Chapter Two

Laura didn’t arrive home from dance class and the health club until ten-fifteen that night. She was still holding steady, but tiring somewhat. She hadn’t eaten a bite all evening except for a muffin before the club. She took off her jacket and reached for an apple.

Funny to think of Shetley this afternoon like that. Her marriage seemed so long ago, and she had changed so awfully much. Thank God she had changed. Thank God she actually might be growing up. That’s what made it possible for her to see through a punk like Dante. He wasn’t a Shetley because he hadn’t the bad manners to make such dishonest pretense, but neither was he the stalwart lover she had been seeking all these years.

Does my dream man exist? she wondered then. Can there be such a man outside of my own imagination?

Pouring some granola into a bowl with a dollop of yogurt, she was about to sit down and turn on the TV, then write out her rent check and others, when the phone rang. The caller could only be her mother or a girlfriend, she thought.

It was Lillian, a friend who used to study at the Studio. Lillian was a model, not a dancer, and she and Laura went to the movies together on occasion.

“You’ll never guess what I’ve got for you,” Lillian began provocatively.

“You’re right,” Laura agreed. “I’ll never guess.”

“I have a boyfriend for you,” Lillian finally announced.

“If he’s so great, why don’t you just keep him?”

“Because I have one of my own right now. I told you about Steven, didn’t I? Things are going awfully well. He’s a lawyer, did I tell you? He’s helping negotiate my new contract. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to insist on the things he’s asking for.”

I hope they keep you on, Laura thought to herself. Aloud, she told Lillian, “That’s great. I saw your picture in Vogue last week. I didn’t know you could look like that.”

“I can’t, but the camera thinks so.” The two of them laughed.

“So who’s this new man you’re going to hand over to me?” Laura was never overly enthusiastic about being fixed up, but sometimes, hopeful, she went along with the blind date.

“Oh, nothing like that, my dear. This is actually a business arrangement. I know his girlfriend. She’s one of the new models at the agency. She’s totally stunning, even in the flesh. If you still have that copy of Vogue, she’s in a five-page pantsuit spread. Exquisite. And she’s studying to be an actress now too. She has two national commercials on television already. I don’t have to tell you how much money she must be making.” Lillian paused in contemplation of such career heights.

“So he’s looking to trade her in for something a little more simple perhaps,” Laura kidded. “A nine-to-five advertising artist with dishwater blonde curls.”

“You ought to have a henna treatment,” Lillian seriously advised. “It’ll lighten your hair and give it body.”

“This is what I look like after two henna treatments,” Laura informed her.

“Oh,” said Lillian. “Henna does wonders for my hair.” A long pause in the conversation ensured. Laura glanced at the clock. Pretty nearly bedtime.

“He’s gorgeous, too,” Lillian continued. “And a brain, as I understand it. Harvard or one of those. Old, old money, I think. That sort of thing.”

Laura picked up her checkbook and propped the telephone under her chin. She was no longer interested in this turn of conversation. She frowned at the total in her checking account. She’d have almost enough to cover the monthly fee after she paid the necessary basics.

Lillian went on with her description. “Of course I’ve never really spoken to him at length. Just politely, that’s all. Not that I’ve wanted to speak impolitely to him. Though I don’t know. Anyway, I’m not sure what he actually does for a living. He’s probably a stockbroker, I get the idea. Well, what it comes down to is this—his grandfather doesn’t like Elise, maybe he thinks that all models are bad sorts of women. I’m not sure. She’s part Indian, maybe that’s it. But Ritchie needs a date to bring to a family party. I don’t know the details. I ran into him in the street and he asked me to go with him, but I said no. I gave him your number at work instead. So I hope you don’t mind.”

Laura minded in a vague way, but she was sure she could handle the situation. “No, that’s all right.” Probably he wouldn’t call her, anyway.

Laura and Lillian hung up, once agreeing to get together over the weekend, although neither would probably be able to find the time.

After writing her checks, Laura realized that she would have to put off buying new leotards until next payday. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, put on pajamas and slid into bed.

She lay there a while, wide awake. She blamed the coffee she had drunk before class, she blamed Shetley, and she thought of Lillian’s crazy phone call. Had Shetley ever married again, she wondered. Had he married a rich girl? Was he doing well? Would he someday be the sort of hard, successful businessman that her own father was? Did he think of her ever, and if so, how?

This boyfriend of the beautiful model, what could he be like? Not a very nice guy, she figured, if he couldn’t stick up for his own girlfriend, and believed deceiving his whole family was a good idea. Oh, probably he was simply ultra-ambitious. He was, no doubt, hoping to start his own brokerage firm on the family old-money investments alone.

Laura tossed and turned until about two o’clock, then spent the rest of the all-too-short night dreaming of searching for the Macy’s man, who had promised to marry her before he went to California.

Laura couldn’t get away from the Macy’s man, even during the daytime. She had more versions of the ad to construct, and two more rough sketches to pop in while waiting for the actual photos. That meant two more pictures of Shetley’s dramatic, masculine visage. Her version did look very much like the man in the actual photograph that had to be replaced, she reassured herself.

At ten-thirty, her cell phone rang. She stood for the first time that morning, gratefully, and answered, not knowing the name caller-ID handed out.

She heard a man’s voice, quite low and gentle. “Laura Reegan?” he asked.

Laura thought perhaps the call was about her Bloomingdale’s charge and was preparing to explain how she had just put the check in the mail, but all she said, until she could be sure, was “yes.”

“This is Richard Decter. I think Lillian Dorvano told you about me?”

“Well, yes, I think so,” Laura responded. She felt a surge of moral superiority. What a pathetic sort of man to actually proceed so unthinkingly with his devious schemes. She waited for the right moment to turn him aside.

“This may be a bad time to ask, but I wonder if I could take you to lunch today. Or tomorrow, perhaps, if that might be more convenient for you. I’m Midtown but anywhere you like would be all right.”

Laura hesitated. Lillian could be a bit scattered sometimes. In fact, she was quite confused more often than not. Maybe she had gotten the idea of the thing all wrong. Her caller’s voice was certainly pleasant and more than respectful.

“Today would be fine,” she replied, adding firmly, “I don’t have more than a vague idea of what the whole thing is about, so I’m not agreeing to anything more than being taken to lunch.”

“Of course not,” he concurred immediately.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed, or to feel cheated,” she went on. “I can meet you at twelve-forty-five at the Lebanese restaurant on the north side of Thirtieth Street between Madison and Park Avenue South if that’s not too far for you.” She had never eaten there, but had wanted to. “I’m five-four and have blonde hair. I’m wearing red pants and will have on a reddish-tan rawhide jacket.” Her mother had sent the jacket as a birthday gift.

“Okay. I’ll find you,” Richard said.

“Just describe yourself a little,” Laura ordered. He wanted something from her, so she needn’t be shy.

“All right. I’m wearing a charcoal grey suit. It’s wool, I think. It couldn’t be flannel really, could it? My tie is red with thin white stripes. I’m, uh, my hair is light brown. I’m exactly six feet tall. Is that enough?” He sounded either bemused, or maybe a little uncomfortable.

“Twelve-forty-five then,” Laura repeated. “I have only one hour for lunch, so I hope you can be on time.” She hung up without waiting for him to respond. Usually, she ate her lunch all by herself. This wasn’t an overly friendly place, and she was the only female artist here. Not to mention that the artists never actually mixed with the writers, account executives, media people, or support staff. On special occasions, of course, like when someone was leaving, she went out with Cecil, Roger, Abner, and whoever else.

She was happy about her lunchtime date only because it promised to be a distraction. Another face across the table would take her away from her own circuitous thoughts, many of which had been revolving around Dante since he had kissed her on Sunday. She couldn’t help her random fantasies, she acknowledged, although she could and would control her actions.

Richard was already waiting when she approached the restaurant. Knowing at once it was he, she held out her hand and introduced herself. She barely noticed what he looked like, aside from checking the color of his hair and the match of his suit and tie (which had sounded far less tasteful over the telephone than it actually was).

Seated inside the restaurant across from this stranger, Laura became nervous all at once. She hadn’t been all that nice to him on the phone. She studied the menu very hard, finally raising her eyes to look at her companion. Since she was an artist, his face interested her. She had been drawing men’s faces all morning long, in fact. She stared at him without reflecting on her behavior, but he didn’t turn away.

She realized what she was doing, and self-consciously averted her eyes once more. He’s not truly handsome, she finally decided. No, not handsome at all…but something in his face grabbed her attention.

Looking at him had made her feel more trusting, so she reminded herself how dangerous such a trust could be. She was glad that she had been thinking of Shetley the last couple of days, a perfect reminder.

They ordered lunch. For once, Laura ordered enough to make herself full, knowing she would regret eating so much when the time came for dance class.

“That won’t be enough for you,” Richard protested.

“I’m not a big eater,” Laura answered, smiling. “I’m always trying to keep my weight down.”

“Elise does that, too,” her companion acknowledged. “I’m not so sure that’s good for your health.”

For an instant being reminded of the existence of the beautiful Elise stung. But what, after all, was Richard to her? “Your family isn’t happy about Elise,” she prodded.

“Not my family, actually. They could care less. They’ve never met Elise, but I’m sure they’d like her. It’s my grandfather.” Richard became a little fidgety. He played with his silverware and shifted in his seat. He glanced across at Laura without speaking, as if uncertain as to how she would take his next words.

“Your grandfather,” she repeated, to start him talking again.

“My grandfather came into the City one day and met me for dinner and an evening at the theatre. Elise came with us to see the play. My grandfather thought she was a very beautiful girl, but cold. He advised me not to go out with her anymore. Now, every time I see him, he asks whether I’m still dating Elise. Apparently he took an immense dislike to her. I suppose it’s true that she really doesn’t care for older people.” He stopped.

The waiter brought their food, and Laura hungrily began to devour her meal. She swallowed and spoke. “I don’t see that it matters much, really. You could tell him you aren’t seeing her anymore, if you simply want to spare him from worrying.” She considered her own words. Wasn’t she the one who hated lying?

“It isn’t that simple. No, it’s my whole life’s story. My grandfather happens to have a lot of money.” Richard sighed.

Laura’s heart hardened. Why did money do that sort of thing to a man? He seemed well enough dressed, well enough nourished. Couldn’t he be satisfied, even grateful for what he already had?

“My grandfather wants to give at least some of his money to me,” Richard continued. “But, naturally, he wouldn’t be happy thinking that Elise would have a share in it. Elise has plenty of money of her own, in point of fact. I don’t know if you’ve seen her in her perfume commercial?” He looked up at Laura questioningly.

“I don’t watch television very much,” Laura answered, not very interested.

Richard went back to telling his story. “I’m the one who needs the money. Elise says she’ll support me, but I don’t want that. I suppose that sort of thing happens all the time nowadays, of course. Still, I don’t feel I could accept it with anything like good grace.” He smiled somewhat sheepishly.

“Is the stock market that bad?” inquired Laura. She was determined that a healthy young man such as he should work for a living.

“The stock market?” Richard was puzzled.

“I was under the impression that you were a stockbroker,” she explained, seeing his confusion. She had finished her meal, and though she was no longer ravenous, peered over wistfully at her date’s half-touched plate.

“A stockbroker!” He laughed. “I work for a fine arts dealer. I appraise. I buy. I sell. All sorts of junk that’s prized as fine art. And all sorts of fine pieces that are put into otherwise junk heap surroundings. I’m not being accurate. I’m just complaining. Some of our buyers have respect for classic craftsmanship and art. Not many, but some.”

He smiled again. “That’s only one of the things that drives me crazy about my job,” he told her. “My boss has owned and run the business for thirty-eight years, and his taste and mine don’t always agree. He’s a shrewd businessman, but I hate to spend days negotiating for stuff that really seems a waste of time to me.”

“I quite understand,” Laura put in.

“I feel silly talking only about myself this way, but I suppose it’s necessary,” Richard said. He looked at her and actually saw her for a moment, in a way that was pleasing to Laura and knocked at the door of her emotions.

The waiter took the dishes and they both ordered some tea. Then Richard began to speak once again about his situation. “The thing of it is, I’m a painter,” he explained. He spread his hands in front of himself, examining them. Laura checked them out, too. They were good hands, she thought. “I’m a painter and I want to paint,” he told her emphatically. “I’ve spent too many years slaving at the gallery and not doing the work I know I was born for. I’m a painter and I need desperately to hold a brush in my hand. You can’t imagine how it’s killing me.”

Laura could imagine. She thought of all the times she had almost broken down and asked her parents for money to live on while she studied dance, as she was meant to. Her pride was too hard-wired, however, to actually go through with it. Sure, in some way, she still even blamed her father for the breakup of her marriage. She was wrong to think like that, she knew, but the feeling lingered.

Richard was watching Laura so intensely that the scrutiny made her face redden. Seeing that, he glanced away. He smiled somewhat bitterly. “Everyone tells me to paint on the weekends. They don’t realize that to paint seriously, I just can’t do it that way. Anyhow, by the time Friday evening arrives, I’ve had it. I need those two days to rest and relax. And fill all my other responsibilities and obligations. I have a lot of social obligations working at the gallery. And Elise has a lot of social obligations as well.”

Did they live together? Laura wondered. Was he always Elise’s escort to this constant round of parties, or did she have plenty of other escorts, too. And did he date any other women as well?

“That’s why I need you to come with me to visit my grandfather. He wants to give me the money, and believe me, I want to take it from him. I don’t need much to live on. I don’t even need to live in the City, although I can’t live too far away. What do you say? Will you help me out? I know it will be a big inconvenience to you, but I’m prepared to pay you for it. Of course, if he doesn’t take a liking to you, either, the deal is off. I’ll have to get an entirely new girlfriend.” He smiled to show that he was somewhat kidding.

Laura drank her tea without commenting. It had been served in a glass and had a peppermint flavor that surprised her. She had been dead set against agreeing to Richard’s demands before she met him. But now she couldn’t think of any objection she might make. How much money was he going to offer her?

“When would these visits take place?” she asked. “And how often?”

“Just one to begin with. We could make it any time you liked.” He looked at her hopefully.

“Sunday would fit into my schedule, if that would suit you,” she answered. But what was she doing?