The Suite Life (37 page)

Heart racing, I breezed into the meeting and through the production details that I'd rehearsed in the cab on the way over. The few questions anyone had were by and large about the dollar figures associated with each budget item.

When Doris finally asked, “Are there any other questions for Samantha?” her two partners, Spiro and Emmanuel Stavros, shook their heads. I hadn't seen them for quite some time and this guy Spiro seemed to be giving me a hot flash.
A girl like me should not be having these thoughts.

“What's that perfume you're wearing?” Spiro asked warmly.
I don't think that's the kind of question Doris had in mind.
“It's as lovely as you are.”

“Eau d'Hadrien, and thank you very much.” I blushed, taken aback for a brief moment.

“And thank you, Samantha, for coming in on such short notice,” Doris said, rising.

“Yes, thank you,” Spiro chimed in, “and please, let me walk you out.”

“You don't have to do that,” I said as I pushed away from the table.

“It's no trouble,” Spiro said with a smile. “I'm on my way to ‘21' for a stuffy business lunch anyway.”

“You did a great job in there, Samantha,” he said as we waited for the elevator.

Yeah, right. A snow job.
“It's kind of you to say that.”

“The people I do business with aren't much concerned with kindness,” he said. “It's all dollars and cents to them, and they liked your bottom line.”

“You're not shy about making money, are you?” I asked as the doors opened.

“I'm not shy about anything,” he said with a grin as he ushered me into the elevator.

Spiro escorted me to the lobby and out into the cold, gray, blustery early afternoon, and then he insisted on hailing a cab for me even after I told him two or three times that that wasn't necessary. As I watched and hoped for luck at the curb, Spiro stood five feet out into the street with his right arm raised, his chestnut ponytail gleaming against the collar of his camelhair topcoat.

After three excruciating minutes, Spiro turned to me. “Perhaps I should have let you fend for yourself.”

Wouldn't be the first time.

“Do you want to wait inside?”

“I'm okay,” I said, lying, and shivering from head to toe.

As Spiro started to turn back to the street, a gust of wind caught the brim of my hat and carried it to the sidewalk ten feet away. Before I could say a word, he was already in motion, and I
was thankful to be in the presence of another man who moved fast.

Winds being what they are—relentless—and New Yorkers being what they are—blasé—my hat resumed its sailing as Spiro cut through the crowd and leaped onto a concrete planter like a running back evading would-be tacklers, raised his right arm again, and snatched my hat from its perch atop a naked hedge.

Hopping off the planter and strolling back to me hat in hand, he was grinning broadly as he dusted it off, fit it snugly on my head, and paused for a long moment to survey his handiwork. His eyes were silvery gray, and they danced with life as his hands slipped to my shoulders, seemingly in slow motion.

“Can't have a hot producer losing her fancy chapeau, now, can we?”

I was loving that hot producer comment, but it also kind of took me aback.

Then, spying an available taxi, he sprang into action again. He held the door open, ushered me inside with those eyes, and leaned in, one arm on the door and the other on the roof. “Until next time, Samantha,” he said softly, giving me a peck on the cheek and closing the door before I had even a chance to thank him for rescuing my hat . . . and me from what had started out as a rather stressful day.

I felt like I'd been to a coming-out ball when I got back to the apartment. I kicked off my Manolo boots, slipped out of my sweater and jeans, and wrapped myself in a robe before settling into the rose-colored ottoman, which matched the plush pile carpeting in my apartment-size dressing room, to contemplate what I'd just experienced.

Although I appreciated the positive reinforcement I'd received for my work, I appreciated even more the positive reinforcement I'd received as a woman, which is something I'd been lacking for a very long time. Dying to share it with someone, I
reached for my cell and dialed Olivia in her office, hoping she'd pick up her extension.

“It's been too long, Samantha,” she said, answering the phone and my prayer. “How are you doing?”

“Well, funny you should ask. The strangest thing just happened. There was this man . . . I mean out of nowhere.” It all came out in a rush as I filled her in quickly before pausing to catch my breath.

“They're never out of nowhere, trust me. You sound like a girl who just came back from a first date.”

“I know. Crazy, isn't it?”

“Slow down, sister,” Olivia said. “Maybe he was just being a nice guy.”

Starved as I was for affection, she had a point. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe he's like all the rest of them, just looking for the next conquest.”

“Perhaps . . .”

“Take a cold shower and call me in the morning,” Olivia said.

“Maybe you're right, but I just can't help feeling that when he said I was hot, he wasn't talking about my career as a producer.”

“All the more reason for taking that cold shower,” Olivia said, and I laughed with her then.

“What do you think I should do?”

“What
can
you do?” Olivia exhaled. “Wait, like we all do.”

“Thanks for being there, Olivia.”

“No worries,” she replied, and we said our good-byes.

My friend's wise words aside, I still had more than enough worries that wouldn't be fading away for quite some time. The positive reinforcement I had received did nothing to alleviate the stress of the prison I was in, my deep concern for Isabella's well-being, or the doubts I had about my own murky future. And now a huge “maybe” had been added to that list.

Am I reading too much into what could well be a meaningless encounter?

I wasn't going to come up with an answer on that ottoman, so I headed for my desk to fire up my laptop, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. On my way out of my dressing room, I glanced at the painting of the Blessed Mother hanging in a recess among the white lacquer shelves and said a fast prayer before turning out the light.

I didn't expect to find the answer to that “maybe” anytime soon, but it was right there on the screen as soon as I opened my email:

You're amazing, Samantha. This will be a great production.

Spiro

My heart was racing again, and an ocean of cold water wouldn't have been enough to counteract the heat coursing through my body.

After taking a few calming breaths, I dashed off a short but carefully considered response.

Thank you for your kind words. Till we meet again, as they say in the theater.

Samantha

I was still stunned after hitting “Send” and just sat there staring at the screen. I pictured Spiro at ‘21' discussing whatever deal he was working on, and wondered when I'd hear back from him.

I didn't have to wait more than a couple of minutes for the telltale chime on my laptop:

There is something wrong in a world where your openness, unselfishness, and regard for others don't amaze at least one person every day. As if that weren't enough, your combination of confidence and innocence is indeed rare, and totally irresistible. I'd be less than honest if I didn't add that I've never before come across your intoxicating combination of wide-eyed girl and mature woman in the same person.

Shame on anyone who doesn't notice what is as clear as day, or doesn't say a word about how amazing you truly are.

Spiro

I didn't know how he could be participating in a lunch meeting while meeting with me online, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but those words at that moment—not the trials and heartaches of my past, not the prison and heartaches of my present, and not the uncertainty about my future. All that mattered to me was that an honest man seemed somehow to have recognized the Samantha who had to deal with it all.

Of course, I knew that Spiro could have been just another powerful man who enjoyed tossing a lifeline to a vulnerable girl. But I also knew that if I reached for it with both hands this time it would be on my terms. Instead of a desperate grab for any life preserver in a stormy life, I'd be reaching for a strong hold on the peaceful life I always wanted.

I told Spiro again how surprised and touched I was, and we exchanged a few more emails acknowledging our circumstances—his arranged marriage to a wonderful but incompatible Greek woman, and my marriage-in-name-only to a self-destructive man—which made any kind of meaningful and regular relationship between us difficult if not impossible. We bemoaned our fate and agreed to let go and let God.

Spiro began emailing me every other day. Over the next several months I found myself dreaming up reasons to attend social functions that would be excuses for me to see him. Alec didn't seem to care that I was out and about by myself in the evenings. He was only too happy to have me occupied while he drifted into his office and away in a haze of marijuana smoke.

When May 2007 rolled around and the warm weather set in again, Alec arranged the first weekend blowout of the season at the Long Island compound. In the helicopter on the way out
I looked down at the line of cars on the expressway and found myself wondering if Spiro was driving one of those indistinguishable vehicles on the road below. Then I immediately felt guilty.

How could something so wrong feel so right?

The DeMarco family was its usual dysfunctional self, which mattered less than ever to me. While Alec's sister and mother wallowed in the misery that was mostly of their own creation, and assorted guests joined them in milking the trappings of wealth, I thought about when I'd be able to steal away and spend time with the normal person with whom I had an anything but normal relationship.

So on Sunday I decided to fly back to New York by myself and do the unthinkable—have a coffee with Spiro. I doubt that Alec even noticed my absence.

“I want to leave my own mark,” Spiro confessed solemnly as we sat in an almost-deserted coffee shop on Madison Avenue.

“I had no idea that you wanted to separate yourself from your brothers. Why didn't you mention it before?” I asked.

Spiro sighed. “It's been hard enough just to be together . . . We haven't really been alone.”

“And what is it you want to do? What do you want to be remembered for?”

“My dream is to build a chain of state-of-the-art retirement communities that have on-site recreation and activities, companion services, and senior care. Each facility would have everything right on site, including a full-service hospital. I guess you could say that I want to be in the business of helping others.”

I know all about dreams.
“So what's stopping you?” I asked.

“I don't control the money, Samantha. I have two brothers.”

I know about that, too.
“You
will
someday control your own fortune, Spiro.”

“But that's only part of it,” he continued, and then he paused
and gazed into my eyes. “I want to be with someone who shares my dream, Sam.”

That was the first time he'd called me by that name, and it never meant more to me than it did then. “My dream is to be with someone who just wants to curl up on a couch with me and eat popcorn.” I sighed.

“I'd do that right now if I could,” Spiro said solemnly.

Propriety be damned. I wish he'd take my hand right now.

“I want to leave my mark, too,” I said softly after a few quiet moments.

Spiro smiled. “You're well on your way, from what I can tell.”

“That's just it, Spiro,” I said. “I do enjoy producing, and it brought us together, but it's not how I plan to make a name for myself.”

“And what do you really want to be doing?”

“Writing. Getting my novel published. That's how
I
dream of making my mark.”

“So you're an author,” he said, without a hint of condescension or doubt in his voice. His eyes found mine again. “You still amaze me, Sam.”

Spiro held my eyes for another moment.

“I'd love to read your novel.”

I smiled and touched his hand.

As the days went by Spiro and I continued to exchange emails about separate lives and the platonic relationship we had. There was always a hint of the spark we'd felt on that day when he rescued my hat, and there was no denying the desire building up inside me.

Over the summer, Alec continued to revel in his millions and his minions, but from time to time there was a hint in his facial expressions and halting speech that something was bothering him. He still spouted his maxims about “team” and “commitment before ego,” but they didn't seem to have the
same ring of conviction. The one thing I knew was that whatever was bothering him this time had nothing to do with me. I'd certainly been the source of his bad moods before, but this was different.