The Matchmaker's Gift(48)
Esther reached for Sara’s hand. “A tropn libe brengt a mol a yam trern,” she said.
A drop of love sometimes brings an ocean of tears.
TWELVE
ABBY
1994
The next morning, the markup of the Henshaw document was already waiting on Abby’s chair. She checked her watch, but it was only seven thirty. Most of her friends who worked at big law firms said the partners didn’t arrive until ten. Diane Berenson put them all to shame—she must have gotten in at dawn.
Abby looked through the changes, but she couldn’t concentrate. Why had she told Michael Gilbert she’d help him? What could she possibly say to Evelyn that would make the slightest bit of difference? What would happen if Diane found out?
In addition to the work stresses swirling in her head, Abby was still reeling from her conversation with Dr. Cooper. What had Abby’s grandmother expected her to do? Give up law and become a matchmaker? Continue to practice but make matches on the side? Any possibility sounded absurd. But when she thought about the excitement in the doctor’s voice, a part of Abby wanted to help, wanted to believe, somehow, that she could.
And what about Victor étoile and Nicole? At their initial meeting, Abby had questioned the sincerity of the model’s feelings for her fiancé. But after sitting through dinner with the couple last week, Abby was more confused than ever. Nicole was intelligent and fiercely ambitious, but that didn’t negate her love for Victor. Abby had noticed a kind of coziness between them, an easy affection that she hadn’t expected. But was that a good enough reason for them to be married? And did it mean the union would last?
Diane tapped on Abby’s open door. “I can’t make it to the fashion show tonight,” she said. Diane fiddled with her giant bezel-set pearl earring and swept her eyes over Abby’s desk. “I have too much other work, but I wanted to make sure that you’re still going.”
“Of course, Diane. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Just do me a favor and keep your eyes open. We both know how distracted Victor has been lately. He’s so wrapped up in his feelings for Nicole that he hasn’t been as forthcoming as he should be. Now that I’m in touch with his corporate lawyers, I’m sure everything will go more smoothly, but I don’t want any more surprises. If he makes some other announcement, or you hear anything interesting, I want you to call me at home.”
“Sure. I’ll report whatever I hear.”
“Good. You’re welcome to my ticket, by the way. In case you’d like to bring a friend.”
Abby’s first thought was that she would go alone, but on the other hand, she owed Will a phone call. Inviting him to the show might make up for the fact that she’d let the whole weekend pass without phoning him back.
The problem was that Abby couldn’t make up her mind about him. He’d made it obvious that he’d like to see more of her, but she couldn’t quite muster his level of enthusiasm. Still, every time she considered having “the talk”—telling him that the two of them were better off as friends—she found herself unable to say the words. Abby didn’t think she and Will had a romantic future together, but there was something about him that made her want to keep him around, some sense she had that they weren’t done with each other yet.
“Thanks,” she told Diane. “I think I will.”
* * *
Will was delighted with the invitation. “I mean, obviously, I’m not a fashion guy, but it sounds like fun. It’ll be different!”
“Absolutely,” Abby said.
Outside the entrance to Victor’s store, a wide silver banner hung on the stone fa?ade. NICOLE BY éTOILE was printed in black, but the dot over the i in “Nicole” was a crescent moon, and the i in “étoile” was in the shape of a star. Half a dozen spotlights were aimed at the sign, and the letters shimmered over Madison Avenue. An army of tall, black-suited men stood in front of the double doors, holding clipboards and checking invitations.
“Whoa,” Will said, gesturing to the crowd that was forming. Although Abby knew none of them personally, she spotted several familiar faces—actresses, photographers, club kids, and journalists mixed with New York City’s society ladies. “This is quite a scene.”
Abby smiled. “Not how I usually spend my Tuesday nights.”
Inside the store, all of the mannequins and clothing displays had been removed. A midnight-blue runway crossed the center of the space, bordered on both sides by rows of Lucite chairs. At the far end of the runway, another silver banner hung suspended from the ceiling. Waiters passed out glasses of expensive champagne, tiny cheese tarts, and beef brochettes, but the vibe in the room was more informal than the food. Abby had worn her étoile scarf, but she didn’t see anyone else wearing Victor’s clothes. They were all too conservative for this crowd, who were mostly in jeans or black leather pants. Abby’s Ann Taylor suit, which had felt like the most stylish option in her work wardrobe that morning, suddenly seemed dowdy and out of place.
At the bar, they ran into a beaming Victor, who kissed Abby gallantly on both cheeks. Abby introduced Will and extended Diane’s regrets. “She’s sorry she couldn’t be here tonight. I’m afraid she had too much work to leave the office.”