Snowfall in the City Page 7

  She tilted back her chin to gaze up at him. And to her astonishment, a tear slipped from her eye. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course.

  “Hey, what’s this?”

  What the heck, she thought. He already knew far too much about her. He always had. She saw no point in hiding her feelings. “This is fun,” she said. “I love dancing with you. It’s sort of like skating, but I’m better at it.”

  He grinned. “If this is your idea of fun, I guess I don’t want to see you depressed.” With infinite gentleness, he brushed his thumb over the crest of her cheekbone, wiping away the tear. His smile softened, and she was startled to discern a hint of genuine, uncomplicated affection in his regard. It was so different from the way others looked at her. With interest, perhaps. Ambition, undoubtedly. Wariness or respect, occasionally. But straightforward, no-strings-attached caring was something she rarely encountered. He made her feel important and valued, not for her social pedigree but simply for being in the world.

  “The women in my family get all choked up over Christmas, too,” he said, misinterpreting her tears. “My Aunt Flo can’t even look at a manger scene without turning into a leaky faucet.”

  Elaine decided to leave it at that. Her unexpected reaction was too complicated to explain. Nor did she want to try explaining that she didn’t like Christmas because she was afraid to let it mean something to her. She couldn’t bring herself to confess that the last time she’d tried to let someone into her heart, she’d been so hurt that she’d simply stopped trying. And she would never admit that the someone had been him.

  “He’s here,” Jenny hissed, breaking in on their dance without apology. “It’s showtime.”

  “We’re in the middle of a dance here,” Tony said, his voice neutral but firm.

  “Sorry, but we’re in the middle of a deal here,” Jenny said, flashing a smile designed to dazzle.

  He wasn’t dazzled. Elaine could see that immediately. “Give us a minute, Jen.”

  “Half a minute,” she said curtly.

  Elaine pretended to be amused as Jen hurried away. “So you’ve got thirty seconds, and then it really is showtime.”

  “Elaine, even I’m not working on Christmas.”

  She tried to forget how much it meant to dance with him, how it had felt when he’d wiped away her tears. She reminded herself of the importance of landing this account. And not just to her. Jenny and Melanie needed it, too. The three of them had built the business and rose or fell with the firm’s success or failure. And her partners didn’t have room to fail. Unlike her, they had no trust fund spread out like a safety net below them, ready to cushion them when they failed or simply got bored and walked away.

  “Look,” she whispered to Tony, “I gave my word I’d help out with this guy. And we’re shorthanded tonight.” The thought of Bobbi tugged at her spirits. She pictured her former friend alone in her tiny walkup, fretting over unpaid bills, wishing she’d gone home for Christmas. The image of Bobbi’s misery gave Elaine no sense of justice or moral victory. It was merely depressing.

  “Okay,” Tony said good-naturedly. “I’ll go help myself to more of those liverwurst sandwiches.”

  She couldn’t help smiling as he headed for a waiter holding out a tray of pâté de foie gras en croute. For the next hour or so, Tony mingled effortlessly with the glittering company, his friendly, genuine manner endearing him to everyone, from the bartender to the ambassador of Uruguay.

  There was an artful pause in the music and conversation when Axel entered the room. The subtle hush was different and more dramatic than it had been for Tony, because Melanie had arranged for Sinbad to pause dramatically in his playing. Axel and his Euro-chic entourage were so cutting-edge sharp that they resembled fashion mannequins. Their close-cut hair was slick and glossy, their black suits glovelike around starving bodies that probably subsisted on Campari and Dunhill cigarettes.

  “So there he is,” Melanie murmured in her ear, “the holy grail of accounts. Let’s hope you can snag him without Bobbi’s help. Get going.”

  Elaine turned on the charm with no more effort than flipping a switch. She made introductions and drew the somber Swiss man into the center of the action. He was stunningly handsome, his slender body impeccably clad in an Italian suit, his face as perfectly smooth and gleaming as carved and polished wood. He had a reputation as a fabulous but demanding lover, and was nearly always found draped in supermodels. That was where Bobbi came in. Without her, they’d have to improvise. Jenny came forward with the hired escorts, a pair of bony, bright-eyed actresses in borrowed designer dresses.

  Axel was suave and low-key, greeting everyone with continental panache. Elaine’s parents were as taken with him now as they had been at Parents’ Day at school in Lugano. He was precisely their type. Despite the trendy moniker, he had a family tree hung with European royalty. Anyone who could call Prince Rainier “Uncle” was certainly welcome in their home.

  She felt his attention on her like a beam of cold light.

  “Your daughter has always charmed me until I cannot see straight,” he declared in an accent more delicious than melted chocolate.

  It was all Elaine could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Although just thinking about Tony could summon up a blush, blatant flattery from a Swiss billionaire blew past her like dust bunnies.

  She caught Tony’s eye and motioned him over. The moment he joined their group, she saw the contrast between them. Side-by-side, they were almost comical, with Tony the picture of the all-American male, big and brawny, exuding self-confidence and a tangible amount of testosterone. By contrast, Axel was a svelte and polished European import, his sculpted mouth taut with a condescending smile. Clearly they both sensed an undeclared rivalry afoot.

  “May I have this dance?” Axel said to Elaine, offering his hand. The nails gleamed from a Japanese manicure. His laser-whitened teeth flashed as he smiled.

  Winning his business was the sole purpose of the night, she reminded herself. She said, “Of course,” then turned to Tony. “Jenny and Melanie will take good care of you.”

  “That’s okay. I need to get going anyway.”

  She felt a stab of panic. How could he leave her when she’d only just found him again? “But—”

  “I always go to midnight mass with my family. ’Night, Elaine. Thanks for having me.” He gave her a brief peck on the cheek and then turned away. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

  Before she could say another word, he was gone and she was dancing with the holy grail, unthinkingly maneuvering him in front of the photographer from W, insincerely offering a blissful smile for the camera. Old habits died hard. It was pointless to think she could spend a successful Christmas Eve with Tony Fiore. She’d tried that in the past and it had never turned out well for her.

  She heard herself chatting blithely with Axel, heard him laugh with sensual appreciation as he led her around the dance floor. He was a flawless dancer, she conceded. But he didn’t sweep her away. He didn’t make her feel glad she was alive. He didn’t make her wish she could love Christmas again.

  At the end of the dance, he handed her a white business-size envelope. “This is for you.”

  The envelope contained a printed travel itinerary.

  “I want you to come skiing with me,” he said. “Just give your passport information to my service, and they’ll take care of the reservations and tickets.”

  Skiing. In Gstaad. With European royalty. It was a moment, Elaine had to admit that. So why did she feel so underwhelmed?

  She glanced at the departure date. “This is for tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  She shoved the paper into the envelope. “This is so unexpected—I don’t quite know what to say.”

  He sent her a practiced smile. “Come now. You expected it. I’m sure your parents will be delighted. If we’re going to do business togethe
r, we might as well have fun doing it, yes?”

  He was all but offering her his business. It should have been the biggest moment in her career—her life, maybe. But it wasn’t.

  She smiled brightly, falsely, spying her reflection in the slick black glass of the picture window. “I’ll let you know.”

  Without another glance at him, she headed for the foyer.

  Jenny and Melanie hissed questions and protests in an undertone. “What are you doing?” Jen demanded.

  Elaine filled them in on Axel’s invitation.

  “Don’t tick him off,” Melanie warned.

  “Are your passports current?” Elaine asked them both.

  “Mine is,” Melanie said. “But what—”

  “I’ll tell you what.” With a little laugh, Elaine handed over the envelope. “It’s your lucky day. You’re going skiing in Switzerland tomorrow. Staying at the Hotel Grande Suisse. Just contact this agency, and they’ll take care of the paperwork.”

  Leaving them gasping and sputtering—Melanie with a broad grin breaking through her surprise—she headed for the cloakroom. “The Gallignani,” she said, indicating her coat, which hung from a portable rack set up in the guest room. She felt light and free. “The gentleman who left a short while ago—did he mention where he was going?”

  “No.”

  Well, of course he hadn’t. But he lived in Brooklyn. That narrowed it down.

  “He forgot his gloves,” the girl added, holding out a large, lived-in pair.

  Elaine shoved them in her purse. “Then I’d better take them to him.”

  On her way out, she found her parents to say good-night.

  Startled, her mother studied her. “Are you ill?”

  “I’ve never felt better.” Elaine leaned forward for the customary makeup-preserving air kiss, then impulsively hugged her mother close and embraced her father. “Merry Christmas,” she said to them both, and realized it was the first time she’d said those words in years.

  chapter twelve

  Outside, the world had gone white; the streets and sidewalks were smooth and clean. Sable, the doorman, who was actually a woman, phoned for a taxi and they waited together in the gleaming, midcentury-era lobby.

  “So, the man who just left—Mr. Fiore—didn’t take a taxi?” Elaine asked.

  “No. He had his own car.” Sable studied the thick fall of snow on the pavement outside. “Bad night for driving.”

  “Did you see which way he went?”

  “Toward Roosevelt, I guess.”

  Nervous, Elaine studied Sable. The unflattering double-breasted uniform had not changed in generations, and on a young woman, it looked particularly absurd. At least in winter, the traditional warm coachman’s cloak helped conceal the two-toned fashion crime. “Do you have plans for tonight?” Elaine asked her suddenly.

  Sable glanced behind her to see who Elaine was talking to. “Me?” She put a hand to her chest. “I got to play Santa Claus to my two kids.”

  Until now, Elaine had never realized Sable had kids. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Oh, it is.” Her glance crept almost imperceptibly to the lobby clock. “This year, there’s a bike and a dollhouse to put together. I imagine my husband made a good start on the bike, but he doesn’t know the first thing about dollhouses.” She smiled, and there was a special quality to her smile, a softness made of love and pride and wistfulness. “He’ll have his hands full getting them to bed.”

  “Then you should go home and help him,” Elaine said, surprising herself with the words.

  Sable glanced at the lobby clock. “Ravi doesn’t come in for another hour.”

  Despite her urgency to find Tony, Elaine felt a keen sense of sympathy. She hesitated, the dilemma weighing heavily on her.

  She’d lost Tony for a long time. Now she knew where to find him. Yet here was a woman who was working rather than tucking her babies in on Christmas Eve. How could anything in the world be more important than that? True giving meant sacrifice, didn’t it? “I’ll cover for you.”

  Sable laughed. “I don’t think so, Ms. St. James. I could lose my job if someone found out.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Things like that don’t happen to good people on Christmas. Now, hand over the cloak and hat and whistle.”

  Sable looked torn to the point of breaking. Elaine put a hand on her arm. “Please. This is as much for me as it is for you.” She gestured outside. “Look, your cab’s here.” Seizing the doorman’s accessories, she pushed and bullied Sable out through the cold night and into the waiting taxi. Then she prepaid the driver and stood on the sidewalk, watching the yellow car pull away. Sable turned and waved through the rear window until the snowy night swallowed her up. The woman’s smile was the last thing Elaine saw, like the grin of the Cheshire cat before he disappeared.

  As she returned to the lobby, Elaine felt the satisfying weight of her mission. Maybe Christmas was a disaster for her, but that was no reason for anyone else to give up on it. Christmas really meant something to women like Sable, who worked hard all year and deserved to spend time making their kids happy.

  With a dramatic flourish, Elaine flung on the crimson and dove-gray cloak, fastening the ornate frog closures down the front. Turning to the gilt-framed lobby mirror, she donned a matching flat cap, angling the patent leather bill jauntily down over her eye. She looked ridiculous. An overgrown organ grinder’s monkey. What were the building managers thinking, making the doorman work in this getup?

  They were thinking residents like the St. Jameses wanted it that way.

  A movement outside caught her eye. A party of well-dressed couples emerged from a Town Car at the curb. Clients! She hurried to let them in, holding the brass-and-glass door wide for three couples. It was on the tip of her tongue to greet the Wyndhams, the Blantons and the McQuiggs, old friends of her parents. Over the years, she had attended school and summer camp with some of their kids.

  They swept past her in a laughing, babbling mass. No one looked at Elaine. No one greeted her. She didn’t feel hurt, but mystified. Was it just this group of guests or did everyone treat the doorman this way? Everyone, she thought, answering her own question. In her world, the help was invisible, and friends were chosen for their social value as much as for their personal qualities.

  After the next group swept through, she realized it was no fluke. They ignored her, too, even though she’d sent one couple a Tiffany bowl as a wedding present not so long ago. Then a man she recognized, a famous orchestra conductor who had come to dinner several times while she was growing up, alighted from a taxi. Certain he would be delighted to see her, she arranged her face in a smile. But his eyes barely flickered in her direction as he gave a curt, dismissive nod and headed for the elevator. These people, Elaine realized, treated the doorman with no more regard than a potted fern.

  As she stood watching the polished-steel elevator doors closing, Elaine made an even more disturbing realization. She was one of “these people.”

  When Ravi arrived for his shift, she made a hasty explanation he clearly didn’t understand, then called a cab for herself. She slid into the back seat, shivering as her thighs touched the hard plastic upholstery. She tucked her warm designer coat more securely around her and thought for a moment. The fact was, she had no clue where she wanted to go.

  She wanted to find Tony. She wanted to tell him that seeing him again had caused her to step back and take a hard, painful look at her life. She’d left the best party in town and put her career in jeopardy to work for an hour as a doorman. All because she’d seen him again and realized the dream was still there, hiding, waiting for the right moment. So she was either losing her marbles or turning into a different person.

  She felt the driver eyeing her in the rearview mirror. “Brooklyn,” she said. Ordinarily, even an hour ago, she wouldn’t have given a second glance at a cabbie. No
w she frowned as she detected something—a flicker of recognition?—in his glance.

  “Got it.” He turned south on Roosevelt Drive. “You probably want to be more specific.”

  She thought hard. “Do you know of a Catholic church in Brooklyn? One that holds midnight mass?”

  He narrowed his eyes in the mirror. “That’d narrow it down to a couple dozen.”

  “Maybe I’ll think of the name on the way over.”

  As it turned out, she had plenty of time to think because traffic came to a standstill a few blocks north of the bridge.

  “Great,” Elaine said. “I’m going to throw myself at a man for the second time in my life, and I get stuck in a traffic jam.”

  “The second time in your life? What happened the first time?”

  “He didn’t show.” The chime of bells shimmered from the radio speaker. There was a silvery quality to the chimes that made her shiver.

  “I thought he explained all that.” Something in his voice caught her attention, and she studied him with more than passing interest. He was just a cabbie, she told herself. He wore a cap with earflaps and a bright red muffler.

  The back of her neck prickled. Clutching the back of the seat, she leaned forward to read the driver ID affixed to the meter box. Lawrence E. Simms.

  “Larry?” she said.

  At last, they reached the bridge. The normally busy span was oddly deserted. “That’s me.”

  “Larry the elf? Larry the Zamboni driver?”

  The cabbie seemed not to hear her as he cranked down his window and stuck his head out. “Hey, lady. Do you see what I see? Oh, man.”

  She craned her neck and squinted, straining to see through the foggy curtain of snow lit by the headlamps of the taxi. “What?” she asked.

  “There’s someone on the bridge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He slowed and pulled over. “There. Isn’t that a jumper?”

  A woman stood alone on the wrong side of the bridge rail. She had somehow gone around the protective chain-link fencing and was facing out over the river. She wore no coat, and the wind whipped her hair around her face.