One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [152]
Over at Union Square, James was still signing books. At eight o’clock, three hundred people were in line, eagerly clutching their copies, and as James felt obligated to speak to each and every one of them, it was likely he’d be there for at least another three hours. Mindy sent Sam back to One Fifth to do his homework. Walking down Fifth Avenue, Sam spotted Annalisa getting into the back of a green Bentley idling at the curb. Passing the car on the way into the building, Sam was strangely disappointed in her, and hurt. After helping her so often with her website, Sam had developed a little crush. He imagined Annalisa as a princess, a damsel in distress, and seeing her in the back of that fancy car with the chauffeur who was actually wearing a cap destroyed his fantasy. She wasn’t a damsel in distress at all, he thought bitterly, but just another rich lady with too many privileges, married to a rich asshole. And he went inside.
Sam opened the refrigerator. As he seemed to be all the time now, he was ravenously hungry. His parents didn’t understand how a growing boy needed to eat, and all he could find in the refrigerator were two containers of cut-up fruit, some leftover Indian food, and a quart of soy milk. Sam drank the soy milk straight from the carton, leaving a squirt for his mother’s coffee in the morning, and decided he needed red meat. He would go to the Village restaurant on Ninth Street, sit at the bar, and eat a steak.
Stepping into the lobby, he came right up behind Paul Rice, who was heading out to the Bentley. Sam’s heart began beating rapidly, and he was reminded of his scheme. Sam hadn’t decided when he would execute his plan, but seeing Paul get into the backseat of the car, he decided he would do it tonight, while the Rices were out. Passing by the Bentley, he waved to Annalisa, who smiled at him and waved back.
“Sam Gooch is such a sweet boy,” Annalisa said to Paul.
“His mother’s a cunt,” Paul said.
“I wish you would end this war with Mindy Gooch.”
“Oh, I have,” Paul said.
“Good,” Annalisa said.
“Mindy Gooch and her stupid dog have harassed me one time too many.”
“Her dog?” Annalisa said.
“I had my lawyer send her a letter this afternoon. I want that woman, that dog, and that family out of my building.”
This was outrageous, even for Paul, and Annalisa laughed. “Your building, Paul?”
“That’s right,” he said, staring at the back of the driver’s head. “The China deal went through today. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be able to buy every apartment in One Fifth.”
Annalisa gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“When did it happen?”
Paul looked at his watch. “About forty minutes ago.”
Annalisa sat back in the seat. “I’m astounded, Paul. But what does it mean?”
“It was my idea, but Sandy and I pulled it off together. We sold one of my algorithms to the Chinese government in exchange for a percentage of their stock market.”
“Can you do that?”
“Of course I can do it,” Paul said. “I just did.” Without missing a beat, he addressed the driver. “Change of plans,” he said. “We’re going to the West Side heliport instead.” He turned to his wife and patted her leg. “I thought we’d go to the Lodge for dinner to celebrate. I know how much you’ve always wanted to see it.”
“Oh, Paul,” she said. The Lodge was an exclusive resort in the Adirondacks that was rumored to be stunningly beautiful. Annalisa had read about it years ago and mentioned to Paul that she wished they could go there on their anniversary. But at three thousand dollars a night, it had been too expensive back then for them to even consider. But Paul had remembered. She smiled and shook her head, realizing that her slight dissatisfaction with Paul in the last couple of months was something she’d made up in her mind. Paul was still Paul—wonderful in his unique and unfathomable way—and Connie Brewer was right. Annalisa did love her husband.
Paul reached into the pocket of his pants and withdrew a small black velvet box. Inside was a large yellow diamond ring surrounded by pink stones. It was beautiful and gaudy, exactly the sort