Love-in-Idleness Page 2

  Everything in this room would have to be recreated exactly the way it was at that moment; her mother’s vanity, the family pictures stuck in the mirror frame above it, framed posters from Matisse’s jazz series over the dresser. If she photographed every inch of the room, she could put it all back together in the new apartment. Her mind was so occupied with plans that she didn’t hear Theo rap his knuckles on the open door.

  “Grace, can we talk about this?” he asked.

  Without responding, she walked past him, unable to look at him. She knew if she stayed, she would cry. Theo would talk with her and comfort her as he always had, but Grace couldn’t allow herself to be that vulnerable with Gianni in the house. Gianni had a way of inserting herself into any private moment between Grace and her father. It was intolerable. Without a backward glance, Grace ran downstairs and out the door.

  It was a gorgeous summer day in Park Slope. As she rushed past the series of brownstones and co-op buildings toward Prospect Park, she felt tears running down her face. She had lived here all of her life. Since infancy, the images of this neighborhood dominated her impressions. In two blocks, she came to the brownstone her boyfriend, Ryder, lived in with his parents. He was sitting on the stoop, elbows on his knees, as if he was waiting for her. He was a welcome sight, and she hurried to him, words spilling out of her mouth before she stopped moving.

  “Theo took a job in the city and Gianni is getting rid of everything. We’re moving to Manhattan. I have to change schools.” She threw her arms around Ryder’s neck. Grace hadn’t cried since her mother’s death. Instead, she was trembling with a wretched combination of anger and pain. Ryder hugged her tightly until she calmed down. He felt warm and comforting, like an old blanket. She pulled back and looked at his face, her nose almost touching his. His reddish brown hair and hazel eyes were so familiar to her. They’d been friends since they were kids, and she sometimes wondered if they had become a couple out of habit. Through all of these years of adjustment, first to the death of her mother, then the intrusion of Gianni into her world, Ryder had been a continuous force of positive energy. He was absolutely devoted to her. She had never seen him even glance at another girl, and he had no inhibitions whatsoever about making himself vulnerable to Grace.

  “When is all of this happening?” His voice was calm, despite the gravity of the news.

  Without speaking, Grace pulled out her phone and typed a note to Theo.

  WHEN R WE MOVING?

  Less than a minute passed before the phone signaled a response.

  4 WEEKS. COME HOME SO WE CAN TALK.

  She put the phone back in her bag, ignoring Theo’s instruction to return to the house. “One month,” she told Ryder.

  He put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Her long auburn hair spilled over his shoulder and she moved some strands out of her face. “Listen,” he said. “Did you get the whole story, or did you just run out?”

  Grace grinned sheepishly through her tears, and Ryder laughed. “That’s what I thought,” he chided. “Let’s go back and talk to Theo.” Ryder stood and pulled her to her feet next to him. Together, they walked back up the street, hand in hand.

  August 12

  6:00 PM

  Grace slid her sunglasses over her pale blue eyes to guard them from the slowly setting August sun. She scanned the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for an open spot where she could sit. The gray stairs that spilled forth, high and bright, from the massive museum were dotted with small groups of people enjoying that late afternoon breeze. Snippets of conversation drifted up to Grace as she passed through the crowd, looking for a spot far away from the gaggles of designer-clad teenage girls. Some of these girls would probably be her classmates in two weeks when she began attending St. Helen’s. She would be forced to tolerate their company when that time came, but for now, she wasn’t ready to listen to their vapid chatter. They were hideous. She made the accident of sitting close to them once, and had the misfortune of discovering the level of cruelty in their conversations. Anyone who was not present was completely picked over, like vultures pulling at carrion.

  Grace was used to Brooklyn girls, not rich girls. There were cliques and queen bees in Brooklyn, just like anywhere else, but it was all more obvious. You always knew where you stood with a Brooklyn girl. These Upper East Side girls struck Grace as sneaky. She had a strong suspicion that they could make her life hell no matter what she did. She could ignore them or acknowledge them; neither approach guaranteed her safe passage through her senior year with such vicious creatures.

  Eventually, she found a spot between an elderly Indian couple and a German-speaking couple in matching Hard Rock Café shirts. She gave the Indian couple a friendly smile and lowered herself onto a step before she reached into the brown leather Marc Jacobs Theo gave her. From its depths, she pulled a messy Gray’s Papaya bag that held an incredibly sloppy hot dog covered in relish and mustard. On her way home from her daily trip to see Ryder in Brooklyn, she intentionally took the train to the wrong side of Central Park, stopped at 72nd Street for this meal, and then carried it across the park to the Met. Recently, she made a game of exploring a variety of alternate paths to her new home on the Upper East Side as part of her quest to find something she could love about Manhattan. So far, she had only found the Met and Gray’s Papaya. She could take or leave the rest.

  Reluctant to cross the street to Theo’s newly acquired posh digs, she was spending a good deal of time either in Brooklyn with Ryder, in the Met, or here on its steps with a carryout meal. Even though she could see her bedroom window from where she sat, she felt more at home on this side of the street, amongst the tourists resting their tired feet. She would always be a tourist here, even though she literally had the key that unlocked one of Manhattan’s elite apartment buildings.

  Before taking a bite, she glanced at her watch. Gianni was throwing a cozy family dinner for Theo’s new boss, Miles Oberon, in an hour. In their new highbrow life, a cozy family dinner meant tiny portions of unpronounceable, but beautiful food. It all tasted good, and it surely cost a small fortune, but Grace always left the table hungry. Hopefully, a preemptive hot dog would get her through the next few hours without starving to death. Ever since they moved, everything seemed to be about appearances and money. She was expected to eat dainty food served on giant plates and wear expensive clothes. And worst of all, she was expected to spend less time in Brooklyn.

  At seventeen, she hadn’t had much reason to wander this far out of Brooklyn. She occasionally needed to visit a gallery in order to complete a school project, but even with a great deal of the gallery scene shifting from Soho to Tribecca in recent years, those visits still didn’t put Grace anywhere near Central Park. It was like navigating a different world, just ten miles from where she’d been her whole life.

  When Theo informed her that they were moving to the city, she imagined gothic buildings with gargoyles. What she found was the opposite. From her current vantage point, she could only see ugly gray apartments. There was one interesting orange brick structure with balconies and bay windows, but it was dwarfed by its close proximity to a modern monstrosity with floor after floor of gleaming windows. In the other direction, there was gray upon gray, as far as the eye could see. The most interesting spot in her sight was on the top of her own building. Against the backdrop of the bright cloudless sky, fifteen stories in the air, a structure loomed. She thought it resembled a church or a mausoleum; it was hard to decide which from this distance. It was surrounded by trees, almost as if someone had scooped it right out of the English countryside and rested it on top of the building. She hadn’t been up there yet, but figured it was only a matter of time. That was where Theo’s new boss lived.

  From her bag, Grace heard her phone chirping the special tone she had given Ryder. She liked knowing that it was him before she went digging through her bag. She picked up the phone and read Ryder’s quick message.

  HOME OK?

  She quickly
typed. AT MET. HOME IN 10 MINS.

  TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET HOME?

  PROBABLY NOT. Grace knew it was a grumpy response, but her patience was wearing thin. They had been together all day. She couldn’t see the point in texting again to confirm that she managed to cross the street to her apartment safely.

  His response was almost instantaneous.

  CAN WE FINISH TALKING LATER?

  She tapped the word TOMORROW into her phone and hit send. She hoped he would let it go for tonight. It seemed like all they did lately was talk. With their senior year approaching and her changing schools, he was having a sudden attack of insecurity. Her moved to the city had shaken him. He wanted her to make declarations about what their future held, but Grace didn’t really think it was necessary. Ryder was her oldest friend. He had become her boyfriend in the past few years, and she adored him. However, her pragmatic nature kept her from making promises that she had no idea whether or not she’d be able to keep. She believed that he was just feeling needy because of her move to Manhattan, but honestly, she didn’t really need the added pressure right now. Theo was getting married in a few days and she was hoping he could hold out a bit longer. She really needed to get through the wedding before she had any life-altering discussions.

  As she put her phone away, she spotted the small sketch pad that she carried with her and vaguely recalled having recently drawn a picture of the strange rooftop home that sat on top of her building. Finding the picture, she held it up to the real thing, checking it for accuracy. In her picture, there were storm clouds and lightning. The thin trees were bent, as if forced to the side by a strong wind. She made the top of the structure look like a bell tower, in the top of which lurked a shadowy figure.

  “Perfect,” she whispered to herself.

  “Nice sketch,” a gentle voice remarked from behind her. Grace turned to see an almost unnaturally good-looking boy sitting two steps behind her. He was about her age, with dark wavy hair that was just long enough to brush his high cheekbones. Thick dark lashes framed his indigo eyes. She studied his face, the creamy skin and perfectly defined angles, before he spoke again, startling her back to reality. She'd never seen anyone so beautiful, male or female.

  “What’s with the storm and the spooky shadow?” he asked, looking at the picture again and pointing to the rooftop where the unusual building sat. “I see blue skies and an elegant apartment,” he observed, gesturing toward the building in question with his open hands as if he were framing a masterpiece.

  Grace shrugged. “Call it an interpretation. My dad’s new boss lives there.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I haven’t met him yet. I’ll meet him in about an hour, I guess. He’s coming over with his sons for a snooty dinner.” Grace looked at her watch, and jumped up. “Actually, it’s more like 45 minutes from now. I really should go.”

  The handsome boy stood up as well. “I should go, too. I have my own snooty dinner to attend.” As Grace began to walk away, he fell in alongside her. “I have to meet the new lawyer in my father’s firm. Some guy he brought up from Brooklyn. I’m supposed to make a good impression on his daughter.”

  As Grace suddenly realized who she was talking to, she stopped in her tracks and turned toward him. “You’re Oberon’s son, aren’t you? One of them, anyway.” She thought back to what Gianni told her about the boys. One was devastatingly handsome and sweet. The other was slightly less handsome and a little on the serious side. There was no question as to which one this was. He was absolutely breathtaking. “You’re Cameron.” She held out her hand. “I’m Grace. But I guess you knew that.”

  “Yes. Well, everyone calls me Cam, but I’m still pleased to meet you,” he said formally and shook her hand. “I had a hunch you were Theo’s daughter. It wasn’t hard to match you to my father’s description. He said that you were a tiny girl with tons of auburn hair and ice blue eyes. Now that we’ve met, would you care to tell me why you’ve drawn my house to look like something from an Edgar Allen Poe story?”

  Grace couldn’t help but smile. He must drive the girls crazy, she thought. “It just seems a bit like some strange fairytale,” she began, “that a mystery man appears out of nowhere and offers Theo this prestigious job. What possible interest could Miles Oberon have in an estate lawyer from Brooklyn?”

  Cameron smiled broadly at her and, for just a moment, Grace felt her knees buckle. His gaze was so deliberate, so focused on only her, that she was instantly filled with the joy of having Cameron’s full attention. As she collected herself, he commented, “Don’t worry. People usually find that my father has a plan. If they go along for the ride, they are never disappointed.” He chuckled. “Just don’t marry him.”

  Grace decided to let the last comment slide. When they arrived at the building in which they both lived, Cam stepped to the side to let her enter first, as Julius, the middle-aged, slightly corpulent doorman, held the door wide for them. Cam nodded his appreciation in Julius’s direction, but Grace doubled back before she passed the threshold.

  “Julius, is your daughter feeling better?” she asked. Julius was the only person in the building that struck Grace as normal. She had gotten to know him a bit and liked his complete and utter lack of pretension. He was just a guy working for a paycheck. Grace respected that.

  “She’s fine, Gracie. All better.” Julius grinned at her. “Now go upstairs. You have a fancy dinner to eat.”

  “See you later.” She waved. Cameron was waiting for her in the lobby.

  “Julius has a daughter?” he asked.

  “He has three daughters,” Grace replied. “I’ve been here for four weeks. You’ve been here your whole life. How do you not know about Julius’s family?”

  Cameron shrugged and pushed the elevator button. “I guess I never asked.” As the lift arrived, they slid through the open doors.

  Grace reached past Cam to hit the button for the eighth floor. “That kills me about people in this neighborhood. You don’t talk to each other. You probably don’t know anyone in the building.”

  “You’re wrong. I know a lot of people.” At that moment, the elevator stopped at the third floor, and a tall elegant woman covered head to toe in Prada entered. She smiled at Cam as she pushed the button for the fourth floor. Cameron waited for her to exit and said, “I know her. She’s an actress.”

  “Everyone knows her,” Grace snapped. “She’s wicked famous.”

  “Not everyone knows that she bought an apartment on the fourth floor for her mother.”

  Grace sighed. “That doesn’t count. That’s something that you know about her. That’s not like really knowing her. It’s just gossip.”

  Cameron gave her another mesmerizing smile and said, “I guess you’ve given me something to think about.”

  The door slid open and Grace walked out. Cam called after her, “See you in half an hour.” She could feel his eyes following her until the elevator doors closed. Tonight’s dinner would definitely be interesting.

  Grace tried to avoid being noticed as she closed the front door quietly behind her and walked softly but rapidly to her room to change. Once inside, she turned the knob and closed the door so that it made no sound whatsoever before she slowly released the doorknob. Only when she was securely inside did she breathe.

  Before putting her best face forward with the Oberon family, she needed a moment to unwind. Ryder’s neediness and Cameron’s charm had both made her uneasy. Her bedroom was the one place where she might have a chance of putting her head right.

  Grace kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed. Leaning against the headrest, she looked around. Every piece of furniture, every picture had been relocated from her Brooklyn bedroom into this new room. While the new space was substantially larger, she’d done her best to adapt her spacing, which gave the illusion that her old belongings were somehow smaller. She didn’t care. She loved every single memory that accompanied these things, from her mother’s vanity to the orange stuffed rabbit that shar
ed her crib when she was a baby. The only new addition to the decor was the porcelain vase she had made on the last day she attended her old school. As a way of honoring the lesson she learned through the assignment that led her to create it, she glazed it white, which allowed the tiny imperfections to remain undisguised and empty.

  She was just beginning to feel calm when there was a knock on her door.

  “Grace,” Gianni called. “It’s time for you to come to the table. Don’t be late.” Gianni’s voice was low and harsh, as if she had been gargling whiskey.

  “Start without me,” Grace snapped back as she looked at her watch. Technically, she still had plenty of time. Gianni was just being a pain.

  “Hurry,” Gianni ordered. “Your father wants you at the table on time. Move your prissy butt.”

  Classy, thought Grace. You don’t sound like new money at all.

  Grace was, in reality, not the least bit prissy. As she twisted her curly auburn hair into a ponytail, she checked her simple, but attractive makeup. Unlike her soon-to-be stepmother, she appreciated the clean look of brown eyeliner and clear mascara. In her mind, it was more than enough for a family dinner. Grace tried to predict what monstrous makeup and wardrobe calamity Gianni might have assembled for herself this evening. Since tonight had been presented as a simple home-cooked affair, Gianni would surely have shimmering silver eye shadow and her bleached hair teased into a Q-tip-esque poof that showed her New Jersey roots for all to see. And there would be Gianni’s personal holy trinity; sparkles, heels, and cleavage. Gianni had been flashy and vaguely pathetic before their sudden good fortune. Now she had blossomed into a full-fledged, social-climbing train wreck.

  As Grace buttoned a black silk Diane von Furstenburg blouse, she contemplated what she would have done with the money that was spent on that blouse a year ago. Three hundred dollars was six months’ allowance. She would have never blown that kind of cash on a single item of clothing. Now, she was expected to use her father’s credit card to buy whatever luxury goods were necessary to help them blend into their new environment. Grace couldn’t imagine ever embracing conspicuous consumption the way people in this neighborhood did, as if their possessions defined them. She would need to see some redeeming qualities in someone from this part of town before she would be convinced that anyone here valued anything but the illusion of beauty, whether it was genuine or purchased.