Chapter Twenty-Five

 

It had been the first thing in her mind when Eleanor awoke. Edward loves her. It had not been her imagination. The attraction had been real, the kiss had been real. He had come to her apartment last night and made her realize it.

She was in love with him. Unbelievable as it was, impossible as it was, she wanted to hold onto this feeling. Even when Edward was gone, she sat on the sofa and basked in the glory of it. Her clothes clinging to her, damp and cool in the hour after the rain had passed. Feet bare on the carpet, hair plastered against her face. The afterglow of Edward’s kiss on lips and cheeks and forehead.

Sleep did not come, except in brief dozes as she lay on her bed; morning did come, and she lay watching as the light crept across the wall. The real world awaited her. Thoughts of this nature could wait.

“Morning, Eleanor.” There was an unusual lilting quality to Jeanine’s voice this morning when Eleanor emerged from the elevator – whether real or imagined, she wasn’t certain. The smell of coffee seemed stronger, the hum of voices more vibrant and complex than she had noticed before now. She smiled in the direction of two mailroom employees, who returned it in a puzzled manner, as if they found a different meaning in it than the usual polite greeting.

She entered her office, setting her bag on the floor instead of the desk. Across from her, Lucy was busy packing her things. Removing the items from her desk and stuffing them into an open cardboard box.

Moving. Packing. These things caught Eleanor’s notice in a second’s time. The smile on her face melted somewhat.

“Lucy?” she said.

Her assistant looked at her. A dark expression beneath her cloud of reddish hair as she shoved an object from her desk – a stapler, a sharpener – to the bottom of the box.

“What are you doing?” asked Eleanor. “Are you quitting?” Lucy’s files and computer were gone, her Rolodex and external hard drive now nothing more than faint outlines on the surface of the table.

“How dare you?” Lucy’s mouth trembled. “How dare you – you – stole him from me!” She slammed a paperweight into the box.

Eleanor edged closer. “No, Lucy, you don’t understand –”

“I trusted you! I was impressed by you! All those stories and glowing descriptions – and then, with one look at you, he just forgets everything about us, it seems.” She tossed an empty printer cartridge into the wastepaper basket with more force than necessary.

“It wasn’t what it sounds like.” Eleanor felt a blush of dismay gathering on her cheeks. She was avoiding Lucy’s eyes now, as the girl yanked an electrical cord from the wall.

“He was just waiting for the right moment to tell me, he says. It had been over for a long time and he needed an excuse to do this, but it just ‘happened’ at the same time. Didn’t I sense that we were just ‘going through the motions’ of being a couple?”

“Maybe he’s right,” ventured Eleanor. “About distance between you ...” She knew immediately that those words had been a mistake. The storm on Lucy’s face grew darker.

“He was mine!” she hissed. “All those years I waited and worked and imagined him there ... I did everything to keep us together and this is how it ends – with him moving here to dump me!”

Eleanor fell silent. Lucy shoved the cappuccino maker on top of the box’s contents. The lid wouldn’t close, springing open as she attempted it, until she gave up with frustration.

“You had to take him, didn’t you?” Lucy asked, bitterly. “Was it just jealousy – or are you just so desperate, you’ll take the first man who trips over his feet in front of a successful woman? Fine. You be the one who sticks around to watch him. You be the one to follow him in his glories for a change, until he finds somebody else.” She lifted the box. A trail of abandoned paperwork spilled onto the floor from a stray pile on the desk.

Her words stung Eleanor, who felt her eyes burn with tears in response. “I’m sorry,” said Eleanor. “I didn’t know ...” It was too late for that story, she realized.

Lucy was walking away, looking at her with one last glance as she opened the door. “I can’t believe I ever admired you,” she said. With disgust. Then she passed through the doorway, making swift progress towards the elevator. Through the closing glass door of her office, Eleanor could see the stares of the employees closest to her office, who clearly heard part of this exchange.

Lucy entered the elevator and pushed the button, the doors sliding closed. She did not bother to direct one last glare in Eleanor’s direction but faced the other direction until the doors closed.

Jeanine and Marguerite watched, then exchanged glances; Marguerite cast a look, almost sympathetic, in Eleanor’s direction.

Eleanor sank down in her desk chair.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor.” Bitterman planted his hands on his hips as he stood before his desk, a less-than-authoritative look, in Eleanor’s opinion. “I tried to talk to her, but she was absolutely adamant about leaving.”

“No, I understand, of course,” said Eleanor.

“Something about an offer from K&E Media Relations,” he said. “It’s closer to home for her, I think. Or to the city where she plans to build her career, or something...”

He was being vague. He had already heard that Lucy left the building in anger – maybe there were already rumors about the love triangle. She wondered if Lucy had said anything when she quit. Or if she simply stapled her resignation to his desk in anger.

“I’m very sorry to lose her,” said Eleanor. “But we weren’t ... a good fit for each other, I suppose.” She didn’t elaborate on this point, then felt afraid that he might misinterpret it to refer to a rivalry for Edward. But Bitterman’s mind was still focused on Lucy’s departure.

“Well, again, sorry about that,” he said. “But what can you do?” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“What can you do?” repeated Eleanor, quietly and unhappily.

Dear Eleanor: I’ve been married for seventeen years to the same man. We weren’t any kind of great romance, but we were happy and very loving for several years. But now...

She couldn’t give her attention to this letter. To any of them, for that matter, now sorted again according to her old system of subject by subject. But the ones which lay unfolded before her were without meaning as well.

Edward’s kisses were dissolved by Lucy’s bitter departure. His words – but there were no words. Not yet. Nothing but the words from the occasions before, when they had talked a little, feeling gently into each others’ pasts, feeling fear of each others’ present-day lives, it seemed. No, the only words Edward had said last night were ‘I love you.’ That, and her name. And goodbye.

Poor Lucy. Had she thought it was all her stories that seduced him – some sort of crush on the not-so-famous Eleanor Darbish? A fixation on a slightly older woman? Love at first sight at the gala, where her pink satin swept away his emotions; her casual indifference as a perfume of enticement?

She looked up from the letters, her glance falling on her formerly-confiscated appointment calendar, having been tossed by Lucy into the middle of her desk, where it overturned her pencil cup. It was open to today’s page, where a presentation was penciled-in at the Sun Building for four o’ clock.

Another appointment Lucy had neglected to mention until the last minute. There was an inscription to the side, a note about the paper’s restructuring. No doubt Lucy had been looking forward to it; she would have been up front and eager to see the changes unfold like a magician’s trick.

As for Eleanor, she would see missing names from the sheets; unfamiliar banners, strangers’ bylines, and redirected columns, feeling all the confusion of someone wandering around in a familiar building that has been remodeled overnight. She would probably have no appreciation for its innovative format or modern design. But she, the employee who was merely resigned to all of this, would be there.

Eleanor skipped lunch and remained in her office until almost three o’ clock. Outside, the skies were grey again with a second storm system, for figures in rain coats and drenched overcoats emerged from the elevator in the hours between lunch and the meeting.

The Sun Building was only a block and a half from TriCom’s Norlend Towers – a building which Haldon Media owned, and now favored for gatherings involving their minor players. A conference room on the fifteenth floor, a modest view of the city from its roof.

Eleanor had forgotten her umbrella. The spare one was gone from her office – possibly carried away by Lucy by mistake – so she left without it. Her overcoat hanging open as she emerged from the elevator on the lobby floor, having made her departure as hasty as possible to avoid the curious stares of her coworkers.

“So why did Lucy leave? Was she shouting in your office? What was the reason, Eleanor?” She didn’t want any of these questions to be manifested in the real world. Because there was no good reply for them.

The glass lobby doors opened to a cold outside world. Rain was splashing from the awnings to the street and the sidewalks ahead as Eleanor closed two of the buttons on her coat, her steps pausing on the threshold of the cold rain.

A whoosh of vinyl and metal from behind her. A metallic snap as a spring popped into place. An umbrella was now hovering over her head, its handle in Brandon’s possession.

“You’ll be soaked if you go into the downpour,” he said, half-scolding. His coat was not buttoned, but hanging open over his rumpled suit, a hat pulled low on his brow.

“Thank you,” she said. “I left mine –”

“At home, presumably,” said Brandon. “Never mind.” He nudged her forwards, into the rain, where they walked onwards.

“I’m surprised you’re going to this meeting,” she said. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” It didn’t matter to Brandon what happened in the paper’s future. A reality which still carried a sting.

“I wouldn’t, either,” he said. “That’s why I’m hailing a cab to go home after we get there.”

“Then why are you walking there?”

“Because you’re in distress and in need of an umbrella,” he answered. For a moment, she wondered if he had heard about Lucy’s bitter departure this morning. She fell silent.

“About your assistant,” he said. “I assume ... you prefer her to go?”

“I did,” Eleanor admitted. “I only wish she hadn’t been quite so disappointed about her experience.” She didn’t mention Edward’s name. She didn’t want to address the issue behind Lucy’s departure, when the inevitable truth of incompatibility could explain it away.

Guilt was the reason why. Guilt, regardless of blame or circumstances. That was the reason why she shrank away from her ex-assistant's mention, conjuring images of Lucy's broken, betrayed expression.

“Good,” said Brandon. “Now you won’t have to think of excuses to fend her off your work like a tiger. I won’t have to give you advice for it, either – although I’ll never have an assistant to drive off, will I?”

There was a slightly bitter smile with this statement, which Eleanor noticed despite her discomfort with this topic. It awakened her from her thoughts and self-absorption at this moment; she touched his arm, lightly, before dropping her hand again.

He cleared his throat. “I spoke to a friend of mine last night,” he said. “A friend with a public relations company. There’s talk of letting me do a sort of speaking tour. Appearances on sports and news talk shows, a few public addresses on war journalism and the military. That sort of thing.”

“You? Speaking in public?” she repeated, surprised. Brandon, who did not give toasts, whose melancholy nature confined itself to short speeches in person or reflective diatribes half-muttered.

“I spoke a few times in the past,” he answered. “Well, I thought, why not give it a try again? A good way to see if I can still think on my feet before I start rambling on paper again.”

“I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ve never heard you give a speech at any of the dinner parties.”

“A hidden talent,” he answered, gruffly. “We all have them. Now I won’t be idling away the hours in my apartment, peeling the paper from its walls.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said. “It won’t be the same without you at the paper. I don’t like to think of your office with someone else in it.” She dropped her gaze to the pavement, where water splashed against the sides of her heels with each step.

“Well, I’ll still be around,” said Brandon. “We’ll still see each other. Opening night at the opera and the symphony tickets. I have them to the Beethoven concert, you know. And there’s ... dinner parties and cocktails and refreshments. All the same as before.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said.

“We’ll still have lunch together.” He glanced at her. “The Chinese restaurant.”

“Of course,” she said. “There’s always lunch.”

They crossed the street through the downward-traveling stream of rain, where the looming presence of the Sun Building seemed like a monstrous wet stone gargoyle to Eleanor’s eye. Faux historic architecture in its redesign, surrounded by magnificent buildings more subtly altered and damaged by time.

“You’ll be traveling more often with your new endeavor,” said Eleanor. “That’s something I didn’t anticipate with your book, not right away, at least. I’ll have to send you an email when you’re away.”

“Or you could always call,” said Brandon. “Sort of a long distance friendship – not a romance, I’m not implying that you –” a slight flush crept from beneath his collar as his words blustered, “– a friendship of multi-faceted forms. We’ve known each so many years, so we couldn’t stop now. No matter what happens in work and so on.” He ended this speech abruptly, jamming his free hand into his coat pocket.

Eleanor suppressed a smile. They were before the Sun Building’s entrance now; Brandon was flagging down a cab moving slowly along the slick streets.

“I’ll be going,” he said. He paused for a moment, in which Eleanor waited for him to say something else, ‘goodbye,’ or, else, ‘see you later.’ His rather stony expression had grown softer before he reached up and kissed her on the top of her head, a brief gesture from which he withdrew almost immediately.

“Here.” He handed her the umbrella’s handle and stepped into the rain towards the waiting cab.

“Brandon!” she began, feeling perplexed, no doubt for the seeming pointlessness of Brandon’s walk in this direction.

“Keep it,” he answered, water rolling off the brim of his hat as he paused with the cab’s passenger door open. “When will I be going to a business meeting in the rain again?” With that, he climbed inside and slammed the door.

 

 

*****

 

 

They projected the future pages of the Herald on the screen – “they,” being the media assistants to the new assistant editor, a rising star from one of Haldon Media’s websites. Bitterman stood at the microphone, the main speaker for this event.

“... the new interactive headline feature will be displayed at the foot of each headline news article, so readers can go online and leave feedback. A Twitter hashtag will also be listed, along with a cell phone scan to let them access instant updates to this story from our website...”

The images on the screen zoomed in to this feature at the foot of a faux headline article, revealing the tiny embed of information which would connect readers to limitless possibilities, apparently. The image zoomed out again, then dissolved to a picture of the future Fitness & Lifestyles section.

Larry’s “Solstice and Science” feature was gone from Weather and Environment. Marguerite’s dicey column had vanished from Local News & City Life. In her case, for a future in better things – in Larry’s case, who knew? Eleanor looked around, but didn’t see the nervous, shy former writer among the crowd.

The presentation’s crowd was small, she realized; only a handful of familiar faces were visible in her immediate vicinity. Most of the columnists, feature writers, proof readers, and editors who were being fired had elected not to come. Some of these faces belonged to new hirees, and to representatives of Haldon’s various companies.

“... the all-new Sports section, with a scan code to subscribe to Haldon Media’s “Score by Score” feed and our “In the Game” profile of key players who stand out each week...”

Brandon’s name and profile was gone from the new spread, Eleanor noticed, with a pang; along with the Pittsburgh Stars feature for city team fans, and the traditional layout of the pages. She heard someone in the room release a sniffling sound in response. There was polite applause for Scott Freeman’s name being mentioned as one of the new featured columnists.

“... and Humor & Life will feature a new and humorous daily take on dating in the city from Pittsburgh’s own social media sensation Marion Howard...”

Eleanor caught a glimpse of her own byline briefly, the altered layout and position of her column. The horoscope was gone from the lower page, replaced by a Sudoku puzzle and crossword side by side, with another nationally-syndicated piece laid out beside her own, the familiar byline of a popular humorist.

It was gone in a flash, replaced by a glimpse of the new Real Estate section. She knew she ought to feel relief at seeing her name there, the confirmation that her job would continue despite the wreckage of others around her. But she did not feel anything at this moment.

“...and that’s the new Pittsburgh Herald, everyone.” Bitterman’s concluding statements received a round of applause – relief, more than excitement – from his listeners.

“Questions will have to wait until next time,” he continued, “and those of you who have anything you want answered immediately can email me or better yet, Judson, the new assistant editor.” Bitterman flashed a beaming smile at his employees before shaking a few hands in a swift, yet gradual, escape to the door.

Judson was already being accosted by someone with a question, his expression somewhere between boredom and a smirk as he listened. Eleanor, who had no questions, gathered her umbrella and coat and drifted from the room with the rest of the departing listeners.

Instead of going downstairs, she climbed the stairwell to the building’s rooftop, its door propped open for the sake of providing a smoking facility for office employees on the floors below. There was no one present at this hour, as she crossed the pea gravel surface to the sandstone ledge, its decorative sconces chipped and weathered in their defining lines.

Beyond was the view of the sun setting, casting a pink and lavender glow over the buildings, sandstone sides and brick surfaces, glass panes rendered nothing more than reflective mirrors beneath the dying brightness of day. The rain was gone, the clouds swept past so the colors of sunset were fierce in their shades, a cool breeze ruffling the open edge of Eleanor’s coat.

From here, she couldn’t see any part of the city connected to herself, except for the towering stories of Norlend. No view of her apartment, no glimpse of the noisy, chaotic section of town where Marianne lived. Here, she could see nothing but the postcard history of Pittsburgh, the capitols of its business and industry, the weathered edifices of its ages.

Somewhere below, Lucy was packing her things. Brandon was finding his way into something new. And Eleanor – ordinary Eleanor – was untouched by anything except the emotions buried deep within her.

At this moment, she heard another person’s tread on the gravel. She turned around, expecting to see a business associate in shirtsleeves, lighting a cigarette to stave off nicotine cravings. Instead, she saw a man in a blue business coat and dark suit, who looked somewhat shy and out of place in these surroundings.

“I, uh, found out this is where everyone was.” Edward’s voice was hesitant. “One of the employees at the paper told me that there was a meeting. And that you would be there.”

She was still staring at him. “But how ... how did you find me?” Her smile was puzzled.

“Well,” he said, “you didn’t come out. And if you didn’t come down from the conference room, the only other direction to go was up.”

His smile grew stronger with these words. He stepped closer, his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his coat. He was looking into her eyes, so Eleanor was no longer seeing the sunset behind him.

“It’s a beautiful view up here,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he answered. But in such a manner, with such a smile, that she knew he was not talking about the shades of color on the horizon. She made herself look away from him after thinking this.

“Lucy quit,” she said. “Today. When I came into work, she was leaving.”

“I know,” he said. There was an edge of discomfort, regret, in his voice. “When I told her, she didn’t ... she was upset. I realize why, of course. She wants to go, even though I told her – it was my fault –” He trailed off, as if talking about it any further was too much at the moment.

They were both quiet now. A few minutes passed before Eleanor looked at him again. She met his eyes, feeling his own look deeply into hers.

Lucy was gone. Marianne, Brandon, the Herald, “Ask Eleanor” and its crisis – all were gone. Swept away in this moment of simply gazing into Edward’s face.

“I was thinking that we could go to dinner,” he said.

“Dinner would be nice,” she answered.

He took her arm and they went downstairs. They caught a cab and drove away in the direction of a small Italian restaurant on the other side of town.