An Ex to Grind (11 page)

"Good morning, Ricardo," I said to the doorman. I was dropping Buster off at Dan's the Monday after my appointment with Desiree. She and I had agreed to speak again once she had compiled a portfolio of potential girlfriends for him and I had nailed down his schedule. He had become quite the creature of habit since we'd split up, so I expected my part of the assignment to be easy.

"Hi, Melanie," said Ricardo. "I'll buzz Mr. Swain and see if he's up for visitors."

"You do that," I said, trying to keep my annoyance in check. After the usual humiliating wait in the lobby, I was finally permitted to go up to my own apartment. Dan was waiting in his bathrobe and moccasins, half-asleep.

"Is there any chance you could stop dropping Buster off in the middle of the night?" he said, wiping the crud out of his eyes.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning," I said as I brushed past him, Buster trailing after me. "Some of us have places to go, people to meet, salaries to earn."

"And some of us need our rest," he said. "Being a single man in New York takes a lot of energy these days. Women have become very aggressive." He shook his head in mock consternation. "They don't understand that 'no' means 'no.'"

"That must be quite a burden," I said, unhooking Buster's leash so he could hop onto the sofa and, hopefully, drool all over it. "I'd love to hear more about your sex life, but there's serious business I need to discuss with you."

The smirky attitude vanished. "You're not sick, are you, Mel?"

Weird. Just when I thought Dan had no redeeming qualities, he showed his concern for my health. Maybe I hadn't been completely wrong about him in the early years. Maybe there
was
a decent, caring person hiding inside the jerk he'd turned into. And maybe I wasn't lying when I'd told Desiree he would make one of her clients very happy. "No, I'm fine, thanks. This is about our schedules. I've decided that in the event of an emergency we should be accessible to each other at all times."

Back came the jerk. "You really can't stand being without me, can you, darlin'?"

"This is about Buster, Dan. If something were to happen to him, God forbid, you would know where to reach me, since I'm almost always at the office, but I wouldn't know where to reach you."

"You've got my cell number."

"Yeah, but your cell isn't always turned on. Or you're not in an area where there's a good signal. Or you leave it in a taxi."

"I did that exactly once," he said defensively. "Four years ago."

"I'm just saying I'd like to have your schedule, in case I need to get in touch with you quickly. I know you have your familiar haunts now, spots where you hang out on a regular basis. I promise I won't make any cracks about them or give you any lectures. I just want a list, okay?"

"You're not yanking my chain? This is really about Buster?"

"Why else would I care what you do with your time?"

"You tell me. You're the one who's always got an angle." I stood very straight, trying my best to appear upright, dignified, beyond reproach, anything but the architect of… an angle. "It's strictly about Buster, Dan. As I said."

He shrugged and went into the kitchen for a pen and paper. While I waited for him to return, I took a little stroll around the living room, stopping to run my hands along the chenille fabric on the club chair. I recalled picking it out and thinking how lush and soft it was, never imagining that I wouldn't be the one sitting on it anymore, much less owning it.

I continued to move throughout the room, gazing with greater and greater yearning at each piece that I—okay, Dan and I—had purchased, allowing myself to dwell on the memory each evoked: the antique-brass wall sconces we'd discovered at an estate sale; the mahogany side table that had been hand-carved for us by craftsmen we'd met while vacationing in Montego Bay; the fringed Turkish rug on which we'd made love the night Dan had returned from a road trip to San Francisco.

And then I came upon a grouping of framed photos, including one of him and me at my graduation from business school. I was positively beaming into the camera as I clutched my diploma to my chest. I had achieved my goal, but it was Dan who'd made it possible, and the expression on my face reflected both my excitement and my gratitude. He'd paid my way, taken care of me, sheltered me. I'd tried to do the same for him when he needed me, but those days were over. I was not taking care of a person whose only goal in life was to torture me. He was Desiree's problem now, not mine.

He came back a few minutes later with his list and handed it to me. I stuffed it into my briefcase, kissed Buster goodbye, and left.

"Don't do anything criminal at work," he called out after me.

I ignored him and walked down the hall, toward the elevator.

"I'd hate to read about you in the business section of the
Times
, with all those corporate crooks and their legal hassles," he added.

"That shouldn't be a problem," I said as I hit the elevator's Down button. "You never read the business section of the
Times
. The classifieds either."

If he had a comeback, I was too far away to hear it.

I studied Dan's schedule in the taxi on the way to the office. It wasn't exactly a page-turner, but I hoped it would be useful. I tried to call Desiree from my cell phone to get her thinking about which client to send out to which of his hangouts, but the cabdriver had his radio on. A pulsating, repetitious song was playing, and I couldn't compete with the Middle East's equivalent of Justin Timberlake. Might as well wait for a land line, I decided. "Ornbacher called about fifteen minutes ago," said Steffi as
I arrived at work. She was seated at her desk with her headset on, I her neatly recorded call sheet in front of her. "Do you want me to get him at his hotel? He said he'd be there a little longer."

"Did it sound urgent?" I said.

"It always sounds urgent with him. Why does he have to yell at everyone?"

I smiled. "Don't be intimidated by him." Despite how poised Steffi was, I had to remind myself that she was still inexperienced with clients, most of whom believed that their money entitled them to push people around. Ornbacher may have been a lecher, but he was actually pretty easy to deal with, relative to the others. "He yells because he's got a hearing problem, that's all," I said. "I'll call him in a few minutes."

"But—"

"There's something I need to deal with first."

She blinked in surprise.

"I'll call him before he leaves his hotel, Steffi. Not to worry."

I hurried into my office, closed the door, and dialed Desiree's number. I was dying to get started on our "project." I figured our conversation would be quick—just an exchange of information—leaving plenty of time for me to get back to Jed.

"Hi. It's Melanie checking in," I said after Taylor put me through.

"So soon?" she said.

"I'm a doer," I said. "You told me to find out Dan's schedule? I found out his schedule." I pulled the piece of paper out of my briefcase and spread it out on my desk. "Now, he doesn't account for every minute of the day and night, but there are definite areas to exploit. Like the gym. He goes to Manhattan Body and Fitness on Sixty-fourth and Second on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from ten to noon. I've already confirmed that they take walkins, so your clients can pop in there any time. On those same days, he has lunch at the Post House, the steak place on Sixty-third between Park and Madison in the Lowell Hotel. He likes to sit in the back, so he can avoid the legions of people he's deluded himself into thinking will still recognize him. Late in the day he plays poker at his friend Ernie's apartment at 201 East Seventy-second, which isn't a public place, of course, but maybe your clients could—"

"What? Pose as the UPS delivery person?"

"Fine. Forget that one. On Wednesday afternoons he plays football in Central Park, in the North Meadow at Ninety-seventh Street. He's there from two to five—lots of time for that special someone to stroll by and get his attention."

"Melanie?"

"Yes?"

"Dan goes to the gym, eats lunch, and plays games. I knew he wasn't out there finding a cure for cancer, but you didn't tell me he did nothing."

"Why do you think I'm trying to shed him like a bad cold?" I said.

She sighed. "I don't know who's going to jump at the chance to meet him. Not my clients. Not even my really desperate ones."

"He does have a certain kind of charm," I said. "Maybe when he finds the right woman, he'll be motivated to change."

"Maybe, but in the meantime he's no catch."

That's why
you're
getting paid the big bucks, I wanted to say. Instead I tried flattery, which is always a good motivator, I've learned. "You'll find the perfect person for him, Desiree, because you're the best matchmaker in the city."

"In the country," she corrected me. "I'm opening branches in Miami and Beverly Hills as soon as I pull my financing together."

"The financing won't be a problem once you get your Heart Hunting for Exes division off the ground," I said. "You'll make a fortune off people like me."

"Yeah, well right now I've gotta find somebody for your ex, like you said. I just don't know which girl to put with him."

"I'll go through your files with you if you want," I said. "I know what type of woman he likes."

"Hey, be my guest if you've got the time," she said.

"I'll make the time." I checked my calendar. "How's five-thirty tomorrow afternoon?"

"You're in a big hurry about this, huh?" she said.

Just then, Steffi knocked softly on my door, opened it a crack, and stuck her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but I took the liberty of getting Ornbacher on the phone for you. I checked my watch and thought he might be leaving his hotel, so I placed the call. You'll talk to him, right?"

How could I not love Steffi? She really did anticipate my every need. I was just about to finish up with Desiree anyway.

I mouthed to her that I'd be right with him.

"Yes, I'm in a big hurry," I told Desiree. "See you tomorrow."

She hung up. I hung up. Then I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and picked up the other line.

"Jed," I said, full of confidence. It was incredible how much better I felt about things since making the decision to hire Desiree to solve my Dan problem. It was as if the proverbial weight had been lifted off my shoulders. "I was just about to call you. What's up?" I chuckled. "Besides the stock market, I mean."

"Nothing," he boomed. I had to hold the phone away from my ear to avoid permanent damage.

"But you called me earlier," I reminded him.

"I sure did, but I got hold of Bernie when I couldn't reach you, and he already answered my question," he said. "I told him you must have had another one of those family emergencies."

Okay, so I'd made a poor choice by trying to slip in a call to Desiree first. I wouldn't make it again.

That night I was back at the Heartbreak Hotel, sharing some wine and cheese with Patty. She'd resumed her unfortunate habit of hurling breakable objects at the picture of her ex-husband that was taped to the wall. In the interest of peace and quiet, I'd pleaded my way into her apartment and wrestled a small hurricane lamp out of her hand.