CHAPTER 15
“Sounds like it was a total disaster, Theresa.”
Janna had been listening patiently about the previous day in Brooklyn. They were in her office, going over their schedules for the week. After Michael left, things went from bad to worse. Prior to his arrival, her family didn’t want to give Reese a chance because he was fifteen minutes late and he wasn’t Italian.
After, they froze him out because he wasn’t Michael Dante.
Her mother blamed Reese for Michael’s departure and sulked theatrically, conveniently forgetting that Michael had shown up without an invitation. Phil rabidly seized onto Reese’s lack of interest in sports with the intensity of a terrier and tried to start an argument with him. By the time she and Reese left, Theresa was furious as well as mortified. Her family knew how important Reese was to her. Couldn’t they have at least tried to be gracious?
She considered Janna’s statement carefully before responding. “I wouldn’t say it was a total disaster.”
“No?” Janna looked surprised as she sorted the mound of papers on her desk into neat piles. “What was good about it?”
“Well.” Theresa paused thoughtfully. “The family did get to meet Reese—”
“And they hated him.”
“They didn’t hate him,” Theresa insisted, irritated by Janna’s penchant for hyperbole. “They just didn’t warm up to him.”
“Theresa.” Janna’s voice was chiding. “It sounds like they hated him.”
“They didn’t give him a chance,” Theresa continued, refusing to cast the day in such black-and-white terms. “Especially after Michael appeared.”
“Poor Michael,” Janna murmured sympathetically.
“What do you mean, poor Michael?” Theresa retorted. “How about poor me? Do you have any idea how awkward it was when he showed up?”
Janna appeared cautious. “It doesn’t sound like Reese was very nice to him.”
“Michael wasn’t very nice to Reese, either.”
“Can you blame him?”
Janna was her best friend, but sometimes . . . How could she defend Michael’s being rude to Reese, but not Reese’s right to be rude in return? Rather than risk a discussion she didn’t want to have, Theresa steered the conversation toward business.
“Let’s talk about Notorious Devil D.”
“Let’s,” Janna agreed, with relief. “What do you want to do?”
“Well, what are the pros and cons? Pros: He’s a major artist; it would up our profile considerably; it would bring in the bucks.”
Janna nodded in agreement, adding, “Cons: He’s a misogynist pig whose lyrics are morally reprehensible.”
Theresa leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin cupped in the palm of her left hand. “Do we have the right to be in an ethical dilemma about this?” she wondered aloud.
Janna looked at Theresa with interest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re publicists, Janna. People pay us money and we peddle them to the public. D’s willing to pay us a lot to peddle.”
“But do we want to peddle someone who appears to condone violence? Whose lyrics seem to say it’s okay to hit women and call them names? Do we want to be associated with that?”
“No,” Theresa said without hesitation, “we do not.”
“So that settles it, then. We’re not going to take the account.”
They both fell silent for a moment. Then Janna asked, “Right?”
Theresa started. “What do you mean, right?”
“Right we don’t want to take on this account even though it would be mega. Right?”
“Right,” Theresa reiterated. She bit her lip. “I mean, I guess,” she added lamely.
Janna let out a groan of frustration. “What do you mean, you guess?”
“You know me Janna, I could write up a campaign to make this guy sound like a boy scout if I wanted to. But I’m not sure I do.”
“You know what we need to do? We need to listen to our guts. My father always said the only time you ever go wrong in life is when you don’t listen to your gut. So let’s try to do that.”
Once again silence descended. Theresa even went so far as closing her eyes, the better to still the swirl of voices in her head clamoring for attention. She breathed deeply, waiting for them to die down. Finally, a clear voice emerged.
“Let me guess. You’re both communicating with your spirit guides.”
Theresa opened her eyes. It was Terrence.
“Have you forgotten how to knock?” Janna asked.
“Begging your pardon, Miz Scarlett, but the door was open.” He held up a sheaf of papers, waving it at Theresa. “I pulled together all those names and addresses you wanted for the invites to the Dante’s opening. Any other unpaid work you want me to do?”
Janna and Theresa exchanged guilty glances. “No, that’s fine. You can leave the list on my desk.”
Terrence bowed deeply and disappeared.
“We need to give him a raise,” Theresa suggested tentatively, as soon as she was sure he was out of earshot.
“Using what?” Janna replied. “Monopoly money?” Worry clouded her eyes. “I know you’re right. I just can’t think about it right now.”
“I know.”
“So,” Janna resumed hopefully, “did you get any message from your gut?”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And—?” Theresa had a feeling she knew what Janna would say, but she was on tenterhooks waiting to hear it anyway.
“I think we should pass.”
“I agree.”
“You do?” Janna looked taken aback. “I thought for sure you were going to say the opposite.”
“Why, because a few minutes ago I played devil’s advocate?” Theresa turned solemn. “No. When we started this company, we decided our motto would be ‘Integrity and Ingenuity,’ remember? Taking on Notorious Devil D flies in the face of integrity if you ask me.”
Janna’s shoulders sank in relief. “So do you want to call his manager or should I?”
“I’ll call him, since I’m the one they met with. I’ll tell him we’ve decided there’s a conflict with an existing client and we can’t take him on.” She sighed. “I think we’re making the right decision, Jan. I know it means we have to hustle even more, but I don’t think I could live with myself if we took him on.”
“Me, too. We’ll be fine,” Janna declared confidently.
There was no guarantee of that, Theresa realized. But they couldn’t afford to think otherwise.
Aweek later, Theresa stood in her kitchen doing something which months earlier would have been unfathomable: She was cooking for a man. Tired of always eating out, she’d invited Reese over for dinner.
Issuing the invitation was easy; preparing for the actual evening was not.
She and Dr. Gardner had spent an entire session on why she was so overwrought about the prospect of cooking a simple meal, what she was afraid would go wrong, and what concrete steps she could take if something did go awry. Theresa left the therapist’s office convinced she had everything under control, an illusion which evaporated the minute she got home and actually started to prepare the meal.
“After the stew has been cooking for an hour or so,” she read aloud from the cookbook Janna had lent her, propped up on the counter by the stove, “add the onions. Continue cooking the stew, leaving it uncovered.”
“Hmmm. I can handle that.” She reached for the small white bowl of onions she’d already chopped and tipped them into the stew pot, giving the mixture a good stir. The aroma that wafted up to tickle her nostrils was hearty, making her stomach growl. She checked that the flame was on low, then glanced up at the clock. Reese was due in about half an hour, meaning she really had at least forty-five minutes. She still had time for a shower.
The shower felt good, the perfect way to unwind from a day spent steeped in domestic pursuits: shopping for food, cleaning the apartment, cooking. Janna had offered to cook something that could be popped in the oven shortly before Reese arrived—a casserole, maybe, or a quiche—but Theresa decided she wanted to make a meal for him from scratch. Going through Janna’s cookbook collection, which she’d never once explored in all the years they’d lived together, she settled on a beef stew, with a sweet potato puree on the side and brownies for dessert. The brownies were already baked, and the puree, which had been a royal pain in the ass to make, sat within the microwave waiting to be warmed.
Everything was under control.
She was hustling from the bathroom to the bedroom when the shrill, unexpected ring of the phone stopped her dead in her tracks. No. Please don’t be canceling. Holding her towel with one hand, she picked up the phone with the other.
“Hello?”
“Theresa? It’s Michael.”
Theresa closed her eyes, hanging her head in defeat. The universe would arrange to have Michael Dante call her while she was running around trying to get ready to entertain another man. It was too awful.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I ran into Danny Aiello last night at a fund-raiser, and he said he’d be willing to come to the reopening.”
“That’s great!” Theresa enthused. The more Italian celebrities they were able to line up, the better. But she didn’t really have time to talk about it. “I’ll get in touch with his people and arrange everything. Thanks, Michael.”
She hung up the phone. She knew it was rude, but she couldn’t help it. She still had to dress and make up and make sure the stew didn’t burn before Reese arrived.
An hour later, Reese showed up. He seemed distracted as well as edgy. But he’d been traveling all week, so Theresa tried not to take it personally. She poured him a glass of shiraz and sat down with him on the couch, doing her best to appear relaxed when in reality, her mind was on when she should microwave the puree to make sure it was done at exactly the same time as the stew. She barely registered Reese’s question about how work was going.
“What?” she asked distractedly.
Reese frowned with impatience. “I asked if anything exciting happened for you this week,” he repeated.
“Well, Janna and I stuck to our guns on an integrity issue,” she said proudly. She told him about Notorious Devil D. That was when she noticed the vein in Reese’s right temple throbbing wildly.
“Let me make sure I’m getting this straight.” His voice was eerily calm. “You and Janna turned down a major account any other PR firm would kill for because you don’t like his lyrics.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple,” Reese shot back. “How stupid are the two of you?”
Theresa slammed her wineglass down on the coffee table, the perfect aural exclamation point. “Excuse me?”
“Does what you did strike you as making good business sense?” Reese asked heatedly. “Does it?”
“Sometimes there are more important things than making money, Reese.”
“This isn’t about making money, Theresa. It has to do with prestige. Visibility. This would have put your firm on the map.”
“We are on the map,” Theresa insisted angrily.
“What map would that be?” Reese snorted derisively. “The map of boutique agencies headed for extinction?”
“Bucone!” Theresa snapped, snatching up her wineglass and storming into the kitchen.
Heart pounding, she gazed around haplessly, knowing Reese was going to appear any second wanting to continue their “conversation.” Well, Dr. Gardner, she thought frantically, we certainly didn’t plan for this, did we? She couldn’t believe the way he’d reacted. Especially since they had talked about issues like integrity way back when! She recalled him saying he sometimes felt he didn’t have any, working as he did for his uncle—maybe it hit too close to home? Reminded him of his own feelings of selling out? But to say what he said . . . Jesus.
Utterly rattled, she moved back and forth between the stove and the microwave, trying to figure out what to do. As anticipated, Reese appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking mildly perturbed.
“Did you just curse at me in Italian?”
Theresa ignored him. Her slip embarrassed her—even though he deserved it.
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”
“No?” Theresa stirred the stew furiously, flecks of brown spattering the stovetop. “Then what did you mean?”
“That maybe you and Janna could use some guidance,” he explained. He came toward her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is just one more example of why I think it would benefit you to sell. You’d be under the wing of a large corporation experienced in handling this kind of thing.”
“Janna and I made the right decision.” Theresa jerked her shoulder away. “And if you bring up the Butler offer one more time, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Whoa.” Reese stepped back. “Someone’s quick on the trigger tonight.”
“Someone’s tired of the man who says he’s falling in love with her always twisting the conversation around to business.”
“Do I?” Reese looked genuinely surprised.
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t mean to. Sorry.” Clearly wanting to get off the subject, Reese leaned forward, sniffing the stew. “Smells good.”
“It’ll be a few more minutes,” Theresa replied begrudgingly, afraid that if she didn’t get her still pounding pulse under control, she’d work herself into a migraine.
“Is it a family recipe?”
“No. I got it from Janna.”
“How is your family?” he inquired.
Theresa, now at the microwave, glanced back over her shoulder. There was something in his voice, in the way he had emphasized the word is that irked her. But his face was guileless. Perhaps she was being oversensitive.
“They’re alright. I may go back out there tomorrow to give my mother a break, you know? She’s been run ragged taking care of my dad.” Her gaze turned hopeful. “Want to come? Keep me company? It would give them another chance to get to know you.”
“No offense, Theresa, but if I want to watch a family overeat and attack each other, I’ll turn on The Sopranos.”
This time Theresa turned around fully, unable to believe what she’d just heard. His words couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d punched her squarely in the gut. “How dare you?”
Reese laughed, confused. “What?”
“How dare you insult my family that way?”
“Oh, it’s all right for you to insult them,” Reese pointed out with a chortle, “telling me how much they smother you with that whole ‘Italian thing.’ ”
“That’s right,” Theresa cut in angrily. “Because that’s different.”
“Is it?”
“You know it is. It’s my family. I can say what I want. You can’t.” She went back to the stew pot and turned down the flame to give herself something to do, lest she really let him have it.
“I have an idea.” Reese’s voice rang with false cheer. “How about if I go outside and ring the doorbell and we start the evening all over again?”
“Fine,” Theresa agreed.
She waited while he went outside and rang the bell. When she reopened the door to him, he was standing there with a big smile.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Theresa rolled her eyes. “Get your butt in here. Dinner’s almost ready.”
On the surface, their “Take Two” tactic seemed to work. She served dinner, and Reese seemed to enjoy it. But those two insults in less than ten minutes at the start of the evening cast a pall over the meal. Theresa could feel both of them straining as they attempted to keep conversation light and interesting.
“So, should we check out the Matisse/Picasso show when it comes to town?” Reese asked.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Good.” Reese paused. “You like both of them, I take it?”
“Yes.” Theresa smiled, in spite of herself. She’d always dreamed of finding someone urban and sophisticated with whom she could discuss art and culture. And now here he was. But things flared up almost immediately when she mentioned he didn’t seem to be complaining as often about the work he was doing for the law firm.
“What’s the point?” he snapped. “I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.”
“Reese?”
“Mmm?”
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “I mean—with us?”
Reese blinked. “No. Why would you think that?”
Theresa groped for the right words. “I don’t know. I just feel like no matter what we talk about tonight, we just keep rubbing each other the wrong way.”
“You’re being silly.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. Come here,” he said, getting up and motioning towards the sofa.
A wave of excitement surged through Theresa as she followed him and they sat down next to each other. Now, finally, one of the gaps between us will be bridged, bringing us closer. . . . She inhaled slowly, wanting to savor the moment. But the lack of enthusiasm in his embrace, as well as in his prolonged, closed-mouth kiss, was disappointing. Theresa held on, waiting for the kiss to deepen and for his arms to draw her in safe, but she waited in vain.
“Reese, are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”
“I don’t understand why you keep asking that,” he replied in frustration.
She had to tread carefully. She didn’t want to make him think his prowess was sub par . . . “You seem preoccupied,” she began. “It felt like you weren’t really into it.”
Reese sighed. “I was trying to restrain myself, Theresa. I want you so badly I’m afraid if I give in to it, I might not be able to control myself. Can’t you see that?”
She hadn’t thought of that. He cared about her, wanted to protect her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling silly.
Cleaning up the kitchen after he left, she was plagued by a feeling of unease.
Here was a man who seemed to embody everything she thought she wanted, with an impressive pedigree thrown in to boot. So why wasn’t she happier? Why couldn’t she shake the sense that his words were out of sync with his actions? Was it possible the incident with Lubov had affected her so deeply that even the simplest signposts were hard for her to follow? This dinner was supposed to help her clarify things. Instead, she felt more confused than ever.
The next day, Theresa went out to Brooklyn, and wound up staying overnight so her mother could go to the movies for the first time in months with her Aunt Toni. On Monday, she arrived at the office to find a bouquet of flowers from Reese, thanking her for dinner. On Tuesday, she sat on the big, squishy couch in Dr. Gardner’s office trying to make sense of her own discontent.
“It’s not like I don’t enjoy being with him, because I do,” she explained, sipping demurely at the piping hot chamomile tea Dr. Gardner’s secretary had prepared at the beginning of the session. They’d already covered her weekend with her family, the Notorious Devil D decision, and most of Friday night’s dinner with Reese, including his insulting her. They had now come to the part of the fifty minutes Theresa hated most: the part where they really dug down deep.
“But—?” Dr. Gardner prodded.
Theresa noticed Dr. Gardner looked very nice. She noticed lots of things today: the new fountain pen Dr. Gardner was holding, the fact that the blinds were closed rather than open, all of it part of her brain’s grand effort to avoid self-analysis. She stalled for as long as she could, and then, with a defeated sigh, she succumbed.
“He doesn’t seem as open as he used to be. When we first met, we talked about everything. But now I get the sense that certain topics are off-limits.”
“And that bothers you.”
“Yes.” Of course it does, she added in her head. Why else would I be talking about it?
“Does it bother you that he doesn’t touch you?” Dr. Gardner asked.
Theresa felt her stomach roll. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Why?”
Theresa swallowed. “Because it makes me feel unattractive.”
Dr. Gardner nodded carefully. “What do you think he’d say in response?”
Theresa clasped her tea cup tightly between her hands. “He’d say that he’s very busy at work, and that he’s trying not to push me, to give me space.”
Dr. Gardner’s gaze was direct. “And do you believe him?”
No. Oh, God. Where did that come from?
“No,” Theresa admitted aloud.
“Why not?”
Now Theresa squirmed. She hated this. The questioning, the probing, the endless why, why, why. “I’m not really sure,” she answered slowly, which was the truth. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just a sense I have that something about this whole thing isn’t quite right.”
“Do you think he’s using you?”
“No.” Theresa visibly bristled, an action she regretted since Dr. Gardner picked up on it immediately.
“You seem upset by the suggestion,” Dr. Gardner pointed out, her eyes straying momentarily to the small digital clock on the Plexiglas table between them.
“Well, wouldn’t you be?” Theresa countered, wondering how much time she had left. “I’m not stupid. I think I’d be able to tell if he were using me.”
“Okay.”
Much to Theresa’s relief, Dr. Gardner seemed to accept her explanation. But she wasn’t off the hook yet.
“Let’s get back to what you were saying about feeling things were not quite right.”
Theresa prepared herself.
“What attracted you to Reese in the first place?”
“That’s easy: He’s intelligent and artistic.” She paused. “He’s sophisticated. He makes good money.”
“Uh huh.” Dr. Gardner’s voice was patient. “But he also insults you and makes you feel unattractive. So why do you want to be with him?”
“It’s safe,” Theresa blurted. Her gaze darted around the room almost as if the voice had come from somewhere else. She couldn’t believe she’d said it.
“Safe how?” Dr. Gardner prompted gently.
Theresa hated the drowning feeling that welled up inside her whenever she and Dr. Gardner struck emotional gold. Struggling not to go under, she sought the right words. “Safe emotionally.” She put the mug of tea down on the table and locked her hands together in her lap, tightly. “When I was seeing Michael, I felt so vulnerable.” She licked her lips nervously. “My feelings were right here on the surface, all the time. It was scary. But with Reese, I feel . . . protected.”
“From?”
“I don’t know.”
“True intimacy, maybe?”
Theresa’s gaze fell to the floor. The suggestion shook her, because she suspected it was true. Here she’d been telling herself she wanted to bring her relationship with Reese to another level, but did she, really? If she were able to make her fantasy match reality, would her confusion disappear? Would she be happy then? She longed to sort it all out, really she did, but she wondered if she had the energy to deal with everything that needed to be dealt with.
It was exhausting, not to mention terrifying.
She wanted to say as much. But when she lifted her gaze, Dr. Gardner gently informed her that her time was up. She’d have to wrestle her demons alone for another week.