I’ll Take New York

CHAPTER TWELVE

Private loft apartment, Upper West Side

They were all couples.

Why hadn’t he noticed this when he was sending out the eighty invitations for the party? Jake mentally kicked himself for being so naïve. Of course they would all be couples! People their age generally were. He and Jessica had fitted the demographic until recently and all their friends in San Francisco were either remarrying, having kids or just loved-up.

As Chez Henri’s polished waiting staff buzzed about the beautiful loft apartment, Jake watched each new couple arrive. The elegant champagne flutes they were furnished with at the door seemed to underline their quiet satisfaction with their situation in life. And each one reminded Jake that he could no longer be counted among their ranks.

He shook his irritation away. It would be fine. He was the party organiser and, as such, could legitimately busy himself with anything that looked like it could be part of his job. The evening would pass quickly, he could give Rosie and Ed the celebration they both deserved and everyone would be happy. He remembered countless conversations with his clients over the years about facing their fears head-on: The longer you hide from what you fear, the more seemingly insurmountable it becomes … When you put yourself in challenging situations, you find you have what you need to cope within you … He knew he was doing the right thing by being here. Jess was gone and he shouldn’t give up his life simply because she wasn’t a part of it any more.

A polite burst of applause drew his attention back to the apartment’s entrance lobby and Jake smiled as Rosie and Ed entered. He was struck by the way his brother looked at Rosie, a regard magnified by the company around them. Jake momentarily forgot his own battles, filled with deep love for the beautiful couple walking towards him.

‘This is amazing, Jake.’ Rosie kissed his cheek and Jake drew her into a hug. ‘It’s so lovely of you to do this for us.’

‘It’s my pleasure. And you look incredible, Ms Duncan.’ Jake was struck by how a simple red silk strapless dress was transformed on his soon-to-be sister-in-law, the vivid material contrasting with Rosie’s pale English rose skin, dark wavy hair and deep chocolate eyes. She was radiant. No wonder Ed looked like the kid that got all the candy from Santa Claus.

Rosie giggled and gave a little twirl. ‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘Hey, I’m pretty impressive too,’ Ed said, running a hand down his pale blue shirt. ‘Rosie says it brings out the colour of my eyes, you know.’

Jake laughed. ‘You look great, bro. Now, make yourselves at home, eat, drink and be happily engaged. If you want to make a speech I’d suggest waiting till nine when most people have arrived.’

He watched the happy couple wander away and smiled to himself as they received the warm congratulations of their friends. Many people in the room tonight knew what both Ed and Rosie had travelled through in their lives before they found each other. Consequently, the atmosphere in the party was one of genuine support and celebration.

There are worse places I could be tonight, Jake thought. Watching two of his most favourite people in the world being loved by so many guests was far from a chore.

He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter and enjoyed the chilled bubbles as they slipped down his throat.

‘Jake.’

He turned to see Chef Henri standing beside him. ‘Hey, Henri. Everything looks good.’

Henri didn’t smile. ‘We’re one member of waiting staff short,’ he apologised, his annoyance plain to see. ‘It is late notice but, apparently, unavoidable. Of course we will rectify this in your bill …’

Jake clapped a hand on the chef’s shoulder. ‘I’m not worried. We have a beautiful event, your food is the best in the city and everyone here is smiling. If there’s a rush for the bar, I can pitch in.’

‘I can’t ask that of you …’

‘Sure you can. Call it a crazy demand from your client.’

The chef wasn’t convinced. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. But thank you for your understanding.’

Jake chuckled to himself as he walked through the small clusters of guests. The prospect of working the bar at least gave him a legitimate job to do if the large number of couples became too much for him.

‘Jacob Steinmann!’ A deep voice boomed across the room, closely followed by a balding, rotund man in his early fifties. ‘Do you ever age?’

Jake shook hands with his former practice partner. ‘On the inside I’m one hundred and forty. How are you, Bob?’

Bob Dillinger laughed. ‘Good, good. What’s this I hear about you setting up a rival business in Manhattan?’

‘All true. I’m going to steal every one of your clients. Except I don’t play golf as well as you do, so I fear my world domination attempt is doomed to failure.’

‘You really should learn now you’re back in the land of the living,’ Bob said. ‘Got premises yet?’

Jake shook his head. ‘I’m seeing a couple of places on Monday morning.’

‘Take my advice: choose your location with care. The city’s a different animal since we worked together. You know if you need referrals you can count on me, I hope?’

‘That means a lot, Bob. How’s business for you?’

Bob’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled. ‘The financial crisis has been kind. Some people need reassurance; some just need a badge for their hang-ups. People have exchanged their job titles for professional psychosis lately. I swear thirty-five percent of my clients need recognition instead of therapy. Which means rich pickings for us guys as long as you don’t mind needy rich people.’

Jake hated to admit it, but he’d witnessed the same thing in his West Coast clients. Therapy was the new cosmetic surgery: cheaper than a facelift and easier to brag about at parties. ‘We do what we can.’

‘That we do, Jake. And hey, I’m truly sorry to hear about you and Jessica. So unexpected. Barbara and I were shocked when we heard.’

And there it is. Jake felt the thud of disappointment as his old foe reared its head once more. ‘It’s been tough. But we’ll get through it. I’m looking to the future and so is she.’ Please let that be enough, he added silently, knowing full well it wouldn’t be.

‘Still, being single in Manhattan is no easy run. I mean, look around you. Can you see anyone else single in this room?’

Every defence in Jake rose like sheets of steel. ‘I hear Chef Henri’s on the lookout for Wife Number Three.’

‘Bad news for you, then.’ Bob slapped his hand a little too enthusiastically on Jake’s back. ‘Don’t sweat it, man. You’ll bounce back. In the meantime, if you need setting up on any dates Barbara can put you in touch with lots of lovely ladies from her club. Just say the word and she’ll play Cupid.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Good, good. Ah, I’m being summoned. You take care, Jake.’

Jake maintained his smile until Bob had disappeared into the crowd, letting out a sigh and downing the rest of his champagne in a single gulp, then reaching for a fresh glass when a waitress passed by. It was going to be a long night …

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Private loft apartment, Upper West Side

As soon as Bea entered the expensive loft apartment, her heart sank.

Couples. As far as the eye could see.

In the middle of the room, a tall, good-looking man with an endearing mess of dark hair and vivid blue eyes was tapping a fork against his champagne glass to summon the guests’ attention. Bea took a glass from the smiling waiter and huddled between her brother and Celia as the room fell silent.

‘Hey, everyone. Now you know I’m not one for long speeches so this will be short and sweet. But I just wanted to thank you all for coming this evening and, especially, to my bro over there for arranging this whole event.’

The guests clapped and over their heads Bea saw a hand rise in acknowledgement.

‘But the main reason we’re here – as you all know – is a long overdue celebration of the best day of my life so far.’ He turned to a beautiful dark-haired woman in a stunning red dress beside him. ‘Rosie, when you agreed to marry me I couldn’t believe my luck.’

A chorus of ‘ahh’s came from the guests, closely followed by spontaneous laughter.

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you guys are more pathetic than I am.’

‘Get on with it!’ someone yelled.

‘OK, OK. I’m going to be serious for precisely one minute and then we can all enjoy the night.’ He smiled at his fiancée and a reverent silence claimed the room as every guest witnessed exactly how he felt about her. ‘Rosie Duncan, I love you. And I can’t wait to make you Mrs Steinmann this Christmas. You are all I want in life and to know I’m yours is better than breathing.’ He reddened and laughed at his own words. ‘And so, before I embarrass myself and everyone else beyond rescue, I’ll just say please raise your glasses to wish us the best.’

‘To Rosie and Ed!’ the crowd replied as one, crystal champagne flutes lifting around the room.

Bea’s skin felt damp and cold as sickening reality hit. This isn’t just a regular party. It’s an engagement party. How had Celia failed to mention this small detail? And how did she think going to an engagement party in a room full of couples she didn’t know would help Bea forget everything that happened with Otis?

Looking into her glass she realised she had already emptied it. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the perfect option …

‘See? I told you that you’d love these people!’ Celia said, swapping Bea’s empty glass for a fresh one without question.

‘It’s an engagement party,’ Bea hissed back.

‘Of course it is, honey. Rosie is one of my dearest friends and she and Ed are just such an adorable couple, don’t you think?’

‘They seem very happy … But that’s the point, Celia: they’re a couple. Just like everyone else in the room?’

Celia waved her hand. ‘Nonsense. Several of these gorgeous waiters must be single. Look at them, Bea! I’d say your luck’s in this evening …’

Bea resisted the urge to scream. Celia had a heart of gold but she could make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. ‘I didn’t come to find a man,’ she said carefully. ‘I came to get away from Brooklyn for a few hours.’

‘Well, in that case, the couples shouldn’t bother you at all, honey! Drink champagne, eat some of this fabulous food and relax. You’ll thank me for bringing you here, I promise.’

As Celia wafted away in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, Bea looked around the party. The full-length windows at the opposite end of the apartment gave a wonderful view of the Upper West Side, the lights from surrounding buildings a stunning mosaic set against a blue-black cloudless New York sky. She moved towards it, the beauty of her adopted city stealing her attention. Whatever else happened in her life, New York was the constant. The city could change and forge a blazing path of progress, but the vibrant heart of the Big Apple beat as surely as it ever had. It was the city that had called to Bea many years before as she dreamed of it in her family home in Shropshire, and being part of New York had been the reason for all of her decisions since the age of seventeen. It had painted an East Coast note in her accent, bled into her emotions and laid claim to her heart.

I was wrong about the party, Bea said to herself, I do have a friend here. She smiled at the breathtaking nightscape. Hi, NYC. I’m so glad to see you …

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Bea looked across at the blond-haired guest beside her. She guessed he was in his thirties, although in this part of New York it was impossible to tell. He might just have a very good surgeon …

‘Stunning. Must be fabulous to live somewhere like this.’

He smiled, revealing a perfect set of brilliantly white teeth. ‘It is. Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.’ He held his left hand out, the light from the halogen spots above them glinting across the wide gold band on his third finger. ‘Wes Avery.’

‘Bea James.’

‘Pleasure to meet you, Bea. So how do you know the happy couple?’

Given that this was a private engagement party for a couple Bea didn’t even know, she had been dreading this question. ‘They’re good friends of my brother’s partner, Celia.’

‘Celia Reighton? Wow, I didn’t realise I was in the company of a Reighton clanswoman.’ Seeing Bea’s confusion, he laughed. ‘I know her well. So you’re Stewart’s single sister, huh?’

Great. ‘I suppose I must be.’

‘I’ve been hearing about you from Celia. Seems she’s keen to get you hooked up.’

That figured. Bea kept her smile steady while secretly planning how she would exact her revenge on Stewart’s partner. ‘I see. Well, I’m in no hurry to …’

Wes’ hand appeared at the small of her back, the sudden – and uninvited – contact causing Bea to quickly step away. ‘Hey, don’t sweat it. Being single is an advantage. Just because people arrived here in couples, doesn’t mean they all want to leave in one.’ His thousand-kilowatt smile fixed squarely on her. ‘Listen, I have a great loft a few blocks from here. If you ever want a personal, private view of the Upper West Side, call me.’ He thrust a business card into her hand and sauntered away.

Stunned, Bea stared at it. Had a married man just propositioned her? This evening was getting better and better …

‘Sis, you’ve got to try the sashimi,’ Stewart said, stopping when he saw Bea’s horror. ‘What? You don’t like raw seafood?’

‘I do … I just …’ She swallowed as the full impact hit her. ‘A married guy just gave me his card.’

Stewart pulled a face. ‘Eeww. I hope you sent him packing?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Good. I’m afraid Celia is playing Millionaire Matchmaker for you. I’ve told her to stop, but you know what she’s like once she gets an idea in her head.’

Bea raised her eyes to the apartment’s high ceiling. ‘Fantastic. So not only am I fair game for adulterous Lotharios but I’m now your girlfriend’s pathetic pet project. I think I might just go, Stew. I don’t know anyone here and it should be a celebration for Celia’s friends.’

‘You’ve been here less than an hour. And whether you like it or not, this is what being single in Manhattan is like. Better to get used to it and learn to enjoy yourself, I reckon. Stay. Try the sashimi. It’ll change your life.’

‘Maybe later.’

Her brother shot her a look. ‘OK. But if I come back in half an hour and you’re still moping here I’m going to force-feed you gourmet food.’

‘Fine.’

Forget sashimi, Bea thought. What I need is a drink …

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Private loft apartment, Upper West Side

‘So sorry to hear about Jess, man. I thought you two were made for life …’

Jake could feel the edges of his smile fraying and longed to change the subject. But this had become the sole topic of conversation with everyone he had talked to during the last hour. It was, of course, an unavoidable hazard; most of Ed’s friends had known Jake since childhood and therefore were fully appraised of every aspect of his life. And those who didn’t know every available detail were only too happy to be shocked by it tonight. Everywhere he walked in the elegant apartment, he could feel the pitying eyes of almost a hundred guests following him. How had this outcome not occurred to him when he was drawing up the guest list for this evening?

‘Shame you didn’t invite more single women,’ a well-meaning friend observed. ‘Even the waiting staff are all guys.’

Jake shrugged. ‘My bad. Anyway, I’m not looking.’

His friend’s blonde companion tittered. ‘This is Manhattan, Jake. Everybody is looking.’

‘Especially the ones who shouldn’t be,’ another friend quipped, his remark allowing the group now gathered around Jake to laugh and not feel so awkward about the situation.

Jake wished for light relief to rescue him in the same way, but none appeared. ‘They’re welcome to the search. I’m not in the game.’

The blonde’s nipped-and-tucked features fell as far as they could. ‘Don’t ever say that,’ she breathed. ‘You shouldn’t deny yourself, Jake! You’re still young and … virile …’ Her ill-disguised survey of just how young and virile Jake was left him reeling and he mumbled something unintelligible to make his escape.

This place is nuts! How had his good intentions towards Ed brought him into the minefield he now found himself in? He looked up to the apartment’s mezzanine where his brother and Rosie were looking happy and relaxed, sharing conversation with friends. At least they were enjoying tonight. This was their night, Jake reminded himself, not his. It would have to be his mantra for the rest of the party. That, and bourbon …

He remembered a client he had worked with back in his Russian Hill practice in San Francisco, who went to every social occasion convinced the rest of the guests knew his deepest, most secret thoughts.

‘They watch me, Dr Steinmann. They say pleasant things, but I can feel them scrutinising me. Like a bug.’

‘Why do you think they would want to do that, Ray?’

‘Are you kidding me? Do you know what I’m capable of thinking? They know it all, Doc. I can’t hide.’

Jake had spent months assuring Ray that small talk was a way to pass the time and socialise without asking too much of either party; that everyone had their own set of hang-ups and insecurities to deal with; and that it was impossible to see anyone’s innermost thoughts, however obvious they may seem to be. But even on their last session before Jake packed up his San Franciscan life, Jake hadn’t been entirely assured that Ray had accepted it.

Now, surrounded by familiar faces that did know Jake’s business and were making valiant attempts to guess his innermost thoughts, he felt a new affinity with his former client’s predicament.

‘Jake …’ Chef Henri was wringing his hands beside him. ‘I am so sorry, but …’

‘The bar?’

‘There is a considerable queue. Do you mind?’

Heart lifting, Jake could have kissed the apologetic chef but resisted, settling instead for slapping him amiably on the back. ‘I’m there.’

Swinging his jacket over one arm, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and strode through the guests towards the bar, which had been set up beneath the mezzanine, next to a floor-to-ceiling window looking out towards the beautiful night-time cityscape. Seeing the buildings and lights of the Upper West Side comforted Jake: while he’d loved his adopted city of San Francisco, he had always carried a secret longing for New York. His father’s favourite saying was true: Steinmanns were born with Big-Apple-shaped hearts.

‘Hey, New York,’ he smiled, pausing for a moment to take in the view. ‘Looking good.’ Taking a deep breath for the first time that evening, he turned towards the bar and jumped into the fray.

‘Scotch straight up, no ice.’

‘Manhattan – one olive.’

‘Red wine for me and a white for the lady …’

It had been years since Jake last worked a bar, but he quickly found his rhythm. It was good to find he hadn’t lost the skills he’d acquired during his last year at Yale and the distraction it gave him was priceless. Finally, he could lose himself in an activity that required no deeper thought than which bottle and glass to select. Maybe this was the ideal career for him, he mused as he worked. Psychiatry was far too introspective for his current state of mind …

The next hour flew by, Jake relishing the almost constant stream of thirsty guests vying for his attention. But as ten o’clock neared, the queue dwindled until the bar was almost empty. He helped himself to a long drink of cola, realising how thirsty his efforts had made him, and once again his eyes strayed from the bar to the night view from the huge window. There was much to do to re-establish his life in the city, but Jake knew he could make it a success here. This was his home: always had been. And that counted for a lot. Frank Sinatra had it pegged: if he could make it in the city that never sleeps, he could pretty much make it anywhere. He had spent too long feeling as if he was skulking back home, defeated. This had to stop – and tonight was as good a time as any.

‘White wine, please.’

Turning back to the bar, Jake smiled at the pretty redhead with eyes the colour of the winter sea. ‘Sure. Any preference?’

She stared at him, a weariness that didn’t seem to belong to her claiming her expression. ‘Large glass?’

He suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I meant French? Australian?’