The Cottage (13 page)

“Over here!!!… Over here!!!… Rita!!!… Coop!!!” Photographers shouted for better angles, while fans waving autograph books screamed, and a thousand flashes went off in their faces, as they beamed. It was a night to feed their egos for the next ten years. But they were both used to it, and Coop laughed as they were
stopped every few feet by TV camera crews asking them what they thought of this year's nominees.

“Wonderful… truly impressive work… makes you proud to be in the business…” Coop said expertly as Rita preened. With the endless adulation and all eyes on them, it took them nearly half an hour to get to their seats. They were at tables, and would be eating a meal before the televised awards began. And Coop was visibly attentive to her, leaning gently toward her, handing her a glass of champagne, carrying her coat.

“You almost make me sorry I didn't marry you,” Rita teased, but she knew as well as he did, it was all for show, although he was fond of her. But they were good for each other's reputations, and even the hints of romance over the years had always brought them back into the main focus of the public eye for a time. The truth was they had never even come close. He had kissed her once, just for the hell of it, but she was so narcissistic he knew he couldn't have stood her for more than a week, nor she him. They were both smart about that.

As soon as the show began, and the cameras scanned the audience, they zoomed in instantly, and at considerable length, on them.

“Holy shit!” Mark suddenly exclaimed as he sat in the gatehouse with Jimmy, drinking a beer, and watching TV. Neither of them had anything better to do, and Mark had suggested they watch the awards. He had even joked about it, wondering if they'd see Coop, but neither of them had expected to see quite so much of him, or his date. The cameras seemed to stay on them
forever, and eat them up. “Look at that!!” Mark pointed and Jimmy grinned.

“Who is that? Rita Waverly? Jesus, he really does know everyone, doesn't he?” Even Jimmy was impressed. “She looks pretty good for her age.” It reminded him instantly that Maggie used to love watching all the Hollywood stuff, the Golden Globes, the Oscars, Grammys, Emmys, even the awards for soap operas. She loved being able to identify all the stars. But identifying Coop and Rita Waverly was hardly challenging, blind babies would have known who they were.

“That's quite a dress,” Mark commented, as the camera moved on to someone else. “Pretty cool, huh? When was the last time you had a landlord you saw on national TV?”

“I think I had one in Boston who got arrested for a felony, and I saw him for a split second on the evening news. I think he was selling crack.” They both grinned, and Jimmy popped open another beer. Their friendship had become convenient and comfortable, they lived close to each other, were both personable and intelligent, and other than their work, had nothing much else in their lives. They had recent grief and loneliness in common, and neither of them was ready to date. It helped pass the evenings to share a steak and a few beers a couple of times a week. And once Coop vanished from the screen, they settled in to watch the Golden Globes. Jimmy had just put a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

“I'm beginning to feel like half of the Odd Couple,” Jimmy smiled as he handed the open steaming bag of
popcorn to Mark. They were playing this year's nominees for best theme song from a dramatic movie, and Mark glanced up at him with a grin.

“Yeah, me too. But it works for now at least. Someday I'd like to get ahold of Coop's address book and audition some of his cast-offs, but not yet.” And Jimmy had practically taken a vow of celibacy for life. He had no intention of betraying Maggie's memory in the foreseeable future, or ever perhaps. Their friendship was a blessing for both of them for the time being. And their camaraderie filled their empty nights.

Alex Madison was on duty at the hospital that night, to pay penance for the evening she'd spent at the Schwartzes' when she met Coop. She had traded Monday for tonight with another resident, who had a date with the girl of his dreams. It had been an easy switch.

She had already had a busy, stressful evening, when she walked through the waiting room looking for the parents of a two-week-old preemie who had been a code blue earlier in the day, but had been stabilized again. She wanted to reassure them that their baby's vital signs were stable, and he had gone to sleep. But she realized as she stepped into the empty waiting room that they must have gone out to eat. And as she looked around, she glanced at the TV that was droning on, as it always did, and was startled to see Coop. The cameras had just zeroed in on him, and she stood there grinning as she spoke out loud in the empty room.

“I know him!” He was looking incredibly handsome, and very charming as he hovered over Rita Waverly, and handed her a glass of champagne. It was
an odd feeling realizing he had done the same for her, with just that look, at the Schwartzes' only two days before.

Coop was certainly a splendid-looking man, and Rita Waverly looked good too. “I wonder how much plastic surgery she's had,” Alex said out loud again, without realizing it. It was funny to think how distant their world was from her own. She spent her days and nights saving lives, and comforting parents whose babies hovered on the brink of death. And people like Coop and Rita Waverly spent their time looking beautiful and going to parties, wearing furs and jewels and evening gowns. She hardly ever had a chance to wear makeup, and she was wearing wrinkled green pajamas with a huge stamp on her chest that said “NICU.” She was unlikely to appear on any best-dressed lists, but she had chosen this, and liked her life the way it was. Not for anything would she have gone back to her parents' rarified, pretentious, hypocritical world. It often made her realize that it was a good thing she hadn't married Carter. Now that he had married her sister, and was emblazoned in the social register, he was as snobbish and arrogant as all the other men she detested in her old world. Coop was an entirely different breed. He was a movie star, a celebrity. At least he had an excuse for looking and behaving the way he did. It was his job to be that way. But not hers.

A moment later, after watching him until the camera moved away from him again, she went back to her safe, protected environment, full of incubators, and tiny babies on monitors and tubes. And she forgot about Coop and the Golden Globes again. She didn't
even see his message on her pager until the next day. He was the last thing on her mind.

But as amused as Mark and Jimmy and Alex had been to see Coop on television, Charlene was considerably less so, as she sat scowling at the TV. He had told her two days before that he couldn't take her to the Schwartzes' because they needed him as an extra man. And he had assured her that she would have been bored to death, which was what he always said when he wanted to go somewhere alone. But going to the Golden Globes with him would have been just her cup of tea. And she was furious with him for not taking her, and going with Rita Waverly instead. But professionally at least, going with Charlene would have done nothing for him.

“Bitch!” she spat petulantly at the TV. “She must be eighty years old,” she said out loud, as Alex had in the waiting room. There was something about seeing people you knew on television that made you want to speak to them. And there was a lot she would have liked to say to Coop. She had seen him put an arm around Rita and lean close to her and whisper in her ear. Rita Waverly was laughing at something he said, as the cameras moved off to another star sitting nearby.

Charlene left half a dozen messages for him, and was seething when she finally reached him on his cell phone at 2
A.M.

“Where the hell are you, Coop?” She sounded halfway between a tantrum and tears.

“And good evening to you too, my dear.” He sounded calm and undisturbed.

“I'm at home in bed, where are you?” He knew
what she was upset about. It had been predictable, but unavoidable. Not in a million years would he have taken her to an event as highly publicized as the Golden Globes. As far as he was concerned, their relationship wasn't serious or important enough to warrant publicity. Besides which, being seen with Rita Waverly did him a great deal more good. He enjoyed Charlene, and others like her, immensely but privately. He had no desire whatsoever to show her off to the world. But he assumed correctly that she had seen him on TV.

“Is Rita Waverly with you?” she asked, a tone of hysteria creeping into her voice. She was going to turn ugly soon, Coop knew. Those kinds of inquiries always encouraged him to move along quickly to the next candidate on his list. Beautiful or not, Charlene's moment in the sun was almost up. There were always others waiting for him in the wings. It was time to turn the corner again.

“Of course not. Why would Rita be here?” He sounded innocent, and was.

“You looked like you were going to fuck her any minute when I saw you on TV.” The time had come.

“Let's not be rude,” he said, as though speaking to a naughty child who had just attempted to stomp on his foot. When in doubt, Coop always removed himself, or stomped first. But he had no need to do that to Charlene. He knew that all he had to do was quietly disappear. “It was a very boring ordeal,” he said with a well-staged yawn. “It always is. It's work, my dear.”

“So where is she?” she asked. She'd drunk almost an entire bottle of wine as she tried to reach him all
night. But quite reasonably he had turned his cell phone off at the awards, and had forgotten to turn it on again until he got home.

“Who?” He genuinely had no idea who she meant. She sounded more than a little drunk. She'd gotten upset waiting to talk to him.

“Rita!” Charlene said insistently.

“I have no idea where she is. In her own bed, I assume. And I, dear lady, am going to sleep. I have an early call tomorrow for a commercial. I'm not as young as you. I need my sleep.”

“The hell you do. If I were there, we'd be up all night, and you know it.”

“Yes,” he smiled, “I'm sure we would, which is why you're not here. We both need some sleep.”

“Why don't I come over now?” she asked, slurring her words. She was sounding even drunker than she had at first, and she was still drinking while they talked.

“I'm tired, Charlene. And you sound under the weather too. Why don't we let it go for tonight.” Boredom had crept into his voice.

“I'm coming over.”

“No, you're not,” he said, sounding firm.

“I'll climb over the gate.”

“The security patrol would pick you up, which would be embarrassing for you. Let's both get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow,” he said gently. He didn't want to get into a fight with her, especially if she was drunk and upset. He was smarter than that.

“Talk about what tomorrow? Are you cheating on me with Rita Waverly?”

“What I'm doing is entirely none of your business, Charlene, and the term ‘cheating’ presumes some kind of commitment on either of our parts, and there is no such thing between us. Now, let's keep a little perspective here. Goodnight, Charlene,” he said firmly, and promptly hung up. His cell phone rang again almost immediately and he let it go to voice mail, and then she tried his house. She called for the next two hours, and he finally switched off the phone, and went to sleep. He hated possessive women who made scenes. It was definitely time for Charlene to vanish out of his life. He was sorry Liz was no longer around. She had always been so good at that. If Charlene had been more important to him, he'd have sent her a diamond bracelet or some similarly impressive gift to thank her for the time they'd spent together. But she hadn't been around long enough to warrant it. And in her case, he knew, it would only have encouraged her. Charlene was the kind of girl you had to cut off suddenly, and stay away from after that. It was a shame she had made a scene that night, he mused to himself, as he drifted off to sleep. If she hadn't, he would have been perfectly happy to keep her around for at least another two or three weeks, but surely no longer than that. But after tonight, she was destined for a speedy exit. In fact, he knew, as he heard his phone ring in the distance for the hundredth time, she was already gone. Bye, Charlene.

Coop mentioned her discreetly to Paloma the next morning when she served his breakfast on a tray. She was doing better than she had for the first few days, although she had served him hot peppers with his
poached eggs, and even after spitting them out, his mouth burned all day. She said it was a treat for him, and he had begged her not to “treat” him again.

“Paloma, if Charlene calls, please tell her that I'm out, whether or not I'm at home. Is that clear?”

Paloma stared at him through narrowed eyes. He had finally learned to see her through the rhinestone sunglasses. And in any case, her whole face gave her away. Most of the time, her entire body read disapproval, contempt, and rage. She referred to him as a “dirty old man” to her friends. “You don't like her anymore?” She no longer bothered to use the accent on him. She had other tricks up her sleeve instead. She loved challenging him in a myriad of ways.

“That's not the point. It's simply that our… our little interlude… has come to an end.” He would never have had to explain that to Liz, nor did he want to explain it to his maid. But Paloma seemed determined to be the champion of the underdog, and defender of all womanhood, rather than Coop.

“ ‘Interlude’? ‘Interlude’? Does that mean you're not sleeping with her anymore?” Coop winced.

“That's crude, but correct, I'm afraid. Please don't put her calls through to me again.” He couldn't have said it more clearly to her. And half an hour later, she told him he had a call.

“Who is it?” he asked distractedly. He was reading a script in bed, and trying to figure out if there was a part in it for him.

“I don't know. Sounds like a secretary,” she said vaguely, and he picked up the phone. It was Charlene.

She was sobbing and hysterical, and said she wanted
to see him immediately. She said she was going to have a nervous breakdown if he didn't, and it took him an hour to get off the phone. He told her he didn't think their relationship was good for her, and it seemed wiser not to see each other for a while. He didn't tell her that these were precisely the kind of histrionics he avoided in his life, and he had no intention of seeing her again. She was still crying, but less hysterically, when he finally got off the phone. And he went to find Paloma immediately. He was still in his pajamas, when he found her in the living room, vacuuming. She was wearing a new pair of purple velvet sneakers and matching sunglasses, with rhinestones of course. She didn't hear a word he was saying to her, and he turned the vacuum off and stood there glaring at her, as she looked unconcerned.