The Matchmaker's Gift(35)
“It means he’s creating a subsidiary for her. Or he’s hired her as a designer. Or … I don’t know! Does she have a contract? Has he given her an interest in his company? I have no idea what it means, but at the very least, he should have told me about it!”
“I’m sorry, Diane. Is there anything I can—”
“I need to see all the paperwork on this. How am I supposed to negotiate for a man who keeps major decisions like this from me?”
Abby had never been to Diane’s apartment, but she could picture her boss pacing back and forth, the same way she did every day in the office. A full minute passed before Diane spoke again. “I’m going over to see Victor first thing in the morning. You’re taking the meeting with Evelyn tomorrow, right?”
“Of course,” Abby said. “I’ve got it covered.”
“You’d better,” Diane threatened before she hung up.
* * *
The next morning, Abby went to Evelyn’s office in the Morgan Hotel on East Fifty-Seventh Street. She was there to get Evelyn’s signature on the summons that would set her divorce proceeding in motion. Evelyn was waiting in the cozy room, all plush carpeting and soft furniture. Instead of sitting behind a desk, she sat placidly on a gray chenille sofa, sipping a cup of herbal tea.
Evelyn took both of Abby’s hands in her own. “Thank you for coming to see me, Abby. Would you like some tea? A cup of coffee?”
“Thank you, but no,” Abby said. “I only wanted to come by for your signature and to answer any questions you may have.”
“Of course.” Evelyn swallowed nervously. “I’d like to ask a favor of you. This may sound strange, but would you mind reading the pages to me out loud?”
“You’d like me to read the summons to you?”
“I would, yes. I’m just not … up to reading it.”
“It’s no problem at all. It won’t take long.” Abby removed the document from her bag and set it on the coffee table. She stole a quick glance at Evelyn’s face—the sallow skin, the circles under her eyes, the swollen eyelids, puffy from crying. Perhaps Evelyn was too upset to read the document. Perhaps she was just too damn exhausted. Either way, Abby wanted to help. If it made her client feel better to be read to, she would do as she was asked.
“Supreme Court of the State of New York, County of New York. Evelyn Morgan, plaintiff, against Michael Gilbert, defendant. Action for a divorce. To the above-named defendant: You are hereby summoned to serve a notice of appearance on the plaintiff within twenty days after the service of this summons, exclusive of the day of service (or within thirty days after the service is complete if this summons is not personally delivered to you within the State of New York); and in case of your failure to appear, judgment will be taken against you by default for the relief demanded in the notice set forth below.”
“Actually,” Evelyn interrupted. “You don’t need to read any more … let me get this over with.” Evelyn tugged at her linen scarf and twisted the fabric around her fingers. Softly, she muttered under her breath, “Why can’t Michael agree to the divorce and make all of this easier on both of us?”
Abby wished she had answers for her client, but the best she could do was to try to be encouraging. “Hopefully, once he sees the summons, he’ll recognize how serious you are about moving forward.” She kept her voice low. “Do you know if he’s retained any counsel? I could speak with his lawyer if you think that might help.”
Evelyn shook her head. Her shoulders were shaking. “He hasn’t hired anyone yet. I suppose I’ll just have to be patient.”
“Would you like to sign now?” Abby asked.
Evelyn stared at the papers on the table. Her tired eyes filled up with tears. “Abby, I’m afraid I can’t … I can’t see where to … would you guide me to the signature line?”
Was Evelyn really so distraught that she couldn’t see a few feet in front of her? Gently, Abby pressed her pen into Evelyn’s fingers and led them to the proper place. “Here you go,” Abby said, as Evelyn wrote her name. “There, that’s perfect.”
Abby tucked the signed paper into her bag and promised Evelyn she would be in touch soon. As she tugged at the handle of the door to leave, she felt someone push from the opposite side. She stepped back just in time to avoid the man making his way into Evelyn’s office. “Excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t realize Evelyn was with someone.”
Abby recognized Michael Gilbert from the author photo on the back of the volume of poetry she’d bought at her corner bookstore that weekend. He was four or five inches taller than she was, with a sparse head of hair that had grayed near his temples. His eyeglasses were thick, his shirt was rumpled, and he shook her hand with ink-stained fingers. “So sorry,” he said, pumping her hand. “Michael Gilbert, Evelyn’s husband.”
Abby heard Evelyn’s voice from over her shoulder. “Michael, I told you not to come.”
“And I told you, you can’t get rid of me that easily. Evelyn, please. Come back home. You can’t live at the hotel. Please.” Michael’s voice was raspy and raw. He didn’t care what Abby heard, or what she thought of what he was saying. In a few quick strides, he was beside his wife, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms. Evelyn’s body stiffened for a moment before relaxing into his.