When I first met Bret, he was a brilliant working-class kid from Floral Park, with a burning ambition to make it. He used to mow the lawn for a big Wall Street broker who promised Bret a job if he went to college and got a degree in finance. Bret did even better. He was valedictorian of his class at Saint John’s and then went to Harvard Business School. In ten years, Bret shed the old life and slipped into a new one, which fit him like a tailored shirt from Barneys. There’s a lot of history between us, but it’s never awkward. Bret excuses himself as he is pulled away by a distinguished-looking older man in a suit.
Gabriel returns with my drink. “It’s a hee-toe,” he says, giving me the glass.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. Mow, glow, flow, something-hee-toe. Everything you drink now is a hee-toe.” Gabriel takes a sip.
“Or a teeny. A Gabetini, Valentini. Brettini.” I try the drink. “This hotel is not as I remember it.” I look over the edge of the roof to the treetops of Gramercy Park, a deep green island filled with beams of gold light from the old-fashioned streetlamps. The park is enclosed by a wrought-iron fence, and is placed in the center of a square composed of traditional brownstones and grand prewar apartment buildings. “I remember when my friend Beáta Jachulski got married here. It was before the Europeans bought it. It used to be so cozy and the food was delicious. That was before the Age of Enlightenment. Did you see the paintings in the lobby?”
“If you think this hotel has changed, how about our Bret?” Gabriel whispers.
“He had to.” I lean against the wall enclosing the roof and look out over the crowd. “These are the people Bret has to impress. It can’t be easy.”
“You’re so forgiving.” Gabriel takes a sip of his drink. “It makes me sort of sick.”
“I’m really just proud of him,” I say. Gabriel looks at me with a mixture of understanding and suspicion. Five years have come and gone since Bret and I broke up. Tonight is proof that he would never have fit into the new life I cobbled together, like patches of leather from the workshop floor. He was destined for this.
“Well, maybe I’m just hurt because the three of us were always us, and now Bret is a them. He’s the only them I know.” Gabriel fishes a maraschino cherry out of his drink. Two more roll around the bottom of his glass.
“How’d you get three cherries?” I want to know.
“I asked.”
I watch as Bret moves from his clients over to the corner of the roof where three pretty girls in their early twenties sip cocktails and smoke. It’s chilly out, but they wear no stockings on their tanned legs, and their feet are stuffed into pumps revealing toe cleavage and a slight gap on the buttress that supports their four-inch heels. These girls buy shoes for fashion, not fit.
“I’m going to nab the sofa by the fireplace. This fancy outdoor living room is all well and good until winter sets in,” Gabriel says. “I’m so cold you could Zamboni my ass.”
“I’ll be over in a minute,” I tell him, but I keep my eyes on Bret and the girls.
Two of the young women peel away, leaving one shivering blonde with a drink in her hand. Bret leans in and says something to her. They laugh. Then she reaches forward and adjusts the flap on his tie. The intimate gesture forces Bret to take a slight step back.
A breeze kicks up on the roof, and the white lights of the chandelier dance, throwing small beams onto the floor. The girl tilts her head toward Bret. Their conversation has turned earnest. I watch them for a few moments, and then, with the cold night wind at my back, I move toward them.
I extend my hand to the girl, interrupting their conversation. “Hi, I’m Valentine, an old friend of Bret’s.”
“I’m Chase.” She looks up at him. “One of Bret’s many assistants.”
“He has many?”
“I exaggerate,” Chase says and smiles. She has the peridontically perfect teeth of a girl who grew up with all the dental advances of the 1990s, including whiteners, lasers, and invisible braces.
“Boy, you have gorgeous teeth,” I tell her.
She seems taken aback. Clearly, she’s used to compliments, but no one mentions her teeth as her first and best attribute. “Thanks,” she says.
I cross my arms and hold my drink in the crook of my elbow like a potted plant.
When she realizes I’m not going anywhere, she says, “Well, I guess I’ll go and get something to eat.” Her eyes linger on Bret. “Can I get you something?” She doesn’t ask this question like an assistant. Bret catches her tone, looks at me, then says in a very businesslike voice, “No, I’m fine. You go and enjoy the party.”
Chase turns and goes while Bret looks off over the roof, past the East River.
“You can see Floral Park from here.” I point toward the hinterlands, the borough of Queens, from whence we came.
“No, you can’t,” he says.
“It would be great if you could.” I hand him my drink and he takes a sip. “Maybe you’d remember where you came from.”
“Is that a dig?”
“No. Not at all. I think you’ve done amazing things with your life.” My sincerity is obvious, and Bret turns to face me. “So, what’s going on with that girl?” I ask him.
“You are so Italian,” he says.
“Don’t dodge the question.”
“Nothing. Nothing is going on.”
“She thinks so.”
“How do you know?’
“How long have we known each other?”
“Years and years.” Bret squints and looks over in the direction of Queens as if he can see us there, two teenagers sitting on the rectory fence on Austin Street as we talked until night came.
“Uh-huh. Since I had braces. Plus, I happen to be a woman, so I know that she’s interested in more than fetching you a lobster dumpling.”
Bret takes a deep breath. “Okay, so what do I do?”
“You’re going to tell her you’re married to a lovely woman and that you have two beautiful daughters named Grace and Ava. Of course she knows your family because she answers the phone at the office. Or is she the assistant that actually answers the phone? Anyhow, then you’re going to tell her that she deserves a nice guy of her own. She’ll argue with you, and when she does, you’re going to tell her she’s too young. That’s a turnoff when you’re actually young.”
Bret laughs. “Val, you’re funny. Are you done teaching me a lesson?” He turns to face me.
“All done. Now you can teach me one.”
In a shorthand only old friends with a history have, he asks, “What do you need?”
“Will you help me save our shoe company?”
“What’s the problem?”
I go into a rambling explanation about Alfred, the debt, Gram, and me. Bret is patient and listens carefully. “Let me look into it,” he says. Then he says the very thing that brings me peace of mind, always did and always will, “Don’t worry, Val. I’m on it.”
I huddle in the cold taxi next to Gabriel like he’s a radiator blowing hot steam. The cab cuts through the busy intersection at Union Square.
“I’m never going to another rooftop party after August. That fireplace was for show. It threw off no heat whatsoever. It was like warming myself on a Bic lighter.”
“It was cold up there but I’m glad we went.”
“What were you and Bret talking about? Is he dumping his wife and you two are getting back together?”
“If you’ll come and work as our nanny.”