After the Reunion (38 page)

“Yes,” Kit said.

“I’ll see you Thursday. It’ll be fun.”

Fun
? Kit thought.
Who is this person who used to be my mother
?

“Right,” Kit said.

And then we can both sit there in that interview and lie
.

And they did. They had both been covering things up for a long time now, and they were very good at it. Emily did not tell about Ken’s cocaine or his violence, and Kit did not talk about her own promiscuity. Neither mentioned Emily’s nervous breakdown, nor that she had almost let her children die. Kit said she was much too involved in her career right now to think about any special man or about marriage. The reporter didn’t even ask Emily about her love life, which Kit thought was rather unkind since her mother looked like she could certainly have one if she wanted it.

They talked on, skirting the cruel realities and touching lightly on the truths that would not hurt each other or themselves. Emily said she had always expected Kit to go to Radcliffe as she had, but she was glad her daughter had done what she preferred and was succeeding at it, and wished she, too, had been given career options at a young age.

It would have been a more interesting publicity story, Kit thought, if she and her mother had told all the shocking parts. But something in her would never allow her to tell those millions of strangers who would read the magazine, and something in her mother apparently felt the same way. Her father didn’t deserve to be protected, but he would be. Even her mother, although other people might understand and sympathize, could not be betrayed for what she had done out of desperation so long ago. They were protecting themselves, but they were also protecting each other, and even … their family. All these years they had been having their weekly dinners, going through the motions of being a family and not having the faintest idea of what one was. Maybe what it was, was being loyal to people who didn’t deserve it, but doing it anyway; out of stubborn pride, and even a kind of wacky, primal, inexplicable love.

Peter arrived in time for the family portrait. The three of them put their arms around one another and smiled and posed for the camera. They pretended to be a perfectly normal, if talented and gutsy, American family. For all Kit knew, maybe they were.

Chapter Thirty-four

That summer Annabel began commuting back and forth to California to see Zack, and in no time at all she became very adept at it. She knew the airline schedules by heart, had her favorite seat, and kept toilet articles, makeup, and clothes at his house, so all she had to do was get on the plane, bringing perhaps something new she wanted to wear; and a book to read, because how many times could you see the same movie when it wasn’t one you’d wanted to see in the first place? It didn’t take long for her to accumulate mileage credits, and then she was upgraded to First Class, which she always adored.

Somehow it seemed a much shorter trip when she was on her way to see him than when she had to go home. Traveling to be with the man she missed so much she couldn’t stand it was romantic, an adventure. She enjoyed the anticipation. Leaving him because she had begun to feel restless, an appendage, was sad, and yet, for her, unavoidable. She took the Red Eye to give her the most time possible with him, and also because the three-hour time change brought her into New York at dawn so she didn’t have to walk into a lonely, empty apartment at night. She would shower and change and go right to work, even though she was tired. And then, at the end of the day, she would bring Sweet Pea home with her, and slip peacefully between her smooth sheets in her own bed, missing Zack but feeling a little guilty because she already was caught up in the hectic pace of her independent life in New York and she liked it.

Poor Sweet Pea did not want to be a bicoastal cat. Annabel had taken Sweet Pea with her to California once, in her cat carrier, but Sweet Pea had hated the plane trip, yowling and crying even when Annabel took her out and put her on her lap. And even more, Sweet Pea hated being locked in Zack’s house all day alone while Annabel was on the set with him. Sweet Pea was a creature of habit, and liked the boutique, in her basket or her own place on the window sill, where she could watch all the people; and she liked living with Annabel or visiting Maria or Pamela—and she was a city cat who could never be allowed outdoors. In California she would try to escape, and then she would get killed, by a car or an animal.

“You don’t have to go out there anymore,” Annabel told her. “But just remember you’re
my
cat for ever and ever, even if you do insist on living in New York and won’t commute.”

Zack was editing his picture now. Annabel watched him cutting with the film editor at the Moviola; and she spent hours with him in the room where he mixed the sound; watching the men at the huge computerized console that reminded her of the organ at Radio City Music Hall, as Zack painstakingly went over and over every little bit of film. She began to realize that movies were made once on the set and again in the editing. At first she found it fascinating, but finally very, very tedious. When lunch in the cafeteria at the sound studio became the main event of her day she realized just how tedious the rest of it was to her. Yet she knew how important it was to Zack, and to the picture, to have every detail perfect. He would probably find her career equally boring, unless he were using it for research for a film.

They knew each other so well now, and respected each other’s needs and differences. Their time alone together was precious. But when she left he never resented it; and when she came back he was always overjoyed, as if she were doing him a favor—when in fact she felt the favor was for herself.

Over Labor Day Zack took a long weekend off and came to New York to see her. Emma had gone to India on another picture, full of excitement and shots for every known disease, and this time Zack stayed in Annabel’s apartment. Being in it with him was like a holiday. They went to restaurants, and the theater, made love every night, had breakfast together every morning.

“If I do a picture in New York we can live here in your apartment,” Zack said.

“That would be so wonderful!” Annabel said.

“And if I go to Europe, will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

“You can leave when you get bored.”

“I might leave Europe, but I’ll never leave
you,
” Annabel said.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said. “I want to add to your life, not make you give anything up.”

“You’re always so worried about that.”

“I’m committed to you, so I have to worry about that.”

He had begun to say words like those to her now:
committed
. He said she would have to be the one who left him, not the other way around, and Annabel felt safe because she had no intention of leaving him no matter how often she went away. This time she could believe in happiness without fear or reservation.
I am not any of the men you knew before. I am the one you know now
.

“Naturally I’d like it even better if your work was right here,” she said. “But it isn’t at the moment.”

“I’ll try to find a movie I can make in New York.”

“And if you make one in some exotic, far off place it won’t be so bad either.”

He had brought some of his clothes to keep in her apartment, and a set of his toilet articles were in her bathroom. When he had to go away again it still seemed as if he lived there. He told her he liked to look at her things when he was alone in California, and pretend she was just in the next room, not in New York.

“I’m the one who was so afraid of good-byes,” she said.

“But ours are only temporary.”

It was strange, Annabel thought, how she had always been at the forefront of changes, even ahead of them. At Radcliffe she had been the dorm pariah because of her honest sex life, which as she looked back at it hadn’t been so wild at all. She had been the first woman in what passed for her social group in Atlanta to leave her husband. She had been a career woman and a single mother. Of course, there had been Max to help her bring up Emma, but still … And now she was in a commuting relationship.

It might or might not become a marriage, but if it did it would be a commuting marriage. That would not change. Maybe one day in the future, somewhere on their travels, overwhelmed by the romance of a beautiful place, they might decide to rush off and do it. Or maybe not …

She did want something else though—more freedom to be with him whenever she wanted to. She had been thinking about it for a while. She had decided to sell forty-nine percent of Annabel’s to Maria and Pamela, keeping fifty-one percent for herself. They would be delighted to have more responsibility, she would still have the power, and she knew they would work harder and be completely loyal because it was
their
business too now. When she told them her offer they were overjoyed.

Now she could spend a week, with the weekends around it, every month in California with Zack when he was working there, and she could go to Europe or anywhere else he happened to be. He would of course come in to spend time with her when he was between movies, although that was never very long; but now they would be able to travel together and take vacations. She would certainly continue to go to the collections, with one or the other of her new partners, because she was still the heart and spirit of the business. She would want to go to the collections even if Zack were working in New York. And she would always have her own money. That was something, just as much as personal freedom, that she could never give up.

He had said they would have to find a way to work everything out. She had found it. It might not suit someone else, but it was perfect for her—the best of both worlds.

After their Labor Day weekend Zack went back to California to show the rough cut of his picture to the studio, and he called to tell her they thought it was wonderful. The studio powers were talking about an early release and Academy Award nominations. Annabel fantasized about what she would wear to the ceremonies.

He was working on the final cut, calling her every night very late. “When I finish this,” he said, “I wish you would come out here to celebrate with me. If you can get away …”

“I can.”

She came to California for a long weekend. Zack bought Dom Perignon and beluga malassol caviar, her favorites. Annabel made him come to Tiffany’s in Beverly Hills to choose a watch because she wanted him to have it for a celebration present. She saw the perfect one: it had two faces, one for each of their time zones, so he would always know what time it was where she was when she wasn’t with him, and would think of her.

“I think I should get one for you, too,” he said, and did. They had their presents gift-wrapped. Then they went back to his house, where he had had a special dinner sent in for later for the two of them, from Chasen’s, and they both got very dressed up. There was a big moon and thousands of stars, and he had put lighted candles in glass candle holders out by the pool. Against the dark blue sky were the black silhouettes of palm trees and foliage. Below his house there were all the lights of Los Angeles, strung out like a gigantic glittering board game.

Zack looked down at it. “It’s not much, but it’s mine,” he said.

Then they went into the house and gave each other the watches they had bought.

“This is for you,” she said. “For all the minutes and hours and days and years of our lives together.”

“And this,” he said, “is so you’ll know that wherever we are you’ll still be with me, and I’ll be with you, so we’ll never be apart.”

They kissed and he opened the champagne. She thought this celebration was certainly a lot better than her first wedding, and she knew their intentions would definitely last a great deal longer.

When Annabel got back to New York, she, Maria, and Pamela signed the papers transferring part ownership of the stock in the boutique. It seemed significant for this to be happening in autumn, which had always seemed to her to be the time of a new beginning; perhaps because of all those years she had been starting school again in the fall. You could breathe the air again, the leaves were turning color, and in the streets people walked with a new determination. So many lives had been changed, it seemed, for the better. Chris called, excited, to say she had been promoted to Executive Editor at
Fashion and Entertainment
, of both magazines,
East
and
West
. Emily’s newest cookie outlet was opening in New York, she had become somewhat of a media celebrity, and she had bought an apartment on Fifth Avenue, with a terrace overlooking Central Park; to be her real home, even though she would be commuting everywhere too. And Daphne was flourishing in her happy marriage to Michael.

On the spur of the moment Annabel decided to give a little party; just for the four old school friends, as she now thought of them; at her apartment, to celebrate everything. It would be a cocktail party after work, the night before she had to leave for Europe for the collections with Maria. There would be champagne, of course, and caviar, and the thin sandwiches she sometimes served at the boutique; anything she didn’t have to make herself.

“This is a ‘You’ve Come a Long Way Baby party,” she told Chris, “but nobody is allowed to smoke.”

Her living room was filled with white flowers, and she had brought home some of the tapes she played as background at Annabel’s. Modern music, no nostalgia. None of her collection of music from the Twenties to remind her they had been Max’s favorites and make her sad, no songs from the Fifties to remind anyone of those innocent, idiotic days at college that had ruined such a portion of their lives. She wanted only songs that had come out this month. Emma would have loved it. But Emma was in India with her Walkman.

They came at six. Daphne and Emily had never seen Annabel’s apartment, and said it was marvelous. Except for painting, she hadn’t redecorated since she’d moved in, but flowers covered a lot of faults. “This is great,” Emily said. “When I get my new apartment finished, which will be some day in the next millennium,
I
will give a party.”