets, inspecting stamps and signatures; tracing her fingers over polished finishes and wondering which items had been reveneered, all the while feeling Troy as if he lingered nearby.

Their conversation left April restless for two straight nights, the rebuffed invitation pulling from her a desire she’d not felt in the last ninety days. She wanted him, goddammit. Every time April turned over in bed she expected to see him beside her. She swore she smelled Troy, that she could hear him, that he was laughing somewhere nearby.

Go away, Troy, April thought. Or, rather, come here.

Working in the basement should’ve been more productive than in the apartment. It took Marthe mostly out of the picture and thus removed a distraction the size of South America (bat guano, anyone?). There was no way to imagine Marthe in that cinder-block basement with its industrial carpeting and damp smell. Alas, it was still working in a basement—and April thought that perhaps Marthe’s presence was simply supplanted by Troy’s. Having accomplished little by midafternoon, April decided to call it a day, so disoriented and hunchbacked was she with lack of sleep and sunlight.

Skipping up the stairs and into the building’s foyer, April decided that if she couldn’t rid herself of Troy’s ghost, she might as well seek out the real thing. With an “Au revoir” to the guard, April pulled out her phone and sucked in a gulp of air. “Meet me in Paris,” she texted her husband. “Please. I miss you.” Send. Before she could reconsider.

Outside the weather was abnormally blustery and stark for that June day. As the wind whipped around her face, April buried both fists deep inside her trench. Halfway to her apartment, the phone buzzed. It buzzed again, each sound piled on top of the last. She hadn’t expected him to respond so quickly, much less with a call. Maybe things would work out in the end. April ducked into a patisserie and wiggled her mouth out of her scarf.

“You’re coming?” she said, backing into the corner lest someone think she was a customer. “You’re coming to Paris. This will be good. We need this.”

“Indeed we do! But I didn’t know I was invited. When do I leave?”

Birdie. April should’ve known. Rather, she should’ve checked Caller ID like a normal person. What was she thinking? It was silly to expect Troy’s response in the middle of a European workday. April wondered how she could be so wrong so very much of the time.

“Oh. Hi, Birds,” she said. “I thought you were Troy.”

“Troy?” Rustling commenced, followed by a shower of swear words. “Crap! I spilled Greek yogurt into my bra.”

“That’ll smell good later.”

“You’re telling me,” Birdie said. “It’s like a hundred and fifty fucking degrees here. With a zillion percent humidity.”

“I’m glad you never exaggerate.”

“What’s this about Troy coming to Paris?” Birdie asked. “He’s coming to see you?”

“We talked about it,” April said, which was not altogether untrue. “He’s actually across the Channel. In London. Closing a deal.” She’d only
just
texted him. Plans for a rendezvous could in fact be solidified within the hour. Troy wouldn’t say no a second time. He couldn’t.

“Wow!” Birdie said. “I’m surprised he can pull himself away from the partying.”

“Excuse me?”

April pushed herself further into the corner, unconcerned that she was the only patron rudely jabbering on a mobile.

“My best friend is in London right now too,” Birdie said. “You know—Hailey? I think you’ve met her?”

“Sure.” April nodded, though she was not sure at all.

“Hailey is the EA for a bigwig at Carlyle. They closed a deal in London this week too and since they all know each other—heck, half of them have worked at both places—well, anyway, they’ve all been partying it up. She saw Troy! Although I guess I’m not supposed to mention it…”

“Saw Troy doing what?”

All at once the bakery felt too hot. April yanked off her scarf and fanned her face with a napkin.

“Partying,” Birdie said. “At the Beauchamp Club. The whole gang of them, Stanhope, Carlyle, everyone in between.”

“‘Everyone in between,’” April repeated. “In between” meant lawyers. It meant environmental consultants.

“Yeah. Apparently it’s all hard core. Up all night, straight to business meetings in the morning. Hailey has mastered going to work while still drunk, and it’s all too much for even her.”

And all too much for April. There was drinking and so what, it’s what these finance guys did to celebrate. Five-thousand-dollar bottles of wine, bar tabs that made international news and incited the outrage of decent hardworking Americans. For April it was not about the excess. It was about where the excess led.

April knew how Troy was when he let himself break from his polished, slick-haired mold. Willow knew too, as evidenced by the Singapore Incident, but April’s experience went further back.

He was intimidating at first, this man who would later become her husband. They’d been on four dates, five if you counted the business-class-lounge meet-up and their ensuing delayed flight. But at four-point-five dates in, April wasn’t sure how much longer it would last.

They got along. They got along tremendously. This was never in question. Troy was kind and attentive and said the exact right thing 100 percent of the time. It was unnerving, that perfect personality combined with those looks: the flawlessly pressed clothes, his ridiculous jawbone, sandy-colored hair always neatly combed, flecks of gray at the temples. Those early days she watched him, waiting for a misstep.