The Friends We Keep(56)
As Jack grew, so did her expenses. She needed more work, and when her friend Kim opened a local coffee shop and asked her to help out, she said yes, relieved. It turned into a regular job to supplement her freelance income.
This wasn’t the life she would ever have chosen for herself, she often thought. She remembered her stardom, the years she spent modeling, lavishing money on ridiculous bags and shoes and fur coats that were gradually sold off, one by one, after Jack was born. But there wasn’t a thing she would change about her life, given the wondrousness of Jack.
She was pretty happy, if not rich, the day Lance walked into the coffee shop, impossible to ignore. He carried himself with an air of authority, was charming and brimmed with an appealing confidence. He was not her type at all—she had always gone for pretty boys, whereas Lance was older, and heavier set. But she found him compelling, and once he established himself as a regular, she would look forward to him coming in. It wasn’t just his air of authority and his charm, it was that he seemed like the kind of man who would look after you, take care of things. She may have thought she relished her independence, but being a single mother was hard; part of her was clearly more tired of struggling on her own than she had realized.
She knew nothing about him then, had no idea who he was. All she knew over the course of the year was that she served him cappuccino with extra foam, and he went from wearing a wedding band to not wearing a wedding band. And he was clearly fascinated by her. He asked her very early on if she had been a model. He recognized her, he said. If she was busy serving someone else, he would wait off to one side, until she could help him. He was patient, and always polite. He was charm personified.
She mentioned one day that her son loved hockey, and the next day he slid an envelope over as he was leaving. Once he was gone, she opened it to find ten tickets to a New York Rangers game, and not just stadium tickets, but a private box.
Jack was beside himself with excitement. He brought all his friends. They arrived at Madison Square Garden to find free sodas, burgers, and french fries delivered to the box, and as much candy as they could eat.
Evvie was speechless at the generosity. The next day she tried to thank Lance when he came in, and he said the only thanks he would take would be if she agreed to have dinner with him.
“You’re not married?” she asked, confirming what she realized she had grown to hope was true.
“Not anymore. Separated.”
“Separated leading to divorce, or separated as a temporary measure?”
“Divorce papers were filed last week.”
She couldn’t hide her smile. “Then that’s a yes.”
One week later, Lance picked her up at home, and it was only when she walked outside to his Maserati parked on the street that she learned he had built his own hedge fund and lived on Beachside Avenue, the most expensive street in town. Now she understood his air of authority, and why she felt safe with him, as if he would take care of her. Of course. A man like him was used to taking care of things.
He didn’t take her to a fancy restaurant. He took her instead to a lobster shack in a pretty coastal town an hour’s drive away. They tied bibs around their necks and cracked their claws, and when a stream of juice squirted onto his beautiful cashmere blazer, he laughed. They both had french fries, and when she left half of hers uneaten, he gobbled them up unapologetically.
Evvie had fun. More fun than she had had in years. He was a wonderful storyteller, and surprisingly self-deprecating. He didn’t ask her lots of questions, which she liked. Evvie had never liked talking about herself, and she appreciated that he didn’t quiz her about how she ended up a single mother and why the father wasn’t involved. He talked about his own kids, all five of them, from two different marriages, the youngest one a junior in high school, the rest all grown and flown.
“Two marriages and counting,” Evvie mused out loud. She couldn’t help herself. “That’s . . . impressive.” She didn’t mean impressive, she meant concerning. Two marriages surely meant there would be little point in another date, in a future. What kind of prospect could a man be who had two marriages behind him? Third time’s a charm, she found herself thinking.
She mentally berated herself. For God’s sake, she thought. This is one dinner, not marriage.
“I know.” He grinned. “I’m a terrible proposition. My first marriage was one that absolutely should not have happened. It was my parents’ choice, not mine, doing the right thing, making other people happy, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Making other people happy?” Evvie gave him a cool stare. “You don’t seem like the sort of man who cares about making other people happy.”
“Hmm. Now how am I supposed to take that statement?”
“I just meant you seem like someone who is very self-possessed and used to getting his own way.”
“I am now, but I also come from a family that had firm expectations, and I wasn’t quite so self-possessed when I was younger. I was more inclined to do what my father wanted me to do. So I married the girl he wanted me to marry, and it didn’t work out at all. We hated each other for years, but surprisingly, we have recently become friendly again. She seems to have forgiven me.”
“Forgiven you for what?”
“For not making a go of a marriage that was making us both miserable.”
“And your second wife?”