One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [182]
Beetelle’s heart broke for her daughter, reminding her of her own heartbreaking incident in New York with the doctor. She would have been about Lola’s age then. Pulling her daughter closer, Beetelle felt helpless in the face of Lola’s distress. It was the first time, she realized, that Lola was discovering the terrible truth about life: It wasn’t what it seemed, and fairy tales did not necessarily come true. Nor could men be relied upon to love you.
The next morning, Philip came to the hotel to see Lola. For a moment, she’d held out hope that he would tell her it was all a mistake, and he loved her after all. But when she opened the door, his expression revealed that he hadn’t changed his mind; indeed, as if to make a point, under his arm were the Post and the Daily News. They went downstairs to the restaurant, and Philip put the papers on the table. “Do you want to see them?” he asked. She did, of course, but didn’t want to give him more ammunition. “No,” she replied haughtily, as if she were above such things.
“Listen, Lola,” he began.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I made a mistake with you. And I’m sorry. You’re young, and I should have known better. I never should have allowed our relationship to continue. I should have ended it before Christmas.”
Lola’s stomach dropped. The waiter brought her food—eggs Benedict—and Lola looked at her plate, wondering if she’d ever be able to eat again. Had her whole relationship with Philip been a lie? Then she understood. “You used me,” she accused him.
“Oh, Lola.” Philip sighed. “We used each other.”
“I loved you,” Lola said fiercely.
“No, you didn’t,” Philip said. “You loved the idea of me. There’s a big difference.”
Lola threw her napkin onto her plate of eggs. “Let me tell you one thing, Philip Oakland. I hate you. And I will always hate you. For the rest of my life. Don’t you come near me, ever again.”
Holding her head high, she got up and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Philip sitting there, embarrassed.
A little later, leaving the hotel with her mother, Lola wondered how she would ever recover. When they got to the airport, however, she bought the papers; and seeing her photograph on the third page of the Post, and reading the brief story about how Philip had dumped her for Schiffer Diamond, she began to feel better. She wasn’t some little nobody. She was Lola Fabrikant, and someday she would show Philip and Enid what a mistake they’d made in underestimating her.
Now, scanning the pew containing Philip and Enid, she saw Schiffer Diamond sitting next to Philip, followed by auburn-haired Annalisa Rice. A few pews behind them was that awful Mindy Gooch, with her rigid blond bob, and next to her was James Gooch, with that familiar sweet bald spot on the top of his head. Ah, James Gooch, Lola thought. She’d forgotten about James, who was apparently back from his book tour. Now he sat before her, like Providence. She took out her iPhone. “I’m behind you in the church,” she texted.
It took a minute for her text to reach him. Hearing the bleat, he turned his head slightly and felt in his pocket for his phone. Mindy glared at him. James gave a guilty shrug, took out his phone, and surreptitiously checked the message. The skin on the back of his neck reddened, and he turned the phone off.
“I miss you,” Lola had texted. “Meet me in the Mews at three o’clock.”
An hour later, James Gooch stood in a corner of the overcrowded living room in the Rices’ apartment and, looking around to make sure Mindy wasn’t somewhere in the room watching him, reread Lola’s text, his stomach thumping with excitement and curiosity. Leaving the church, he’d looked for her, but she was already outside, posing for the photographers. He considered speaking to her, but Mindy quickly pulled him away.