Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(33)

“I love you too.” I hear my own words as sounding weak and merely reciprocating. Julia doesn’t seem to mind. She needs to tell me something.

“You’re smart and funny and beautiful. You’re your own man. That’s what I noticed about you first and what I love and respect the most.” She pauses and looks more intently at me, the way a person would look through a small porthole, as though her look could physically take hold of me, and I do sit up in bed. “I love the way you handle my father. He’s a pompous big shot who’s intimidated everyone I’ve ever known, including me. But he knows he can’t intimidate you because you don’t need anything back from him and it makes him uncomfortable around you.”

“He is an ass.” I’m not joking or serious. I’m just glad we’re on the same side for a moment and I want it to continue.

“You don’t care what other people think about you. That makes you immune to people like my father, and your immunity drives people like my father crazy. Your indifference fills up the room and it’s Kryptonite to him.” She tightens a grip on my hand and her smile beams, celebrating a triumph of mine. “You’re so good for me. In some ways I’m my father’s daughter, but you’re not Kryptonite for me. He’s too far gone, but I can be saved and you save me.”

Her memory seems to progress through our years together and I watch the beam in her eyes fade. “Twelve years ago when you were first at your job, that lifestyle seemed okay. You were right out of college and living in the city on your own for the first time, going to bars and staying out late. That you could do it for work and on an expense account even seemed exciting. When we met, I loved you and I thought that part of you was coming to an end. I don’t know why I didn’t object then and talk to you about it. You’d come home drunk in the middle of the night from a dinner and a strip club, where you were talking about God knows what with your trader friends from the office. But now is worse because I don’t have any reserves left. I don’t want more reserves to keep this going either. I want it to be different.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. You’re too good a person and I don’t know why you’re stuck in this lifestyle. I don’t think you know either. Maybe it’s okay when you’re twenty-five and single, but you’re thirty-five and you have me. This isn’t fair to me. You have to grow up.”

“It isn’t a matter of growing up.”

“It is, Nick. You must know you’re not an adult.”

This one hits home. Direct hit on my front door and I’m silent.

“Maybe you should see someone. It could help you to talk about it.”

“That’s stupid. I don’t need to see anyone.” Most of Julia’s friends are in some kind of therapy, along with everyone else with money in New York.

“No, it’s not stupid, Nick. You don’t like your mom. That’s cliché for a reason. Don’t you think it could have anything to do with this?” She waits. Apparently this question is not rhetorical.

“My parents have nothing to do with this. I don’t need a shrink, I just need to make some changes.”

Tears had come down her cheeks, first one making a slow, jagged path, then others following exactly behind so that you couldn’t see the tear itself but just another pulse in the trail left by the first one. I brush it from her face. I can’t remember the last time I saw her cry.

“Honey, you’re right.” I say this as softly as I can, almost a whisper. “I’m not happy at work. I don’t like the lifestyle out of the office. I don’t like the job in the office. It’s not what I want anymore. I haven’t wanted it for a long time.”

“Then leave it, Nick.”

“You want me to quit? Just walk out? This is my career, Julia. This is the only career I’ve ever had.”

“Yes. Quit tomorrow. We have some money saved up. My dad has some money if we ever need it. Quit, Nick. We can go somewhere else.”

“Quit and do what?” I feel my pulse quicken. “Julia, I’ve sold bonds for more than thirteen years. Do you know what skills I’ve acquired in that time? The ability to sell bonds. These are not transferable skills. This is the only way I know how to make money, certainly this amount of money. Do you think I should start painting houses or mowing lawns?”

“I think you can do anything you want to do.”

I make a loud, frustrated exhale through my nostrils as though it is a word that can sum things up. An image passes through my head of me standing at the end of a car wash cycle holding a drying towel in one hand and wearing navy coveralls that say “Nick” in cursive on the front. “Julia, quitting is not the answer.”

“Then what is?”

“There are some changes I think I can make. I can shift some responsibilities around on the desk and I can make it clear that I’m not going to be involved in the entertainment side of things as much. Or there are some small boutique firms popping up. If I jump to one of them, I’d have a different role. More strategy and management. I could leave Bear for one of them.”

I can’t tell if she thinks there is merit in this or not, but she stops pushing. I put my arms around her and pull her in close, each of our chins resting on the other’s shoulder. “Julia, let’s take a trip. Just the two of us, let’s fly down to the Bahamas for a week and we’ll find a deserted stretch of beach and do nothing but swim, sleep, eat good food, and do crossword puzzles.” I feel her head nod against my shoulder. “I’ll look into flights tomorrow.”