Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(35)

“He’s either got an inflamed prostate or he’s feeding his cocaine habit.”

Sybil looks at me and doesn’t laugh but has a curious expression. There is, I imagine, a brief flicker of putting the pieces together as though she has all along seen the signs and just now understands what they mean and how obvious they have been. Is it possible that Oliver has been able to hide his cocaine use from his wife even when out to dinner together? I feel a happy sense of victory hoping I’ve just exposed this. That Sybil is collateral damage doesn’t matter. She’s better off knowing anyway. So is Julia.

Julia laughs. “Nick, you’re awful.”

I don’t have a playful response, so I take another drink to have something to do, and I imagine Sybil’s inquisition when she and Oliver get home later that night. In my mind, she pulls the white cellophane bag from his jacket breast pocket, slaps him across the face, knocking off the Harry Potter glasses, then goes for the kitchen knife.

“That osso buco was fantastic,” Oliver says, sitting back down. Everyone smiles but no one says anything. I think we’re all still adjusting to the new pieces of information that have come out to Sybil. “Julia, tell us more about your interior design business. It’s very interesting. How does it all work?” Oliver seems to want to show that he is unafraid to go back to this topic. By brute force he will stamp out any suspicion of impropriety. The energy at the table shows reluctance to suffer the charade, but the only alternative is for one of us to expose Oliver’s thinly veiled masquerade. I’m tempted. Julia knows me well enough that she answers before I can jump in.

“The business side is simple. There’s an hourly fee for services plus a thirty-five percent charge on top of the items we purchase. Because I buy a lot across several clients, I usually buy at a discount from retail, so that extra percentage isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Julia now seems to be happy to go on about her work. Sybil feigns interest, but in a way that seems she wants to let us know she is only feigning.

“For the design part, I start with a few consultations with the client to see what kind of style to go with. Modern, classic, some Asian influence, what colors they like, et cetera. It’s important to establish a theme. Sometimes we’ll sit together and just leaf through a few magazines like Veranda, House Beautiful, Elle Décor, and the client will tell me what they like. Or just as importantly, what they don’t like. The main thing is to understand the person and design something that will feel right to them. It costs a little more for people to do this, but where we live is too important not to make it a home we love. It’s an investment in ourselves. As Oprah says, we all need a home that rises up to meet us. I had a client who’s a single attorney, and she came into her home for the first time after I’d finished and she started to cry, she was so happy.”

“You’re kidding.” Oliver says it and I’m thinking the same thing. I didn’t know this story and I had no idea Julia was this good at what she does. I hadn’t paid that much attention.

“She’s a great woman. We’re still friends. She’s my age and divorced and single and never had a home of her own or any home done the way she wanted it. We spent a lot of time getting it just right. We also installed the sound system. I know what her favorite opera is and she loves candles, so when she arrived to see it for the first time, I had her opera playing and candles lit all around the home and she just burst out sobbing and hugged me. I started crying too. It was the best work moment I’ve had.”

“You’re such a romantic.” This is not said mockingly. Oliver says this as though he’s about to come across the table and start making love to her. He seems to realize this is too much to leave suspended, and he follows up to me, “Isn’t she, Nick? What’s it like? Being married to such a romantic?”

I feel vicious. I can’t decide if it is Oliver or Julia I want to strike more. I decide on Julia.

“She’s not romantic. She just likes romantic things. She likes candles, picnics, red wine, and dark chocolate, holding hands at subtitled films. But seemingly unromantic things can be romantic, because it’s not the things, it’s the people. Julia is always in control. Romance is giving yourself over to emotion and losing control. When your heart takes over your mind. When you do things not out of logic or reason, but out of passion.”

The smile has drained from Julia’s face. She is not enjoying my monologue. For the first time the entire evening, I’m beginning to enjoy myself, so I go on. “You know she lost her virginity her senior year in high school. How do you suppose it happened?”

“Nick.” Julia tries to break up the story.

“It wasn’t to some boy she had been dating and fallen in love with, or even didn’t love but was lusting to have sex with. It wasn’t even on a night when she’d had too much to drink and things went too far.”

“Nicky,” she pleads.

“It was because she knew she was going to college the next year and she wanted to have that experience before she went. The whole thing was a logically laid-out plan to prepare herself, and she knew a guy well enough to do the job.”

The table is rapt with awkward attention, like watching a crystal vase teeter on a shelf but standing at too far a distance to do anything about it. I march on. “Does this sound like a woman driven by her passions? Like a woman who has been out of control for even a moment of her life? Julia is probably the least romantic person I’ve ever known.”