But then riding down Fifth Avenue in the taxi, they’d come upon the mighty glory of One Fifth, and Lola decided the evening had been worth all the trouble. Reaching the thirteenth floor, Lola found Enid’s keys, opened her door, and handed Enid back her handbag. Enid rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, something she’d never done. “Good night, dear,” she said. “I had such a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Do we have plans?” Lola asked.
“No. But now that you’re living with Philip, we don’t need plans. I’ll knock on your door. Maybe we can go for a walk.”
Great, Lola thought, going into Philip’s apartment. Tomorrow was going to be about twenty degrees. “Philip?” she called.
When she didn’t get an answer, she went through the apartment, looking for him. Philip wasn’t home. This was perplexing. She called his cell phone and heard it ringing in his office. He’d probably gone to the deli and would be back in a minute. She sat down on the couch, took off her shoes, and kicked them under the coffee table. Then she noticed that her bridal magazines were missing.
She stood up, frowning, and began searching for them. There had been a dress in one of the magazines that was particularly fetching—it was beaded and strapless, with a long train that flowed out when you walked, and pooled elegantly around the feet when you stood still. If she couldn’t find the magazine, she might never find that particular dress, because the bridal magazines didn’t put all their pages on a website, so prospective brides actually had to buy the publication. She looked in the kitchen and then Philip’s office, coming to the conclusion that he had accidentally thrown them out. She would have to scold him for it—he had to learn to respect her things. Going back into the kitchen, she poured the last of a bottle of white wine into a glass, then opened the garbage chute to dispose of the bottle. Philip had repeatedly told her not to put glass down the chute, but she refused to follow his orders. Recycling was such a pain, and besides, it was completely useless. The planet had already been ruined by previous generations.
And lo, stuck in the top of the narrow chute was one of her magazines. She pulled it out and, smacking it on the counter, glared. So Philip had thrown out her magazines on purpose. What did that mean?
Taking the glass of wine into the bathroom, she began running a bath. She assumed Philip wanted to marry her—why wouldn’t he?—but that it would take some urging to pull it off. What she’d been telling James Gooch about Philip wasn’t true at all. She was perfectly happy to force Philip down the aisle if she had to. Everyone knew that men needed to be marched to the church, but once they were, they were grateful. If necessary, she was even willing to get pregnant. Celebrities were always getting pregnant first and married later, and if she had a baby, it could be dressed up like a little bridesmaid and carried down the aisle in a basket by her mother.
She was stripped down to her bra and panties when she heard the key turn in the lock. Without covering up, she hurried into the foyer. Philip came in, unencumbered, she noted, by a deli bag, and wouldn’t look her in the eye. Something was wrong.
“Where were you?” she asked, then adjusted her attitude to make it seem like she didn’t care. “I had the best time with Enid at the ballet. It was so beautiful. I didn’t know it would be like that. And ‘Diamonds’ was so cute. And Enid said you danced in The Nutcracker when you were a kid. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He turned around and closed the door. When he turned back, he appeared to register the fact that she wasn’t dressed. Usually, this excited him, and he’d put his hand on her breast. But now he shook his head. “Lola.” He sighed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Put on your clothes and let’s talk.”
“I can’t,” she said gaily, as if everything were fine. “I was just getting into a bath. You’ll have to talk to me while I’m under bubbles.” Before he could say more, she darted away.
Philip went into the kitchen and put his hands in his hair. Riding up in the elevator from Schiffer Diamond’s apartment, he’d somehow imagined this would be easy, or at least straightforward. He would tell Lola the truth—that he didn’t think it was a good idea if they lived together after all—and he would offer her money. She still had two weeks left on the lease of her old apartment, and he would take over the rent for six months until she found a regular job. He would even pay her cell phone bills and take her shopping on Madison Avenue if necessary. He considered telling her the whole truth—that he was in love with someone else—but decided that might be too cruel. Nevertheless, she was going to make this as difficult as possible. He was slightly drunk from having consumed nearly two bottles of wine with Schiffer, but feeling in need of an extra dose of Dutch courage, he poured himself a glass of vodka over ice. He took a swig and went into the bathroom.
Lola was soaping her breasts. He tried not to be distracted by her pink nipples, pert from their immersion in hot water. He flipped down the toilet seat and sat. “So where were you, anyway?” Lola asked playfully, flicking soap bubbles at his leg.
He took another sip of vodka. “I was with Schiffer Diamond. I had dinner with her in her apartment.” This should have triggered the impending discussion about their own relationship, but instead, Lola barely reacted.
“That’s nice,” she said, drawing out the I in “nice.” “Did you have a good time?”
He nodded, wondering why she wasn’t more upset.
“You’re old friends,” she said and smiled. “Why shouldn’t you have dinner? Even though you said you were going to work. I guess you got hungry.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that,” Philip said ominously.
Lola suddenly understood that Philip was about to break up with her—probably over Schiffer Diamond. The thought made her insides twist in alarm, but she couldn’t let Philip know. She ducked under the water for a second to get her bearings. If she could somehow prevent Philip from breaking up with her now, at this moment, his desire to be rid of her might pass, and they could go on as before. When she popped out of the water, she had a plan.
“I’m so glad
you’re home,” she said, grabbing a pumice stone and briskly sanding her heels. “I’ve had some bad news. My mother just called, and she needs me to go to Atlanta for a few days. Or longer. Maybe a week. She’s not doing very well. You know the bank took the house?”
“I know,” Philip said. The financial woes of Lola’s family terrified him, constantly pulling him back into this relationship and her dependency on him.
“So anyway,” Lola continued, examining her feet as if trying to be brave about the situation, “I know you’re leaving for L.A. in three days. I don’t want to upset you, but I won’t be able to come after all. It’s too far away, and my mother might need me. But I’ll be here when you get back,” she promised, as if this were a consolation prize.
“About that—” Philip began.
She shook her head. “I know. It’s kind of a bummer. But let’s not talk about it, because it makes me sad. And I have to go to Atlanta first thing in the morning. And I need a really, really big favor. Do you mind if I borrow a thousand dollars for my plane ticket?”
“No.” Philip sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he couldn’t have the discussion now, but also somewhat relieved. She was leaving tomorrow anyway. Maybe she wouldn’t come back, and there would be no need to break up with her after all. “It’s no problem,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry. You help your mother—that’s what’s most important.”
She stood up, and with water and soap sliding off her in a slurry mess, she embraced him. “Oh, Philip,” she said. “I love you so much.”