Edward “Ted” Carpenter nodded to the receptionist without speaking as he strode through the outer room of his thirtieth-floor suite on West Forty-sixth Street. The walls of the room were filled with pictures of his current and former celebrity clients covering the past fifteen years. All were inscribed to him. Usually he made a left turn into the large room where his ten publicity assistants worked. But this morning he headed directly for his private office.
He had warned his secretary, Rita Moran, not to bring up the subject of his son’s birthday to him and not to bring any newspapers to work. But when he approached her desk, Rita was so absorbed in reading a news story on the Internet that she did not even see him when he stood over her at the computer. She had an image of Matthew pulled up on her screen. When she finally heard Ted, she looked up. Her face turned crimson as he leaned over her, grabbed the mouse, and turned off the computer. In quick strides, he went into his office and took off his coat. But before he hung it up, he went to his desk and stared at the framed picture of his son. It had been taken on Matthew’s third birthday. Even then he looked like me, Ted thought. With that high forehead and dark brown eyes, there was no mistaking that he was my son. When he grows up, he’ll probably look just like me, he thought as he angrily turned the frame face down. Then he went to the closet and hung up his coat. Because he was meeting Zan at the Four Seasons, he had chosen to wear a dark blue suit instead of his preferred sport jacket and slacks.
At dinner last night, his most important client, the rock star Melissa Knight, had been visibly upset when he told her he could not escort her to some affair this evening. “You’re having a date with your ex,” she had said, her tone apprehensive and angry.
He could not afford to antagonize Melissa. Her first three albums had all hit over a million sales and, thanks to her, other celebrities were signing up with his public relations firm. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, Melissa had fallen, or thought she had fallen, in love with him.
“You know my plans, princess,” he had said, trying to keep his tone mild. And then added with the bitterness he could not conceal, “and you certainly should understand why I’m meeting the mother of my son on his fifth birthday.”
Melissa had been instantly remorseful. “I’m sorry, Ted. I’m truly sorry. Of course I know why you’re meeting her. It’s just . . .”
The memory of that exchange was grating. Melissa’s suspicion that he was still in love with Zan was always there, a constant jealousy that caused her to explode regularly. And it was getting worse.
Zan and I separated because she said our marriage was just an emotional reaction to her parents’ sudden death, he thought. She didn’t even realize she was pregnant when we broke up. That was well over five years ago. What has Melissa got to be upset about? I can’t afford to let her get angry at me. If she were to walk out, it would be the end of this place. She’d take all her friends with her, which would mean the most lucrative ones we have. If only I hadn’t bought this damn building. What was I thinking?
A subdued Rita was carrying in the morning mail. “Melissa’s accountant is a dream,” she said with a tentative smile. “The monthly check and all the expenses came in this morning right on time. Don’t we wish all our clients were like that?”
“We sure do,” Ted said heartily, knowing that Rita had been upset by his curtness when he arrived.
“And her accountant wrote a note telling you to expect a call from Jaime-boy. He just fired his PR firm and Melissa recommended you. That would be another terrific client for us to have.”
Ted felt genuine warmth now as he looked at Rita’s troubled face. Rita had been with him every day for the last fifteen years, ever since as a cocky twenty-three-year-old he had opened his PR firm. She had been at Matthew’s christening and at his first three birthday parties. In her late forties, childless and married to a quiet schoolteacher, she loved the excitement of their famous clients and had been enraptured when he brought Matthew here to the office.
“Rita,” Ted said. “Of course you’re remembering that it’s Matthew’s birthday, and I know you’ve been praying for him to come home. Now start praying that a year from now we’ll be celebrating his next birthday with him.”
“Oh, Ted, I will,” Rita said fervently, “I will.”
When she went back outside, Ted stared for a few minutes at the closed door, then with a sigh reached for the phone. He was sure Melissa’s maid would pick it up and take a message. Melissa and he had attended a red carpet movie premiere the night before and Melissa often slept in. But she answered on the first ring.
“Ted.”
The fact that his name and phone number had come up on her caller ID still caught him off guard. Not that kind of service when I was growing up in Wisconsin, he thought, but it probably wasn’t happening in New York then, either. He forced a cheerful note into his voice as he greeted her, “Good morning, Melissa, the queen of hearts.”
“Ted, I thought you’d be too busy planning for your date tonight to even think of calling me today.” As usual her tone was petulant.
Ted resisted the temptation to slam down the phone. Instead, in the even tone that he used when his most valuable client was being both impossible and insensitive, he said, “Dinner with my ex won’t last more than two hours. That means I’ll be leaving the Four Seasons around 9:30. Could you make room in your calendar for me around 9:45?”
Two minutes later, sure that he was back in Melissa’s good graces, he hung up and put his head in his hands. Oh, God, he thought, why do I have to put up with her?