I’ll Take New York

CHAPTER FOUR

Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg

Dear Mr Steinmann,

My client, Mrs Jessica Steinmann, wishes me to inform you of her decision to file for divorce, on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. I require a response from you or your counsel within 28 days’ receipt of this letter. Provided you have no objection to this action being progressed, please sign the enclosed agreement in order for divorce settlement proceedings to begin …

Irreconcilable differences.

In other words, his wanting to remain married to the woman he loved versus her desire to be rid of him as soon as possible. Provided you have no objection – or, to put it more precisely – regardless of your objections.

Jake had half-expected Jessica to see her lawyer within a month of his relocation to New York, but a day after? Even for his headstrong ex, that was fast. He wondered if she had met someone else already, the thought twisting his stomach before he quickly dismissed it. Whether she had or not, there was no point in torturing himself. The lawyer’s letter was enough to hurt him.

He groaned and threw the brown envelope across the polished cherry wood floor of his new apartment. Divorce papers were the last thing he needed today.

His phone buzzed and, turning away from the offending envelope, he walked to the window as he answered the call.

‘Jake Steinmann …’

A familiar voice yelled back. ‘Jake-a-a-a-yyy! How’s it hanging, dude?’

He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the dreary March day. Williamsburg might be an up-and-coming neighbourhood, but today it appeared more down-and-out. ‘Hey, bro.’

‘You sound like death,’ his brother observed.

‘And you still haven’t learned tact, Edward. Tell Rosie she has more work to do on you.’

Ed’s chuckle made Jake smile, despite his mood. But then his big brother had always possessed an annoying ability to do that. ‘Rosie loves me for who I am. That’s why she’s planning to keep me around for a while.’

‘Good for her. How are the wedding plans?’ The mention of the ‘w’ word in the light of today’s unwelcome mail made Jake wince as he said it.

‘Fancy a beer?’

‘That good, huh?’

Ed lowered his voice. ‘I’m going out of my mind here, J-Man. I’m not kidding: if Dad tries to force any more random relatives onto our list, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Did you even know we had a Great Aunt Eunice?’

‘No, I didn’t. Are you sure Dad isn’t smuggling in his crazy golfing buddies under assumed names?’

‘It’s possible. That man will be the death of me.’

Jake smiled at his brother’s frustration. ‘Hey, look at it this way – at least Dad’s getting into the spirit of the Steinmann–Duncan nuptials. It wasn’t so long ago he was convinced you were gay …’

Ed’s groan was identical to Jake’s earlier utterance. There was one thing to be said for the Steinmann brothers of New York: they knew how to groan. But then groaning was a Steinmann clan survival tool – and with a family like theirs, every verbal protest was precious.

Jake knew what his brother had suffered from their father’s ignorance. Ed’s decision to shun the Steinmann family tradition of psychiatry in order to train as a florist hadn’t been well received by their father. In fact, it was true to say that had Ed Steinmann announced he was growing his hair, becoming a Liberal and moving to a hippy commune in Goa his father would have taken the news better. For years Joe Steinmann had mocked his middle son’s chosen profession, in public and in private: at the annual Steinmann Christmas gathering, at birthdays and anniversaries, graduations and summer holidays in the family’s lake house in upstate New York. No matter how many women Ed dated (and there were many), no matter how successful his career, all Joe Steinmann saw was his middle son defying his true calling. Never mind that the prospect of Ed Steinmann as a psychiatrist, counselling the great and good of New York, had a high probability of ending in abject disaster. Never mind that Ed’s idea of compassion was a night of beers and a good baseball game. For years, Joe could only see the betrayal he perceived in Ed’s actions and not the man his son was becoming.

Rosie Duncan had changed all that. Even though Jake had long before moved his practice to San Francisco to be with Jessica, he had seen the change in his brother beginning when Ed had confided that his feelings for ‘a specific someone’ had started to grow. Of course, Jake had known immediately who it was: on his trips back to New York, the way Ed’s face lit up whenever he mentioned Rosie’s name had given more away than he’d intended. Working together in the Upper West Side florists’ store Rosie had inherited from an old Polish man (who by all accounts was legendary), every story Ed relayed to his brother seemed to include the confident English woman.

The details of how they’d finally got together were sketchy in Jake’s mind as he considered it now – although this was probably due to the empty, Jessica-shaped ache that currently robbed his head of pretty much everything else. However it had happened, Jake knew that he had never seen Ed so at peace, so completely in love and so permanently happy before. In turn, Rosie had charmed Joe from their first meeting and it was almost as if through her eyes he was able to see his middle son for the first time. Jake respected Rosie for that almost as much as he did for the change she had wrought in his brother. He had a lot to thank his soon-to-be sister-in-law for.

‘Threaten to set your fiancée on Dad,’ Jake suggested. ‘If anyone can rein him in, it’s Rosie.’

‘Ha. I’ll mention it to her, maybe. But I’m serious about that drink, Jakey. I haven’t seen you since you came back and I miss my little bro. Besides, I need to get out of Kowalski’s for a while. What with the wedding plans and Marnie’s swollen ankles this place is threatening to become Oestrogen Central. Ow!’

‘What happened?’

‘Rosie hit me … What? I’m on the phone, baby … Really? J-Man, my beautiful wife-to-be wants to speak to you … Passing her across now …’

‘Hi Jake.’ The soothing tone of Rosie’s English accent seemed to reach down the phone line to hug him and instantly Jake began to relax. ‘Welcome home.’

‘Hey, sis-in-law-to-be. Just how crazy is my brother making you?’

Rosie’s groan was a good one: she would fit right in to the Steinmann family. ‘Between you and me, on a scale of one to ten he’s almost reached eleven. Please take him out for a bit? I need to try to smooth things over with your dad and Ed isn’t helping.’

‘Well, all right. But only because it’s you.’

‘Thank you, you’re a star! Listen, how are you? How’s the new home?’

‘Still new. And quiet. And the removal guys seem to have mislaid my coffee machine somewhere between San Fran and here.’

‘Hang in there, you’ll find it.’ There was a definite pause. ‘Have you heard any more from Jess?’

Jake stiffened his spine against the sinking feeling his almost-ex-wife’s name caused nowadays. ‘I heard from her today, actually. That is, I heard from her lawyer.’

‘Oh Jake, no! I’m so sorry. I know it’s clichéd but if you need to talk ’

He laughed. ‘I’m good. I think maybe me taking Ed out of your hair for a couple hours might be good for both of us.’

‘You’re right, it would. But please call me if I can help at all.’

‘Thanks, Rosie. I’ll remember that. Put him back on, OK?’

There was a muffled remark as the phone was passed back to his brother and Jake could picture Ed and Rosie giggling together, surrounded by flowers in their Upper West Side neighbourhood florist store.

‘I think I should be worried about the outrageous way my fiancée flirts with you,’ Ed said. ‘What? It’s blatant, Rosie Duncan!’ Jake could hear the amusement in Rosie’s voice as she made a comment in the background, then Ed laughed. ‘She just said if you’d been free when she was single she might have picked a different Steinmann. Cute. So are we going out to play, bro?’

Jake cast a glance around the bleakness of his new apartment: at the depressing cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked and the bland décor he hadn’t chosen. It didn’t feel like home at all and right now he didn’t think it ever would. He needed to be out of here, before the too-quiet rooms and endless self-analysis in his mind sent him crazy. ‘Yes, we are.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn

‘Babe, all I want is to make it up to you.’

They had been battling for almost an hour and Bea could feel her resolve beginning to wane. Through it all Otis had stared directly at her in that startling, confident way of his – a weapon that was devastatingly disarming when used to its full effect. He had reached for her hand and managed to hold it for a few seconds before her anger resurged and she pulled it away. Now he was sitting a small distance from her, wearing an expression that begged her to move closer. She rubbed her eyes and wished she had been able to make it out of the door before he had arrived.

‘I’m just so tired of fighting,’ she said, her thoughts becoming words before she could stop them.

‘And so am I. We’ve been here before, Bea, and we’ve always made it back.’

‘Maybe this time is different.’

Why was her love life so complicated? Why, when everyone around her seemed capable of finding halfway decent partners, did she struggle? Bea didn’t consider herself a demanding girlfriend; neither did she experience problems meeting men. But somewhere between the initial spark and the middle of a relationship the problems began – growing and tangling and balling up until she found herself with an unsatisfactory, untrustworthy partner in a situation more akin to a battle of wills than a productive partnership.

‘I don’t see why. Sure, I screwed up: I admit it! But we can move on from this, Bea. I want to make amends.’

‘Amends? How, exactly? Are you going to go and personally apologise to every member of my family who waited for you in the restaurant last night?’

He couldn’t hide his wince from her. ‘If necessary.’

‘My parents set off on their trip this morning. You might catch them somewhere in upstate New York if you’re quick.’

‘Baby …’ He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair and gave her his best ‘pleading puppy’ look. Ordinarily, this would have worked, Bea relenting at the sight of his contrition.

Not today, Otis, she told herself sternly. Today I need answers for everything.

‘And my brother was baying for your blood. Which, considering Stewart is officially the most laid-back person in the city, was no mean feat.’

Her older brother Stewart – who had never been particularly fond of Bea’s boyfriend – reckoned his sister was attracted to the wrong kind of men. This, of course, was easy for him to surmise, especially given how loved-up he was with his older partner, Celia. Since the pair of them had met at the New York Times where he was a staff writer, writing as Stewart Mitchell (their mother’s maiden name) and Celia was a star columnist, they had been virtually inseparable, settling into the easy rhythm of a deeply contented pairing in which they still remained. Just like every other couple in the James family.

Staring at her grovelling partner, Bea felt a well of unease rising within her. She loved him, but how much did he really feel for her? He’d said it himself: they had been here many times before. Surely after five years something should have changed? She wanted him to step up, to make good all of his overblown promises that never managed to come to fruition. Was she kidding herself that it was possible? The more she looked at Otis Greene, the louder the white noise in her head grew.

This is ridiculous. It’s never going to change. I deserve more than this.

Otis edged closer, his earnest dark eyes searching her face for an invitation. ‘Baby … What can I do to make this good with us?’

She was tired. Too tired to ride the merry-go-round any more. ‘I don’t know. I think I need some time to think.’

‘So take some time. Call me when you want to continue this discussion.’ It was defensive but Bea suspected Otis was relieved to be excused from any further apologising he might have been called upon to do tonight.

‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

‘Then what, Bea? What are you saying?’

What am I saying? Bea considered this, her heart thumping. She didn’t want to be in this argument again. Ever. Slowly, it began to dawn on her.

‘I’m saying …’ she began, picking her words as if tiptoeing across a minefield ‘… I think we’re done. We keep returning to the same problems and I – I just can’t go over it any more. I need to be me again, Otis. Not some paranoid half of a relationship that isn’t going anywhere. I think this is it for us. I’m sorry.’

Otis blinked. This wasn’t how it worked: he made apologetic noises; Bea gave in; serenity was restored. Bea’s response seemed to throw a spanner in the works. Dropping his gaze, he stepped back. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Surprised by the strength of her own conviction, Bea stood tall. ‘It is.’

The silence in the bookshop was louder than the angry lines of traffic on 8th Avenue outside. Bea retreated behind the counter. Otis stared up at the high ceiling as if expecting to find answers to this new situation written there. Outside, the heavy raindrops battered against the bookstore windows and the world beyond them.

‘Then I should go?’ It was more of a question than a statement of intent.

‘We both should.’

Otis began to reply but the crash of the bookstore door snatched his attention. Dripping wet, Russ O’Docherty clutched a fast disintegrating cardboard cup-holder as he struggled to close the door without losing three teetering coffee cups in the process.

‘Sorry I took so long. It’s like Armageddon out there …’ He stopped when he saw their expressions. ‘Oh boy, are you guys not done?’

‘Actually, I was just leaving,’ Otis replied, the lightness of his tone knocking the wind from Bea’s stomach. He helped himself to a coffee cup and turned back to Bea. ‘Call me when you’re ready. Remember I love you.’

Russ watched his friend leave and held out his hands in surprise. ‘What happened?’

Bea slumped in the grandfather armchair beside the counter. ‘I think we broke up.’

Shocked, Russ hurried over and hovered hesitantly by her side. ‘Really? Only he said, “I love you.” Usually guys don’t choose that line when they’re breaking up with someone.’

‘I think I might have broken up with him.’ Tears welled in Bea’s eyes as the frustration of the past week overwhelmed her. ‘The thing is, I don’t think I can do this again, Russ. I’m the laughing stock of my family: the only James to fail at relationships. And I really don’t want this to be all I end up thinking about.’ She looked up at her friend, who took the hint and knelt by her, taking her hand. ‘My business is doing great, the rest of my life is pretty good. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who is ruled by her love life, you know?’

‘You’re not,’ Russ assured her.

‘I feel like I am.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re not and that’s all there is to it. I’ve watched you work so hard to make this place a success, and I know how many people love you, Bea. Most of New York would kill for that kind of résumé. And I don’t think you’re a failure. So here’s one person who isn’t laughing at you.’

Bea shook her head, a small smile breaking free. ‘Thanks.’

‘Otis made a mistake. A big one, I’ll admit. But deep down he does love you: I’m sure of it. I think maybe you should focus on what makes you happy for a while. Maybe when you do that, you’ll be ready to try again.’

Russ’ unquestioning loyalty to his friend would have been touching in any other setting, but today it wasn’t helpful. Irritated, Bea stood and moved away.

‘What if I don’t want to try again? Hmm?’

‘I’m just saying you might …’

‘What is it with you and Otis?’ Bea demanded, knowing this wouldn’t help the situation but compelled to challenge her best friend’s stance. ‘Why must you always defend him?’

Russ rose to his feet and faced her. ‘He’s my friend, Bea. Of course I’ll defend him. But it shouldn’t make a difference whatever I say. You have to decide if you want to be with Otis or not.’

‘Can’t you see what he’s done to me? Don’t you think he was wrong?’

‘Of course I do …’

‘Then why not support me? Does our friendship mean so little to you?’

‘This isn’t about us, Bea, so don’t make out like I don’t support you.’ Russ sighed and took off his black-rimmed glasses to wipe the rain-splattered lenses on the bottom of his vintage rock T-shirt. ‘I’ve supported you for as long as we’ve known each other. You know I have. Sure, I think Otis was out of line when he let you down in front of your family. And yes, I agree, this isn’t the first time you’ve been disappointed. I told him he’s a Class A jerk for not putting you first, actually – not that you’ll believe me. I warned him he’d lose you if he didn’t straighten up his act. But above that, I can’t do a thing to change who he is or any of the decisions he makes.’

Bea stared at him, hating Russ for his logical view of life. It had always been his secret weapon. The worst of it was, it made sense. He wasn’t to blame for Otis’ bad decisions and he was perfectly entitled to be friends with whomever he wanted.

‘It would just be nice to have you on my side,’ she replied, her voice small and vulnerable as she spoke.

‘I don’t take sides, Bea. But I’m not a heartless individual either. You know I care about you and I want you to be happy. Heaven knows you deserve it. Take some time out. Figure out what it is you want and whether Otis can provide it or not. In the meantime, I’m your friend and I’m here for you. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Good.’ He popped his glasses back on. ‘And the rain must’ve made me psychic because I bought you a peppermint mocha.’ He held out a cup, a wry smile returning. ‘Did I make the right choice?’

There was no point arguing any more. And the coffee smelled good. Still convinced she and Otis were over, Bea nodded at Russ. ‘You did good.’

CHAPTER SIX

Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side

The small silver bell chimed out over his head as Jake walked into his soon-to-be sister-in-law’s florist shop in the pleasantly chic neighbourhood in the Upper West Side. A rush of floral fragrance assaulted his senses from the rainbow-hued display in galvanised steel buckets. Jake loved it here – and completely understood why his brother had chosen to give his skills to the neighbourhood florists’ instead of the high-tech, faceless floral boutiques in New York City. There was a peace about the little store that few other shops in Manhattan had, a sense of timelessness that made even the busiest customer linger.

A pretty, heavily pregnant young woman with shocking pink streaks in her hair screamed from behind the counter and hurried towards him.

‘Jake! Oh, it’s so good to see you, honey!’ Hugging him with her large belly was a challenge but she made an enthusiastic attempt at it.

He laughed, despite being almost knocked off his feet by Rosie’s kooky assistant. ‘Great to see you, Marnie. And look at you! How long till D-Day?’

She pulled a face. ‘Six weeks. I’m kinda hoping it’ll be earlier but my obstetrician told me it might be a week over.’ She rubbed her back. ‘I feel like I’m carrying a moose, not a couple of babies. I blame Zac’s quarterback genes. But anyway, how are you?’

Jake ignored the sinking feeling when he saw Marnie’s smile morph into concern. It was barely a month since his separation from Jessica had become public knowledge and already he dreaded receiving the identical expression from everyone he met. He knew their concern was well meant, but it still made him wince. It was as if somehow the fact his wife had chosen to live her life without him was cause for the whole world to pity him, as if he was less of a man.

‘I’m good,’ he replied, his voice already bearing the singsong notes of someone who really, really didn’t want to discuss it any more. ‘I’m here to rescue your boss from the whining Steinmann charm of my brother.’