That night before she went to sleep, she pondered his question to her if there was room in her life for a man now. She liked him and enjoyed talking to him—they never ran out of subjects that interested them both. But the real answer to his question was that she just wasn’t sure. After all these years of living “like a nun,” as Katie put it, she didn’t know if there was room for a man, or even if she wanted one anymore. It had been so long. And life was so much easier like this. It was a hard decision to make at forty-two, whether she wanted to stay alone, or take on the risks of caring about a man again. She didn’t know what she wanted, although Tom was very appealing. She wasn’t completely sure either if she wanted to close that door and give up on relationships forever. That door stood ajar now, waiting for her to open it wide, or quietly close it and turn the key.

Liz’s trip to California went extremely well. She met interesting people, saw fabulous jewelry, and had done great research about the stars the pieces originally belonged to. There wasn’t a hitch, and at the end of two days of constant shooting and interviews at people’s homes, she was able to pack up and take the red-eye home. It helped that they had no jewelry to return to suppliers—it all stayed with the current owners. She didn’t even have time to call Jean-Louis when she left. She ran through the airport to catch the last plane to New York, the red-eye. She was still on Paris time and exhausted. She was hoping to get a breather once she got back to New York, at least for a few days. And she was excited to be going home two days earlier than planned. Paris had been grueling, and L.A. had been fun but a lot of work. She fell asleep before they even took off.

She didn’t wake up until the plane landed at JFK in New York. She had only brought carry-on, so she was out of the airport in no time and gave the cab driver her address. And then she thought better of it and decided to go to the loft. It was six in the morning and too early to call Jean-Louis, but she knew where the key was and could let herself in and just slip into his bed. She had done that lots of times in the past year when she got back from trips. She was outside his building by six-thirty in the morning. And she took the key from behind the fire extinguisher in the hallway and let herself in and the room was dark. Jean-Louis had installed shutters when he moved in, like the ones in France. He said he slept better that way, and he was right. Whenever Lizzie slept at his place, she sometimes didn’t wake until two in the afternoon, if she was particularly tired or jet-lagged or just back from a trip. The total darkness made her sleep peacefully for hours.

She knew her way around the loft perfectly, and there was a hairline crack of light from the bathroom that helped her find the bed. She dropped her clothes on the floor next to it and slid in next to him and gently put her arms around him, and as she did, there was a sudden scream. She didn’t know who it was, but it was not Jean-Louis. She sat bolt upright in the bed, and so did he, as he turned on the light with a rapid gesture. They looked at each other, and then Lizzie looked into the space in the bed between them, and found herself staring at Françoise, his ex-girlfriend and Damien’s mother. All three of them looked startled, and Lizzie leaped out of bed. The body she had cuddled up to in the dark was Françoise, not Jean-Louis.

“What the hell is this?” Liz said as she stared at him. She was so shocked that she forgot to get dressed, and all three of them were naked. “I thought you were just friends.”

“We have a child together,” Jean-Louis explained, looking very Gallic. Françoise just lay there and looked at the ceiling. She looked perfectly comfortable in his bed and made no effort to move, despite the heated discussion between Liz and Jean-Louis. She acted as though it had nothing to do with her.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Liz shouted at him. “What is she doing here?” Françoise propped herself up on one elbow then and looked at them both, taking in the scene, and Liz shot her an angry look. Françoise didn’t even look embarrassed.

“She had a job here this week, and she dropped by to say hello,” Jean-Louis explained weakly. There was nothing he could say to clean this up.

“This looks like a lot more than hello to me.” Liz narrowed her eyes at him then and reached for her clothes on the floor. “You said you were faithful to me, you asshole.” She got dressed as she said it. Françoise got up and walked past her to the bathroom.

“I am faithful to you,” he insisted to Liz. “I love you. Françoise and I are just good friends.”

“Bullshit. Tell that to someone else. This is cheating. That’s all it is.” And she was sure now that the underwear she had found in the drawer in his Paris apartment was more recent than four years. She wondered how long he’d been sleeping with her, or if he’d ever stopped. Françoise looked totally at ease in the loft and his bed.

“Don’t be such a puritan about this,” Jean-Louis said, unwinding himself from the sheets and coming to stand next to her. “These things happen. It doesn’t mean anything.” He tried to put his arms around Liz, and she wouldn’t let him.

“It does to me.” She felt foolish now for how stupid she’d been and how trusting. Men like Jean-Louis were never faithful to anyone. She realized that he had probably cheated on her for the past year and that his idea of “exclusive” had nothing to do with hers and meant nothing. “I should have known better,” Liz said to him, as Françoise wandered into the living room and lit one of Jean-Louis’s Gitanes. She was completely passive, and the uncomfortable scene didn’t seem to upset her at all, and Lizzie knew she had a boyfriend too. They all screwed anything that moved.

Liz’s fatal stupidity was believing that Jean-Louis was different. Men with that much charm were just never faithful. It wasn’t in their DNA. She knew it but always tried to tell herself that it would be different this time, but it never was. Jean-Louis was just like all the other men she had dated. They were all clones of each other. She always picked the ones who couldn’t be faithful or commit. It fit perfectly with her own fear of commitment and provided an inevitable end. She had been part of scenes like this too often before.

“Don’t you have any morality at all?” she said, looking at him with disgust. “I’m better than this, and smarter. I don’t know why I believed you.” She didn’t love him, she was clear on that, but she had liked him a lot, and trusted him, which had been a huge mistake. Men like him were all she ever met in her world, and all she ever wanted. The fashion scene was full of them. Men who wanted to act like boys forever and never played by the rules. There were no rules, there was just fun. And in the end someone always got hurt. She was tired of it. She had her clothes back on by then and looked at him with contempt.

“You’re a jerk, Jean-Louis, and a poor excuse for a man. And worse than that, you’re a lousy father. You make pathetic excuses for not being there for your son, and for dumping him on someone else. I deserved better than you, but more importantly, so does he. Why don’t you and Françoise wake up and grow up, instead of indulging yourselves all the time?” She looked straight at him and at Françoise on the way out. Jean-Louis said not a word as Liz walked out and slammed the door. She was shocked to realize she wasn’t even sad as she ran down the stairs, she was relieved. She was finished with guys like him. She was grown up. He never would be.

She made a vow to herself as she hailed a cab. She was never going to settle for a guy like him again. She’d rather be alone than waste her time. She rolled down the window and let the cold air fly in her face as they drove across town. She felt totally free at last. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t sad. She was ready to move on.


Chapter 15


Liz called Annie later that morning and told her what had happened. She was sorry to hear it, but she had heard stories like it from Liz before. Something always went wrong in her relationships so she could end them. Annie knew that up to now Lizzie chose men like that so she wouldn’t get attached. But Liz sounded different this time. She said she’d rather be alone than get involved with another one like Jean-Louis and she sounded like she meant it. She said she was done with men who behaved that way and were immature, self-indulgent, and dishonest. And Annie hoped that this time it was true.

She wondered if next time she would take the risk of someone real. It was clear from her lack of emotion that she hadn’t loved Jean-Louis.

Liz was in her own apartment wrapped in a pink bathrobe when she called Annie. She had showered when she got home. And Jean-Louis hadn’t called her. She knew he wouldn’t. And she was shocked to realize she didn’t care. She was done.

She and Liz talked for about an hour, and then Annie got up and went to make herself a cup of tea. Katie was still asleep. Annie invited Liz for dinner that night, and Liz had said that she’d come. She liked Sunday-night dinners at Annie’s, and they did them too rarely.

Tom called her late that afternoon, when he got back from a football game. He was excited that the Jets had won.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” he asked easily. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. I want you to meet the kids.”

“That sounds like fun. You’re a fascinating bunch.”

“Wait till you meet us all before you decide that. We’re actually fairly normal.”

“Somehow I doubt that. You seem pretty special to me.”

“If that’s a compliment, thank you.” He seemed special to her too. He was interesting and intelligent, he seemed to be open minded, and he wasn’t dull. He’d had an exciting life and career. He wasn’t full of himself, and he asked all the right questions. For now they were just friends, but he was the first man she’d met in years who seemed worthwhile to her, and she liked his looks. He felt the same way about her. She was a rare bird amid flocks of very dull women he had met since his divorce. And unlike most men his age, he had no interest in twenty-two-year-olds. Annie couldn’t help wondering, when she invited him to dinner, if he would be taken with Lizzie. She was a beautiful girl. Annie was philosophical about life and perfectly willing to let destiny decide her fate. Tom didn’t belong to her, and you couldn’t put an option on people. He was just a man she had met at a hospital by sheer happenstance. Nothing more than that.