The abortion clinic opened at six. Jules made the second phone call of the morning from her bed, wiping sleep out of her eyes as she canceled the appointment. Good thing too because Vivian called her at six forty-five, just as Jules was putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
She looked at her phone resting on the lip of the sink as Vivian’s name appeared and her heart jumped into her throat. Was it going to be weird today? Would anything have changed after last night’s conversation?
Best to play it safe. She swiped the screen to answer the phone and took on her perkiest morning voice. “Vivian! Hi. I canceled—”
“Meet me at Preston’s office in half an hour. Bring coffee. Decaf.”
“Oh.” Jules blinked at her reflection. It was weird to feel disappointed. “I mean, sure.”
“You have the Givenchy notes?”
“Yes, on my tablet,” Jules said, as if Vivian needed to know exactly where the notes were at any given moment.
“Good. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
“Right. Wait! Do you want breakfast too?”
“Did I ask for breakfast?” Vivian disconnected.
So much for things being different. Jules stuck her tongue out at her phone.
She didn’t make it to the law office on time. The subway was crammed full. She had to wait to get in and out and switch cars. Then, on top of everything else, she waited in line at a crowded La Colombe Coffee Roasters.
For once, she didn’t care. She was in a foul mood, and Vivian could wait.
As she’d reflected the night before, this job was getting more difficult than she’d thought possible. Well, Jules could walk away if she wanted to. She could. That was important. She controlled her own destiny. Sure, Vivian could fire her. Jules would get along somehow. She wasn’t like Vivian, no matter what her mom said, and Vivian could go to—
“There you are,” Vivian said as Jules hurried through the revolving door, jumping in spite of herself. Vivian was not in Preston’s office, but had been waiting by the door, evidently in a fever of impatience. She all but snatched the coffee from Jules’s hands. “Come along.”
Jules checked out the reception desk. The rude receptionist wasn’t there today.
Her newfound feeling of independence shriveled up a little bit as she followed Vivian into the elevator. To her surprise, Vivian pressed the button for the third floor instead of the ninth, and they exited into the cafeteria.
Vivian seated herself at a table and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips before sipping at her coffee.
Jules squirmed. “Yogurt?”
Vivian nodded. “Get yourself something and put it on our expense account.”
Jules blinked. Vivian had never invited Jules to eat in front of her before. She preferred to think that nobody who worked for her ate anything at all—you weren’t even allowed to have food on your desk at Du Jour.
As she bought yogurt for Vivian and coffee and a fruit cup for herself, Jules realized that this was Vivian’s way of saying—what? Sorry? Thank you? Something, anyway.
Vivian took the yogurt without a word and pretended not to pay attention while Jules pretended not to eat.
When she was done, Jules dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, sipped her coffee, and said, “When are we supposed to see Preston?”
Vivian looked at her watch. “In twenty minutes.”
It was seven forty. Jules tried to cover a yawn.
Vivian was regarding her through hooded eyes. Something about her gaze unnerved Jules. More than usual, anyway. She cleared her throat. “So,” she said, “you look, er, well today.”
Vivian raised one eyebrow, and Jules realized she’d just made an uninvited personal comment. Crap, time to redirect. “Oh! I need to reschedule your pedicurist. Tomorrow morning should still be—”
“I look ‘well’?” Vivian asked.
Her tone had been absolutely neutral, not cold or angry. Jules still broke out in a sweat. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because—” Was this a trap? “I didn’t mean to presume.”
Vivian raised the other eyebrow as if trying to make sure they both got an equal workout. “Only apologize when you know you’ve done something wrong. And only to the right people.”
We dictate the rules, not them. Vivian had said that to her only yesterday in the lobby of this same building. Another lesson. Jules had never heard her dispense advice to underlings before. She probably didn’t call them at 3:30 a.m. either, though.
Probably.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “How do I know who the right people are?”
“Trial and error,” Vivian said. “You’ve got a limited number of errors at your disposal.”
Well, that wasn’t news. “Right.” Jules managed a smile.
Vivian did not return it—of course—but instead considered her again with a stare. “Let’s go,” she said and headed back out of the cafeteria.
Jules quickly gathered up their garbage and tossed it in the trash can on the way out.
This meeting was in Preston’s private office. He held the door open for them. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, and added more seriously, “How are you doing today, Vivian?”
“Robert’s admitted to infidelity,” Vivian said. “Tell me what that means for the process.”
Right to the point, then. Jules had expected no less.
Without batting an eyelid, he sat down behind an impressive mahogany desk. “Under the circumstances, I recommend we continue with the original filing of irretrievable breakdown, meaning that your relationship with your spouse has been beyond repair for the last six months. We can finalize it after determining the allocation of assets and responsibilities.”
Jules had to give him points for not adding as you probably remember from last time.
“I got pregnant less than six months ago,” Vivian said quietly. “I’d think that might complicate the situation.”
A hot ball of anger formed in Jules’s stomach. Robert had probably had sex with Vivian knowing full well he would file for divorce soon. While he was cheating on her with someone else too. Gross.
But Preston shook his head. “Sexual relations do not necessarily imply that the relationship is salvageable. It just means the people in the relationship had sex.” He darted a sudden, wide-eyed look at Jules.
Fair enough. Jules was fighting not to cringe. She was listening in on talk about Vivian Carlisle’s sex life with her ex. What sin had she committed in a former life to be here?
It was Vivian’s turn not to bat an eye. “We’re all adults here, and you can rely on Julia’s discretion.”
Stupidly, Jules’s urge to cringe vanished, replaced with the urge to smile. She suppressed it. Talk about inappropriate—this was serious business.
“So it means nothing? Adultery changes nothing?” An edge of agitation finally appeared in Vivian’s tone.
Preston sounded reluctant. “In New York state, adultery constitutes separate grounds for divorce. But the court will grant you a divorce, Vivian. There’s no question of that. I don’t think we should make it any messier or costlier than it has to be.”
“Oh, it’s going to be messy,” Vivian said. “Costly too. For him.”
He took a deep breath. “I understand you’re upset. Especially taking…everything…into consideration.”
Jules had to give him further points for not looking directly at Vivian’s abdomen.
“But may I ask what you are hoping to achieve beyond simple revenge?”
“There has to be something beyond that?” Vivian asked.
Yikes, Jules thought.
“Look, Vivian.” Preston sounded firm and no-nonsense for the first time.
Jules bit her lip. He should know that wasn’t going to fly.
“I know you want to do this in the heat of the moment,” he continued, “but I am telling you that this can get long and ugly, and you have other things you probably want to be worrying about instead. You don’t need Robert’s money. You’ve got more than he does.”
“No,” Vivian said, “I don’t want his money.”
Jules looked at Vivian in surprise. So did Preston. Hadn’t Vivian said yesterday that she wanted to take Robert for everything?
“All right,” Preston said cautiously. “His property, then?”
“Oh, no, Preston.” Vivian smiled. “I’ve thought about this all night, and I decided there are only two things I want from Robert.”
Preston looked more apprehensive than ever. “And they are?”
Vivian held up one finger. “First: he’ll pay child support.”
“Yes, of course.” Preston frowned.
“Second,” Vivian said held up another finger, “he will have nothing to do with the child. He’s not to be a part of its life. He gives up all his legal rights.”
Preston took a deep breath. “That will entail considerably more complications.”
“Will it?”
The brand-new note in her voice was not agitation or irritation. It was anger, edging toward the fury she’d displayed yesterday.
Oh shit.
“Yes, of course,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Robert said he wanted nothing to do with it, Yesterday. Very loudly. I’m sure you remember.”
“He was angry too, He probably didn’t mean everything he said. And even if he did, he might change his mind later. Does he have children?”
“A son by his first marriage who’s seventeen and lives with his mother. I know Robert. He’s done with that part of his life. He’s obviously ready for his second childhood with that infant he said he’s been seeing behind my back.” Her voice cracked with bitterness.
“Be that as it may,” Preston said, obviously trying to be patient, “we can set those terms for you. If he agrees, well, then we’ll talk more about how to make it happen. If he doesn’t, then we could have a long fight ahead of us.” He took another, even deeper breath. “And I’d urge you to consider the child. Wouldn’t it have the right to know its father?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jules saw Vivian swell up with rage. But she didn’t explode. “Preston, those are my terms. You’re my lawyer. Make them work.” She stood up, clutching her handbag.
Jules quickly stood up too.
He sighed. “I’ll do my best, Vivian. But please understand this is very unusual.”
“I understand everything just fine. Good morning.” She turned and left.
Preston and Jules shared looks of commiseration before Jules followed her.
Vivian’s silence was welcome as they walked down the hallway. It gave her time to consider Preston’s point. Wouldn’t it be good for the child to have their father in their life? Of course, single parents raised kids every day. And based on his reaction, it seemed likely Robert wouldn’t want any part of raising it.
There were going to be questions someday. How come I don’t have a dad? Didn’t he want me? Why did you keep him away from me?
What a fucking mess. Maybe Vivian would change her mind if Robert did. Nothing to do but wait and see.
When they were back in the car, Vivian said, “How did Lucia handle the meeting with Givenchy?”
Jules tried hard to remember. She’d been more than a little distracted by worrying about the woman now standing next to her, who would accept no such excuse. “Fine, I guess. I’ve never sat in on a meeting like that before, so I don’t really know how it’s supposed to go.”
Vivian sounded remarkably patient when she said, “Who did most of the talking?”
“Alyson. Uh, she was mainly talking about the transitional spring stuff. You know, pieces she’d like to see featured on the splash page.”
“I see. How did Lucia respond?”
“She said most of them were okay, I think. Alyson gave her some photos and a couple of sample pieces. She said she’d show them to you.”
“How many photos?”
“Er…” Now that Jules thought about it, there hadn’t been that many. “Maybe seven? Ten, tops.”
“So,” Vivian said, “my associate accessories editor meets not with Clare Waight Keller but with one of her lieutenants, lets this lieutenant run the meeting, allows photos and sample pieces to be selected for her based on what the lieutenant—possibly not even Clare herself—would ‘like to see’ featured in Du Jour.”
“Um—”
“You have an interesting definition of ‘fine,’ Julia.”
“I thought she already knew what you wanted,” she faltered. “I mean, she’s been doing this for—”
“Too long.” Vivian held out a brisk, impatient hand. “Give me your notes on the meeting.”
Jules wasted no time in handing over her tablet.
She immediately became absorbed, which gave Jules an opportunity to take care of one important detail. She fished around in her bag, pulled out the card Dr. Latchley had given her a couple of days before, and dialed the number.
“Dr. Sita Viswanathan’s office,” a pleasant female voice said.
“Hi,” Jules said. “My name is Jules Moretti. I work for Vivian Carlisle. I believe your office was told to expect our call?”
“Oh, that’s right,” the woman said, her voice warming at once. “Sandra Latchley’s office said you’d be calling soon. I’m Mary.”
Jules grinned. “And I’m supposed to ask how your dogs are doing.”
At this, Vivian raised her head and looked over sharply.
Jules swallowed. “So, do you have any openings available?”
“My dogs are great,” Mary said, “and we can clear a space for you tomorrow evening after our office normally closes—say, seven?”
“Let me check.” She covered the phone’s mic. “Seven tomorrow night?” she asked.
Vivian, who had nothing on her schedule between five and nine, when she was going to a party, frowned, obviously running through her own mental checklist, and nodded.
“That’s fine,” Jules told Mary with relief. “How long will it take?”
“No more than one hour. I’ve got her in the system. We’ll see you then!” she chirped, sounding so downright perky that Jules was thankful Vivian wasn’t dealing with her directly. Perky people never came off well in encounters with Vivian. It was like watching a hawk swoop down on an adorable field mouse.
Jules ended the call. “Shouldn’t take longer than an hour, so there’s plenty of time to get you to the party afterward.”
Vivian picked up where she had left off earlier. “Nobody dictates what goes in Du Jour, Julia. Nobody but me.”
Jules could almost hear the screech as her brain applied the brakes and then tried to take off in a different direction. “Oh,” she said. “Of course.”
“Not Alyson, not Clare Waight Keller, not even God himself.” It was as if Jules hadn’t spoken. “I asked Lucia to bring me a representative sample of what’s on offer at Givenchy. A lot is on offer at Givenchy. But when I return, there’ll be five photographs laid out on my desk, all of which are what Alyson would ‘like to see’ on our website and social media.”
I sure screwed up this one. She had to do better next time, if there was a next time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But are my notes helpful at all? Like—if you sent me out again, what’s the sort of thing you’d want me to write about?”
Vivian flipped through the notes again. “They’re not awful,” she said after a moment, and Jules trembled with relief. “Anyway, now you know.”
What? Know what? Was that supposed to have been helpful advice? But Jules didn’t dare ask. If Vivian did send her out again to spy on people, she’d just try to…read Vivian’s mind and do what she secretly wanted. Like always.
They arrived at the office. “Finally,” Vivian said, looking up at Koening like a traveler might regard home after a long absence. “I can actually get some real work done today. Julia, I want you to sit in on the editorial meeting at two.”
“And take notes?” Jules asked.
Vivian gave her the what-do-you-think-you-idiot look and got out of the car.
Fair enough. Jules had earned that one. But it seemed like somehow, some way, she’d earned Vivian’s trust too.
Don’t rely on it, she warned herself. She’s your boss, not your friend. Vivian doesn’t have friends. You’re an—an asset. That’s it.
Unbidden, she remembered Vivian’s hand touching hers over a water bottle, Vivian’s weary face on the phone.
That’s it, Jules reminded herself. That’s it.