Andrew spent the first ten days of June in Buenos Aires. On his return from this second trip to Argentina, he found Valerie more radiant than ever. A dinner together with their maid of honor, Valerie’s old friend Colette, and best man turned out to be one of the more pleasant evenings he’d ever spent. Colette thought Andrew was very charming.
In the weeks before the wedding, which was planned for the end of the month, Andrew spent every day and many evenings fine-tuning his article, fantasizing from time to time that he’d win the Pulitzer Prize for it.
The air-conditioning in his apartment had finally given up the ghost and the couple moved into Valerie’s one-bedroom in the East Village. Some nights, Andrew would stay at the paper until the early hours, on others he’d work at Valerie’s, keeping her awake with the sound of his typing.
The heat in the city was unbearable. Violent storms struck Manhattan almost daily. Andrew heard them described as “apocalyptic.” Little did he realize that his own life was about to take an apocalyptic turn of its own.
* * *
He’d sworn to Valerie that there’d be no strip joint or nightclub full of bachelorettes; just an evening with friends.
For his stag night, Simon invited Andrew to a trendy new restaurant. In New York, trendy restaurants open and close as fast as the seasons change.
“Are you sure about your decision?” Simon asked, reading the menu.
“I’m still hesitating between the chateaubriand and the pork tenderloin,” Andrew answered distantly.
“I was talking about your life.”
“I got that.”
“Well?”
“What do you want me to say, Simon?”
“Each time I broach the subject of your marriage, you dodge the issue. I’m your best friend, okay? I just want to know how you’re feeling.”
“Liar. You’re scrutinizing me like I’m some lab rat. You want to know what’s going through my mind in case this kind of thing happens to you one day.”
“No risk of that!”
“I could’ve told you that months ago.”
“Okay, you’re my lab rat. So what really made you take the leap?” Simon quizzed, leaning closer to his friend. “Tell me: do you feel any different since you made this decision?”
“Look, we’re both in our late thirties. The way I see it, we’ve only got two options. Either we keep screwing around . . . ”
“That’s an attractive prospect!” Simon exclaimed.
“ . . . and turn into one of those aging Lotharios who think fooling around with girls thirty years their junior will help them recapture their lost youth. Or we settle down.”
“I’m not asking you to give me your theory of life. I’m asking if you love Valerie enough to want to spend the rest of your life with her.”
“If I hadn’t asked you to be my best man, I’d probably say that’s none of your business.”
“But I am your best man!”
“The rest of my life? I’ve no idea, and anyway that doesn’t only depend on me. What I do know is that I can’t imagine my life without her anymore. I’m happy. I miss her when she’s not there. I’m never bored in her company. I love the way she laughs, and she laughs a lot. I think that’s what I find most attractive in a woman. As for our sex life . . . ”
“Okay, okay,” Simon interrupted, “you’ve convinced me! The rest of it is definitely none of my business.”
“But are you the best man?”
“Yes, but I’m not responsible for what the two of you get up to in bed when the lights are off.”
“Who said anything about turning off the lights?”
“Okay, stop. Too much information. Can we change subjects?”
“I’m going to go for the pork tenderloin,” Andrew said. “You know what’d make me really happy?”
“Me writing a great speech for your wedding?”
“No, I won’t ask for the impossible. What I’d really like is to wind up this evening at my new favorite bar.”
“That Cuban place in SoHo?”
“Argentinian.”
“I’d had something else in mind, but it’s your night. Your wish is my command.”
Novecento was jam-packed. Simon and Andrew managed to elbow their way through to the bar. Andrew ordered a Fernet topped up with Coke. Simon tasted it, made a face, and ordered a glass of red wine instead.
“How on earth can you drink that stuff? It’s bitter as hell.”
“I’ve knocked back a lot of these in Buenos Aires lately. You get used to it, believe me. Even end up liking it.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Simon spotted a Bond girl lookalike with a lot of leg, and peeled off with barely an apology. Andrew smiled as he watched his friend walk away. There was no doubt which of the two options he’d mentioned earlier Simon had chosen.
A woman sat down on the bar stool Simon had just vacated and flashed Andrew a smile as he ordered a second Fernet and Coke. They exchanged some small talk. The young woman said she was surprised to see an American liking that drink; it was pretty unusual. Andrew replied that he was an unusual kind of guy. She smiled some more and asked him what made him so different. The question caught him off guard, as did the depth of the woman’s gaze.
“What do you do?”
“Uh, I’m a journalist,” Andrew stammered.
“That’s an interesting job.”
“Some days, yeah,” he answered.
“Financial?”
“Oh no. What made you think that?”
“We’re not far from Wall Street.”
“If I was having a drink in the Meatpacking District, would you think I was a butcher?”
The young woman burst out laughing. Andrew liked the way she laughed.
“Political?” she asked.
“Not that either.”
“Okay. I like guessing games,” she said. “You’ve got tanned skin, so I’m guessing you travel.”
“It’s summer. And you’ve got a tan too. But you’re right, my job does take me abroad.”
“I’ve got olive skin, but that’s genetic. Got it: you’re an investigative reporter!”
“You could say that.”
“What are you investigating at the moment?”
“Nothing I can tell you about in a bar.”
“How about somewhere other than a bar?” she whispered.
“Only in my office,” Andrew replied, feeling a sudden wave of heat surge through him. He took a paper napkin off the bar and wiped the back of his neck.
He was dying to question her too, but the mere fact of entering into conversation with her was igniting something a lot less innocent than guessing games.
“What about you?” he said hesitantly, glancing frantically around for Simon.
The young woman looked at her watch and got off her stool.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d lost track of the time. I have to go. It was nice to meet you. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Andrew Stilman,” he answered, standing up.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
She said goodbye. He didn’t take his eyes off her. He even hoped she’d turn around as she walked out the door, but he never found out if she did. He felt Simon’s hand on his shoulder and jumped.
“What are you staring at?”
“Can we get out of here?” Andrew asked in a subdued voice.
“What, already?”
“I need some fresh air.”
Simon shrugged and steered Andrew outside.
“What’s the matter? You’ve gone white as a sheet. Is it that stuff you were drinking?”
“I just want to go home.”
“First tell me what happened. You should see your face! You want to keep your work secrets from me, fine, but I hardly think you were working in there.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Is there anything about you I haven’t understood in the past ten years?”
Andrew started walking up West Broadway without replying. Simon caught up with him.
“I think I’ve just experienced love at first sight,” Andrew murmured.
Simon roared with laughter. Andrew quickened his pace.
“Are you serious?” Simon asked, catching him up.
“Very serious.”
“You fell for a stranger while I was in the restroom?”
“You weren’t in the restroom.”
“You fell head over heels in love in five minutes?”
“You left me all alone at the bar for over a quarter of an hour!”
“Not all that alone, apparently. Explain what happened.”
“There’s nothing to explain. I don’t even know her first name.”
“And?”
“I think I just met the love of my life. I’ve never felt anything like it, Simon.”
Simon grabbed Andrew’s arm and forced him to stop.
“You didn’t meet anyone of the kind. You drank a bit too much and your wedding day’s looming. The combination is lethal.”
“I’m one hundred percent serious, Simon. I’m not in the mood for joking.”
“Neither am I! It’s your nerves talking. You’d use any excuse—you’ve got cold feet.”
“I’m not nervous, Simon. At least I wasn’t before I went into that bar.”
“What did you do when this dream girl talked to you?”
“I said some boring stuff to her and felt pathetic when she left.”
“My lab rat is discovering the side effects of the marriage potion, which is quite strange considering he hasn’t even been fed it yet.”
“Exactly!”
“Look, you won’t even remember what this woman looks like tomorrow morning. Here’s what we’re going to do: we’ll just forget all about this evening at Novecento, and everything will go back to normal.”
“I wish it was as simple as that.”
“Do you want us to go back there tomorrow night? With any luck your stranger will be there, and maybe when you see her again you’ll be able to think straight.”
“I won’t do that to Valerie.” Simon was probably right; he had drunk far too much to be thinking straight, and fear was making him go off the rails. Valerie was an exceptional woman and one of life’s unexpected strokes of luck, as her best friend, Colette, kept telling him.
Andrew made Simon swear he’d never tell anyone what had happened that night, and thanked him for making him see reason.
They climbed into the same taxi. Simon dropped Andrew off in the West Village and promised to call him the next day to find out how he was doing.
* * *
Andrew woke up the next day feeling the exact opposite of what Simon had predicted. The face of the stranger he’d met in Novecento and the smell of her perfume were crystal clear in his memory. He shut his eyes again and the sight of her long hands toying with her glass of wine, her penetrating gaze and the sound of her voice came flooding back. As he made himself a coffee, he felt an emptiness, or rather an absence, and the urgent need to see the woman whom he imagined could fill it.
His telephone rang. Valerie brought him back to a reality that wrenched his heart, asking if his evening had been up to expectations. He told her he’d had dinner with Simon in a good restaurant and a drink in a bar in SoHo. Nothing special. He hung up, feeling guilty about lying for the first time to the woman he was about to marry.
Then he remembered the little white lie he’d told when he’d come back from Buenos Aires and sworn to Valerie he’d already taken his wedding suit to be altered. As if to right his wrong, he called the tailor immediately and arranged to take it in during his lunch break.
Perhaps that was the reason for the unfortunate episode in the bar. In life, every little thing had meaning, and that incident had only happened to remind him he needed to get his wedding suit pants rehemmed and jacket sleeves shortened, so his future wife wouldn’t be bitterly disappointed when he showed up for their wedding looking like he’d borrowed his big brother’s suit.
You don’t even have a big brother, you jerk, Andrew mumbled to himself. And, as jerks go, you’re hard to beat.
Andrew left the office at noon. As the tailor chalked the alterations on the jacket sleeves and darts on the back that he said were vital if his client wanted to look stylish, and complained for the umpteenth time that this really was leaving it till the last minute, Andrew felt a deep sense of unease. Once the fitting session was over, he took off the suit and hurriedly got dressed again. Everything would be ready the following Friday, the tailor assured him; Andrew could drop by at the end of the morning.
When he checked his phone, he found several worried messages from Valerie. They’d arranged to meet for lunch over on 42nd Street and she’d been waiting for him for an hour.
Andrew called to apologize, citing an impromptu work meeting. If his secretary had said he was out, that was only because no one at that paper ever paid attention to anyone else. His second lie of the day.
That evening, Andrew turned up at Valerie’s with a bouquet of flowers. Since he’d asked her to marry him, he regularly had mauve roses, her favorites, delivered to her. But he found the apartment empty and a hastily scribbled note on the coffee table in the living room.
Called out to an emergency. Back late. Don’t wait up. Love you.
He left the building and walked to Mary’s Fish Camp for dinner. He didn’t stop looking at his watch during the meal, and asked for the check before he’d even finished his main course. As soon as he was out the door, he jumped in a taxi.
Back in SoHo, he paced up and down the sidewalk in front of Novecento, longing to go in for a drink. The doorman, who doubled as a bouncer, took out a cigarette and asked Andrew for a light. Andrew had quit smoking years ago.
“Want to go in? It’s real quiet tonight.”
Andrew decided the invitation was another sign.
The doorman had been right. One quick glance was all it took for Andrew to realize the beautiful stranger from last night hadn’t returned. Feeling ridiculous, he downed the Fernet and Coke he’d ordered and asked the bartender for the bill.
“Just one drink tonight?” the man asked.
“You remember me?”
“Sure. You knocked back five Fernet and Cokes in a row last night. I wouldn’t forget that in a hurry.”
Andrew hesitated, then asked for another drink. He watched the bartender pouring it and asked him a surprising question for a soon-to-be-married man.
“The woman who was sitting next to me—do you remember her? Is she a regular?”
The bartender looked pensive.
“I see a lot of pretty women in this bar,” he said. “No, can’t say I do. Is it important?”
“Yes,” said Andrew. “Actually, no. Look, I have to go. What do I owe you?”
The bartender turned away to ring up the total.
Andrew slipped three twenty-dollar bills over the counter. “If she stops by again, and asks you about the Fernet and Coke man, here’s my card. Please give it to her.”
“You’re with the Times?”
“Like it says on the card.”
“Hey, if you want to do a write-up about this place someday, feel free.”
“I’ll do my best to remember,” Andrew said. “You too, please.”
The bartender winked at him as he stashed the card away in his till.
Andrew checked the time as he walked out of Novecento. If Valerie’s emergency had run late, maybe he’d be home before her. Otherwise he’d tell her he’d been working overtime. One more lie hardly mattered.
* * *
From that evening on, Andrew could feel his composure progressively cracking with each passing day. He even got into a heated dispute with his colleague Freddy Olson when he caught him prying through his desk. Olson was envious of Andrew and an overall creep. But Andrew usually never lost his cool. He told himself he was stressed out because he had so much to do during the last two weeks of June. He still had to finish writing the article he’d researched on his two trips to Argentina; he was hoping it would be as widely read as his report from China. It was due to go to press the following Monday. Olivia Stern was a very punctilious editor, and he knew she’d be even pickier than usual when it came to an investigative story to be splashed over several pages in Tuesday’s paper. She would spend all of Saturday reading through the story and making changes, which she would e-mail him that same evening. What a strange weekend it would be, Andrew mused; on Saturday he’d be making his marriage vows before God, and on Sunday he’d be apologizing to Valerie for putting off their honeymoon because of his damn job and this story that was so important to his boss.
Meanwhile, Andrew couldn’t get the stranger at Novecento out of his head. His desire to see the woman again was turning into an obsession, and he couldn’t understand why.
He was feeling more lost than ever when he went to pick up his suit on Friday. The tailor heard him sigh as he stood looking at himself in the mirror.
“You don’t like the cut?” he asked unhappily.
“No, Mr. Zanelli. You’ve done a perfect job.”
The tailor surveyed Andrew and hitched up the right shoulder of the suit jacket.
“But you’re upset about something, aren’t you?” he asked, sticking a needle into the bottom of the jacket sleeve.
“It’s complicated.”
“Hmm. One of your arms is definitely longer than the other,” he remarked. “I hadn’t noticed that at the fitting. Give me a few minutes. We’ll fix this right away.”
“Don’t bother. It’s the kind of suit I’ll only wear once in my life, isn’t it?”
“I hope so. But it’s also the kind of photograph you’ll be looking at all your life, and when your grandchildren tell you that your jacket didn’t fit properly, I wouldn’t want you telling them you had a bad tailor. So let me get on with my job.”
“It’s just that I’ve got a very important story to finish by tonight, Mr. Zanelli.”
“And I’ve got a very important suit to finish in the next fifteen minutes. You were saying something’s complicated?”
“That’s right,” Andrew sighed.
“What kind of thing, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I guess you’re bound by professional secrecy too, Mr. Zanelli.”
“I will be if you say my name properly. It’s Zanetti, not Zanelli. Take off that jacket and sit down. I’ll fix it while we talk.”
So while Mr. Zanetti adjusted the sleeve of Andrew’s suit jacket, Andrew told him how he had been reunited with his high school sweetheart as she was coming out of a bar a year ago and how, days before his wedding, he’d come across a woman in another bar who he couldn’t stop thinking about ever since he had set eyes on her.
“Maybe you should stop going out,” the tailor said. “That would make your life easier. I have to say it’s an unusual story,” he added, hunting through a drawer for a spool of thread.
“My best friend Simon says exactly the opposite.”
“He’s got a strange way of looking at things, this Simon. Can I ask you something?”
“Anything you like, if it’ll help me see things more clearly.”
“If you could replay the whole thing, Mr. Stilman—if you could choose between not getting back together with the woman you’re about to marry and not meeting the woman who’s obsessing you, which would you prefer?”
“One of these women is my soul mate. As for the other one . . . I don’t even know her name.”
“So you see, it’s not that complicated.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . . ”
“I’m a lot older than you, Mr. Stilman, so I’m going to take the liberty of talking to you like a father. But I should confess I’ve never had children, so I have no experience in the matter.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Well, since you’re asking. Life isn’t like one of those modern gadgets where you just press ‘rewind’ to listen to your favorite song again. There’s no going back. And some actions can have irreparable consequences—like falling for some total stranger, however mesmerizing she may be, right before your wedding. If you continue, I fear you’ll regret it, not to mention the damage you’ll be causing the people you love. And if you’re going to say you have no control over your heart, just remember you have a head too, and remember to use it. There’s no harm in being attracted to a woman, so long as it doesn’t go any further than that.”
“Have you ever felt like you’d met your soul mate, Mr. Zanetti?”
“A soul mate? What a delightful idea. When I was in my twenties I thought I’d met her each time I went out dancing on a Saturday night. I used to be a very good dancer, and I fell in love with every partner I had. I’ve often wondered how people know they’ve met their soul mate before they’ve built a relationship with that person.”
“Are you married, Mr. Zanetti?”
“I’ve been married four times, so I should know what I’m talking about!”
As he said goodbye to Andrew, Mr. Zanetti assured him that since both sleeves of his jacket were now the right length, nothing could get in the way of the happiness awaiting him. Andrew walked out of the tailor’s firmly resolved to wear his wedding suit with pride the next day.