The Apartment (7 page)

Claire and her mother had a close relationship, and now that she was older, she appreciated even more the education her mother had provided for her, with her small but steady informal decorating jobs, that she passed below her husband's radar so he didn't get upset. Claire thought her mother should have established her own interior design firm years before, openly, regardless of what her father thought, but that wasn't Sarah's style. Her entire marriage had been spent soothing his ego, bolstering his self-esteem, and encouraging him after he failed again. Her mother had never given up on him. She even helped him sell real estate by staging houses for him. Claire thought she was a saint.

Sarah loved hearing about New York from Claire. Thirty years after she'd left and moved to San Francisco with her husband, she still missed it, and the more interesting life she had led there. And their life in San Francisco had shrunk steadily over the years. Embarrassed over his many failures, Jim no longer wanted to travel or entertain, and Claire thought they led a sad life. He hated the opera, symphony, and ballet, which her mother loved, never went to the theater, and they had few friends. The only two bright spots in Sarah Kelly's life were her daughter and her work, which didn't seem like enough to Claire. She wished she could do more for her mother to repay her for everything she'd done for her growing up. But she seldom went to San Francisco, except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it always depressed her when she did. She wished that she could kidnap her mother and take her back to New York with her, and free her from the dreary life she led. She deserved so much better, but her mother insisted she was fine. Things hadn't turned out as she'd hoped, but she was an intrinsically cheerful person and never complained. And she was happy for Claire that she was living in New York, which was where she would have liked to be herself.

“When are you going back to Italy?” her mother asked her as they chatted. She lived vicariously through her, and loved knowing that Claire got to Europe for work.

“Not for a few months. Maybe after Christmas, when our spring line is in production. I'm still working on the designs.” She didn't tell her mother how bored and unhappy she was at work. She didn't want her to worry about her. She had enough on her plate, listening to her husband complain. Claire didn't want to add to it.

They chatted for half an hour and then Claire hung up, happy to have talked to her. And by then, Claire realized that Abby had reached Ivan, and was questioning him intensely, which Claire thought was a mistake. It was more attention than he deserved after disappearing and not returning her calls.

“Why didn't you call me back?” Abby asked him, sounding strident. “I left you six or seven messages yesterday, and five today, and I texted you too.”

“You know I hate technology,” he said. “And my cell phone died. I couldn't find the charger. I just found it under the bed.”

“So what did you think of Daphne's play?” Abby got right to the point, and sounded jealous, which Ivan could hear clearly. Claire silently cringed when she heard the question.

“It's very good,” he said, seriously. “Not as good as yours, but I can honestly tell her father she has talent. I'm going to call him tomorrow, but I wanted to call you first and make sure you were okay. I was worried about you.” But not worried enough to call earlier, yet Abby was instantly snowed by what he said. All she heard was that he was worried, which was what she wanted to hear, that he cared about her. Her parents had been busy when she was growing up, and never there. They left her with a nanny, while they pursued their careers, and she had been starving for affection ever since. They loved her, but just didn't have enough time for her. Even now, she had to speak to assistants when she called them. Her father was always in a meeting, and her mother was on the set of a new TV series.

“What are you doing tonight?” Abby asked him in a gentler tone, hoping he'd suggest they get together.

“I have a meeting with another potential backer. We need money to pay the rent.” And the theater wasn't profitable yet. It never had been. He borrowed from Peter to pay Paul, and was always begging money from ex-girlfriends or friends. He owed everyone a fortune. And he was right, they needed an angel very badly. Maybe Daphne's father would be it. “I'll see you at the theater tomorrow,” he said in a loving tone, and a moment later he hung up.

“Where was he?” Claire asked her, trying not to sound as angry as she felt, on her friend's behalf. But Abby looked relieved to have heard from him, and seemed satisfied with what he'd said.

“His cell phone died, and he couldn't find the charger, so he didn't get my messages. He was reading Daphne's play, and he's meeting with a potential backer.” It all sounded like gibberish and lame excuses to Claire. Ivan was the consummate bullshitter, but it always worked, because Abby wanted to believe him, and disappointment had become a way of life for her. It didn't even surprise her anymore.

“What did he think of her play?”

“He said it was good. And supposedly her father is willing to put up some money. Ivan really needs the help.” Claire thought he needed a good swift kick in the ass instead, but she only nodded. There was nothing left she could say. They had said it all in recent years.

Abby told Ivan again how worried she had been when she saw him at the theater the next day.

“I was suddenly terrified you were with Daphne,” she said, embarrassed to admit it, and he put his arms around her and held her tight and then looked into her eyes.

“She's just a kid. You know I love you.” But Abby also knew that she was a kid with a great figure and a pretty face. And a rich father.

“I couldn't imagine where you were,” she said softly.

“I was digesting Daphne's play. I had to read it several times, and I was thinking this morning, maybe we can get enough money from her father to produce your play too. I'll talk to him about it.”

“When are you going to see him?” Abby asked gently, still nestled in his arms, which was like a drug to her.

“Probably sometime this weekend. I'm waiting to hear from him. He's a very busy man. I hope he realizes how talented his daughter is, and that she deserves his backing. But you know how these important men are, their priorities are always screwed up.” It was a thinly veiled jab at Abby's father, who had made it clear he would never give Ivan money to produce his daughter's play. Her father had met him once and didn't like him. Ivan's credentials didn't impress him, and he thought he was arrogant, a pretentious phony, and her father wanted her to come back to L.A. and work on her novel. But he and Abby's mother felt she was old enough to make her own decisions, and mistakes. They weren't going to force her to come home by cutting her off financially. They just hoped she'd see the light one day.

Her Off Off Broadway career had gone nowhere with Ivan. He had a thousand explanations and excuses, and begged her not to give up and be a commercial hack like her parents. He had nothing but contempt for what Abby's mother wrote, no matter how successful she was. He felt that Abby had a much greater, purer talent, and he pleaded with her to hold out. So far she had. But at twenty-nine, she had nothing to show for it. And her parents felt sorry for her, and were sadly aware of how naïve she was.

Ivan left the theater early that night to meet with the partner of the backer he had met the night before. And Abby was relieved that there had been no sign of Daphne. Abby acted as house manager for him, and handled everything, as she always did. She got home at midnight, after everyone had gone to bed. The loft was quiet. And Ivan sent her a text message before she went to bed. He told her that he loved her. Everything seemed to be back on track with them again. Abby wasn't worried about Daphne—she was just the conduit to the money they needed for the theater. And Ivan loved her. Abby was enormously relieved. That was all that mattered. The rest would fall into place sooner or later. All she had to do was keep believing in herself, and trust him, just as he said.

Alex Scott went looking for Sasha in labor and delivery shortly before noon on Tuesday. He asked for her at the nurses' station, and they told him she was finishing a C-section, and they estimated she'd be out in half an hour—she had already closed and the patient was going to recovery in a few minutes. He came back half an hour later and saw her heading for the nurses' desk with a satisfied expression. Everything had gone well. He met up with her just before she got to the desk.

“Busy morning?” he asked pleasantly. He was happy to see her, and his own caseload was light that day. They'd had no big emergencies so far, and several of their patients from the day before had been moved to the healthy baby nursery.

“It's been pretty civilized,” Sasha said easily. She had no one in labor at that precise moment, only patients she had already delivered, and the ones from the day before. It was a momentary lull. She had two patients on bed rest for early labor, and they had sent several moms and babies home.

“Let's make a run for it then, before it gets crazy,” Alex suggested, about their lunch date. “You still want to eat in the cafeteria? We could try one of the nearby delis if you want something edible.”

“It would probably shock my system. I live on cafeteria food. And the minute we go anywhere decent, we'll both have an emergency as soon as we sit down. It always happens to me if I try to eat anywhere when I'm on duty.” Usually she had no time to eat at all, except a PowerBar she kept in her pocket, and she looked it. She had a slim figure, and was no bigger than her model sister, who worked out every day and dieted ferociously.

They took the elevator to the cafeteria a minute later, making small talk about the food. She helped herself to yogurt, a salad, and a fruit plate, and then added a large chocolate chip cookie, while Alex got a hot meal. They found a quiet table near the window, so they could see the outside world. She noticed him looking at her intently as she set her plates on the table with the Diet Coke she'd picked up on the way.

“Are you on a diet?” he asked with curiosity.

“No, my sister always was, growing up. She trained me not to eat anything she liked so she wouldn't want it. It's pathetic, but I still eat that way. She hates fruit and vegetables and would live on doughnuts and cookies if she could,” Sasha grinned at him, and he laughed. She had an easy way about her, and seemed comfortable in her own skin, at the hospital at least. “She's a model,” Sasha added for good measure.

“You could be too,” he said admiringly. She seemed to have no sense of her looks and wasn't stuck up the way most pretty women were. He'd been burned by his fondness for beauties over the years. Sasha was a whole different breed, a woman with a brain, who was brilliant at what she did.

“Not if I want to stay sane,” Sasha said about being a model. “Although I guess what we do isn't so sane either, but at least we don't have to do it in a bikini standing in the snow, or a fur coat in summer, in seven-inch heels. Modeling isn't as easy as it looks and I get to wear flat shoes.” She smiled at him across the table.

“Where are you from?” He could hear the faintest hint of an accent, but he wasn't sure what it was.

“Atlanta. I moved here to go to NYU, and stayed for medical school. I was lucky I got in. I like it here.”

“Me too. I'm from Chicago. It's a nice city. I miss it.” He didn't tell her he'd gone to Yale undergrad, and Harvard medical school. It always sounded like bragging to him. His father and brother had gone to Harvard too. “Chicago is a little gentler than New York.”

“My mother is originally from here. She's a lawyer,” Sasha said simply, and he nodded.

“So is mine—antitrust law. She loves it, but it never sounded like much fun to me. She wants to be a judge one day. She'd be good at it.”

“Mine is a divorce lawyer,” Sasha said quietly, not wanting to admit how difficult she was. “What made you go to medical school?” she asked him. She was enjoying talking to him. She almost never stopped for lunch, or had time for a social moment with her colleagues.

“My father is a cardiologist, and my brother is an orthopedic surgeon. It just seemed obvious to me. What about you?”

“I always wanted to be a doctor, even when I was a kid. I just didn't know what specialty. I think infertility and high-risk OB is it for me. Especially now, there's so much high risk with older mothers, and infertility seems like a very rewarding field, when it works. I love what I do.”

“Me too. I think I'll go into straight pediatrics, though. Neonatal ICU is fascinating, but I'd rather deal with less high-risk kids.” He asked her where she lived, and she told him about the loft in Hell's Kitchen.

“I've lived there for five years. I have three roommates. They've kind of become my family, since I hardly ever get home, and my own family has been pretty disjointed since my parents' divorce when I was twenty-five. You think you're all grown up then, but it hit us pretty hard. My father is remarried and has two little girls, and my mom isn't. She lives for her work.” He said he had a furnished studio apartment a block from the hospital that he used to sleep and nothing else. The apartment she had described in Hell's Kitchen sounded great to him, especially if it provided a community of people she cared about, which appeared to be the case. Her eyes lit up warmly when she talked about her roommates and their siblings and significant others. It sounded like just what she said, a family of choice.

His own biological family sounded more run-of-the-mill than hers. His parents were still married. He had a brother who was four years older than he, and was thirty-six and still single. They still all got together for vacations and holidays since neither son was married, and they enjoyed spending time together. He didn't get that sense from her, although she offered no details. But she looked tense when she spoke of her parents, particularly her mother, and she said she had no desire to go back to Atlanta for work, and wanted to stay in New York. She was happy here. Alex said he hadn't made his mind up, if he wanted to go back to Chicago to join a practice there, or stay in New York. Chicago was an easier city to live in, except for the weather, and he liked the idea of being close to his family, but Chicago was a short hop by plane if he stayed in New York. He went home for weekends whenever he could.

“Families like yours are pretty rare these days,” she said after he told her about them. She was almost envious of him, listening to it, and watching the loving look on his face. “People live all over the country, far from their siblings and parents. My sister lives here now too, and we're close, but very different. I'm happy that she's here, though. She hangs around at the apartment too, when she's not in Tokyo, Paris, or Milan. She leads a pretty glamorous life compared to mine,” Sasha said apologetically, but she wouldn't have wanted Valentina's life for anything in the world, or the choices she made in men. “Most people think that kind of life is exciting. I think it's kind of sad. The people are very superficial, everyone is trying to use you, and when your big moment is over, what do you do? It seems scary to me, it's all about flash and nothing real. I worry about her sometimes.” In fact, all the time. The men she was attracted to always appeared unsavory to Sasha. They were the exact opposite of someone like Alex, whom Valentina wouldn't have given the time of day. Sasha loved how normal he sounded, as far as she could tell. He had a stable background, and a family he still liked to hang out with. And his stories about his older brother Ben reminded her a little of her early years with Valentina, before the divorce and it all fell apart. Valentina had already been a supermodel by then, but there had been a kind of desperation to her life choices ever since.

Valentina had played with drugs for a while, which were common in that world. At thirty-two, she was saner now, and still a top model, but one day her career would be over, and Sasha couldn't imagine her sister leading a quiet life with a husband and kids. She needed the frenzy and glamour now, and the high life. She had become addicted to it, and unlike Sasha, she loved being in the limelight. Coming back down to earth one day would be rough. And getting older was a nightmare to Valentina, or losing her looks. Whenever they talked about it, there was panic in her eyes. She ran harder every year, trying to escape the future and the truth.

“So what do you do for fun?” he asked Sasha, and for a moment she looked blank.

“What was that again? Could you spell that for me?” They both laughed, since they got almost no time off, and hadn't in years. “Work, I guess. I love what I do.” She had said it earlier, and he could see that she did, and gave herself to it to the fullest. It didn't leave her time for much else. “What about you?”

“I love to sail,” he said immediately. “My brother has a small boat on the lake. We go out on it every chance we get. I used to play tennis, but I never get time to play here. I was a jock as a kid, but some of the moving parts aren't what they used to be.” He and Sasha were the same age, but he said he'd had a lot of injuries playing sports in college. “I like being outdoors. I wanted to be a professional baseball player as a kid, a firefighter or a forest ranger, anything outside.”

“I wanted to be a doctor, a nurse, or a vet.” She smiled. “My mother had a fit every time I said I wanted to be a nurse. She's an overachiever and a big-time feminist. She'd really have preferred it if I wanted to be president of the United States, but that sounds like a lousy job to me. Everybody hates you, criticizes what you do, and tries to make you look like shit. I think my mom would like to be president, but I don't think she'd get a lot of votes. She's pretty tough.” Alex liked the fact that Sasha wasn't. He could tell that she was strong, but there was a gentleness to her, and he liked how open and straightforward she was.

“Could we have dinner sometime?” He finally got up the guts to ask her. She was so beautiful that he still felt intimidated by her. She didn't flirt with him, or act coy, and she treated him like a pal more than a date. He wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe she wasn't interested in him, or attracted to him. He hadn't figured that out yet, and Sasha looked surprised for a minute when he asked about dinner, as though that hadn't occurred to her. He couldn't tell if she wanted to or not. She had said nothing about a boyfriend or her personal life during lunch, only about her family and her work.

“You mean like a date?” She almost choked on the words.

“Yes, kind of like that,” he said cautiously. “Any interest?” She hesitated before she answered.

“I don't have much free time,” she said honestly, but he didn't either, and it didn't stop him from asking. He wanted to go out with her, however infrequent or disjointed it might be. His own dating life had been spotty and irregular all through medical school and his training. It was the nature of the life they both led.

“You have to eat,” he pointed out to her, “and from what I can see, you'd be cheap to feed. You don't eat much.” She hadn't finished the fruit plate or the salad—she was more interested in talking to him—although the big cookie had disappeared.

She laughed at what he said, and relaxed again. “Sure. Maybe. I guess. Why not?”

“I wouldn't call that a vastly enthusiastic response, but it'll do.” He smiled at her.

“I just hesitate to go out with anyone right now. You know what our life is like. Every time I make a plan, I have to cancel. They change my schedule every five minutes, or I'm on call and they yank me in, and I have to leave before the food comes. It pisses normal people off. And it gets old pretty fast. And I live in scrubs and Crocs. How sexy is that?” Not very, they both knew, but she was a beautiful, intelligent woman, and he was determined to go out with her. He liked everything about her, and he had a crazy feeling that they were meant for each other. He had never met a woman he liked as much.

“I get it. I'm a doctor too. Our lives will be sane one day,” he said hopefully.

“Maybe not,” she said truthfully, “if I stay in OB.”

“So you're going to take a vow of chastity?” She grinned at what he said.

“No. But I hate disappointing people, and I always do. And dating is so much work.”

“Dinner is easy. We each get ten free passes to cancel for work. And you can come to dinner in scrubs and Crocs.” He looked as though he meant it, and she smiled. He was making it easy for her, and hard to refuse. And she liked him too. She couldn't see into the future, but she liked the idea of having dinner with him, a lot more than her recent dinner with the actor/underwear model. At least they had medicine in common, and they both had crazy schedules.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Dinner in scrubs and Crocs. It's a deal.”

“How about Friday or Saturday? Someone screwed up the schedule and gave me the weekend off.”

“Lucky you. I'm working Friday, and on call Saturday. We could give it a whirl, and hope I don't get called in.”

“Perfect.” They exchanged cell phone numbers, just as she got a text from L and D. One of their mothers on bed rest had gone into labor, and her water had just broken. They wanted her to take a look. The attending was in surgery. She glanced at Alex regretfully and told him she had to go, but they had had a nice reprieve for lunch. They had been there for over an hour, and had established a good basis for a friendship, or anything else that happened. It had been a pleasant exchange, and she felt surprisingly comfortable with him, more so than with most men. She just didn't like the games you had to play, and that most men seemed to expect on a “date.” She wasn't flirtatious, and she always said what she meant, which frightened a lot of men. Alex didn't seem to mind it—on the contrary, he liked it. And she wondered how he and Valentina would get along. He wasn't her style, and she suspected her sister would find him boring, which Sasha didn't find him at all. Their conversation had been lively and thoughtful, and she liked that there was no artifice about him, and he didn't seem to have a big ego, which was something she didn't like about male doctors. A lot of them thought they walked on water and were full of themselves. And she liked that he seemed able to laugh at himself, and was fairly modest and respectful of her.