As we walk down Bedford, Richard takes a phone call. His calm, lilting tone is a dead giveaway he’s talking to his boyfriend, Julian. I flash back to the funeral, when his long fingers on the piano mesmerized me.
As Daria tells me about the people who are going to attend tomorrow, I start to drown her out. She says something about Orlando not coming, and I basically ignore her and get right to the point.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she says, rooting around in her purse.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
Richard tells us to hold on and walks into a deli. Daria stares at me, serious, and says, “What do you mean?”
“It’s not because of my father, or …”
“Babe, no offense, but I couldn’t care less about your father. I just …” She lights a cigarette and blows it in the direction of the river, then turns back to me. “I lost my mother too, and I didn’t have any, you know, female guidance, and …”
Now I feel bad for even doubting her.
“… your pictures, well, they speak for themselves.”
I smile and hug her. She feels skinny enough to crack.
“Thanks.”
Richard comes out and says, “You girls want to join me at Peter Luger’s for an old-school steak? I made a reservation.”
At the mention of meat, Daria’s face turns into a frown. “I’ve got a drinks thing, but you two go, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” She ruffles my hair and says, “See you tomorrow night!”
Richard grabs my hand as we walk and says, “I had no idea you were that talented. I’m inviting everyone I know in New York. Which is four people.”
I laugh. I know he knows more, but I’m sure the four he chooses will be characters. Those are the kinds of people Richard surrounds himself with.
The restaurant is very simple, but there’s an element of class. I feel underdressed next to Richard in his linen shirt. He orders a martini and I get a Coke. It’s early, and there are only a few tables occupied. We catch up about the usual stuff during our salad course, and then I decide to chip away at the veneer.
“Mom kept a diary for me. Well, she had started one.”
“Really? Her book was written in diary format as well.”
“Well, I hope it wasn’t like this one.”
“How do you mean?”
“It was weird, not like her. It had a very soft focus. I assume it had something to do with falling in love with Cole.” I mention his name casually, like he was my hairstylist or something. Richard tries to hide his amazement.
“Tell me something, what was it about Cole?”
He coughs a little but doesn’t respond. I know he knows about Cole, because my mother told Richard everything.
Our steak arrives, medium rare. It looks amazing, but suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.
“Okay, I’m just going to open the floodgates here. I found Mom’s phone. There were seven messages. Through listening to them and following where they took me, I learned a lot, but I lost the phone before I could really listen to the last message. How about we make a deal? I’ll tell you everything I know, and you tell me the rest. And I know you know the rest.”
“I’m going to need a refill,” Richard says, holding up his martini.
“And I also seem to recall you speaking with a raised voice to my father the morning after the funeral.…”
He finishes his drink and sort of smiles. “I’m not sure it’s my place. Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with your father?”
“Well, he’s not around right now, and I’m sick of being lied to.”
Richard neatly cuts a tiny piece of fat off his steak and moves it to the corner of his plate. “You know what? You deserve to know everything. And from the depth of your photography, and the way you’ve taken things upon yourself, I fear you’re ready.”
“I just want to know the whole truth.”
“Okay, tell me what you know.”
As I fill him in on everything, I slowly get my appetite back. He listens intently, looking at me with a newfound respect, even when I take breaks to eat my steak.
“The thing you need to know, Big Girl, is Marion was never one for indiscretions. They were more like soul mates. She wanted to leave, but it was killing her. I know it sounds strange, but she really never wanted to betray or hurt your father.”
“When did it start?”
More people get seated around us and Richard lowers his voice a little. “They first met when she was pregnant with Tile. She wasn’t showing yet, and it was basically the last shoot of her career, in Capri. I joined her there … Cole was the skipper on the yacht where the photo shoot took place. I hate to say it, but Cole is a good person. He never wanted to hurt your family either. As a matter of fact, he tried to cut off their friendship a few times, sensing the direction it was heading in. Years later it turned romantic, but not all the time. Being the gentleman he is, your father forgave her. She promised not to see Cole again. Then things got heavy—there was escalation in the weeks leading up to her death.”
I remember the awkward moment Tile caught on video.
“The night she died, she went to dinner with Cole, and lied to your father. She called me that afternoon.” He pauses and sips his drink, his eyes fighting back tears. “She told me she was going to end it with Cole once and for all.”
The waiter collects what is left of our steaks. A moment later they deliver our preordered soufflé.
“Was my father there?”
Richard remains silent, a pained look on his face. I stare at our soufflé, crumbling into itself at a sad pace.
“Do you think she was really going to leave Dad?”
He sips his martini and looks out the window, then back at me. His dark eyes are kind but tinged with regret.
“I can’t really answer that, Big Girl.”
It’s hard to get to sleep. Thoughts of my mother, and all the things she had hidden away from me, fill my head. What was it about Cole that made her turn her back on her family? I know it’s crazy, but there has to be more to find out.
I get up and go to the window, expecting to see the same pulled curtain in Oliver’s, but I see a figure darting away, as if wishing not to be caught. Was he looking for me? I feel that familiar blast of rage in my gut. How could he be so shallow as to fall into the clutches of Rachel One? Yes, she is pretty. Duh. But we had so much more! I felt connected to him in ways that run deeper than Birkin bags filled with designer hair products.
I stay at the window, trying to tempt him back, but he is lost in the shadows.