can I push him before he snaps?
Andrew Preston reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. When no one was looking, he slipped three Xanax into his mouth, washing them down with a slug of champagne.
You always knew Maria would be hard to hold on to. Find a way, Andrew. Find a way.
‘Are you all right, Andrew?’ Caroline Merrivale, John Merrivale’s wife, noticed Andrew Preston’s ashen face. ‘You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.’
‘Ha ha! Not at all.’ Andrew forced a smile. ‘You look ravishing tonight, Caro, as always.’
‘Thank you. John and I both made an effort to be low-key. You know, given the current economic circumstances.’
It was a deliberate dig at Maria. Andrew let it pass, but thought again how much he loathed Caroline Merrivale. Poor John, being pussy-whipped through life by that harridan. No wonder he always looked so downtrodden.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that the Merrivale marriage was an unhappy one. Anyone, that is, other than Lenny and Grace Brookstein. Those two were so nauseatingly in love, they seemed to assume that everybody else had what they had. Easy to keep the love alive when you have billions of dollars to throw at it. But perhaps Andrew was being unfair? The young Mrs Brookstein was no gold digger. She was naive, that was all, and clearly believed that Caroline Merrivale was her friend. Grace never saw the envy that blazed in the older woman’s eyes whenever her back was turned. But Andrew Preston saw it. Caroline Merrivale was a bitch.
Caroline had always bitterly resented Grace’s position as first lady of Quorum. She, Caroline Merrivale, would have been so much better suited to the role. Handsome rather than beautiful, with strong, intelligent features and a sharply cut bob of black hair, Caroline had once had a flourishing career as a trial lawyer. Of course, that was years ago now. Thanks to Lenny Brookstein, her husband, John, had become an immensely wealthy and successful man. Caroline’s working days were over. But her ambition was far from extinguished.
John Merrivale, by contrast, had never been ambitious. He worked hard at Quorum, accepted whatever Lenny chose to give him, and was grateful. Caroline would taunt him: ‘You’re like a puppy, John. Curled up at your master’s feet, loyally wagging your tail. No wonder Lenny doesn’t respect you.’
‘Lenny d-d-does respect me. It’s you who d-d-doesn’t.’
‘No, and why would I? I want a man, John, not a lapdog. You should demand more equity. Stand up and be counted.’
Andrew Preston glanced across the table at John Merrivale now. Lenny was in the middle of an anecdote, with John hanging on his every word. Andrew thought: He’s brilliant. But he’s weak. There was only room for one king at Quorum. Caroline Merrivale might wish it weren’t so, but she could keep on wishing. They were all hanging off of Lenny Brookstein’s coattails. And they were the lucky ones. Poor old Michael Gray was sitting on Maria’s right, also listening to Lenny’s story. The Grays were like a walking cautionary tale. One minute they were partying up a storm all over Manhattan, living it up in their Greenwich Village brownstone, summering in the South of France and wintering at their newly remodeled chalet in Aspen. The next minute – poof – it was all gone. Word was that every cent Mike Gray owned had been leveraged against Lehman stock. Their kids, Cade and Cooper, were only still in their private schools because Grace Brookstein, Connie Gray’s sister, had insisted on covering the tuition.
Maria whispered in Andrew’s ear: ‘The auction starts in a few minutes, Andy. I’ve got my eye on the vintage Cartier watch. Will you bid for it, or shall I?’
Grace Brookstein smiled and clapped throughout the bidding, but she was secretly relieved when the auction ended and it was time for dancing.
‘I hate these things,’ she whispered in Lenny’s ear as he whisked her around the floor. ‘All those fragile male egos trying to outspend each other. It’s chest beating.’
‘I know.’ Lenny’s hand caressed her lower back. ‘But those chest beaters just raised fifteen million for our foundation. In this economy, that’s pretty good going.’
‘Do you mind if I cut in? I’ve barely spoken to my favorite brother-in-law all night.’
Connie, Grace’s eldest sister, slipped her arm around Lenny’s waist. Lenny and Grace both smiled.
‘Favorite brother-in-law, eh?’ Grace teased. ‘Don’t let Jack hear you say that.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ Connie waved her hand dismissively. ‘He’s been in such a funk all evening. I thought being a senator was supposed to be fun. Anyone would think he was the one who’d just lost his house. And job. And life savings. Come on, Lenny! Cheer a girl up, would you?’
Grace watched has her husband dance with her sister, holding Connie close so he could offer words of comfort. I love them both so much, she thought. And I admire them both so much. The way Connie can make jokes and laugh at herself when she and Mike are going through hell. And Lenny’s incredible, inexhaustible compassion. People were always talking about how ‘lucky’ Grace was to be married to Lenny. Grace agreed. But it wasn’t Lenny’s money that made her blessed. It was his kindness.
Of course, there was a downside to being married to the nicest man in the world. So many people loved Lenny, and relied on him, that Grace almost never got him all to herself. Next week they were flying to Nantucket, Grace’s favorite place in the world, for a two-week vacation. But of course, being the gracious host that he was, Lenny had invited everyone at the table tonight to join them.
‘Promise me we’ll get at least one night alone,’ Grace begged, when they finally crawled into bed that night. The ball had been fun, but exhausting. The thought of even more socializing filled Grace with dread.
‘Don’t worry. They won’t all come. And even if they do, we’ll get more than one night alone, I promise. The house is big enough for us to sneak away.’
Grace thought, That’s true. The house is enormous. Almost as big as your heart, my darling.
It was the morning after the Quorum Ball, a Saturday. John Merrivale was in bed with his wife.
‘Please, C-C-Caroline. I don’t want to.’
‘I don’t care what you want, you pathetic little worm. Do it!’
John Merrivale closed his eyes and moved down beneath the sheets till he was eye level with his wife’s neatly trimmed black bush.
Caroline taunted him. ‘If you weren’t such a limp dick, I wouldn’t need you to do it. But since you’ve failed to get it up yet again, it’s the least you can do.’
John Merrivale began to do what was asked of him. He hated oral sex. It felt disgusting and wrong. But the days had long passed when he was allowed to follow his own desires. His sex life had become a series of nightly humiliations. Weekends were the worst. Caroline expected a morning performance on Saturdays, and sometimes even a Sunday matinee. It was incredible to John how a woman who so patently
