“I think there’s room,” she said simply. “I just haven’t tried having a life in a long time,” or even wanted one. The kids had fulfilled all her emotional needs for so long, and taken up all her time, energy, and attention.
Tom was totally intrigued by her and all that she had accomplished, but he could also see that he had to cross an obstacle course to get to her. He thought she was worth it. “Would you like to have dinner next week?”
“Why don’t you come by next Sunday night and meet the kids? We can go out for a grown-up dinner another time.” She wanted him to meet her family and see what her life was about. He liked the idea, and also of taking her out alone. There was time for both.
“I’ll call you on Sunday and see what your plans are,” he promised. She smiled, and they continued chatting until they left the restaurant. And he told her that if he had to leave for California, he’d call her. He still traveled a great deal, although not as much abroad as in the past.
Annie had enjoyed the lunch with Tom, and when she went back to her office, she liked the idea of having him to dinner on Sunday night. She told Katie that evening to be home for dinner on Sunday, and said she could invite Paul. She wanted Tom to meet him. And she left a message for Ted and asked him to come home to dinner on Sunday night. She didn’t mention Tom, and she didn’t include Pattie in the invitation. And she hoped that Liz would be home from L.A. by then too. She knew it was a short trip, but she hadn’t said when she’d be back, and Annie hadn’t heard from her since she left. She knew Liz was too busy to call her. She was excited about inviting Tom to meet them.
That night before she went to sleep, she pondered his question to her if there was room in her life for a man now. She liked him and enjoyed talking to him-they never ran out of subjects that interested them both. But the real answer to his question was that she just wasn’t sure. After all these years of living “like a nun,” as Katie put it, she didn’t know if there was room for a man, or even if she wanted one anymore. It had been so long. And life was so much easier like this. It was a hard decision to make at forty-two, whether she wanted to stay alone, or take on the risks of caring about a man again. She didn’t know what she wanted, although Tom was very appealing. She wasn’t completely sure either if she wanted to close that door and give up on relationships forever. That door stood ajar now, waiting for her to open it wide, or quietly close it and turn the key.
Liz’s trip to California went extremely well. She met interesting people, saw fabulous jewelry, and had done great research about the stars the pieces originally belonged to. There wasn’t a hitch, and at the end of two days of constant shooting and interviews at people’s homes, she was able to pack up and take the red-eye home. It helped that they had no jewelry to return to suppliers-it all stayed with the current owners. She didn’t even have time to call Jean-Louis when she left. She ran through the airport to catch the last plane to New York, the red-eye. She was still on Paris time and exhausted. She was hoping to get a breather once she got back to New York, at least for a few days. And she was excited to be going home two days earlier than planned. Paris had been grueling, and L.A. had been fun but a lot of work. She fell asleep before they even took off.
She didn’t wake up until the plane landed at JFK in New York. She had only brought carry-on, so she was out of the airport in no time and gave the cab driver her address. And then she thought better of it and decided to go to the loft. It was six in the morning and too early to call Jean-Louis, but she knew where the key was and could let herself in and just slip into his bed. She had done that lots of times in the past year when she got back from trips. She was outside his building by six-thirty in the morning. And she took the key from behind the fire extinguisher in the hallway and let herself in and the room was dark. Jean-Louis had installed shutters when he moved in, like the ones in France. He said he slept better that way, and he was right. Whenever Lizzie slept at his place, she sometimes didn’t wake until two in the afternoon, if she was particularly tired or jet-lagged or just back from a trip. The total darkness made her sleep peacefully for hours.
She knew her way around the loft perfectly, and there was a hairline crack of light from the bathroom that helped her find the bed. She dropped her clothes on the floor next to it and slid in next to him and gently put her arms around him, and as she did, there was a sudden scream. She didn’t know who it was, but it was not Jean-Louis. She sat bolt upright in the bed, and so did he, as he turned on the light with a rapid gesture. They looked at each other, and then Lizzie looked into the space in the bed between them, and found herself staring at Françoise, his ex-girlfriend and Damien’s mother. All three of them looked startled, and Lizzie leaped out of bed. The body she had cuddled up to in the dark was Françoise, not Jean-Louis.
“What the hell is this?” Liz said as she stared at him. She was so shocked that she forgot to get dressed, and all three of them were naked. “I thought you were just friends.”
“We have a child together,” Jean-Louis explained, looking very Gallic. Françoise just lay there and looked at the ceiling. She looked perfectly comfortable in his bed and made no effort to move, despite the heated discussion between Liz and Jean-Louis. She acted as though it had nothing to do with her.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Liz shouted at him. “What is she doing here?” Françoise propped herself up on one elbow then and looked at them both, taking in the scene, and Liz shot her an angry look. Françoise didn’t even look embarrassed.
“She had a job here this week, and she dropped by to say hello,” Jean-Louis explained weakly. There was nothing he could say to clean this up.
“This looks like a lot more than hello to me.” Liz narrowed her eyes at him then and reached for her clothes on the floor. “You said you were faithful to me, you asshole.” She got dressed as she said it. Françoise got up and walked past her to the bathroom.
“I am faithful to you,” he insisted to Liz. “I love you. Françoise and I are just good friends.”
“Bullshit. Tell that to someone else. This is cheating. That’s all it is.” And she was sure now that the underwear she had found in the drawer in his Paris apartment was more recent than four years. She wondered how long he’d been sleeping with her, or if he’d ever stopped. Françoise looked totally at ease in the loft and his bed.
“Don’t be such a puritan about this,” Jean-Louis said, unwinding himself from the sheets and coming to stand next to her. “These things happen. It doesn’t mean anything.” He tried to put his arms around Liz, and she wouldn’t let him.
“It does to me.” She felt foolish now for how stupid she’d been and how trusting. Men like Jean-Louis were never faithful to anyone. She realized that he had probably cheated on her for the past year and that his idea of “exclusive” had nothing to do with hers and meant nothing. “I should have known better,” Liz said to him, as Françoise wandered into the living room and lit one of Jean-Louis’s Gitanes. She was completely passive, and the uncomfortable scene didn’t seem to upset her at all, and Lizzie knew she had a boyfriend too. They all screwed anything that moved.