Lily left at eight to attend an experimental video show in SoHo. Having had enough experimental video in my own studio, I called it quits a half-hour later. I was standing by the glass doors at the building’s entrance, waiting for my driver, when I heard my name being called.
Gretchen Di Voss had just exited the elevator. She was in her brisk, all-business mode, wearing a black suit with gray stripes and a taupe silk blouse. She was carrying a gray cashmere coat and a black leather briefcase.
“Gretch, you’re looking even more beautiful than usual,” I said.
“I do my best,” she said. “I’m glad I bumped into you, Billy. Saves me a phone call.”
“A last-minute invitation to an intimate dinner tonight?”
“Our intimate dinners are over, Billy. But, as a matter of fact, I am headed to your restaurant.”
“I’m not surprised. Your fiancé is a big fan of the Bistro.”
“Really? Well, unfortunately, Rudy won’t be enjoying it tonight. He had a last-minute conflict.”
I thought I knew what, or rather who, the conflict might be.
“What’s the problem with Food School 101?” she said. “Rudy tells me you canceled the pilot.”
“Not canceled. Just postponed. It wasn’t working. Lily and I spent the last couple of hours putting it back on track.”
“I hope you didn’t treat Rudy to your usual sarcasm and rudeness?”
“Gretch, this evening, I actually bumped it up a notch.”
“You should give him the respect he deserves.”
I was tempted to tell her that her weasel fiancé was, at the moment, probably clinking wineglasses with a bimbette young enough to be her daughter, but there was no percentage in that. Instead I said, “I do give him the respect he deserves.”
She studied me closely for signs of sarcasm or rudeness. “Billy, I hope our … former relationship isn’t causing any animosity …”
“Gretch, I swear, if you and I had never met, I’d still feel the way I do about Rudy.”
She gave me another suspicious look, but I was too good a poker player to let her see how I really felt about her fiancé.
“It wouldn’t have worked with us,” she said.
“I know. But we had a pretty good time finding that out.”
“I guess we did,” she said, relaxing. She held out her coat. “Help me with this?”
It was a familiar feeling, standing close to her as she slid into the coat. We paused for a few seconds, my arm around her. Then she pulled away. “Want to share a cab to the Bistro?” she asked.
“Thanks, but Joe should be here any minute with the car,” I said. “We can give you a lift.”
“I’m already late,” she said. “Billy, you’d be doing yourself a favor if you keep on Rudy’s good side.”
“We’re okay, Rudy and I.” I sang, “Eb-ony and i-vory—”
She gave me a wan smile. “I hope that’s true,” she said.
I watched her exit the building and glide down the front steps, her long, dark hair swaying against the gray cashmere coat. She hailed a passing cab, and I continued watching until it carried her out of view down Ninth Avenue.