From that vantage point he watched shoppers cram their way into Balduccis, a specialty grocer, while others emerged, burdened and visibly harassed, from the exits.
His New York business acquaintances occasionally sent him gift baskets from the place. They sold several things Alex was crazy aboutthe most thinly cut smoked salmon in town, fresh cream cheese, a lemon tart that had had a walk-on role in one of his dreams and boxes of chocolate-chip cookies that were close enough to homemade to fool somebody like him, whose mother wasnt into cookies. He should go in, buy them out of those cookies and surprise his staff with them on Monday morning.
It really would be a surprise. He wasnt what youd call a chocolate-chip-cookie kind of boss.
As this thought went through his mind, a woman came out of the shop carrying two of the distinctive green-and-white shopping bags. She set them down for a moment to set a brown leather handbag more firmly over her shoulder. She was reed-slim in narrow jeans, the dark-blue ones Alex had decided must be the fashion this spring. A loose white shirt floated over her arms, barely touching her body down to her waist where shed tucked it in. High-heeled sandals added four inches to her already considerable height.
She was an extraordinarily striking woman. He felt drawn to her, a stranger, as he rarely felt drawn to the women who decorated his life as fleetingly as the bouquets of fresh flowers Burleigh routinely ordered for the round foyer table in Alexs Pacific Heights home. Just seeing her there gave him an oddly familiar surge of desire to penetrate a softness and warmth that felt too real to be a figment of his heated imagination.
She turned directly toward him for an instant, and he saw with the crystal clarity of cherished memories the fine skin, the blond hair that floated in the same ethereal fashion as her shirt, the generous mouth. His eyes opened wide. His lips parted. He breathed a single word.
Sarah.
And then, as she took off like the Concorde, as comfortable on those high heels as if theyd been sneakers, he came to life. He couldnt shout her name. Men like him didnt shout womens names in public places. They didnt follow women up the street, either, but this was Sarah he was following, and he could not, would not, let her get away.
HURRYING NORTH, Sarah congratulated herself on how well the weekend was going. The evening before, shed had drinks at the latest trendy barthose ratings could change overnightin Chelsea with Rachel and Annie, two friends from work. Shed chatted with an appealing man, an actor with a charming smile and high hopes, whod auditioned the day before and had just gotten a callback.
A man for whom she had high hopes.
Theyd agreed to meet for breakfast at a coffee shop in the West Village. Hed arrived with his lover, an equally appealingbut jealousman.
However, while she waited for him, shed shared the sports section of the Times with a better prospect, a lawyer with one of the citys large firms. Theyd exchanged cards, and she fully expected to find a message from him on her answering machine when she got home. In the meantime, shed prepared herself for whatever the eveningand the next morningmight bring.
Balduccis stocked a plentiful array of hors doeuvres and prepared foods, and shed bought enough to manage dinner in case going out suddenly lost its charm. This afternoon she would make a desserta hazelnut torte, perhaps, or a flourless chocolate cake, or both.
She swung right onto Twelfth Street. Her bags also held bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese and juice from apparently rare and valuable grapefruit, judging from the price. She would check the answering machine, then put her purchases away. Then, with everything in a state of readiness, shed slip out onto the fire escape to let the sunshine and cool breeze arouse her to fever pitch. Her sixth sense told her the lawyer would be up to whatever level of passion she chose to demand of him.
Shed reached her building and started up the walk when she heard, Sarah! She froze, unable to move, unwilling to turn around. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, ugly, painful tricks. She heard footsteps behind her, and filled with dread, she slowly spun to face Alexander Asquith-Emerson, all grown-up.
Sarah. He sounded out of breath. Its Alex. Saw you coming out of Balduccis. It was just too amazing a coincidence. The rush of words coming from his mouth, a mouth that quirked up at one corner in an all-too-familiar way, suddenly halted.
Inside she was quaking so violently she was sure it showed on the outside. His hair was as thick and dark as ever, and his shoulders were broader in his well-tailored navy blazer than theyd been when he was eighteen. His eyes flashed dark, mysterious messages as they always had. An ache rose through her body that recalled the past even as it demanded recognition of the present.
Fuhgeddaboudit, they said in Brooklyn. And, of course, she already had forgotten about it. A long time ago.
Well. My goodness. After all these years. Alex Asquith-Emerson. Her spine felt like cold steel. She was proud of it for holding her up so firmly.
Just Emerson. His full lower lip curved in a smile. I dropped the Asquith. Too pretentious for the States.
His face held an expectant expression that frightened her. Well, she said again, wishing she could bring her deceased vocabulary skills back to life. It was good of you to go to all this trouble just to say hello.
I didnt. Go to all this trouble just to say hello.
She waited, unable to move toward him or away from him. The ache had traveled up to her throat, making it impossible for her to answer.
Ive been trying to find you for years, Sarah. And suddenly, there you were.
He still had a faint trace of an upper-class English accent, and the rich quality of his voice had intensified with time. He had always been able to dissolve her with a word, merely her name spoken as only Alex could say it, but she was an adult now, immune to his manipulation.
Ive been here for the last five years, she said. I own my own company. A graphics design firm. She wanted him to know she was in control of her own life and getting along just fine.
Im in and out of New York a lot. Wish Id known you were here. He went on rapidly. Well, now that Ive found you we must get together sometime. Ive filled up this weekend with business, Im afraid, and have to head back home after lunch tomorrow
Sure, Alex, business.
but Im coming back next weekend. Have dinner with me Friday night?
Id like to have you for dinner Friday night, you bastard. She forced breath into her lungs, forced her lips to move. Sorry, Im busy Friday.
Saturday?
Busy Saturday, too. And I never go out on Sundays. She hoped hed felt the point of the knife shed just jabbed into him. But it was great to see you. She turned away, longing for the safety and comfort of her own space, any space that didnt have Alex in it.
Sarah.
The old deep, slow rhythm slowed her steps. She couldnt help herself.
Heres my card. Call me if your plans change.
She took the card, tried to focus on it. She saw a San Francisco address. You went back to California.
Yes.
Your mother? She let her gaze rest on his face.
His wry smile added a touch of reality to the painful dream Sarah floated in. In England. In excellent health, as impossible as ever and slowly killing husband number five. And your aunt Becki?
Yes.
Your mother? She let her gaze rest on his face.
His wry smile added a touch of reality to the painful dream Sarah floated in. In England. In excellent health, as impossible as ever and slowly killing husband number five. And your aunt Becki?
The flood of sorrow rose inside her, as it always did. She died. Eight years ago, while I was still in school.
Oh, Sarah, I am sorry.
Well. She gave him a bright, social smile as she gathered up her bags and started toward her doorway. She didnt know what shed do if he followed her, offered to help with the bags, asked to come in. He didnt do any of those things. He just stood quietly, watching her.
Enjoy your stay in New York, she said over her shoulder.
She got up the steps and through the doorway, fumbling with her keys. She made it to the tiny elevator at the end of the hall, to her apartment on the fifth floor and at last, to solitude.
Then she cried.
ROOTED TO THE SIDEWALK, Alex found it difficult to bend his knees.
As he watched Sarah vanish into the town house, he felt as if his memories were burning him alive. Memories of the warm, silken feel of her stretched out over the full length of his body, or straddling him, clinging to his hair with her fingertips, or writhing beneath him, and finally lying quietly beside him, sated.
Suddenly edgy and needing to move around, he started slowly back toward Sixth Avenue. As soon as hed officially reached adulthood and financial independence hed begun searching for her, futilely trying to track her down through their mutual high-school friends, eventually surfing Internet telephone directories, state by state. Shed cut herself off, it seemed, vanished. He hadnt expected her to do that. Hed imagined shed be there when the time was right. And today, at last, shed appeared as if by magic.
It hadnt seemed possible. It still didnt seem possible.
He reached Sixth, stepped out onto the street and held up his hand. A taxi swerved, crossed two lanes and pulled up in front of him.
He wished the meeting had gone better, been easier, more comfortable, had given him some hope of forgiveness, yet he felt almost relieved by her hostility.
It meant she still cared.
Hey, buddy, you want a cab or not?
Alex gazed blankly through the window at the man, then climbed into the cab and tried desperately to restore his interest in the business deal that had seemed so important an hour ago.
2
I WILL NOT BE spoken to in that tone, Jeremy said. His voice shook. I know youre the boss, but it doesnt give you the right to be abusive. I have other options, Sarah. I turn down job offers right and left, higher pay, bigger assignments, because in the past he emphasized the words I have enjoyed working here. His chin quivered. But I cannot work for a person who tells me my artwork has to be cremated before burial.
Oh, Jeremy, Sarah said, genuinely remorseful. I am so sorry. First Ray, now Jeremy. Jeremy was her ace computer-art person; she couldnt get along without him. She couldnt get along without any member of her small staff. Business was picking up as advertising agencies, in-house publicity departments and independent print salespeople grew familiar with her name and her product, but it was still a struggle to meet the overhead and pay salaries that were well below market. One glitch, one late delivery on a contract, one angry client taking his work elsewhere and shed be bankrupt. Friendship and loyalty were all that kept these people with her, and she was alienating them one by one.
She slid her fingers through the silky waves of her hair, realizing that even her scalp itched. She felt feverish. She ached all over. But aspirin wasnt going to help. I am not myself today.
Or yesterday, Jeremy said. Or three weeks ago Monday.
Sarah straightened up and spoke briskly. Im having a few personal problems, she said, but it was both unkind and unprofessional of me to take it out on you. Please accept my apology.
What about the artwork for the Designer Discounts mailer? He eyed her suspiciously.
She cleared her throat. I would appreciate it if youd make one more stab at capturing the magic of a new shipment of Italian designer clothing.
You mean the artwork stinks.
In a manner of speaking.
He gave her a flashing smile. Then why didnt you just say so? He picked up the artwork and turned to leave Sarahs office. Hey, Macon, he said as the two of them met in her doorway.
Sarah saw the significant glance that passed between them as Jeremy exited.
Macon came in, shut the door and sat down. Well, you sure havent gotten
Dont say it!
Okay, Macon said, ever agreeable. Ill put it another way. Your date Saturday night wasnt all you hoped and dreamed it would be.
To say the least. Its hopes, disappointments and unexpected turns had left her hotter and more restless than ever.
What happened?
She fidgeted for a moment. I couldnt.
Couldnt what? I mean, if I were talking to a guy Id know what he meant, but
Irritation increased the prickly sensations in her skin. Macon, Sarah said. When did you become my counselor? Who hired you? Whos paying you?
Its pro bono work, Macon said. Im not charging you a dime.
Exactly what youre worth.
Sarah, what happened?
She couldnt sit still another minute. She swirled up and went to the windows of her office. They were filthy. Nothing unusual about that. The building management company wouldnt have them washed until a tenant threatened to write to the Housing Commission. From her eleventh-floor perch she could see through the grime a characteristically odd assortment of Chelsea rooftops. She saw water tanks and ventilation equipment surrounded by tarred surfaces already beginning to steam in the mild heat of spring. She saw elegant roof gardens, where trees and potted houseplants either flourished on their steady diet of toxic New York air or died, to be replaced at once by professional plant-maintenance crews. Nothing personal.
A Himalayan cat prowled among the expensive terracotta planters on one of the roofs, its long, pale hair fluffing up in the soft breeze. Maybe that was what she needed, a cat.
What I need is a window-washer, she murmured.
What?
Her self-appointed counselor waited. In the middle of a fleeting daydreamthe window-washer blowing kisses at her as he worked, her teasingly opening the window and watching as he came into her office, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was already aroused and ready for herSarah suddenly realized there could be no better repository for her anguished thoughts than the compact mass of pure objective intelligence who was so generously offering her his ear.
I met a really promising prospect, she told him, but when the moment of reckoning arrived, I couldnt go through with it.
Tough scene to get through, Macon said, shaking his head. Frustrating for both of you.
Unfair, she muttered, sinking back into her chair. And the worst part was that he was so nice about it. Hed said he understood. Hed handed her his card with an invitation to call anytime. Her life was filling up with business cards. They made damned poor lovers.