nor entirely stupid. You’re my pal, Joanie. You’re supposed to slobber over me with love and support. Don’t lay any more guilt on me than I’m already lugging around.”
“I spoke to Luc this morning. He’s
désolé
, Alex. I thought you two had a deal.”
“I envy you the writer’s life. You make your own schedule, your work is portable, nobody’s well-being depends on your output. But that’s not the kind of job I have.”
“You promised him—”
“It’s not like I cheated on him, Joan,” I said, drawing a sidelong glance from the man settling in next to me. “Yes, I used my phone.I blew off Mike and Mercer and Vickee and all the peeps I trust in that job. And then Paul Battaglia himself called.”
“He doesn’t own you, Alex. You’re entitled to a vacation. If Battaglia has a primary challenger next year, I’ll bet he’ll step down. How old is he already? He’ll be a lame duck by then.”
“I work for the man, Joan. I can’t just twiddle my thumbs for eighteen months till the next election. He’ll stay in this job till he’s ninety.”
“I still think Battaglia’s lame, whether he’s a duck or not.” She was laughing as she talked. “Do you have any idea what Luc planned to do on your birthday?”
“We talked about a quiet dinner at the house.”
The announcement came on that all electronic devices would have to be powered down in two minutes, when the doors closed.
“Obviously dinner, Alex. I didn’t mean that. What’s happened to your sense of romance? Do you remember that day I took him shopping after you two came back from the Vineyard last month? Do you understand the man has been looking at rings?”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
“Are you still there? Can you hear me? Great big shiny diamond rings, girl. His money, my uncommonly good sense of taste and style. Luc’s madly in love with you.”
The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering wildly. “Don’t go there, Joan. If you’re really my pal, back off this subject. Way too premature.”
“Is it the commitment thing? Swear to me it’s not that.”
“I don’t know him, okay? The last forty-eight hours have proved that beyond—”
“Don’t give me ‘beyond a reasonable doubt,’ babe. Forget the law in your brain and flex those underused muscles in your heart.”
“You’re spoiling Luc’s surprise, Joan, if that’s what it was supposed to be.”
“Well, clearly the Hope diamond won’t be jumping out of your birthday cake if you’re spending that evening alone. Forget I said anything.”
“Forgotten.”
“He told me you’re bent out of shape about Brigitte.”
“Not true.”
“What are you hoping to find at our age? A guy who’s a forty-year-old virgin with no prior love life or involvements? No ex, no kids—maybe even an orphan so you won’t have in-laws either? The Dalai Lama’s been off the table for quite some time.”
“How well do you know Brigitte?”
“Total pain in the ass.”
“Would you trust her, Joan? I mean between Brigitte and Luc, who—?”
“Luc, of course. How can you even ask that?”
“Because if he’s so over her, why does he keep her photograph in the drawer of his night table?”
“What were you doing going through his drawer?”
“I wasn’t going through it. I was looking for some nail clippers, okay?”
“He probably hasn’t cleaned it out in months. What is it, like a family shot with the boys?”
“Like Brigitte on the beach in Cannes. Topless.”
The man next to me coughed and lowered his newspaper to look at me again.
“Get over it. Everyone in France is topless, especially those fat old tourists from Eastern Europe you’d rather not see, even when they have clothes on.”
The flight attendant signaled me to turn off my phone. “Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’re taking off now.”
By the time we climbed out of Paris and through a cloud cover that blanketed the view for the first half hour of the route, I
“I spoke to Luc this morning. He’s
désolé
, Alex. I thought you two had a deal.”
“I envy you the writer’s life. You make your own schedule, your work is portable, nobody’s well-being depends on your output. But that’s not the kind of job I have.”
“You promised him—”
“It’s not like I cheated on him, Joan,” I said, drawing a sidelong glance from the man settling in next to me. “Yes, I used my phone.I blew off Mike and Mercer and Vickee and all the peeps I trust in that job. And then Paul Battaglia himself called.”
“He doesn’t own you, Alex. You’re entitled to a vacation. If Battaglia has a primary challenger next year, I’ll bet he’ll step down. How old is he already? He’ll be a lame duck by then.”
“I work for the man, Joan. I can’t just twiddle my thumbs for eighteen months till the next election. He’ll stay in this job till he’s ninety.”
“I still think Battaglia’s lame, whether he’s a duck or not.” She was laughing as she talked. “Do you have any idea what Luc planned to do on your birthday?”
“We talked about a quiet dinner at the house.”
The announcement came on that all electronic devices would have to be powered down in two minutes, when the doors closed.
“Obviously dinner, Alex. I didn’t mean that. What’s happened to your sense of romance? Do you remember that day I took him shopping after you two came back from the Vineyard last month? Do you understand the man has been looking at rings?”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
“Are you still there? Can you hear me? Great big shiny diamond rings, girl. His money, my uncommonly good sense of taste and style. Luc’s madly in love with you.”
The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering wildly. “Don’t go there, Joan. If you’re really my pal, back off this subject. Way too premature.”
“Is it the commitment thing? Swear to me it’s not that.”
“I don’t know him, okay? The last forty-eight hours have proved that beyond—”
“Don’t give me ‘beyond a reasonable doubt,’ babe. Forget the law in your brain and flex those underused muscles in your heart.”
“You’re spoiling Luc’s surprise, Joan, if that’s what it was supposed to be.”
“Well, clearly the Hope diamond won’t be jumping out of your birthday cake if you’re spending that evening alone. Forget I said anything.”
“Forgotten.”
“He told me you’re bent out of shape about Brigitte.”
“Not true.”
“What are you hoping to find at our age? A guy who’s a forty-year-old virgin with no prior love life or involvements? No ex, no kids—maybe even an orphan so you won’t have in-laws either? The Dalai Lama’s been off the table for quite some time.”
“How well do you know Brigitte?”
“Total pain in the ass.”
“Would you trust her, Joan? I mean between Brigitte and Luc, who—?”
“Luc, of course. How can you even ask that?”
“Because if he’s so over her, why does he keep her photograph in the drawer of his night table?”
“What were you doing going through his drawer?”
“I wasn’t going through it. I was looking for some nail clippers, okay?”
“He probably hasn’t cleaned it out in months. What is it, like a family shot with the boys?”
“Like Brigitte on the beach in Cannes. Topless.”
The man next to me coughed and lowered his newspaper to look at me again.
“Get over it. Everyone in France is topless, especially those fat old tourists from Eastern Europe you’d rather not see, even when they have clothes on.”
The flight attendant signaled me to turn off my phone. “Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’re taking off now.”
By the time we climbed out of Paris and through a cloud cover that blanketed the view for the first half hour of the route, I
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