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AS WE LEFT VAN CLEEF with our bags in hand after an afternoon filled with fittings and shopping, I asked Blackwell and Lisa if they’d like to indulge in a martini with me.
“Like that’s even a question,” Lisa said. “I’m in.”
“I can always count on you, my little martini mistress,” I said. “Barbara?”
“I eschew afternoon calories—as should both of you. That said, you’ve had a terrible week, Jennifer, so go and enjoy. Go and imbibe with your, uh, unusual friend.”
“Unusual?” Lisa said.
“Anyone who writes about the undead has to be peculiar,” Blackwell said. “And don’t challenge me on that, girl, because you’ll lose.”
“Whatever, Bertha.”
“You’re a horrible girl,” Blackwell said, and then she gave Lisa a kiss on each cheek followed by a warm hug. “Thank you for coming today,” I heard her say in Lisa’s ear. “Thank you for always having Jennifer’s back.”
“As if I wouldn’t,” Lisa said. “I love you too, Bertha.”
“If you do,” Blackwell said as she drew away from Lisa, “then make my inspiration for that particular character in your book epic.”
“Done.”
“Now,” Blackwell said, after she gave me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Where are you two going for your cocktails?”
“I was thinking that we’d go to the St. Regis,” I said. “It’s only a few blocks from here. What do you think, Lisa?”
“Where there’s a martini, lead me to the door.”
“I thought so.” I looked at Blackwell. “We’ll be at the St. Regis. And each of us will be home long before Alex and Tank.”
“You’re such good housewives...”
Before either of us could let her have it for that, she raised a hand. “Your strings are so easily pulled. Can’t you two take a joke?”
“That’s the thing,” Lisa said. “Sometimes it’s difficult to know when you’re joking.”
“Thus my charm and also my influence,” Blackwell said as she fingered her bob out of her face. She nodded at the bags in our hands. “Cutter is waiting for us at the curb. He can drop you at the St. Regis, then he can drop me at Wenn and I’ll give your jewels to Alex and Tank to take home for you. Sound like a deal?”
“Why do I get the feeling that this is just a ploy for you to try on my new diamond earrings, necklace, and bracelet?” Lisa asked.
“Seriously?” Blackwell said. “Really? All you spent back there was a mere hundred grand.”
“Mere?”
“That’s right—mere. So, please, don’t worry about your trinkets—because I have no interest in your new set of pauper’s jewels.”
“Pauper?” Lisa said.
“You barely rise to that level. So, I’ll ask again. Would you like me to take your bags off your hands?”
“Deal,” I said.
“Don’t try to rob me, lady,” Lisa said.
“Ha!” Blackwell said. “Bertha knows her some jewels, darling, and as cute as they are, she has zero interest in yours.”
* * *
THE ST. REGIS WAS ON Fifth and Fifty-Fifth Street and was long considered to be one of the finest luxury hotels in Manhattan with one of the best-renowned bars in the city. So, when we arrived, we went straight for the bar in question.
At just shy of four o’clock, the bar was busier than I’d expected it to be as we approached it. Was there a convention in town? Could be. But whatever the case, even this crowd was nothing compared to what was to come. Later in the evening, I knew from past experiences that this place would be as packed as it always was. The King Cole Bar was known as the birth place of the Bloody Mary, but beyond that, it also was known as a place where business men and women met throughout the afternoon to strike deals or to form new relationships that would lead to new deals.
Which likely was what I was seeing now...
“How did we get this lucky?” Lisa said as we moved toward the center stools that overlooked the St. Regis’ signature piece, the famed 1906 Maxfield Parrish mural King Cole. It was as wide as the bar, and it was magnificent. “These seats are primo. Has somebody left for the restroom? If so—their loss! Let’s sit here.”
After we sat down, I looked around the room, and saw a host of familiar and unfamiliar faces. I smiled and nodded at a few of them as I placed my clutch in my lap and a handsome bartender in his early thirties approached us with two martinis—one dirty with three olives for Lisa, and one with a twist for me.
“Here you are, ladies,” he said as he placed the drinks in front of us. “Compliments of Mr. Wenn, who sends both of you his love and who also hopes you enjoy the best view of the mural.”
“Alex did this?” I said.
“Management received a phone call from him a few minutes ago, Mrs. Wenn. We were more than happy to make sure that you had the best seats in the house.”
“You mean you moved people from these seats because of us?”
He didn’t answer.
“Oh, God...” I said.
Lisa looked at me. “Look, it is what it is, so get over it. What I want to know is how Alex knew we were even coming here.”
“Blackwell,” I said. “She must have told him that we were coming here. She probably texted him or something. And now we have this.”
“Well? Then good for us,” Lisa said. “God, I love Alex.”
“You and me both, sugar. This is just who Alex is, and just what Alex does.”
I looked at the bartender. “Thank you for all that you’ve done,” I said.
“It’s our pleasure, Mrs. Wenn.”
He was about to walk away when he hesitated and then looked tentatively at Lisa. “I could get in trouble for saying this,” he said. “We’re told not to recognize celebrities. But as quickly as I can, I have to tell you that I’m a huge fan of your books, Ms. Ward. Thank you for writing them.”
“Oh,” Lisa said, clearly taken aback that he’d recognized her. “Well, thank you for reading them.”
“Do you mind if I ask when the next one comes out?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m flattered that you’d even want to know. It’s slated for this fall. I’m in the process of finishing it now.”
“Then I have something great to look forward to,” he said. “Now, please, enjoy your drinks and thank you for choosing the St. Regis.”
When he walked away, I lifted my glass to her. “You’re a celebrity,” I said.
“I am so not a celebrity.”
“The hell you aren’t. I believe there was a time when you owned much of Times Square. And that this fall you’re going to own it again. So, get over yourself. Touch glasses with me. I’m so proud of you, Lisa. Look at how far we’ve come—three years out, and it’s still surreal.”
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I’m fully on board when it comes to toasting to the surreal. Because after what you and I have been through since we landed in this city? Surreal doesn’t even come close to defining us. So, cheers, lovey,” she said.
We clinked glasses and sipped.
“It’s as smooth as silk,” Lisa said. “And mine is perfectly dirty!”
“You always have been a dirty girl,” I said.
She raised up her hand. “When it comes to my martinis? Guilty. Not so much elsewhere.”
“And despite your success, you’ve never changed.”
“Neither have you, and I think it’s fair to say that your success is a wee bit greater than mine.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said. “My success is wedded to my husband’s success. It’s not the same. You achieved your success on your own. And I’m thrilled that I can say that. I really am. I love you, sweetie.”
“Best friends for life,” Lisa said.
“To say the least.”
“I can’t believe that Alex got us these seats and sent us these drinks so quickly. He’s superhuman.”
“I got lucky when I met that man,” I said. “The total love of my life—and this is just another reason why.”
“To your marriage,” Lisa said as she raised her glass to mine.
“Hear, hear,” I said as I sipped. And then I leveled her with a look. “So,” I said. “It’s been a while now. And you can’t keep dodging the question with me, Lisa. When are you and Tank going to get married? I’ve asked you a dozen times, and you always find a way to snake away from the answer. What gives?”
She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
“Fine, I do. Look, last Christmas was a disaster. I couldn’t be with you and everyone else because Tank and I were with his parents in NObraska. And trust me on this, Jennifer—I was not a hit with them. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was way too much for those two ultra conservatives to handle—even though I tamped myself down for them. Even that version of me was like looking into the pit of hell for them.”
“So what?” I said. “Either Tank wants to be with you and be married to you, or he doesn’t. Which is it?”
“It’s not Tank,” she said. “It’s me. I haven’t told you this, but he wanted to elope with me the moment we got back home from visiting his parents last Christmas. He was angry about their cool reception of me. He wanted to lock this down then.”
“But that was three months ago—why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because I’ve been conflicted about all of it,” she said. “He’s still pressing me into getting married. But what does that look like if his parents aren’t on board? For me, it looks like total disappointment. They see me as this weird woman who writes about zombies—and since they’re devout Christians, they can’t wrap their heads around the fact that their only son is in love with that person. Tank couldn’t give a damn, but I do. I want them to accept me before I marry Tank. I want them to root for us.”
“Lisa, I hate to break this to you, but you can’t expect them to. You also can’t give up your own happiness because of their prejudices.”
“That’s what Tank says,” she said. “But I know that he thinks the world of his parents—he knows that he’s their good son—so where does that leave me? I’ll tell you where that leaves me—as the person their son shouldn’t marry.”
“Because of the books you write?”
“Yes!”
I reached for her hand when she said that, and squeezed it. “Have they even read your books?” I asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Then that’s on them. Because the whole undercurrent of your books is about more than just the loss of humanity. For those characters who haven’t been turned, your books also are about holding on to one’s religious faith. And it goes beyond that. Some of those who are turned struggle with their faith. You write about it in such a way that it’s a metaphor for what’s happening in our culture today. If they read your books, they’d see that.”
“They won’t be reading my books anytime soon, Jennifer.”
“Then to hell with them,” I said. “You can’t alter minds that refuse to change. We both know that. Tank knows that—that’s why he’s been pressuring you to marry him. So, marry him for God’s sake.”
She took a deep breath and then let it out. “I certainly didn’t expect our little trip to Martiniville to turn into this.”
“Well, it has. And I’m going to leave it at this, because I don’t want to contribute to your angst beyond what I’m going to say to you now. So? Here I go. Lisa, you must know that life is finite. I found that out just a few days ago, when Alex and I were nearly mowed down by terrorists who killed and wounded many of our friends—as well as people we didn’t know. In the wake of that, please listen to me now—do you want to end your days with the regret that you didn’t marry Tank because of how his parents might view you? Come on! Life is fleeting. After what happened the other night to those poor people, I can tell you that for certain. So, to hell with what his parents think. What you need to think about is your own happiness. And Tank’s happiness. The fact that he’s been pushing you to marry him after your Christmas with his parents says it all to me. He doesn’t give a shit what they think—and neither should you. You seriously need to reevaluate this.”
“As I said earlier, you and I don’t see each other enough,” she said.
And when she said that, her eyes became bright. I could sense a conflict within my best friend that I hadn’t even known was there, and it destroyed me.
“Our lives have changed over the past few years, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t turn back the clock,” I said. “We need to start talking more. We need to start finding the time to be with each other more than we have been. Yes, life is insane for both of us right now, but we need to bring it back to us. I had no idea that you were in this kind of state. You must know that you always can reach out to me.”
“But you’re so busy.”
“I’m never that busy. And I swear to God, I will never be too busy for you. All I need from you is one text or one call—and I’m there. That will always be true for me, and I hope that it will be true for you. Because trust me, I’m going through my own shit that I haven’t even shared with you.”
She furrowed her brow at me. “What shit?”
“I can’t get pregnant.”
“But you will—you have to believe that you will.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “But I’ve got to tell you, Lisa, it looks bleak.”
As the time passed, we discussed my concerns. Lisa listened to me and tried to calm my fears—and it felt good to have my best friend at my back. I saw Blackwell every day, but Lisa? My best friend since I could remember? We maybe saw each other once a week, and generally that was at dinner with Alex and Tank, where I couldn’t be as open as I was being with her now. That needed to stop. We needed to put our careers aside and make time for us. I felt ashamed that I’d allowed myself to be sucked into the world of Wenn and had neglected my friend, and I knew from what Lisa said to me that she felt the same about her own habit of holing herself up in her office and writing her books.
“Then, it’s done,” I said. “Twice a week, we meet for lunch. Just you and me—no one else.”
“Done,” she said. “Because I’ve missed you.”
“As I’ve missed you.”
“Fine. So, let’s just leave it at the truth,” she said to me. “Three years ago, we got in my old car, Gretta the Jetta, and left Maine to come here to make something of our lives. I’d say, that at this point, we’ve done that. But our lives can’t just be about our careers, Jennifer. They just can’t be. We need to make time for ourselves again—and we will.”
I went to lift my glass to hers at that moment, but found that it was empty—as was hers.
“Damn,” I said.
“Here you are, ladies,” the bartender said as he came toward us with fresh martinis. “These are from Tank.”
“Oh, my God,” I said.
“Could his timing be more on point?”
“It couldn’t be.”
Lisa looked at the bartender. “Thank you,” she said.
“It’s his pleasure,” the man said.
“I know it was,” Lisa said with emotion in her voice. “That’s just who he is.”
“As with Mr. Wenn, he asked me to send his love to each of you.”
“Of course he did,” Lisa said more to herself than to anyone else.
At that moment, my cell went off in my clutch. “That’s probably Alex,” I said. “Or Blackwell. Either, or.”
But when I retrieved my phone, I saw that it was Kate Stone who was calling. I looked at Lisa. “It’s Kate. I should take it. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. She’s just four days away from her gala—she might need you. Answer it.”
“Kate,” I said into the phone. “How are you?”
“Stressed out of my mind. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“Not at all. What’s wrong?”
“The timing of this event,” she said. “I’m feeling that it’s too soon, particularly after what happened at the Witherhouses’ the other night. I’m thinking that I should postpone it, but before I do, I wanted to talk it over with someone other than Ben and Laura. Naturally, you came to mind. I want to see if your opinion matches theirs. So, what do you think, Jennifer? It’s too soon, isn’t it? I should hold off.”
“I disagree,” I said firmly. “I may have only been in this city for three years, but what I know is that this town backs down to no one—even terrorists. Instead, it moves forward and its people rise up. That’s what you need to do, Kate. If you move the date of your gala, those terrorists will only win again. But if you stand firmly against them, they lose. I say that you stay the course.”
“This is our biggest fundraising event of the year,” she said. “What if no one shows? What if they’re too frightened to come?”
“Are you serious?” I said. “Trust me on this—they’ll be coming, and here’s why. Many of the people who were at the Witherhouses’ when those bastards opened fire are going to want to talk about their experiences with their friends who weren’t there. What I don’t think you realize is that your party is about to become the party of the year, if only for that reason alone. These people are going to want to mix and talk, and likely console one another. And because of what happened—because of the mood it evokes—I think that they’ll be in a more giving spirit than they might otherwise have been. So, listen to me—don’t cancel anything. I think you’d be making a terrible mistake if you did.”
“Have you been talking with Ben and Laura?”
I smiled when she said that—Ben was her fiancé, and Laura was her best friend. “No, I haven’t been talking with either of them.”
“Are you sure? Because they’re saying the same thing.”
“I’m sure.”
“All right then,” she said. “The consensus is that the gala goes forward. Thanks for hearing me out, Jennifer. It means a lot to me. So, I’ll see you on Saturday?”
“Lisa and I just bought our gowns today, and our men are ready to have fun. All of us can’t wait.”
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you, too. Call me if you need my help in any way—I’m always here, and I’m always willing to drop anything to help.”
“You’re the best.”
“I’m just your friend. So, we’ll all see you on Saturday. Give Ben and Laura a hug and a kiss from me, and get on with the rest of it.”
When I clicked off my phone, I looked at Lisa, who had a concerned look on her face. “Kate must be going through hell wondering what to do.”
“Do you think I gave her the right advice?”
“Absolutely, because those motherfuckers can’t win again,” she said with a surprising shot of anger in her voice. “They almost took my best friend from me. And I say fuck them for that.”
We looked at each other for a long, meaningful moment before we touched glasses again. And as we did and I felt our long-standing bond grow even closer, Janice Jones walked into the bar.
