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Authors: Mary Carter

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BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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“Are you okay?” Bailey had to shout to be heard.
“I met with Auntie Olivia’s lawyer today,” Brad said. Bailey waited, but for a moment he didn’t add anything else.
Physically, Brad was back to his old self. Bailey wished she could say the same thing about his mental state. He’d been so secretive lately, including keeping all the details of Olivia’s will to himself. Not that she minded. It wasn’t like she had any claim to any of Olivia’s things. And Olivia had been such a sore subject between them that Bailey usually made a point of keeping quiet about it. But that wasn’t why she wasn’t responding now.
Not once, in the twenty-six years since she’d known him, had she ever heard Brad utter the word “auntie.” To add to the absurdity, his right hand was still placed over his heart like a Victorian woman in need of a fainting couch. But the real reason Bailey didn’t respond right away,
couldn’t
respond right away, was because she had just stuffed, not one, not even two (which in the court of her mind could still be argued as reasonable), but three giant green olives into her mouth, and, at the very second he dropped the news, was trying to simultaneously suck out the triple pimientos without choking to death. It was a meaningless but strangely satisfying game she’d come up with to dull the pain. There was a reason they were at Jason’s favorite hipster martini bar—he was celebrating the sale of the Fifth Avenue penthouse to the Fairytalers.
The closing took forever due to all the stipulations and renovations and requests put in by the Fairytalers. But it was done: signed, sealed, and delivered. They would be moving, starting their glamorous new life. Allissa and Greg (as Jason was now calling them as if they were the best of friends) loved the chocolate-chip-scented candle. And the fact that they would pass the Frick museum every day on their way to work and relive where they began their journey as husband and wife. When Jason put it to them that way, they said, it had just cinched the sale! Jason, only twenty-six, had just made a fortune. Bailey was trying to keep it together. Brad was alive, that was all that mattered. Bailey prayed that if she repeated this enough to herself, she would be able to get through the evening without getting too tipsy and letting the little hipster have it. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. She was the one who’d told him to stay and show the penthouse. So he’d stayed. And used her sales pitch to woo them, and didn’t give her an ounce of credit. That’s all. Business was business. What did she expect him to do, split the commission?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes . . .
Of course not.
What Jason called “hip,” Bailey called “hip-breaker” because the place was so cave-dark you needed a flashlight to see the menu. When she relayed this to Brad, he said their thirties was way too young to talk like that, but Bailey argued that they were in their
late
thirties, and how could you not resent a place that had you stumbling before you’d even taken the first salty sip of your Triple X martini? She would have lodged a formal complaint, but if Martinis on Madison had comment cards, she couldn’t see well enough to spot them.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Brad said. Bailey held her finger up and pointed to her mouth, a private code that only a husband could know meant, “I’ve got a three-olive-pimiento-sucking-situation going on here,” then she carefully chewed while he stared at her. She was glad he was alive and feeling better, but Brad was still off. Impatient, quick to snap at her. Daydreamy, withdrawn, obsessed about his Near Death Experience. He was constantly online, Googling other people who had “crossed over.” It was as if she was married to John Edward, the psychic. Every time Bailey tried to point out someone’s adorable, drooling baby with chubby little cheeks and kissable fat baby legs, Brad would zone out, then somehow bring the conversation back to the light.
Just as Bailey swallowed her olives and was about to ask how the meeting with the lawyer went, Faye popped up in front of them.
“How are you holding up?” You would think she was talking to Brad, but her question was directed at Bailey.
“I think I’m faking it quite well,” Bailey said. “Do I look as green as I feel?”
“I don’t know,” Faye said. “I can’t see a thing in this dungeon.”
Bailey laughed. “Me neither.”
“I know how difficult this must be,” Faye said. “And Jason is acting the fool, taking credit for your idea. But don’t you worry, I’m going to start setting you up with my bigger clients. You really came through for me. Our talent must be genetic.”
“Thank you.” That did make Bailey feel better. Was Brad listening to this? Not that she wanted him to feel bad in any way, but she hadn’t dared say much about the thwarted sale, and well, it would be nice if he knew that it was her idea, that she would have sold the condo to the Fairytalers, that it would have been her being interviewed on
Entertainment Tonight
sitting next to the smiling couple, that she would have received the enormous check. Jason hadn’t even paid her back for the candle, which had cost her fifteen bucks. But Brad didn’t appear to be listening. Bailey put her hand on his knee.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.
“You can’t leave now,” Faye said. “What will people think?”
“That my husband is recovering from a serious accident?” Bailey said.
“Actually,” Brad said. “I really would love to get out of here.” Bailey was surprised. The old Brad would have talked her into staying. He was always the last one to leave a party. Poor guy. He must be exhausted.
“Sorry, Faye,” Bailey said. “But we’re outta here.”
“All right, then,” Faye said. “I’ll cover for you.” She put her hand on Bailey’s shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. Then she leaned over and kissed Brad full on the lips. Bailey just laughed. Faye adored Brad, everyone did. That Jordan charm. Faye would probably cut off Brad’s foot and wear it on her key-chain if she could. Faye finished the kiss, winked at Bailey, and disappeared into the dark. They were almost out the door when the couple of the moment stepped in front of them. Even in the dark, Bailey could make out Allissa’s perfectly white teeth. She held out her hand.
“You’re Bailey, right?” she said. “Like the drink?”
“Actually I’m named after my great-grandfather—”
“Your aunt’s told me all about you,” Allissa said. Bailey shook hands with Allissa and Greg, hoping nobody could see that she was just a little bit starstruck. She was even thinner than she looked in the tabloids.
“This is my husband, Brad,” Bailey said.
“You were in an accident, right?” Allissa said. It was impossible to say for sure, but as Allissa turned to Brad, her eyes seemed to glow in the dark.
“I was,” Brad said.
“The very night you saw the penthouse,” Bailey said. “In fact—I was supposed to handle the showing. Until that awful phone call.” Brad glanced at her. Was she laying it on too thick?
The chocolate-chip candle and slideshow of the Frick were my idea! And the romantic spiel—relive where you began the most important journey of your lives—that was me too!
But Allissa wasn’t listening to Bailey. She was fixated on Brad. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked him. God, she was so pretty. So model perfect. And what was that perfume? No doubt designed in a science lab somewhere, carefully formulated to make every unsuspecting male fall madly, chemically, hormonally, irrevocably in love with her. Was it working? Was Brad in love with her? Bailey squinted but she still couldn’t make out much in the dark. Bailey subtly brought her own wrist up to her nose and sniffed. Peanuts. Salted.
“Hit me,” Brad said.
Hit me?
Since when did he say things like hit me? What happened to “Auntie” and hand on heart? Why didn’t Brad give her the first shot? She’d be quite happy to hit him.
“I heard you were . . .” Allissa stopped.
“Dead?” Brad said, leaning into her. Allissa squealed and jumped back. Then, everyone laughed. Everyone except Bailey. What was so funny about her husband being dead? She felt her heart clench at the thought, the same clawing fear she’d felt when the stranger on the phone said those two little words: “clinically dead.”
“Thirteen minutes,” Brad said. “Thirteen minutes that changed my entire worldview.” Changed his entire worldview? Now who was being dramatic? And what exactly did that mean? What exactly about his worldview had changed? So far he hadn’t shared any of these changes with Bailey.
“So—you had some kind of experience?” Allissa continued in her little-girl voice. Bailey felt a string of conflicting feelings wash over her. She wanted Allissa to like her. She also wanted to pull her hair and slap her until she dropped the little-girl act. Bailey felt someone’s eyes on her and lifted her gaze to find Greg studying her. For some reason, it made her blush. For once she was thankful for the dark.
“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” Greg said. “She’s into angels and trumpets and all that stuff.”
Rich, and beautiful, and saintly, Bailey thought. How nice for her. “We actually have to go,” she said, reaching in her purse for her phone. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Why don’t you use our driver?” Allissa said in an excited voice. Like she’d just found a pile of gold.
“No need,” said Brad. “We’ve got wheels.”
“We do?” Bailey said. “We’ve got wheels?”
“Say you’ll have dinner with us some night,” Allissa said. “Our treat.” She snuggled close to Brad again. “I’d really love to hear all about your experience. You must have so much to share.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Brad said. Allissa launched herself into Brad’s arms, hugged him, then kissed both his cheeks before pulling back.
Hey,
Bailey wanted to shout.
Get your manicured paws off my husband’s cheeks. Those are my cheeks
. Greg looked at Bailey and smiled. Then Allissa grabbed Bailey’s arm and shook it up and down.
“Don’t forget. Dinner, the four of us.” Bailey was reaching into her purse for a pen to get their phone number, but Allissa was already gone, Greg trailing in her wake.
Chapter 6
O
utside, Bailey exhaled all of her jealousy in the New York night. Only then did she start tingling at the possibilities. Imagine, couple friends with the Fairytalers! Maybe that was even better than the sale. She hoped Brad would go along. He’d always hated the “Celebrity Culture.” Brad didn’t put anyone up on a pedestal. Ironic, because Bailey always held him up on one and he didn’t seem to mind that. And, she had to admit, it was Brad that Allissa was interested in, not her. That was life, wasn’t it? Here Brad couldn’t care less about the Fairytalers, and like cats who fling themselves all over the one animal hater in the room, they’d launched themselves on him. She linked arms with him, still humming with happiness at the prospect of hanging out in the penthouse with their new friends. Maybe she and Allissa would get pregnant at the same time and spend nine months reassuring each other that their asses were not too big.
“What are you thinking about?” Brad said. It startled Bailey. They used to ask each other that every five minutes, when they were first in love. It had been a long time since he’d asked her that.
“My ass,” Bailey said.
“What?” Brad laughed, slipped his hand down, and rubbed her butt. “Funny,” he said. “Me too.”
Bailey laughed and slapped his hand away. She hoped he would put it back. He didn’t. “What do you mean we have wheels?” she asked.
“I have Olivia’s car,” Brad said. Bailey just stared at him. An image of the Cadillac, smashed like an accordion, rose to mind.
“The Cadillac?”
“Of course not. Turns out Olivia had a second car.”
“Olivia had a second car?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Brad hugged her to him and kissed her cheek. He was alive. He smelled good. He sounded good. He was back. Right? His worldview hadn’t really changed. That’s just something one said to celebrities at cocktail parties. “Come on,” Brad said. “I’ll explain everything in the car.”
 
Bailey felt light-headed as she stood and stared at the car. She was giddy. She felt slightly ashamed of herself, but she couldn’t help it, she was downright giddy. Aunt Olivia had a second set of wheels all right, a brand-new Jaguar. Well, a five-year-old Jaguar, but from the new-car smell and mileage, it looked as if Olivia had driven it straight off the lot and into her garage, and that was it. Bailey couldn’t get over it. Olivia Jordan owned a sleek, black Jaguar. This was the same woman who wore tall white gym socks with her sandals. It just didn’t seem possible.
“This is unbelievable,” Bailey said.
“There’s more,” Brad said.
“More cars?”
“No, silly. Not more cars. But Aunt Olivia was loaded,” Brad said. Bailey stared at her husband.
“Olivia had a gun?” she said.
“A gun?” Brad threw his head back and laughed. “Moola, baby,” he said. “Aunt Olivia had tons of moola.”
“She did not.”
“She did.”
“How?” What, where, when, why? Bailey couldn’t get any of the words out of her mouth.
“Ready for this?”
“No,” Bailey said. “But hit me.”
“Funny you should say that,” Brad said. “Turns out Olivia had a secret life.”
“Out with it.”
“Olivia was a poker shark.”
“No.”
“She played online, she played in groups, she played in tournaments.”
“No.”
“And she was good. Very, very good.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep saying that.”
“Aunt Olivia. Your aunt Olivia.”
“My aunt Olivia.”
“And she never told you?”
“I mean, I’d seen a deck of cards about her place, but she would never even have a game with me.”
“I wonder why.”
“I think she wanted to keep up a role-model image of herself. You know. To make up for Mom.”
“Wow.” Bailey was ashamed of herself for judging Olivia. Maybe if Bailey had been a little nicer, Olivia would have liked her. She would have invited her to play poker. Why hadn’t the old broad ever taken them for a spin in the Jag? They could’ve been the best of pals.
And why didn’t she spend her winnings while she was alive? Because she was from the Rainy Day Generation. Bailey couldn’t remember Olivia ever giving them a single gift. She sent cards instead, filled with bookmarks with pictures of kittens, and chimpanzees, and once an overweight possum “Hanging in there.” How much money did she have? So far Brad hadn’t exactly spilled all the dirty details. Bailey wanted to drive, but Brad was finally in a better mood and she wasn’t going to push it.
Sitting in this sexy car, Bailey began to get a few ideas. They hadn’t made love since the accident. Brad hadn’t seemed in the mood, and Bailey respected that. But sitting here, as her husband accelerated their new Jag, Bailey started feeling amorous. They used to love having sex in the backseat of cars. The cramped space, the sweat, the rush, the fear of being caught. Some of the best sex of their lives had been in the backseat of a Chevy Nova. What would it be like in this Jag?
Brad must have been thinking the same thing. He too was looking in the backseat. But unlike Bailey, he appeared to be talking to it.
“You ready?” he said.
“For a quickie in the backseat?” Bailey put her hand on Brad’s knee and squeezed.
“What?” Brad sounded appalled. “No.”
“Oh,” Bailey said.
“I’m sorry,” Brad said. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “It’s just that I was . . . talking to . . . Aunt Olivia.”
Bailey whipped her head around to the backseat. There, with its seat belt fastened around it, sat Aunt Olivia’s urn. All thoughts of having sex in the backseat evaporated from Bailey’s thoughts.
“Have you finally decided?” she asked tentatively. She’d been waiting for him to decide where to scatter the ashes. Maybe once he let go of them, he’d let go of all this near-death stuff.
“Decided?”
“Where to sprinkle her ashes.”
“Oh,” Brad said. “No.”
No, Bailey repeated to herself. No. She tried to keep her voice light, and not at all worried about his sanity. “Okay. Then why is her urn in the backseat?”
“We’re taking her for a little drive.” Brad broke into a boyish grin.
“Come again?”
“I thought she’d like to drive around the city.”
“Pull over,” Bailey demanded. “Right now.”
“We’re in the middle of Fifth Avenue.”
“Find a place and pull over. Please, Brad.” Brad swung the wheel to the right like a petulant child, and the Jaguar smoothly cut across two lanes and maneuvered along the curb. God, Bailey loved this car. It momentarily distracted her from the backseat.
“What?” Brad said.
“Why are you driving Olivia’s urn around?” Bailey asked.
“I just thought it would be nice.”
“Okay,” Bailey said. “But it’s kind of weird too. Don’t you think?”
Please say yes. Please, please, say yes.
Brad sighed, glanced in the backseat again. “She wanted to drive around that day,” Brad said. “And we barely went anywhere.”
Bailey pressed the unlock button for her door and threw it open. Fifth Avenue smelled like rain and long-forgotten hot dogs.
“Where are you going?” Brad said.
“I just need a little air,” Bailey said.
“Why don’t you just roll down the window?”
“I thought I might take a little walk.”
“Now?”
“I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot. I just—it’s been really stressful for me too, you know. And I don’t want to say anything hurtful or anything I’ll regret. So I think while you’re driving Auntie around, I’ll just walk home, get a little fresh air.”
“A half a million dollars!”
“What?”
“Aunt Olivia left us a little over a half a mill,” Brad said. Bailey shut the door. She stared at Brad for a long time. Cars swished past them. Central Park horses and carriages headed home for the night. Lights twinkled down the length of Fifth Avenue. Slowly, Bailey turned and stared at Olivia’s urn. She felt a sudden fondness for the old gal. It was as if in death, Olivia Jordan had finally come to life.
“Let’s take her over the Brooklyn Bridge, and then to the Bronx Zoo,” Bailey said.
 
Sudden wealth. They needed time to breathe and comprehend. Half millionaires. Bailey had been called a lot of things in her lifetime, but an “almost millionaire” was not one of them. And surely, with the right investments, they could lose the “almost” and become true millionaires.
Bailey rolled the word around on her tongue, trying to get used to it. They were lying in bed, having made love for the first time since the accident. One of the benefits of Brad coming back to life was that he had decided to appreciate everything, love everything like it was the first time. And it paid off in bed. Brad seemed to adore every inch of her. And even though he still insisted on wearing a condom, Bailey knew it was just a matter of time before they started trying. After all, they had the money now—Brad would be out of excuses. She snuggled next to him, caressed his head, fuzzy with the hair just starting to come back in. Except for Olivia’s urn looming over them from the dresser, everything seemed just a little bit perfect.
Brad took Bailey’s hand. “I think you’re absolutely right,” he said. “Relive is much more romantic than remember. Because it emphasizes
living
.”
“Uh-huh,” Bailey said. She hoped the baby had Brad’s dimples and her love of spicy food.
“I think we should learn from this. I think we should start living before it’s too late.”
“What?” She recognized his tone of voice. It was the tone Brad used before starting every one of his failed business ventures. She sat up in bed. “We do live,” she said. “We are living.”
“Are we?” Brad said. “Or are we just going through the motions?”
“We’re not going through the motions. We’re in motion. Motion is good.”
“We have choices to make,” Brad said. “With money comes great responsibility.”
“Exactly,” Bailey said. “Wait here.” She jumped off the bed and opened the top drawer of her dresser. It was still dark, but she rattled it anyway.
“What’s that noise?”
“Hold out your hand.” Bailey joined Brad on the bed again and placed the rattle in his hand. “Open.” He opened his eyes and stared at it. “A baby,” Bailey said when he didn’t speak. “We should really start trying.” Brad still didn’t respond. “What do you think?”
“I’d say we already got our practice in for the day.” Brad shook the rattle.
“You used a condom,” Bailey said.
“I said practice.”
“Well, next time let’s practice without a condom, shall we?”
“Are you sure we’re ready for that?”
“I can’t think of a better time. Can you?”
“I’ve got a few things I want to do first,” Brad said. “My bucket list.” He tossed the rattle aside like it was part of a practical joke. Bailey picked it up.
You already kicked the bucket,
Bailey thought
. Isn’t it too late to make a list?
“Like what?” She sounded harsh. She didn’t mean to, but her resentment spilled out of her. Brad rolled away from her. Silence stretched and then loomed. “It’s not like we have to decide anything tonight,” Bailey said. She reached out and touched Brad’s back. He rolled over and faced her again. She smiled at him and gently traced his lips with the tip of her finger. He kissed her finger, then took her hand.
“You’re right, you’re right. Nothing has to be said tonight,” Brad said. “But I have some ideas.” Bailey nodded, rolled out of his grip, off the bed, and wandered over to the window. If you laid your stomach on the windowsill, stuck your body out far enough, and looked to the left, you could see the Hudson River.
He had some ideas? Brad Jordan and his ideas. The surf shop was the first one. They were so young then. Tan, and happy, and looking good in their swimsuits. They had just moved to sunny California and life was easy. Every head on the beach used to turn when Brad Jordan walked by. But he was looking at the surfboards. He didn’t even surf, but he didn’t like the design of the boards or the attitudes of the “dudes in the shops.”
One day while they were body surfing, catching waves and waiting to see whose swimsuit the rush of water would take down, Brad grabbed her.
“A surf shop!” he said. “B and B Boards!”
Bailey didn’t even hesitate. “Oh my God,” she said. “I love it.” What she really loved was the idea of their initials forever etched into a sign, hanging for all to see on Santa Monica Boulevard.
“Brilliant, right?” Brad said.
“Right!” B&B Boards lasted five months. They were new to all aspects of running a business, and the more experienced shops in town were determined to crush them. It didn’t take long before Brad wanted out.
BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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