at it this way: if he likes you, you’ll have opened the door for something to begin; if he doesn’t, well, then you’ll have gained a friend you already respect. You win either way. OK?’
‘OK,’ Marnie said, still uncertain but brightening slowly. She hugged me again. ‘Thanks, Rosie, I’ll try.’
The bell on the front door chimed as Ed arrived. ‘Ugh!’ he exclaimed, covering his eyes with his copy of the New York Observer. ‘Female bonding alert! Get me out of here…I need air…’ The paper was whipped away, revealing an eager smile. ‘No, wait—tell me all the juicy details.’
Marnie and I stood up. ‘None to tell,’ Marnie said, walking past him aloofly.
‘Great,’ Ed moaned. ‘As usual I’m discriminated against purely because I have no womb.’
‘Ooh, Ed with a womb—now there’s a scary thought…’ I began.
‘Hey, I’d be great with a womb,’ Ed protested, following me over to the counter. ‘I pride myself on being fashionably in touch with my feminine side. Despite the fact that it’s obvious to anyone I’m an undeniably awesome hunk of manhood.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Marnie laughed. ‘Name your feminine attributes then.’
‘I understand flowers,’ he replied proudly. ‘I eat chocolate when I’m depressed. I’m not averse to a good bit of gossip every once in a while. So spill the details, sisters!’
Marnie and I exchanged looks. ‘Should we be worried?’ I asked.
Marnie giggled. ‘Does he have a weekend name?’
Ed looked mystified. ‘A weekend name?’
‘Oh, you know—“At weekends my name is Janice.”’
The look on Ed’s face was worthy of exhibition at the Guggenheim. ‘The only name I answer to at weekends is Mr Highly Desirable,’ he answered haughtily, as Marnie and I collapsed in hysterical laughter. ‘Oh, yeah, go ahead. Laugh. But I’ll have you know I turned down two—that’s two—offers of dinner for tonight from a couple of very lovely ladies who are impatient to date me. Because tonight, my friends, I am going to a Broadway show with a certain lady by the name of Yelena Ivanova.’
His careful emphasis was wasted on Marnie and me. Our blank expressions revealed that we had absolutely no idea who this was.
He groaned. ‘Yelena Ivanova—you know— “The Face of Jean St Pierre”?’
‘The model?’ Marnie asked incredulously. ‘How did that happen?’
Ed smiled. ‘She’s going out with my best friend, Steve, who’s a photographer for several big fashion houses. He got called away to a shoot in Hawaii but he was supposed to be taking Yelena to see Kevin Spacey’s latest play on Broadway tonight. So there was a spare ticket. So I offered to step in.’
I grinned. ‘Ah, Ed Steinmann, Kowalski’s resident chivalrous knight in shining armour.’
Ed shot me a sly smile. ‘That’s Sir Ed Steinmann to you, peasant! Although, maybe not so chivalrous. See, I heard Yelena’s on the verge of breaking up with Steve so I’m hoping to catch her on the rebound.’
‘What?’ Marnie exclaimed. ‘Ed, you’re awful!’
‘I know,’ he said happily, disappearing into the workroom, ‘but that’s why you love me.’
The morning continued with more calls and customers than on a usual Thursday. Kowalski’s was obviously still benefiting from the Mimi Sutton Effect.
At eleven the door opened and Brent Jacobs strolled in. His extra-wide smile appeared as soon as he saw me.
‘Rosie! Hi! Hope I’m not too late?’
‘No,’ I reassured him, ‘you’re right on time. Welcome to Kowalski’s.’
‘Do I smell coffee?’ Brent beamed, his eyes wide and innocent as a child attempting to win sweets with charm.
‘You most certainly do. Milk and sugar?’
‘Black with two, thanks.’ A sudden sheepish look temporarily usurped the grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ I smiled, handing him a hand-painted blue and white mug bearing the store’s name.
‘Cute mugs. You do these yourself?’
I laughed. ‘No, my friend Lucy has a ceramics store in West Village and she made them for me.’
We sat down on the sofa and I presented my design books for Brent to view. After much discussion, he decided on a large hand-tied bouquet of yellow and cream roses, lilies and gladioli, accompanied by dark green foliage, eucalyptus and rosemary sprigs. Yellow was, I discovered, his wife’s favourite colour and the hue of her bridesmaid’s dresses on their wedding day. Rosemary was her middle name and the name Brent called her when nobody else was listening. On their honeymoon they had visited his relatives in Australia and had been taken to see koalas munching eucalyptus in a local nature reserve…I filled out the order form and arranged delivery for the following morning at ten thirty.
‘Have you spoken to Celia recently?’ Brent asked.
‘Yes, I saw her last night,’ I replied, not looking up from the counter.
‘Did you hear about Jerry?’
I stopped writing and looked at him. ‘Yes—how did you…?’
‘I heard. Word gets around. My wife works for his old company. How did Celia seem to you last night?’
I decided to be noncommittal. ‘Like her usual self, I guess. Maybe a bit quieter.’
Brent’s concern remained etched across his face. ‘Hmm. I care about her, Rosie. And I don’t think she’s coping as well as she shouts out to the world.’
My discomfort was increasing. ‘Brent, maybe you should talk about this with Celia, not me. I’m not sure how much of her situation she wants others to know.’
Brent smiled his reassurance. ‘Listen, kid, Celia and I go back a long, long way. You needn’t worry. If you speak to her again before I do, just tell her that Old Bee Jay is still there for her, OK? She’ll know what I mean.’
Still in the dark, I smiled. ‘Fine, I’ll do that.’ I handed Brent his copy of the order.
‘Thanks. So, did you hear what I saw at the Lincoln Center, Tuesday night?’
My interest level jumped up a few thousand notches. ‘Celia told me. Have you heard any more?’
‘Ah, we’re always ready for gossip here,’ quipped Ed as he walked past with an armful of roses. ‘Who’s the object of rumour today?’
Brent grinned. ‘A certain young man who was very impressed with Ms Duncan a couple of weeks back at Celia’s soiree.’
Ed
