We Could Be Beautiful (10 page)

Lucia had moved on to the living room, where she was fiercely wiping down the coffee table. The water in the flower vase was low. She brought it to the sink to refill. The vases should be full at all times.

“William is better than Fernando, right?”

“Sí, Fernando was no very smart.”

“You never told me you thought that, Lucia!”

“His pants, no no no. No for a man, those pants.”

“I know, the leather pants were bad—you’re right.”

“Very bad, very, very bad.” Lucia set the vase back down on the table.

I took the last sip of my green juice. I always drank my green juice standing up in the kitchen while I checked the mail and talked to Lucia. Today it was bills, bills, bills, coupons, catalogs from Saks and Barneys, and a letter from the place that managed the trust fund Dad had left us, which I didn’t open; I never opened those. All I knew was that around $80,000 got direct-deposited to me every month. And actually, these people should stop sending me mail and get online. They were wasting paper. Maybe I would call and let them know. As if I had time for that. I threw all the mail into the recycling and sighed loudly enough for Lucia to say, “What wrong, Miss Catherine?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe you eat. You very skinny today.” Lucia sucked in her cheeks like a fish; this was her “skinny” impression.

“It’s the stress diet.” I frowned, touched my stomach. Of course I was happy she’d called me skinny, even if she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

“Ah, stress.”

We frowned.

“Lucia, do you like this?” I pointed at the tapestry.

She scrunched her face. “No.” Lucia’s opinion of art was the best—totally uninformed, unadulterated by hype and fame.

“Why not?”

Lucia pulled her lips back like a snarling dog, cocked her head. “This lady”—she motioned with the dirty rag in her hand—“she crazy.”

I sighed again. “Everybody’s crazy, Lucia.”

“No me.”

“Well, okay, not you.”

“No. Me.” She shook the rag back and forth to accentuate her point.

“I’m taking a shower.”

“Oka-ay, Miss Catherine.”

•

On Sunday I looked through the hole in the table at Dan’s scorpion tattoo—we could hear Max fumbling over a familiar-sounding song—and asked him, “So, what do you think of William?”

Dan adjusted the towel over me. “He seems great.”

“You would say that about anyone though.”

Dan laughed.

“You’re too nice. What do you really think?”

“I really think he’s great. I mean, his shoulders are tense. It’s a good thing I’m working on him.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“This new piece on the wall is interesting. Is it a sewing?”

“Crochet,” I said.

“It seems”—he paused but kept rubbing—“like it was made with a certain amount of desperation.”

“Do you like it?”

“I guess I appreciate it for what it is.”

I thought that was a great answer. Noncommittal without being rude. Appreciate it for what it is. I would use that later.

•

In the evening, before dinner, we stopped by the shop. I wanted William to see what I had built. I was nervous. I opened the door for him.

“Ladies first,” he said.

“Of course, right.” I walked in.

Maya, who worked weekends, was talking to a customer. Great. She was so much more sociable than Vera. I thought it was because she was younger. She also played better music. I didn’t even know what the music was, but it was very hip. There were five customers, normal for a weekend. The space was so small, it couldn’t fit many more. She had the candles burning, labels out. The vases were fully filled. When I’d hired her, Maya had described herself as being “a touch OCD,” which worked to my benefit.

“This is quite luxurious,” William said. “I’m impressed.”

“Really?”

He put his hand on the small of my back. “Really.”

“Good. You should take a look at some of the cards. Dorothy Adkinson and Bird are my favorites.”

“Okay,” he said, and made his way—stately gait—to the card wall.

I thought I would go to the back, check the e-mail, but then decided not to. I stayed by the front display and watched this scene: William taking the cards off the wall, opening them, putting them back. Eventually (maybe he saw the sign) he stopped opening them. Smart man.

Maya waved when she noticed me. I waved back, gave her a thumbs-up. I was being my perfect enthusiastic boss self. Her bun, which usually looked like a doorknob, front and center on the top of her head, was cute today. She wore red lipstick and a simple black dress, sleeveless to show off the sleeves of her tattoos, which ran all the way down to her wrists and which included, among many other things (too many other things—it was overcrowded), a voluptuous mermaid with a sex kitten smile. The mermaid kind of looked like Maya, which I assumed was no accident, though I had never asked.

At the register she rang up the customer she’d been talking to—an old woman with salt-and-pepper hair who wore a long beaded sweater and was talking about Paris.

“I adore Paris,” Maya said in her pat way. I knew she had never been because she had told me once she’d never left the country. She didn’t even have a passport. It was a miracle she’d crawled out of Idaho at all.

“The Tuilleries this time of year…” the woman reminisced with herself.

“I agree,” Maya said.

She had sold this woman almost twenty cards. At ten bucks apiece, the total was more than the woman expected. “Golly,” she said, digging into her tasseled purse.

“They’re originals,” Maya said. “You could send this one”—a stencil of a carousel by Marsha Pern—“to your friends in Paris. They love carousels over there.”

“I suppose that’s true,” the woman said with new interest, and swiped her card.

Maya was a genius. The woman left looking pleased.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you in so long!” Maya gave me a tight hug.

“I know, I’ve been busy.” I sounded terser than I meant to. Boss voice. I couldn’t help it. And while I was flattered by Maya’s friendliness—she acted like she really liked me—I was also unnerved by it.

William made his way over. “I want you to meet someone. This is William. William, Maya.”

They shook.

“Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

We all looked around. “Well,” I said.

“Is there a loo?”

“Yes, right there.”

“Great. I shall return.”

Once he had closed the door, Maya said, “That’s your new boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“He looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m not sure that’s accurate, but okay.”

“It’s a compliment.” She touched my shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

I realized then that what unnerved me about Maya wasn’t just her friendliness but the feeling that she could see through me. Her ability to read people was what made her such a good salesperson. The way she touched my shoulder—it was like she knew how badly I needed that.

•

At dinner he said, “I am meeting everyone in your life. When do I meet Caroline?”

Somehow William had not met (or remet) Caroline or Mom. Caroline and Bob were currently out of town: they’d left the kids with the nannies and taken an extended vacation to Mexico to reignite their fire. And Mom—well, I visited her on weekdays and William worked then. I kept meaning to take him during the weekend, but something always came up: the Diego Rivera exhibit, a new play, a bike ride on the Hudson because the weather was good now and it might not be later.

Really, though, it was more than just a scheduling issue. I was protecting him. I tested it every time I saw Mom. I wanted to see if I could get a new reaction, but that wasn’t happening. At “William Stockton,” she shut down. I thought it was so unfair, and just like Mom, to be mad all these years later over a stupid vase.

I hadn’t told William anything about Mom’s reaction to him after that first time. When he knew I’d been to see her, he’d ask me how it went, and I would say it went well. He never asked for specifics. But now, what else was there to do? We were just going to have to deal with it.

“Yes,” I said, “you should meet Caroline. And you should probably see my mother at some point, too.”

“I would love to meet Caroline, absolutely. But,” he said, touching his hair, “I’m not sure seeing your mother is a good idea.”

That surprised me. “What?” He had never said this before because I had never directly said, “Let’s go visit my mother” before. It was just kind of distantly on the horizon.

“Do you think it’s a good idea? You mentioned she is harboring negative feelings toward me.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m nervous, too, but she’ll love you, babe. Eventually. After she forgives you for breaking the stupid vase.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell her I am the same William Stockton she used to know. Perhaps we can just say William for now. I would hate to upset her.”

“William, no. It’s a
vase,
and you broke it
years
ago.”

He took this in, nodded. “You’re right,” he said, and kissed my hand.

“When she sees you, she’ll see how handsome you turned out and forgive you. If she brings up the vase, you can just apologize.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said.

“So tell me about work.”

“Work?”

“I like your assistant. Fiona? She seems nice on the phone.”

“She is nice.”

“You never tell me details. I want details.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a man thing to be vague. That sounds very sexist.”

“It does.” He laughed. He took a sip of water. “What details might I tell you about Fiona?” He set his chin on his fist. “Well, she is from Canada, I know that.”

“What does she look like?”

“I would say…she’s a very nice person.”

“Got it,” I said. “Well, I’d like to meet her. And your colleagues.”

“Absolutely.”

“You must miss your friends in Geneva.”

“I do sometimes, yes.”

“Are you glad you came back?”

“I am,” he said. He looked straight into my eyes. He didn’t blink. “If I hadn’t come back, I never would have found you.”

•

Buoyed by Maya’s reaction to William, and Lucia’s and Dan’s, I was finally ready for him to meet Susan. Susan couldn’t do dinner, so we arranged to meet for drinks beforehand. William left work early to make room for this in his schedule. In his suit and tie, he looked severe. I knew that’s what Susan would think.

We met at an upscale sushi place with slate walls and patches of grass in small ceramic squares on every table. We were sitting by the open window, holding hands and having a conversation about the traffic William had hit on the way up, and traffic in New York in general, when Susan appeared in a light blue jumper and oversized buggy sunglasses, her arms full of shopping bags.

She circled through the main door. “Hello, lovebirds,” she said. “William, I’m Susan.” She gave a firm shake. “And hey, you.” She kissed my cheek. “It’s been
way
too long.” She sat next to me on the banquette, said, “Sorry, sorry,” to the people next to us as she arranged her bags under the table.

“What did you get?”

“Oh my God, there’s this new place. I don’t even know the name. Dividend? Divider? Who cares. You have
got
to go there.”

“Okay,” I said, “text me the address.”

“I will do that right now.” She grabbed her phone. A second later she said, “Done.”

“Thanks.”

“So, William, wow, it’s great to finally meet you.”

“And you,” he said. “Catherine has told me only good things.”

“She better tell you only good things.” Susan smiled. She looked good today. Invigorated. Had she had something done?

“So you just moved back from Switzerland. It must seem dirty to you here.”

“Well,” William laughed, “Geneva is rather clean.”

“Everywhere’s clean compared to this hole.” She looked at the menu. Susan and I had a long history of drinking fruity drinks at Asian places, so of course she said, “Let’s order cosmos.”

“Great,” I said.

“I was thinking a bottle of chardonnay,” William said. “It will pair nicely with the food.”

“I’m not eating, so I’m having a cosmo,” Susan said.

My face was hot. I definitely needed a drink. “How’s Bonsai? I told you Susan owns a shop right near mine, didn’t I, William?”

“You did indeed.”

Susan was checking her phone again. “Look at this picture—how funny is that?”

“Ha,” I said. It was a picture of a cat using a toilet. I thought, Don’t show that to William.

“William, look at that.” She held the phone up for him. “How funny is that?”

“Gosh,” he said.

This was not going well.

“William, do you still have family in New York?”

“No, I have no family. My parents passed away recently.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Susan applied lip gloss and rubbed her lips together. “What about other people? Did you keep in contact with anyone here?”

“No,” he said, “unfortunately not. I was quite young when I lived here. Most of the people I knew have moved away.”

“Catherine and I are so lucky to still be friends. It’s rare.” She put her arm around me. “So you better not hurt my baby!” She made crazy eyes and laughed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” William said.

The waiter appeared. Susan ordered her cosmo. William ordered a glass of chardonnay. I said, “I will also have chardonnay, thank you.”

“Shall we get a bottle then?”

“Sure.”

“A bottle of the chardonnay, please,” William said to the waiter.

Susan finished her drink in ten minutes flat and said she was late for a wax, which I knew was a lie. She must have forgotten she’d told me she’d made the switch to electrolysis months before.

“So great meeting you,” she said to William, all her bags in her arms again. To me she said, “Call me, bitch.”

When she was out of earshot, William said, “Bitch?”

“She’s from California.”

“Well, she certainly is energetic.”

I laughed. “That’s true.”

A few minutes later we were talking about van Gogh and his ear—William thought it had been a courageous form of insanity that drove him to do it—but I was having trouble paying attention. “Is something bothering you, dear?”