The Art of Death (9 page)

“I’ve never seen Central Park from this perspective,” Lexie said, directing her comment to Jessica Singer, then turning to look again at the scene below. Jessica and Lexie, now 36, were old friends from high school. Both were wives and working mothers. Whereas Lexie had made her fortune in the waste disposal and scrap businesses, Jessica had married Ed Singer, a pediatrician, and moved to Indianapolis. After working as an interior decorator for several years, she opened Décor Jessica, a high-end home furnishings store. It took awhile for both women to get established in their careers, but three years ago they felt sufficiently flush to begin a tradition of an annual visit to New York City for a three-day girls’ weekend, an excursion that was much more expensive than their occasional trips to the beach. Their New York weekend did not depart from the typical tourist round: museums and landmarks, famous restaurants, hot Broadway shows, and Fifth Avenue shops.

“Why haven’t we ever eaten here before?” Jessica said, snuggling into her chair, which resembled a throne. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see a royal or two here.”

“Got me,” Lexie said, pulling her many shopping bags nearer her chair. At four in the afternoon after a day of serious shopping, they were seated at a window table on the seventh floor of Bergdorf Goodman in the restaurant. The window overlooked Central Park, a city garden bigger than the principality of Monaco. Lexie looked around the room, which was packed with tourists and a few New York natives. “Good thing we got a reservation.”

“I know. Look down there. What do you suppose that fountain is?”

The waitress, a woman in her thirties with a friendly face, knew the answer. She told them the bronze figure was Pomona, the Roman goddess of abundance, flanked by rams’ heads with horns of plenty. “It marks the entrance to Central Park. Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Love the symbolism,” Jessica responded. “Abundance. Wealth and plenty. Lots of material comfort. That used to be the hope of the country, all of us to have abundance. Now our leaders tell us we should be ashamed of prosperity.”

The waitress, looking slightly perplexed, added, “You should see the fountain at Christmas when the trees in the basin are all lit up. The whole place sparkles like a fairyland.”

“That’s a good idea,” Lexie said, smiling at the waitress and then at Jessica. “I’ve never been here at Christmas. Maybe we should think about that. Bring our husbands. See a show. Check out the store windows.”

“What a good idea!” Jessica said. “My favorite holiday.” 

“Do you need a few more minutes to look at the menu?” the waitress asked. “No hurry.”

“No, we’re ready,” Jessica said. “We’re having the high tea. That includes Devonshire cream with the scones, right?”

“Definitely. And smoked salmon sandwiches today. Now, will that be with or without the champagne?”

“Oh, with it, definitely,” Jessica said with a little laugh. “Who can pass up a glass of Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label Brut? And I’m paying for this treat, so it’s my call.”

“And which tea? There’s quite a selection.”

Jessica eyed Lexie. “Want to try the Jardin Bleu? I read a review that said it was unusual.”

Lexie shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

When the waitress left, Lexie smiled at her friend. “Fifty dollars apiece is a lot for high tea, don’t you think? Maybe that’s why we never came here before.”

“Chalk it up to an experience we won’t forget. And I owe you big time, my dear friend. Traveling on your private jet -- .”

“Charter jet.”

“Same thing in my book.”

“Not so. With a charter, I don’t own a depreciating asset.”

 “Ever the intelligent businesswoman. And staying at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, all on your dime. I feel like a queen.”

“We could have stayed somewhere much more reasonable, but the Athénée has good memories for me, and since I chose it, I’m paying. That’s where I was staying four years ago when I came out here to meet with my agent about writing my first book. At that moment, nothing was right in my life. I was divorced. I’d sold my businesses -- .”

“And made a fortune.”

“True. But that left me at loose ends because suddenly I was without a job. What to do next? And the fortune I made was a mixed blessing because everybody in my life -- step-mother, half-brother, ex-husband, investment advisor -- wanted a piece of me. The only person who seemed to care about me as a person was Steve. So, picture this. It was a cold night in February 2009. I’d just had an unsatisfactory meeting with my literary agent. After that, a condescending waiter served me lunch. Then I had a hard workout alone and after that sipped a cocktail in the hotel lounge, again alone. That night, it was cold and dark and snowing like the devil. I was sitting in the atrium -- .”

“Which is my favorite part of the hotel,” Jessica interjected.

 “Mine too. As I was saying, I was sitting all alone among millions of invisible people, mesmerized by the lighted ziggurats of the city. Though it was a wondrous scene, it made me feel all the lonelier, when I suddenly realized I was in love -- really in love -- with Steve. I was so in love, so wanting to be in his house watching a movie and eating popcorn with him, that I cancelled a day of shopping -- which I’d looked forward to for weeks -- just to fly back to the frozen Midwest to be in his presence. And at that point in our friendship, mind you, he was still adamant that he’d never marry again after divorcing Madeleine and he still hadn’t told me he loved me. So . . . so I was trading the certainty of a great day in New York for the uncertainty of what I’d find back home.”

“But it turned out well.”

“It did. . . . Ah, will you look at that,” Lexie said as the waitress placed a three-tiered serving piece on the table and then a pot of tea.

“Muffins and sweets on the top, scones with Devonshire cream and fruit preserves in the middle, and an assortment of little sandwiches on the bottom. Anything else I can get you?” the waitress asked.

“Another glass of champagne for each,” Jessica said. “We’re going to be here awhile. . . . So,” Jessica said after selecting a sandwich, “how is Steve? He seemed a little down at the Derby party. Which, if I haven’t said it enough, was a great blowout, especially because my husband bet on Orb, so he was a happy camper.”

Lexie laughed. “A lot of people bet on Orb, so Ed couldn’t have been that happy.”

“Oh, but he was. Being a very fine pediatrician isn’t enough. If he wasn’t a doctor, he’d be a professional poker player in Las Vegas or the owner of a Kentucky racing stable. That’s what he likes to think anyway. Of course, it’s just a Walter Mitty fantasy.”

In other circumstances, Lexie would have let the conversation veer off to Ed Singer’s Walter Mitty fantasies, but Jessica’s question about Steve gave her the opening she needed. She recounted her offer to pay off Steve’s debts with some of the money she’d made from the diamond auction so he could start some big new project that amounted to something. She disclosed how she’d found Steve and his ex-wife in his office at the Derby party just before the final race, supposedly talking about construction but in tones suggesting that something else entirely was going on. Then he decided to accept his ex-wife’s proposal to rehabilitate the whole Appledorn farmstead because it was big money, meaning he’d necessarily reestablish his connection with Madeleine. “Rejecting my offer to pay his debts makes me mad.”

“Why?” Jessica asked, selecting a scone.

“My money’s as good as anybody else’s, isn’t it?”

“I thought you two had a rule about never mixing business interests.”

“We do, but it’s not written in stone, Jess. This situation is unique.”

“Of course it is. But most husbands don’t see their wives’ money the way they see their own -- which, on the whole, is a good thing, don’t you think? It means they still want to be the breadwinner. Six thousand years of tradition starting with Adam tilling the fields by the sweat of his brow is kind of reassuring.”

“I told him the debacle could have happened to anyone. Being scammed by that do-gooder U.N. outfit was no shame. He was backed into a corner by the City, and even his lawyer was no help. So, if he wanted to view my diamond profits as a windfall, an undeserved bit of good luck instead of an intelligent investment, he could go right ahead. I’m not looking for kudos. What’s money, I asked, if it doesn’t make us happy?”

“Pardon me, Lexie, but I suspect something else is going on here.”

“You do? What do you suspect?” Curious, Lexie eyed her friend, a bundle of contradictions. Jessica had the angelic face, the brown eyes, the wavy blond hair, of the Blessed Virgin, a fresco they’d viewed in a Tuscan church six months earlier. But Jessica was not the Blessed Virgin. She was a shrewd friend, loyal and kind but direct to a fault, never mincing words.

“You know what I suspect.”

“I suppose I do,” Lexie admitted in a half-whisper. “I’m wary of Madeleine’s intentions. She’s manipulative and proud, or so I hear. She doesn’t like to lose. And I suspect she usually wins, given her beauty and talent, not to mention her charm. She’s been married three times and not one of her husbands was a slouch in any department.”

“And you think she wants Steve back?”

“Oh, from the looks of her, not permanently. She just wants to make a point that she can have him if she wants to. Poor Steve would just be another of her conquests.”

“Do you really feel that insecure? Or that distrustful of Steve?”

She held up a thumb and index finger an inch apart. “A little.”

“Ah,” Jessica said, picking up the second glass of champagne and toasting Lexie. “Here’s to you. . . . You won’t get mad if I tell you what I think?”

“Depends on what you think,” Lexie said with a shaky laugh.

“Your offer to pay Steve’s debts makes him feel like a failure. His refusal to take your money makes you feel like one too. He thinks you see him as less than a man. You think he sees you as merely a woman. Though both of you want to do the noble thing, you end up hurting each other.”

“So what do we do?”

“Stop hurting each other.”

Lexie cocked an eyebrow. “How?”

“Don’t try to help him. Don’t give him advice. Let him do what he’s going to do.”

“What about Madeleine? Should I demand he stay away from her?”

“No. But keep an eye on her.”

Lexie looked out at the statue of Pomona, the goddess of abundance. “Easier said than done.”