Cosmo's Deli (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“Let me make sure that I understand you correctly.” Val has spent the last ten minutes stone faced, while Renny presented her case for moving the time of the Cedar Foods presentation to an hour earlier. As Val leans forward, Renny leans back, feeling like a mouse that is about to be caught up in a cat's jaw. “You are being given a huge opportunity, one that four other analysts are salivating over. I have been approached by each one of them—promising me their firstborns—just to have the chance that you and Lance are being given.”

Renny interrupts, “I know and I am so appreciative, it is just…” she searches her mind for fresh words to stack on top of the stuttering explanation she already gave about her mother's health. “I'm sure you understand. It is my mother after all.”

Val momentarily taps a pencil on the desk. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Renny asks.

“Purposely shooting yourself in the foot. I've never seen anything like it. You seem truly dedicated to self sabotage.”

The observation, added with the curious way Val is staring at her, reminds Renny of her mother. Funny, how they both have a way of reducing my entire life to a recipe for inadequacy. With her mother, Renny usually has a retort ready, but with Val she is mute.

“I really am miffed,” Val continues. “You said yourself that your mother may have nothing more than a bad cough. And even if I wanted to accommodate your request, what makes you think the Cedars would be available at ten? They set the meeting for eleven, not us. Do you expect our company to blow this account, because your mother has a doctor's appointment? Is the absurdity of that lost on you? I might as well tell them the dog ate our presentation.”

“But Val, it's my family and that's important.'

“Let me tell you about my own experience. Years ago, my father needed bypass surgery. Only it was scheduled at the same time I was supposed to pitch to Glaxo for that new digestive drug. What do you think I did? Did I fly to Minneapolis to sit in a waiting room, useless? Or, did I give a career altering pitch?

“You pitched.”

“Damn right I did. It's all about sacrifice. Those are the choices we make. And you know what? My father's surgery added twenty years to his life. Sometimes it's better to just follow the course that you're on.” Finality marks Val's last line, as if she and Renny had arrived at a mutual decision. “So, do I need to reassign your presentation?” Val asks.

“No.” Renny rifles through her mind for something to say that would change Val's decision.

“Good.” Val shifts her focus to her paper's looking up a moment later to see Renny still in her chair. “Was there something else?”

Renny takes that as her cue to leave.

***

Renny is back in her office mere seconds when Lucy appears at her door. “So?” she asks eagerly.

“So what?” Renny lays her papers across her desk.

“Did you see HIM this weekend?”

“Saturday night.”

“Did he stay over?”

“Yup!”

“Lounging on Sunday with your man. How are you so lucky? I can't even get Mr. Giggles to smile at me,” Lucy laments. “Tell all. What'd you make him for breakfast?”

Renny can still see Georgie's head dipping into that cab, her arms full with groceries. But instead she goes along with Lucy's assumption, offering her own wishful embellishment and erasing her fight with Ira and the prospect of her mother's illness. “We feasted in bed of course. While he was sleeping, I picked up a whole spread at Zabars and H&H.” Well that last part of it is true, Renny tells herself. “I just had the worst meeting with Val.”

“No shock there. She's got to be in the worst mood today.”

“What do you mean?”

With a wicked smile Lucy shuts Renny's office door and in a rare occurrence she sits back down ready to spill what she knows. Lucy sees gossip as currency and she hordes it all for a rainy day. “I have a friend that works at Block World Advertising. That's where Val's husband works. You knew that, right?”

Renny nods, everyone knows Val's husband is the Creative Director at Block World.

Lucy continues, “Well, did you know he's a number one womanizing shit? My friend is the assistant to his assistant. Get that—assistants have assistants over there.” Lucy snorts, obviously wishing she were an assistant who had a flunky. “Anyway,” she continues accepting her lot, “according to my friend, Val's husband is having an affair with a media buyer over there and they went away for the weekend. I heard Val showed up in the girl's office last Friday and had to be escorted out by security.”

“No way!” Renny exclaims.

“It's the truth. Don't repeat it, I'll deny everything.”

Renny knows she should feel bad for Val, but she doesn't. Instead she feels the opposite. Val's such a bitch, it serves her right. Hell, after the meeting they just had, Renny contemplates sending the mistress media buyer flowers with a card telling her to, “keep up the good work.”

“You are so damn lucky!” Lucy says.

“Huh?” Renny asks, trying to follow the sudden shift in topics.

“Spending your weekend with Georgie. Now that you're hooked up, do you think you can get me into that party at the Meltdown?”

That's Lucy, she spilled her gossip and now she expects payment. “I don't know,” Renny says trying to stay noncommittal.

Lucy shrugs, “I almost forgot, your brother called. He wants to know if you need a ride out of the city on Friday?”

Shit, Renny thinks, what I am going to tell Ira? What am I going to tell my mother?

Chapter Twenty-Two

The doorman of the posh Fifth Avenue apartment building opens the door for Sara. Inside her heels click on the marble floor as she passes the concierge, who waves her by. This is her in-laws' building and this morning Bart's mother, Sabrina ‘Brynn' Matthews, is expecting her. Turn around and get in the car, Sara's thoughts warn, as she pushes the elevator button for the penthouse and tries to shake the nagging feeling that this is a big mistake.

Her in-laws arrived back from the country last night and this morning, Rosa, the housekeeper, told Sara that if she got there soon, her mother-in-law would be able to spend a few minutes with her before her lunch appointment. Sara barely touched her foot on the brake the entire ride from Greenwich into the city.

The elevator doors release her into their private hallway. She knows that if Bart is in New York, Sabrina Matthews knows where. Bart doesn't go to the bathroom without Mommy footing the bill for the toilet paper

Strain is etched across Sara's forehead as Rosa opens the door. She is a plump Hispanic woman, with gray peppered hair that rests on top of her head in a tight bun. Even with the height of her hair, Rosa stands six inches shorter then Sara. Rosa smiles, her warm voice filling the foyer like a burst of sunshine, “Miss Sara you are looking well. It is getting close, isn't it?”

“Only a few more weeks.” Sara forces a smile in return. Sara likes Rosa, her genial comportment reminds her of Mrs. Claus.

Rosa takes Sara's jacket. “Mrs. Matthews is expecting you in the living room.” Sara hesitates and the housekeeper takes her hand. In a low voice Rosa tells her, “It will be okay. You just take care of yourself.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that. But Rosa, I don't know how.”

“You will.” She smiles reassuringly.

Sara walks into the living room to face her mother-in-law. The room, like the whole apartment, is wall-to-wall eye candy. Every square inch is decorated impeccably from ceiling to floor. Even if one wanted to move a lamp or book, it would inevitably end up back where it had been. “Placement is everything,” her mother-in-law always said. Here everything already has its perfect place.

Sabrina Matthews waits at the fireplace. At sixty-eight, she is regal and elegant. Her face, handled by time with kid gloves, bares only a few delicately placed lines, none of which dare to displace the beauty of her youth. Known to her friends as Brynn, she has graced many society pages during her years living as one of the privileged. If there's a New York City event, Brynn Matthews is front and center, her smile as dazzling as the antique diamond choker fixed around her long neck, girded as those close to her know by a backbone of steel.

Air kisses take flight as Brynn clasps Sara's hand. “Sara dear, it's so nice of you to visit today. Too bad Megan couldn't come with you. Come let's sit. How is my adorable granddaughter?”

Sara notices how Rosa's brief grasp held more warmth then her mother-in-law's bony manicured fingers. Sinking next to Brynn on the down-filled chintz sofa, Sara withdraws her hand and places it on her gyrating belly, where the baby has begun a round of indoor gymnastics. “Megan is doing fine, considering.”

Brynn sniffs, signaling her disapproval of Sara's implication. “Yes, well, and how are you feeling? What does the doctor say?”

“I'm fine. Dr. Rumson thinks it will be a few more weeks. I'm feeling a bit tired lately.”

“Well that's to be expected now isn't it? You really should have some help. How about we send Rosa out to you next week, to help around the house? She adores Megan.”

That's her mother-in-law's answer for everything, send in the hired help. If she could, Brynn would have hired a temporary husband and father to fill-in during Bart's absence. But then anything conjugal would make her a pimp in couture clothing. “No, that's not necessary; my parents have been helping me since Bart left.”

Brynn shifts at the mention of her son's name. “I insist. I'm sure your parents could use the relief. Rosa will be there on Monday.”

Sara knows a debate is uninvited so she lets it go. “I'm sure Megan will love having Rosa there. Sabrina, I need to ask you something.”

“What is it dear?”

“Dr. Rumson mentioned that Bart called him the other day to see how I am doing.”

Not a single muscle moves on her mother-in-law's expertly made-up face. “Really? Well good! I am very glad to hear that. Sara would you like some tea?”

“Dr. Rumson said Bart was calling from New York.”

“Let me see if I can have Rosa bring you something to eat. You must be starving.” Brynn gets up and walks to the living room doors.

“Sabrina!” Sara is shocked by the command in her voice, yet she is undaunted, refusing to be dismissed. “I know you heard me. Don't make this any harder than it already is. Please.”

She halts. “What is it you're asking?”

Sara knows it isn't often that someone addresses Brynn Matthews this way, especially herself. She always chose the meek route with her mother-in-law and she hopes this current tone has her off guard. “Bart is in New York, isn't he?”

Her cold grey eyes drill into Sara. “Well well, so the mouse can roar. Apparently, there is a backbone underneath all that beauty. But I suppose I should have realized that the moment we negotiated the prenuptial agreement. You certainly knew what you wanted then.”

Sara meets her mother-in-law's steely gaze, the $3 million fling fee passing between them as if an invisible narrator were reading it aloud. “We both know why I needed to be that way.”

Sara and Bart were dating six months and living together when she found him in their bed with someone else. He swore that it was a one-night stand and that it meant nothing. Sara moved out. Bart was crazy without her. A week later, he proposed and Sara took him back. She never told anyone why they had broken up, not her parents, not even Renny and Gaby. She didn't want to have to explain that her choice to take him back was simply because she loved him.

But Bart told Mommy everything. And when it came time for the prenup, they hit a snag. Though Sara forgave Bart his indiscretion, she would never forget it. She insisted on the fling fee in addition to considerable child support and alimony or she wouldn't sign. His mother protested, but Bart cajoled his mother to agree. And she did, for the only chink in Brynn's armor is the soft spot she has for Bart.

Brynn waves a dismissive hand at Sara. “Now dear don't get yourself upset. It's obvious Dr. Rumson is mistaken. After all, the last we all heard, I believe Bart was in California. In fact, I think he mentioned something about heading off to Hawaii.”

Sara studies her mother-in-law's innocent expression. She speaks of Bart's flying all over the country as though it were a vacation they'd all planned, instead of what it really is, the sudden abandonment of his family. Is it possible she doesn't know where he is? No, Sara sees now it's not just Bart she's protecting, but her wallet. “I don't think Dr. Rumson is mistaken. Bart's here in New York. But you've known that, haven't you?”

“If I knew that, why wouldn't I tell you? Sara, please, we both know Bart is impulsive, he always has been. He has trouble coping with life so he runs. He'll be back, you'll see. It will set itself straight.”

“What makes you think I'll take him back after this?”

“That's nonsense, of course you will.” Brynn checks her watch and stands, “Now you'll have to excuse me, I'm supposed to meet Claire Harrison Browning for lunch to discuss our fundraiser for the arts. Give us a call next week and we'll make plans for Megan to come stay the night. Although goodness, next week's calendar is quite full. We have tickets to the ballet and the theatre. Lawrence has that dreadful poker game of his and I have bridge. Oh well, we'll see.” She calls over her shoulder as she leaves the room. “You should touch up your lipstick dear, it's a bit faded. Can't face the world without lipstick on.”

She has been dismissed with no more information than to touch up her fading lips. Lumbering toward the front hall, Sara finds Rosa holding her jacket. “I'll see you next week, Miss. You just take care of yourself.”

Sara puts on her coat and prays for the elevator doors to open before she falls apart. As she jams her hands in the pockets, her fingers hit on a piece of paper. She steps into the elevator and pulls the paper out—finding Rosa's handwriting. Sara looks up and sees the housekeeper still at the door. She nods at Sara as the elevator closes.

The note reads,

Dear Miss Sara,

Don't tell anyone that I gave you this. I will lose my job. He is in New York. Apartment 4A at 420 West End Avenue.

Rosa

“I knew it.” Sara flies outs of the building and hails a cab.

“420 West End Avenue, please,” she tells the driver, while wondering just what she'll do when she gets there.

***

With her dinner dangling in a white plastic bag from her arm Renny shivers, as the warm spring day succumbs to the evening chill. Mentally listing all the things she should have said to Val, but didn't, Renny is so lost in thought that when she passes a pregnant woman on a bench near her apartment, it takes a moment for her to realize who it is. “Sara?”

Sara's face is streaked with mascara and her arms are folded tight across her chest. “Renny?” She is obviously surprised to see her too.

Renny sits down alarmed. “What are you doing here?”

Sara turns her face to gaze across the street. “I saw him, Renny.”

“Who? Bart?”

Sara nods.

“Did he come back?”

Sara shakes her head, jostling loose a stream of tears.

Renny takes her hand, shocked by the corpse-like feel of Sara's cold fingers. “Oh my god, you're frozen. Come up to my apartment.”

“No. I can't.” She shoots a look at a building across the street, her blue tinged lips quivering. “I've been out here a while. I guess it's gotten chilly.”

“Sara what's going on?”

She takes a breath. “I went to see his mother. I figured she would know where he is, but she wouldn't tell me. Then when I left, Rosa gave me this.” Sara holds the paper.

Renny scans the message. “That's right across the street from me.”

“I didn't even realize it until I got here. When the cab let me out, I didn't know what to do. So I sat here for about an hour trying to figure it out. That's when he came around the corner.” Sara points, “Over there.”

Renny follows Sara's hand to the spot. “Did you talk to him?”

She shakes her head. “He wasn't alone.”

Like in a soap opera, Renny expects to hear ominous music foreshadowing the impending bad news. Only sitting here holding Sara's hand there is no music, only dread over the dark turn to the storyline.

Sara's tiny voice cracks, “He was with a woman. I know her.”

“Who?”

“His little sister's roommate from college. Nora.”

Renny squints trying to picture her. “Didn't I meet her that time we all were at Ollie's?”

“That's right. She moved here about eight months ago from San Francisco. She came to our house for dinner. She played with Megan.” Tears roll down her cheeks. “Who does that? Who comes to dinner, plays with your kid and then steals your husband? What kind of person does that?”

“It's not a person, it's the devil,” Renny blurts. Then she grasps for something, anything to explain it away. “Maybe they just went for lunch or something? It could be nothing that they were together.”

“I saw them kiss before going into the building. After they went in, I talked to the doorman. She lives there.” Sara wipes her eyes. “The last few weeks, he's been living with her. What's really strange is that she kind of looks like me. His sister always used to say how I remind her of Nora.”

“Sara, I'm so sorry.” Renny wraps an arm around Sara, with tears pushing at the back of her eyes. She fights them back and struggles to find words that will make it okay, while knowing that there is nothing she can say that will do that. “Come up to my apartment. We'll figure something out. I think I have some cookie dough ice cream in the freezer.”

“One tub of ice cream and three spoons and all our problems used to fade away. God, I wish it were still as simple as that now,” Sara says, her eyes wistfully searching the sidewalk across the street. “I need to get home. Megan's been at my friend Nancy's all day.”

“Just for a little while. I'll make you some tea. It'll warm you up.”

“Okay, just for a bit.”

***

Sara sits curled up on Renny's sofa, her legs tucked under the purple chenille throw.

“Here we go.” Renny carries two teacups.

“Thanks,” Sara says, taking one.

Renny opens her food container. “Okay, are you sure you don't want something to eat?”

“No you go ahead. I think if I ate anything, I'd throw up.” Sara sips her tea.

Renny shoves a dumplings in her mouth.

Sara says thinly. “What am I going to do, Renny?”

“You're going to kick his sorry ass to the curb, that's what.”

Sara is silent.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” Renny wishes that just once she could tread through a conversation wearing verbal ballet slippers instead of combat boots.

“It's okay.” Sara pauses. “I think you're right, only I still love him. I love my family, the whole white picket fence life we had. Damn him! I hate that he has the power to hurt me. When I saw him I wanted to charge across the street and yell at him or punch him. Anything to hurt him the way he's hurting me.”

“You've got to talk to him and find out what's going on.”

“He's fucking her, that's what's going on. What did I do that would make him do this to us? It's so humiliating.”