style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I don’t know if I can be bothered to look for them any more.’
Stewart took his sister’s hand across the table. ‘Then stop looking for now. You need to be good to yourself, sis. I hate seeing you down.’
‘Am I missing something good?’ The door to the apartment slammed and Bea looked up to see the flamboyant figure of her brother’s partner approaching.
‘Hi Celia,’ she smiled, standing to receive a hug.
‘Honey, how are you? I was so worried after that awful dinner.’ She placed her hand on Bea’s forehead as if expecting to find a raging temperature. ‘Are you well?’
‘She’s fine,’ Stewart laughed, rising to fetch another mug from the kitchen. ‘Put my sister down before you strangle her.’
Celia pulled up a chair and sat beside Bea. ‘The man is an oaf, Bea darling! He’s not worthy of you. I hope you tore a strip off him when he finally showed his face.’
‘I did more than that,’ Bea replied, secretly touched by Celia’s overblown concern. ‘I told him we were over.’
Celia’s eyebrows shot heavenwards. ‘Oh? Well, I’m proud of you, honey! Men like that have to learn that women aren’t doormats to be abandoned at a moment’s notice.’
‘Can you abandon a doormat?’ Stewart grinned at Bea, but Celia wasn’t listening. For a full five minutes she launched a scathing attack on Otis Greene’s lack of manhood, complete rudeness and inability to be the man Bea needed him to be.
‘You’re better off without him. Why waste your life on a loser?’
Why indeed, Bea smiled to herself. ‘Enough about that, anyway. How’s everything with your book?’
Celia heaved a dramatic sigh as Stewart kissed the top of her head, placing a fresh mug of coffee in her hands. ‘Exhausting. But I think we’re almost there. My publisher insists on making last-minute changes to my manuscript that make no grammatical sense whatsoever – I swear they think I don’t know how to write. I’m only a senior New York Times columnist for heaven’s sake. What the hell do I know?’
‘When do you publish?’
‘In a month. Of course, I’ll be glad when it’s out on the shelves, but I’m not convinced I’d do it again. Still, if it worked for Nora Ephron, I have to hope it’ll work for me.’
Bea decided to ask the question she had been mulling over for a few weeks. If Celia agreed, it would be the first major event Hudson River Books had ever held – and could be the start of a whole new chapter in the bookshop’s success. If not, it was back to the drawing board.
‘I’ve been thinking – and please feel free to say no – but how would you like to hold the launch of your book at my bookstore? We’d love to have you and I could arrange everything.’
Celia exchanged glances with Stewart and beamed brightly at Bea. ‘Now that is just perfect! I was only saying to your brother last night I thought your place would be ideal. Of course! Pencil it in!’
Bea felt as if the sun had just broken free on a very dark day. ‘That’s wonderful! Why don’t you come down to the bookstore soon and we’ll go through everything you’d like?’
Celia offered a perfectly manicured hand and Bea shook it. ‘You just got yourself a deal, lady!’
As Celia and Stewart began to talk about their respective days at work, Bea gazed out of the bay window to the street below. This was the positive sign she had been longing for – and she was determined to make it a success.
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
The loft apartment looked like a movie set. As the owner gave Jake a tour, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the space. Architect-designed and full of light, the apartment smelled of money – every detail an indicator of taste and expense. Frosted glass met industrial slate and polished cherry wood floors. Generous couches in neutral tones were arranged around exposed brick walls. Glass and brushed steel staircases rose from either end of the room to a mezzanine above, with bedrooms situated off it. Two-storey glass windows provided the most amazing view of the Upper West Side – at night the lights of the city would meet the stars and guests could wander out onto the slate balcony to admire the view. It was perfect.
‘And you don’t mind if we clear some furniture for the party?’ he asked.
Eric Reynolds, the owner of the gorgeous living space and an old friend from Jake’s Yale days, nodded. ‘No problem. We do it often, actually. My practice holds all its business functions here so we’ve become old hands at furniture removal.’ He slapped a friendly hand on Jake’s back. ‘You know, it’s good to see you, man. I thought we’d lost you to the West Coast forever.’
Jake laughed, but his heart was heavy. ‘Me? Never! Always an East Coast fella.’
‘Good. We should do a weekend at the Hampton house some time. Laura would love to see you.’
‘How is the family?’
Eric chuckled. ‘Growing. Suddenly I’m the father of three teenagers and I have no idea how it happened. The boys are good, though, even if they have relegated me to “old man” status in backyard basketball matches. And Laura hasn’t changed in twenty years. So, what do you reckon?’
Jake looked up at the light flooding in from the glass roof of the apartment. ‘It’s perfect. Ed and Rosie will love it. And I hope you and Laura can join us?’
‘Unfortunately, we’re out of town that Friday. But we’ll expect you all at the house soon, OK?’
In a coffee shop around the corner from the apartment, Jake pulled out his Moleskine notebook and ticked ‘VENUE’ off his to-do list. Remembering that Eric Reynolds had an apartment he let out for events had been a masterstroke this morning and a large part of Jake’s planning conundrum solved. Now what remained was a bar, waiting staff and a caterer, perhaps a DJ, maybe some mood lighting. Jake looked at his list and congratulated himself. This party planning was easier than he’d imagined.
He sipped his flat white and glanced around the coffee shop interior. A long line stretched along the counter towards the door but the speed of service meant that even those at the back of the queue weren’t visibly rattled by having to wait. That said, compared with San Franciscan coffee shop customers, this queue would appear uptight. Jake shuddered as a familiar thud of reality echoed through him. Everything had seemed easier on the West Coast – the sunshine and laid-back atmosphere permeating every aspect of life. Except for his marriage, which should have been the easiest thing of all. Why did Jessica leave him? What happened to change how she felt about him?
Jake groaned. Speculation was pointless. Jess had her reasons – whatever they were – and he was powerless to change her mind. He could go over and over the situation until the end of time and never find the answers. Jessica simply didn’t want to be his wife any longer. The unsigned divorce
