Chapter 2: Reflections and Advice
Chapter 2: Reflections and Advice
Confusion wanders in,
Strides the evening like a king;
Chaos and turmoil prevail;
Bedlam reigns, hope all is drowned.
Ah, but strangely we settle down,
Resigned to the sinking ship on which we sail.
-David Gray, "It's All Over"
David Rossi was sixty-two years old. He had had ten books on the New York Times bestseller list. He had been married three times. He had a daughter from his first marriage, but she rarely had time for him. He lived in his multi-million dollar Dakota penthouse alone. Despite his many successes, he felt like a failure.
It was a cliché, he knew, and that was why he resisted dwelling on it. Mostly. As he stood on his terrace looking out over Central Park, he tried to focus on the good. He was aging well. Sure, he missed being twenty-five, but there was plenty to be said for maturity. Lots of women liked a man of experience.
Though, if he were being completely honest, he grew weary of giggling twenty-somethings with daddy issues. Or sugar daddy issues. He wanted someone...thoughtful. Worldly. If he wanted anyone at all, and most days that was up for serious debate.
His musings were interrupted by a buzz on the intercom. He ignored it. It buzzed again, more insistently, until the annoying noise abruptly stopped. He nodded in satisfaction: intruder successfully dispatched.
He was debating the merits of changing out of his pajamas and into real clothes (why bother? Heff lives in PJs, and look at what he's got...) when the knocking began. Dammit, one of his nosy-ass neighbors must have let the buzzer(er?) up. Of course, it took a key in the elevator to get to this floor, so that narrowed the visitor list considerably.
"Dave?" a female voice called from the living room.
Not only a key to his floor, but a front door key as well. Only two women had such a key: his housekeeper and his publicist. He checked the sun's position in the sky (watches were deeply overrated) and realized it was nearly noon. Of course, they had an appointment that day...he'd forgotten it, lost as he was in his brooding.
"Dave, if you're dead I'm going to be really pissed. Discovering your body is really, really low on my list of things I've always wanted to do."
He smiled in spite of himself, the hangdog look lifting from his face. "I'm out here, J.J.," he called.
His indecently attractive, insanely competent, incredibly annoying ("tenacious," Dave, let's be fair) publicist appeared in the doorway, Prada briefcase dangling from one small, perfectly manicured hand. Those hands were currently on her hips, and her lovely face was creased in a little scowl. "You missed our appointment."
"Good morning to you, too," he offered, turning back to the view after his initial assessment.
"Good morning? Are you kidding? It's never a good morning when I have to come drag you out of here. Why do you insist on going all J.D. Salinger on me?"
"Ironic."
"What?" she asked, moving out onto the terrace and eying him warily. One never knew what he'd come up with when he was in one of these moods.
"J.D. Salinger. Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield. Mark David Chapman. John Lennon." He pointed at the sidewalk far below them. "The Dakota."
"Dave, Jesus. All I meant was you're going hermit again. There's no need to play Six Degrees of Incredibly Morbid with me."
He shrugged. "You brought it up."
She sighed in exasperation and tried to reign in her temper.
He eyed her. "I was going more for Hugh Heffner than J.D. Salinger. Like the PJs?"
"I'd like them more if you didn't have a book signing in SoHo in twenty minutes. We'll never make it on time."
Sighing, he turned his dark-eyed gaze on the view once more. "I'm tired, J.J."
"I told you to stop staying up all night. This tour's going to be tough, and you need-"
"I don't mean physically," he interrupted. "I'm tired of...this." He waved a hand. "World-weary." He gave her a long look, really examining her for the first time since she'd stepped through the door. His brows drew together. "You look worse than I do."
"Um...thanks, Dave. I'm glad we have the type of relationship where we can just say whatever we think." She shook her bright head and leaned beside him against the stone railing.
"That was a bit...abrupt," he admitted. Her normally bright eyes looked dull, almost defeated, and her face was set in tired lines. He'd never seen her without the spark he so admired. "What's wrong?" he asked, pulling himself away from his self-pity for a moment.
She looked away self-consciously. "Nothing. I'm fine, Dave. It's you I'm worried about. You have the book signing, and then tonight you're speaking at NYU. Are you going to be able to do it, or do I need to figure out an excuse for canceling?"
"Is it that kid you're seeing? Did he do something?"
Her fingers drummed against the stone. "He has a name, Dave."
"Sure. Everyone has a name. I just don't care about his."
Her mouth quirked. "You're an arrogant jerk, you know that?"
He grinned, the expression brightening his eyes. "I take pride in it. So I guess you want me at that store in SoHo, huh?"
"Yes, Dave. It would make my job much, much easier if you would get some clothes on and go to the signing. I know I'm not your agent, or your editor, or one of your ex-wives, but it would be really great if you could do your lowly publicist this one tiny favor."
"You didn't answer my question, though."
She rubbed her temples a moment, struggling with her emotions. She knew he wouldn't give up until she answered him. She could make something up, but he'd probably see right through it; he was damn perceptive when he managed to think about someone other than himself for five minutes. "I left him last night," she said at last.
His brows rose. "Any particular reason why?"
She let out a breath somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "Millions. He shuts me out. He won't talk to me. He buries himself in his work when I need him the most."
"Those are pretty common things, J.J.," said the man who had built commercial success as his personal life went to hell. "What actually motivated you to walk out that door last night?"
She stared out at the green vista of the park, and the city beyond. "He wanted to redecorate the nursery," she said softly.
Dave blinked. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. "It's been six months," he reminded her gently.
"I know that!" she cried, her face as she turned toward him a mask of pain. "I know how long it's been nearly down to the minute. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers what day it was."
He frowned. Considered. Thought about his own daughter whom he so rarely saw. "I think you're being unfair. Deeply unfair."
"Unfair to him?! What about what's fair to me?"
He held up a placating hand. "You say he won't talk to you, but have you tried talking to him? Did you tell him why you weren't ready to redecorate, or did you just get angry and start packing?"
Her jaw fell open. Snapped shut again. Blue eyes showed a range of emotions - fury, hurt...guilt. "I..." She turned away, leaving the single syllable to hang in the air like smoke.
"That's what I thought," he said quietly. He sighed. "You know I like you, J.J."
"You don't like anyone, Dave," she reminded him.
"That makes it even more remarkable that I like you. I've always liked you, but I never really liked that kid."
"You only met him once, and he had the flu. You can't really judge him based on that," she replied in exasperation.
"I reserve the right to judge anyone in any circumstances," he said after brief consideration.
She rolled her eyes; shook her head.
"That aside," he continued, "I think you didn't really give him a chance. If you'll accept an outsider's opinion, I think you shut him out from the moment you lost the baby. He didn't stand a snowball's chance."
J.J. lifted her hands in a rueful almost-shrug. "It's too late. I'm tired of fighting for him."
"Maybe it's time he fought for you," he told her in a quiet, firm voice.
She looked away. "He won't. He gave up a long time ago."
Dave reached out to squeeze her small hand in his larger one. "At the risk of sounding utterly ridiculous, I'm going to tell you not to underestimate the power of the heart. If he doesn't fight for you, he's an idiot; I don't care how high his IQ is. You're worth fighting for; don't ever forget that."
She glanced at him quickly, watching him go blurry as tears filled her dark blue eyes. "Thank you, Dave. I mean it."
He smiled; patted her hand before releasing it. "Any time, kiddo. Now, how about you call that store and tell them we're on our way?"