One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [128]
Maria brought in the lunch and set it out on the table with silver cutlery from Asprey and the Tiffany china, which Billy said was still the best. “Cheese biscuits,” one of the women exclaimed, looking doubtfully at the golden biscuits piled up on the crystal platter. “Annalisa, you shouldn’t have,” she scolded. “I swear to God, you’re trying to make us all fat.”
14
As if he weren’t neurotic enough to begin with, in the weeks leading up to the publication of his book, James became more so. He hated himself for it, having always disdained writers who checked their Amazon and Barnes & Noble ratings every half hour and scoured the Internet for reviews and mentions. His obsession left him harrowed, as if he were an insane person who believed he was being pursued by imaginary wraiths. And then there was Lola. In his occasional moments of sanity, James concluded that she was some kind of master lure, a shiny bright irresistible thing lined with hooks on both sides. On the surface of things, their relationship was still well within the concept of perfectly innocent, for nothing had happened other than the exchange of text messages and a few impromptu visits to his apartment. About twice a week, she would show up at his place unexpectedly, languishing on the folding chair in his office like a sleek black panther. She would have easily caught him under any circumstances, but in this case, the snare was made doubly secure by the fact that she had immediately read his book and wanted to discuss it while at the same time seeking his advice about Philip.
Should she marry Philip? Of course she loved him, but she didn’t want him to marry her under the wrong circumstances—those being that he felt obligated. On this question, James was as torn as Solomon. He wanted Lola for himself, but he wanted her in the building more, no matter what the circumstances. As he couldn’t kick out his own wife and install Lola, having her upstairs was better than nothing. And so he lied, finding himself in the unexpected position of giving relationship advice to a twenty-two-year-old girl.
“I believe it’s generally understood that one is supposed to give these things a try,” James said, floundering like a fish. “They say you can always get divorced.”
“I could never do that,” she said. “It’s against my religion.”
Which religion was that? James wondered. “But since you say you love Philip…”
“I say I think I do,” she corrected him. “But I’m only twenty-two. How am I supposed to know? For sure?”
“You can never know for sure,” James said, thinking of Mindy. “A marriage is something that goes on and on unless one person really puts an end to it.”
“You’re so lucky.” She sighed. “You’ve made your decision. And you’re a genius. When your book comes out, you’ll make millions of dollars.”
The secret visits continued for several weeks, and then the Wednesday came when James’s publisher was to receive his early review from The New York Times Book Review. Lola came by the apartment bearing a gift—a stuffed teddy bear “for good luck,” she said—but James was too nervous to acknowledge the gift and absentmindedly shoved it in the back of the overcrowded coat closet.
Everything was riding on his review in the Times. As an author whose previous book had sold seventy-five hundred copies, he would need exorbitant praise to smash through the glass ceiling of previous book sales. He pictured this smashing as akin to smashing through the roof of Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory in the great glass elevator, and he wondered what was happening to his brain.
“You must be so excited,” Lola said, following him to his office. “You’re going to get a great review. I just know it.”
James didn’t just know it, but poor Lola was too young to understand that usually, things did not work out as one hoped. His mouth was dry with nerves. All morning, his mood had veered between elation and despair. He was now on the downward