Woman on Top (20 page)

Several of Len’s partners were sitting at our table. I didn’t know where Len might be at the moment and his partners had consumed way too much champagne as they celebrated a deal they had just finalized.

“Kate, how are things with Len? You’ve been together… how long now?” George asked.

“Two years. We’ve made it two years.”

“Then you are quite the hero,” George said as he downed another glass of champagne. The other partners burst out laughing.

“Funny you say that. I was quite apprehensive about dating him, out of fear that.you know, as an investment banker he would be somewhat of a bastard,” I replied.

“Well you got the biggest bastard of all!” George laughingly volunteered to the table.

Feeling adrift, wondering where I belonged in this crowd, I realized that I wasn’t sure where Len was. Edging my way through the hordes, I found him standing at the edge of the very crowded dance floor.

Len was standing with his arms folded, staring at a woman. She looked very thin, very bleached blonde, and covered in makeup and jewelry. Most of the women had on long black dresses and she was no different.

I walked over to Len and nudged his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t she pretty?” he responded.

“Why are you staring?”

“I think she’s pretty.”

He continued to stand with his arms folded staring at the woman. Could I have done the same? Mock him, find some man to gawk at? No, it wasn’t me.

“When I’m negotiating a deal, I always look for the weaknesses of my opponents and then play on them continuously,” he said.

“Well, you’re playing on mine. Perfectly. Why? Am I just another one of those acquisitions that you end up gutting?”

The next day Zoë and I were walking the streets of the West Village on one of her frequent visits to New York.

“Maybe you should consult that psychic about Len,” Zoë said as she pointed to a sign outside a brownstone.

‘Readings by Maria. Third Floor.’

“I would but she’d have to promise not to tell me anything bad was going to happen,” I said.

“You could tell her that. But they usually tend to give the good news and the bad news.”

“I never told you what the psychic said about Jake?”

“I need to sit down to hear this,” Zoë said as we entered a small tea shop and ordered.

“Jake and I went to a party about a year before he got sick. One of my friends, a television news producer, held the party and she went all out. The food, the drinks …she had a DJ and even had a palm reader,” I said.

Zoë was sipping her tea and paying close attention. She’d obviously never heard this before.

“We were there about two hours, drank two glasses of wine, Jake was busy talking to some friends…so I walked over to the palm reader. She asked me to hold out my left hand, paused and spoke slowly as she appeared to be reading the lines on my hand. I wasn’t really into palm reading or psychics at the time, it was just something to do at a party,” I explained.

“I think I did it once. They tell you about your love line, your life line,” Zoë said.

“Right. But after a few minutes of saying stuff like that, she said ‘Your husband will get ill in a year’. I froze. Did she know about Jake’s first cancer? I couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth.”

“Did you tell Jake?” Zoë asked.

“No, of course not. He was so happy and content at the time. Chloe and Ben were precious. Things were so good. And then I completely forgot about what she said until Jake became ill. It was not like it hung over me, or I was waiting for something to happen. But when Jake got sick and I remembered her words, I had this eerie feeling. It’s hard to ignore when something like that happens.”

“I think we better not pay a visit to Readings by Maria. I dread to think what she might say about Len,” Zoë said as we walked out into the street.

•  •  •

Len and I were getting ready to go to a birthday party for one of his close friends the next night when I put on a white silk sleeveless blouse and an off white skirt with sandals.

“If you wear that, you’re not going!” Len looked at me with disgust.

“What’s wrong now?”

“You need a whole new wardrobe. That’s what’s wrong. I’ll buy it for you. The blouse is too see-through. I hate it when women wear blouses like that.”

“Really, then why’re you always gawking at them?”

“I don’t gawk. And your skirt is way too short. You’re a woman in her forties trying to look like a twenty year old.”

“My friends tell me I have nice legs and I’m not hiding them till I have to,” I said.

“You should look dignified.”

“You mean matronly. You gawk at other women but you don’t want me to be looked at.”

I had seen pictures of Judy. She was at least twenty-five pounds overweight and her skirts covered her knees and her blouses were buttoned at the collar.

“I feel like you’re chipping away at me, piece by piece. You’re constantly criticizing me,” I said.

Len didn’t respond. I could see in his eyes he was calculating the risks of what he was about to say.

“That’s just what Judy said to me,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Judy said the same thing to me.”

A victory at last. Was there an official scorekeeper taking notes?

“I’m going to the party and I’m wearing this outfit,” I said.

“Why do you have to show other men what is mine?”

“My friends tell me that their husbands love when they wear sexy clothes and they can show them off. Their husbands make them feel attractive. They don’t criticize each and every part of them.”

“You’re a reasonably attractive woman. The only motive any man would have to be interested in you is because of your personality.”

I sat down on the bed.

“I don’t know if I can endure this kind of loving. You’re wearing me down.”

He sat on the bed next to me.

“But we are so compatible. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he responded.

“I’m not the smartest person you’ve ever met. I just know what you’re up to.”

“The only time I ever relax and enjoy my life is when I’m with you,” he tried again. “I’ve never let anyone into my life the way I’ve let you in. I’ve never been so intimate with anyone. I hope I’ve made you feel half as good as you make me feel.”

“But what about Raskolnikov? How do I trust that man?”

It had taken me a few years after Jake’s death, to realize that I wanted to recreate the love affair that I had with Jake and to marry again. And now after two years of dating, Len and I were besieged by people asking when we were going to marry.

“I want a strong independent woman in my life, not a ‘yes’ woman again,” Len said one evening after a dinner with friends of his.

“I thought you told me you needed to be in control at least eighty percent of the time.”

“When did I say that?”

“Several months after we met. I didn’t think there was a man alive who thought that was a viable option with a woman these days, not with the women I know,” I said.

“I think I should be able to call the shots on how you dress, where we travel, who we spend time with, and if your comments at dinners with my friends are appropriate.”

“My old fashioned mother thinks I should just humor you. And then do what I want. Does that work?” I asked.

“Don’t humor me.”

Len’s scolding eyes frightened me.

“It used to be very comforting to surrender some of my control to you. But the price is getting very high. Your endless criticism of me makes me wonder if I can do anything right anymore. And you say that you want a strong woman in your life now but I think a strong woman just reminds you of your mother,” I said.

He looked away for a moment.

“I’m so fucked up. My family was so screwed up, I’m so sorry.”

We drove to Connecticut the following weekend to have dinner at Rachel’s house. On the way home, I asked Len if he could ever love me the way Rachel’s husband loved her.

“No. I could never love like that.”

“But that’s what I want. Your ambivalence reminds me of my mother.”

“But Edward looks like a deer stuck in the headlights,” Len insisted.

“When I think of a deer stuck in the headlights of a car, I see fear, imminent danger. Is that what love means to you?”

“People love in different ways. I can’t love a woman that much,” Len admitted.

“But that’s what I need.”

“You feel things more intensely than I do. That is one of your most alluring qualities. But I’m not you,” Len said.

“Well, I don’t want to put you in a place you don’t want to be.”

“You often see the world in black and white. And sorry to mix metaphors, but sometimes I have to watch and wait for the weather to change.”

Len the weatherman. It was a gloomy night as we drove along I-95 with few cars on the road.

This conversation was only adding to the bleak view outside.

“And when my friends ask when we’re getting married I tell them I’m waiting for my feminist girlfriend to ask me,” he chuckled.

“Is that what you’re waiting for?”

“No, this will be done my way when I’m good and ready. I’m not going to tell you when that will be.”

“Don’t you think I should have some say in this matter?” I asked.

“No.”

Len, the weatherman, did change his forecast when he invited Chloe, Ben and I to St. Bart’s again for two weeks for Christmas vacation.

“I want us to stay together in the same room this time,” he said as he made the reservations. “I want your kids to see that I have good intentions.”

“Are you joking? You know what staying in the same room means to my kids? It means we’re ‘doing it’ I can hear them now, ‘Mom, that’s so gross’.”

“But it does mean that we’re out in the open to your friends. And I appreciate that. What about your kids?” I added.

“Jennifer is going to Hawaii with Bernard, Peter is going skiing in Switzerland with friends, and Dale is studying. I’ll miss them but they’re adults now.”

Len bought a ticket for Chloe to fly from Barcelona to St. Bart’s and she, and Ben were staying in another room. Len then arranged for their room to be as far as possible from ours. We had possibly become a family in some sense, although his children were absent from the picture. And now we appeared to be going along for this version of a family ride.

CHAPTER 26

February

I
have to go on a business trip to Frankfurt over Valentine’s Day. Will you go with me?” Len asked one night as we lay in bed.

“I’ve never been to Frankfurt. It’s not the city you think of first for Valentine’s Day but of course I’ll come.”

“Well, the plane stops in Paris on the way to Frankfurt. So you’ll get at least an hour layover there. Should be enough time for a café au lait and a croissant.”

In preparation for the trip, I bought
Fodor’s Germany
and read up on Frankfurt.

“I’ve booked a room for us at the Steingenberger Frankfurter Hof, the best hotel in the city, of course,” Len said.

“Of course.”

On the day of our departure, Len instructed me to meet him at the Delta International Terminal at JFK at five. The cab dropped me off at the domestic terminal and by the time I made it over to the correct terminal, we nearly missed the flight. It was a good omen for the trip though that we boarded the plane without a single remonstration from Len. But mechanical problems with the landing gear on the 747 delayed our takeoff for four hours.

Landing in the City of Lights the next morning, the plane for Frankfurt had long departed.

“Let’s have lunch in Paris,” Len said.

“I haven’t been to Paris since high school. I’d love to. ”

We hopped into a cab and Len, always the dealmaker, tendered the terms.

“Here’s the deal. If you let me have my way eighty percent of the time over the weekend, we can stay in Paris until Monday when my meeting begins in Frankfurt.”

“Will a kiss seal the deal?”

“I’d like that,” Len said as he put his arms around me and began to kiss me passionately.

Len told the driver to take us to the Hotel Ritz, and I settled back to gaze out the windows at Paris, at last. I had yearned for years to return for a romantic weekend, and it seemed the moment had arrived.

As we checked in, it became apparent that Len already had a reservation for the weekend.

“What’s going on? I thought the plane delay was the reason we’re in Paris.”

“This was my plan all along. Our delayed plane just helped me along,” he said.

We went upstairs to our elegant and enormous Versailles-like room.

“This is like a dream,” I said while gazing at the Louis XVI décor, the fireplace, the fifteen-foot high ceilings, the lavish beddings and the view of the Place Vendome.