The Cottage Read online

  “Fifty-nine. He's done very well. He has a flat in London, and a very nice house in San Francisco. He just sold it and we're moving to an apartment on Nob Hill.”

  “In San Francisco? You'll die of boredom, or get buried in an earthquake. Liz, you'll hate it.” He was reeling from the impact. He couldn't begin to imagine managing without her. And she was blowing her nose and couldn't stop crying.

  “Maybe I will. Maybe I'll come running back. But I thought I should at least get married once, just so I can say I've done it. You can call me anytime, Coop, wherever I am.”

  “Who's going to make my reservations, and talk to my agent? And don't tell me Paloma, whoever the hell she is!”

  “The agency said they'd handle as much as they can for you. And Abe's office will handle all the bookkeeping. There's really not much else I do here,” other than field calls from his girlfriends, and keep his press agent fed with fresh information, mostly about who he was dating. He was going to have to start making his own phone calls. It was going to be a new experience for him. She truly felt as though she had betrayed him, and was abandoning him.

  “Are you in love with this guy, Liz, or just panicked?” It hadn't occurred to him in years that she still wanted to get married. She had never said anything to him, and he never asked about her dating life. It was rare for her to mention it to him, or to even have time to date anyone. She was so busy juggling Coop's appointments, his purchases, parties, and trips, she had hardly seen the man she was going to marry in the last year, which was why he had finally put his foot down. He thought Cooper Winslow was a narcissist and an egomaniac, and he wanted to save Liz from him.

  “I think I'm in love with him. He's a good person, he's nice to me. He wants to take care of me, and he has two very nice daughters.”

  “How old are they? I can't imagine you with kids, Liz.”

  “They're nineteen and twenty-three. I really like them, and they seem to like me. Their mother died when they were very young, and Ted brought them up himself. He did a nice job of it. One of them works in New York, and the other one is at Stanford in premed.”

  “I can't believe this.” He looked absolutely shattered. The day had become instantly disastrous for him. He didn't even remember he was about to rent out his gatehouse and his guest wing. He didn't care about that now, only about losing Liz. “When are you actually marrying him?”

  “In two weeks, right after I leave here.” She started crying again as soon as she said it. It suddenly seemed like a terrible idea, even to her.

  “Do you want to do it here?” he said generously.

  “We're doing it at a friend's house in Napa,” she said through her tears.

  “It sounds awful. Are you having a big wedding?” He was truly stunned. He had never expected this.

  “No. Just us and his daughters and the couple whose house we're getting married at. If it were any bigger, I'd have invited you, Coop.” She hadn't had time to plan a wedding. She was too busy taking care of him. And Ted didn't want to wait any longer. He knew if he did, she'd never leave Coop. She felt responsible for him.

  “When did you decide all this?”

  “About a week ago.” Ted had come down for the weekend and put a lot of pressure on her. And their decision coincided perfectly with Abe's decision to fire everyone. In a way, she knew she was doing Coop a favor. He couldn't afford her either. But she knew it was still going to be hard for both of them to say goodbye to each other. She couldn't imagine leaving him, and it broke her heart to do it. He was so innocent and so helpless—in his own inimitable way. And she had spoiled him over the past twenty-two years. She constantly worried about him and mothered him. She knew she would lie awake nights in San Francisco, fretting about him. It would be a tremendous adjustment, for both of them. Taking care of Coop had replaced the children she'd never had and finally stopped wanting years before.

  He still looked shell-shocked when she left the house, and before she did, she answered the phone. It was Pamela, his latest romance. She was twenty-two years old, young even by his standards. She was a model, and aspiring to be an actress. He had met her at a shoot he had done for GQ. They had hired half a dozen models to stand beside him adoringly, and she had been the best looking of the lot. He'd only been dating her for about a month and she was totally infatuated with him, although he was old enough to be her grandfather, but he didn't look it fortunately. He was taking Pamela to The Ivy for dinner, and Liz reminded him to pick her up at seven-thirty. He gave her a big hug before she left, and reminded her to come back to him if she hated being married. And secretly, he hoped she would. Coop felt as though he were losing his younger sister and best friend.

  Liz started crying again as she drove away. She loved Ted, but she couldn't imagine what life would be like without Coop. Over the years, he had become her family, her best friend, her brother, her son, her hero. She adored him. And it had taken every ounce of courage and strength she had to agree to marry Ted, and then to tell Coop. She hadn't been able to sleep for the past week, and she had felt sick about it all morning before Coop came home. She was grateful Abe had been there to distract her. And as she drove out the main gate, she nearly hit a car driving by. She was totally unnerved. Leaving Coop would be like leaving the convent or the womb. She just hoped she had made the right decision in the end.

  Coop was still standing in the library when she left, and poured himself another glass of champagne. He took a sip, and then, still holding the glass, he walked slowly upstairs to his bedroom. He passed a small woman in a white uniform on the way. There was a large stain on the front of her dress that looked like tomato sauce, or soup. She was wearing her hair in a long braid down her back, and she was wearing sunglasses, which caught his attention, as she vacuumed noisily on the stairs.

  “Paloma?” he asked cautiously, as though seeing her for the first time, and wishing he hadn't. She was wearing leopard sneakers, which made him wince.

  “Jess, Mr. Weenglow?” There was something very independent about her. She didn't remove the sunglasses, but stood staring at him from behind the dark lenses. It was impossible to guess how old she was, but he assumed somewhere in her middle years.

  “It's Winslow, Paloma. Did you have some sort of accident?” He was referring to the spot on her uniform, which looked as though someone had thrown a pizza at her.

  “We had essspagghetti for lunch. I dropped my spoon on my juniform. And I don't have another one here.”

  “Looks delicious,” he said as he wandered past her, still shell-shocked over Liz, and wondering what it was going to be like when Paloma was caring for his wardrobe. And as he closed the door to his bedroom, Paloma stood staring at him, and then rolled her eyes. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her, but even from the little she knew of him, she'd never liked him. He went out with women young enough to be his children, and seemed entirely self-involved. She couldn't think of a single thing to like about him, and shook her head disapprovingly as she continued to vacuum the stairs. She wasn't looking forward to being alone in the house with him either. She felt as though she'd drawn the short straw when she found out she was the only one not being fired by the accountants. But she wasn't going to argue about it. She had a lot of relatives in San Salvador to support and she needed the money. Even if it meant working for the likes of him.

  Chapter 2

  Mark Friedman signed the last of the papers, standing in the empty house with the realtor, and it nearly broke his heart when he did. The house had only been on the market for three weeks. They'd gotten a good price for it, but that meant nothing to him. As he stood looking around him at the bare walls and empty rooms where he and his family had lived for ten years, it was like seeing the last of his dreams disappear.

  He had been planning to keep the house, and live in it, but Janet had told him to sell it as soon as she had gotten to New York. He knew then, that no matter what she had said in the weeks prior to that, she was never coming back to him. She had told him
that she was leaving him only two weeks before she left. And her lawyer had just called his. His entire life had unraveled in the past five weeks. Their furniture was already on its way to New York, he had given everything to her and the kids. He was staying in a hotel near his office, and he was waking up every morning, wishing he were dead. They had lived in Los Angeles for ten years, and been married for sixteen.

  Mark was forty-two years old, tall, lean, blond, blue eyed, and until five weeks earlier had been convinced he was happily married. He and Janet had met in law school, and got married as soon as they graduated. She had gotten pregnant almost instantly. Jessica was born on their first anniversary, and was now fifteen. Jason was thirteen. Mark was a tax attorney in a major law firm, and they had transferred him from New York to Los Angeles ten years before. It had been an adjustment at first, but they came to love it eventually. He had found the house in Beverly Hills within weeks, even before Janet and the kids arrived from New York. It had been perfect for them, with a big backyard, and a small pool. The people who had just bought it wanted to close as soon as they could, they were expecting twins in six weeks. And as Mark thought about it as he took a last walk around, he couldn't help thinking that their life was just beginning, and his was over. He still couldn't believe what had happened to him.

  Six weeks earlier, he had been a happily married man with a beautiful wife he was crazy about, a job he loved, a nice house, and two gorgeous kids. They had no money worries, they were all in good health, and nothing bad had ever happened to them. Six weeks later, his wife had left him, the house was gone, his family was living in New York, and he was getting a divorce. It was almost too much to believe.

  The realtor left him alone as he wandered through the empty rooms. All he could think of were the good times they'd shared. There had been nothing wrong with their marriage from his perspective, and even Janet admitted that she'd been happy with him.

  “I don't know what happened,” she said tearfully when she told him. “Maybe I was bored… maybe I should have gone back to work after Jason was born “But none of that explained to Mark adequately why she had left him for another man. She had admitted to Mark five weeks earlier that she was madly in love with a doctor in New York.

  A year and a half before, Janet's mother had gotten very sick. First a heart attack, then shingles, and finally a stroke. It had been an endless seven months of Janet commuting back and forth to New York. Her father was devastated and developing Alzheimer's, her mother went from one medical crisis to the next. He took care of the kids whenever Janet was gone. The first time she went, after the heart attack, Janet was gone for six weeks. But she called him three or four times a day. He had never suspected a thing, and it hadn't happened immediately, Janet had explained, it had happened over time. She had fallen in love with her mother's doctor. He was a great guy, had been wonderfully supportive and sympathetic and kind to her. They had dinner one night, just casually, and it had taken off from there.

  She had been involved with him for a year, and she said it was tearing her apart. She kept thinking she'd get over it, that it was a passing thing. She assured Mark that she had tried to end it several times. But they were hooked on each other, it had become an obsession for both of them. Being with Adam, she told Mark, was like being addicted to a drug. He suggested therapy and couples counseling, but Janet refused. She didn't say it to him then, but she had made up her mind. She said she wanted to move back to New York, and see where things went. She needed to be out of the marriage, for the time being at least, so she could explore the affair honestly. And as soon as she got to New York, she told Mark she wanted a divorce, and asked him to sell the house. She wanted her half of the money out of it, so she could buy an apartment in New York. Mark stood staring at their bedroom wall, as he thought about the last conversation he'd had with her. He had never felt so lost and alone in his life. Everything he'd believed and counted on and thought would always be there for him no longer was. And the worst thing was that he hadn't done anything wrong, at least he didn't think he had. Maybe he worked too hard, or didn't take her out to dinner often enough, but it was all so comfortable, and she had never complained.

  The second worst day of his life, after the day she told him about the affair, was when they told the children they were splitting up. They had wanted to know if he and Mom were getting divorced, and he had said honestly that he wasn't sure. But he realized now that Janet had known even then. She just didn't want to tell them yet, or him.

  The kids had cried endlessly, and for no apparent reason, at first Jessica had blamed it all on him. None of it made sense to them. At fifteen and thirteen, it made even less sense to them than it did to Mark. At least he knew why Janet was leaving him, whether he deserved it or not. But to the kids, it was a mystery that defied any explanation. They had never seen their parents argue or disagree, and they rarely had. Maybe over where to hang what on the Christmas tree, and once Mark had had a fit when Janet had totaled his new car, but in the end, he apologized and told her he was glad she hadn't been hurt. He was a pretty easygoing guy, and she was a decent person too. Adam was just more exciting than Mark. According to Janet, he was forty-eight years old, had a lively practice, and lived in New York. He kept a sailboat on Long Island, and had been in the Peace Corps for four years. He had interesting friends and a fun life. He was divorced, and had never had kids. His wife hadn't been able to have any, and they didn't want to adopt. And he was crazy about the idea of Janet's kids. He even wanted two more of their own, which Janet had not mentioned to Mark, or the kids. They knew nothing about him yet. She was going to introduce him into their lives once they got settled in New York, and Mark suspected she had no intention of telling them that Adam was the reason she'd left him.

  In comparison, Mark knew he was dull. He liked his work, and estate planning was something he enjoyed and did well, but it wasn't something he could discuss at length with her. She had wanted to go into criminal law, or child advocacy, and tax law had always bored her to tears. She and Mark played tennis several times a week, they went to movies, hung out with the kids, went to dinner with friends. It had been a comfortable, ordinary life for all of them. And now, nothing was comfortable anymore. The emotional anguish he felt was almost a physical pain. He had had a knife in his gut for the past five weeks. He had just started going to a therapist, at the suggestion of his doctor, when Mark called and asked for sleeping pills, because he said he could no longer sleep. His life had become a living hell. He missed her, he missed his kids, he missed his life. In the blink of an eye, everything and everyone was gone, and now so was the house.

  “Ready, Mark?” the realtor asked gently as she stuck her head in the bedroom door. He was just standing there, staring into space, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, and walked out of the room, with one last glance back. It was like saying goodbye to a lost world, or an old friend. He followed her out of the house and she locked the door. He had given her all his keys. The money was being deposited into his account that afternoon, and he had promised to wire Janet her half. They had gotten a good price for it, which meant nothing to him now.

  “Are you ready to start looking for something for you?” the realtor asked hopefully. “I have some great small houses for you up in the hills, and there's a little gem in Hancock Park. There are some nice apartments around right now too.” February was always a good month to look. The holiday doldrums were over, and some great listings came on the market in the spring. And with the sale of the house, and the price he'd gotten for it, she knew he had money to spend. Even his half was more than enough to buy himself a handsome new place. And he had a good job. Money wasn't a problem for Mark. Just everything else.

  “I'm fine at the hotel,” he said, slipping into his Mercedes after thanking her again. She had done a great job, and closed the sale smoothly and in record time. He almost wished she hadn't been so efficient, or had even lost the sale. He hadn't been ready to move on. It was s
omething to talk about with his new therapist, grist for the mill. He had never been to a therapist before, and he seemed like a nice guy, but Mark wasn't sure it would help. Maybe with the sleep problem, but what could he do about the rest? No matter what they said in the counseling sessions, Janet and the kids were still gone, and without them he had no life. He didn't want a life. He wanted them. And now she belonged to someone else, and maybe the kids would like him better too. It was a devastating thought. He had never felt as hopeless in his life, or as lost.

  He drove back to the office, and was back at his desk by noon. He dictated a stack of letters, and went over some reports. He had a partners' meeting that afternoon. He didn't even bother eating lunch. He had lost ten pounds in the last five weeks, maybe twelve. All he could do now was keep moving, putting one foot after the other, and try not to think. He did his thinking at night, when it all came back to him, and he heard her words again and again, and thought about the kids and how much they had cried. He called them every night, he had promised to come and visit them in a few weeks. He was taking them to the Caribbean over the Easter vacation, and they were going to come out to LA in the summer, but now he had nowhere for them to stay. Just thinking about all of it made him feel sick.

  When he saw Abe Braunstein in a meeting about new tax laws late that afternoon, the accountant was stunned. Mark looked like he had a terminal disease. He usually looked healthy and young and athletic, he was always in good spirits, and even though he was forty-two, Abe always thought of Mark as a nice kid. He looked like the boy next door. Now he looked like someone had died. And he felt as though he had.

  “Are you all right?” Abe asked with a look of concern.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” Mark answered vaguely, looking numb. His face even looked somewhat gray. He seemed exhausted and pale, and Abe was genuinely worried about him.

  “You look like you've been sick. You've dropped a lot of weight.” Mark nodded, and didn't respond, and then after the meeting, he felt like a jerk for not reacting to Abe's concern. Abe was going to be the second person he'd told, the first being his therapist. He hadn't had the guts, or the stomach, to tell anyone else. It was too humiliating, it made him seem like such a loser, and he worried that people would think he'd been a shit to her. He wanted to explain, and he was torn between wanting to whine, and needing to hide.