The Numbers Game Read online

  “I have thought about it. I trust him. He’s a good person, and it was a bad marriage. And he’s never cheated on her before.”

  “Men say that too, but it’s not always true. Well, you’ll see as things progress. Keep your eyes open though, and don’t lie to yourself.” Olivia nodded, and the maid came to announce that lunch was ready. Brigitte, the maid, looked pleased to see Olivia. Her mother had had the same employees for many years. “Just be careful,” her mother warned her again. “If he’s at the beginning of a divorce, it will get ugly before it’s over. Try not to get caught in his mess. Let them fight it out, and stay out of it.” It was good advice, and Olivia nodded, but she was sure it wouldn’t get too messy. He had told her that Eileen was a decent person, and he was planning to be generous with her. He wasn’t wealthy the way Olivia was, but he made a huge salary and they lived well.

  “You’ve had your share of wild love affairs too,” Olivia reminded her as they sat down in the oval dining room.

  “Not lately.” Gwen smiled at her. “And never with married men. That’s one rule I’ve never broken. Anything else is permissible. Other people’s husbands aren’t.”

  They talked about other things then, a script Gwen had read and didn’t like, two movies she’d seen, a book she’d read and would love to see made into a movie. She had her finger on the pulse of the industry. And Olivia told her about her fledgling business that was growing by leaps and bounds. Gwen was very proud of her, but as she thought about it after Olivia left, she still didn’t like the idea of her with a married man. She was liable to get hurt, or hurt someone else, and there were children involved, which made it even more serious. Olivia seemed very taken with him, but Gwen wasn’t convinced that she was deeply in love with him, enough so to take on two young boys and a stepdaughter only ten years younger than she was. She was infatuated certainly, but more than that? Her mother wasn’t so sure. She would have to be patient if he hadn’t started the divorce proceedings yet. At least he had a decent job, and had been married for almost twenty years. That said something for him. Gwen was curious about him, and wondered if Olivia would introduce him soon. She hadn’t suggested it during lunch, which said something too. Gwen wondered if Olivia had doubts of her own.

  * * *

  —

  On Sunday afternoon, Eileen told the children that their father had moved out. She said they were taking a break, which came as a shock to Seth and Mark, but not entirely to Pennie, who had been aware of her parents’ differences in recent years. Her father’s bitterness was obvious during her pregnancy. He still felt that being pressed into marriage before he was ready had impacted his life and career, and deprived him of the opportunity of greater success he believed he was capable of. He was convinced he would have been a major entrepreneur and made a fortune. He had no one else to blame for it except Eileen. Her parents weren’t warm with each other, the way some of her friends’ parents were. She would have liked to have parents like the others, but she didn’t. Even Tim’s parents, who were uptight and conservative and she didn’t particularly like, seemed closer than hers. The Blakes had the same ideas and were allies, which her parents weren’t, so she wasn’t entirely surprised at her father moving out. Eileen and Paul never seemed affectionate toward each other. She had realized that in her teens.

  After the boys went upstairs to play with their PlayStation, Pennie stayed downstairs to talk to her mother.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” she asked, concerned about her. Her mother looked tired and pale, with circles under her eyes. She looked sick and sad.

  “I think so. I’m still in shock. I’m kind of numb. Everything happened very quickly yesterday.” She hadn’t slept all night afterwards, replaying it in her head.

  Pennie hesitated and then asked her the question Eileen had feared. “Do you think there’s someone else?”

  “I think there might be,” she said as candidly as she dared without maligning Paul to his kids, which she didn’t want to do, out of respect for him. “Things were never totally right with us. We got off on the wrong foot. I thought we had worked it out, but I guess your father wouldn’t agree.” He had made that clear when Pennie was pregnant, during their conversation with Tim’s parents.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Pennie asked her.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

  “If he doesn’t, you’ll meet someone else. You’re still young,” Pennie said kindly. Pennie wasn’t sure what she wished for her, for him to come back or not. He seemed harsh with Eileen at times, and disconnected, as though they had never really merged, while he blamed her for their marriage.

  “No, I’m not young, or I don’t feel it anyway,” she said with a sigh.

  “At thirty-nine, you’re not old. And you’re beautiful.” Pennie smiled at her. She had become surprisingly mature since the baby she’d lost. It was a hard way to grow up, but she was back in good health again. Eileen could guess easily that she still missed Tim, but he was off in his new world now, without a baby or a wife, which must have been a relief to him, even if he missed her. It was harder being the one still at home. Pennie wasn’t dating anyone and said she didn’t want to whenever the subject came up. She was still feeling wounded by everything that had happened, and sad about the baby she’d lost. It was like losing Tim again, and all their dreams.

  Eileen was worried that all of the children would be shaken by a divorce, but there was no avoiding that now, if Paul decided he was gone for good. Their marriage seemed to have ended with a whimper, although Eileen had no idea what lay ahead for all of them.

  “I’m sure your father will want to see you all soon,” Eileen said, and Pennie nodded. She had mixed feelings about it. She was angry at him for leaving her mother, and all of them, but he seemed so unhappy in his life that she was sorry for him.

  * * *

  —

  Eileen called Jane to tell her that night too. She wasn’t shocked. She had suspected that he was cheating, and she was more concerned about how Eileen was taking it. She seemed okay, but she would have rough times ahead if they got divorced, even if they were friends in the end. Being left for another woman was a brutal blow. Jane was sure that the girl he was involved with was probably younger than Eileen. And turning forty, and being left by your husband, was every woman’s nightmare. They made a lunch date for the next day. Eileen said she was waiting for Paul to make the next move. She didn’t feel like there was anything she could do, and now at least she knew the truth.

  “How are the kids taking it?” Jane asked her.

  “Pennie has been terrific. She’s angry at her father, but I think it will be harder on the boys. They’re younger and don’t understand.”

  “They’ll come through it. Kids always do. As long as Paul sees enough of them, and they have you and Pennie to reassure them. Most kids have divorced parents these days.” It was true, but Eileen had hoped never to be one of them. She had worked hard for that, but not hard enough, and there had been a flaw in their marriage from the beginning, which in Paul’s mind they had never overcome. Eileen had put past disappointments behind her, but Paul never had.

  They agreed on where to meet the next day, and Eileen tried not to, but she wondered what Paul was doing and who he was with, and what she was like. She wanted to know what the competition looked like and how old she was. But even without knowing, she felt defeated. She couldn’t see herself meeting another man she cared about and starting a new life. She wasn’t even sure she had the energy to try. It was all so disappointing and so sad. She lay alone in her bed that night, thinking of what Paul had said. The last thing she wanted to do was get out and date again. She felt now as though the last eighteen years had been wasted, except for the kids, who were worth it all. But she was no longer sure that Paul was. And if he had been cheating on her for a while, she didn’t think she could ever forgive him, an
d didn’t want him back. She had reached a crossroads in her life. She felt her youth slipping away from her. No matter what Pennie said, she felt suddenly ancient, and as though her life as she knew it was over. The dream she had tried to build with him had come to an end. Their marriage wasn’t sound enough to carry them forever. And she was turning forty, with a husband who no longer wanted her. It felt like the end of the road, with nothing to look forward to up ahead.

  Chapter 6

  When Gwen Waters woke up the next day, she had only one thing in mind, and one place where she wanted to go. She put on jeans and a heavy sweater, and running shoes so she wouldn’t slip or fall. She ate a light breakfast of coffee and a slice of toast, and then called for an Uber and headed downtown. The car was already waiting when she got downstairs. The address was in a still-battered part of the Bowery that hadn’t been gentrified yet, and she was lost in thought all the way downtown. It took them nearly an hour to get there in Monday morning traffic, but she had nothing else to do that day.

  The old warehouse looked weathered when she got there, and there were bags of garbage on the sidewalk, waiting to be picked up. There were a few homeless people wandering down the street, and drunks still asleep in doorways. This wasn’t SoHo or Tribeca, and was less fashionable. There were enormous doors that had been painted dark green in the façade of the building, which always reminded Gwen of Paris.

  She rang the bell and waited. She knew it would take her mother time to answer, and if she was wielding her welder’s torch, she wouldn’t hear the doorbell and Gwen would have to call her, but she’d get there sooner or later.

  She waited a full five minutes and was about to call, when one of the huge doors swung slowly open. A small disheveled woman in a heavy welder’s apron, holding a torch in her hand, with a mask pushed up on her head, stood there and smiled at Gwen.

  “It’s you. I wasn’t expecting you. I’m working on a new horse.”

  “I figured you were doing something like that. Hello, Mother, how are you?” She gave her a hug. There was a vague resemblance between the two women, although the older woman wasn’t as tall, and their styles were entirely different. Gwen was impeccably stylish and elegant, even in jeans and a sweater. Her mother looked tousled and Bohemian. Her face was similar to Gwen’s and still beautiful, though heavily lined, and her snow-white hair, which had once been as dark as Gwen’s, was pulled back tightly in a bun so she didn’t set it on fire with the sparks from her torch.

  Gwen had given up worrying about her. Her mother did as she pleased. She was careful about her welding, but had a remarkable indifference to all other aspects of safety, and somehow got away with it. There were stacks of wood, and large odd-shaped metal objects in piles around the warehouse, electrical cords, and an obstacle course of debris, tools, and benches in various places around the building, which had been a garment factory at one time. There were also huge, spectacularly graceful horses made of steel, which would eventually be cast in bronze. Occasionally, she did wooden ones, or some with found objects. There was also a giant statue of a naked man, but Gabrielle Waters’s horses were famous, and sold for a fortune.

  Gwen’s mother was a sculptress. She had studied at the Beaux-Arts in Paris in her youth. She was a doctor’s daughter and Gwen was her only child. She looked to be about seventy-five years old, despite the lines in her face, and her eyes were a bright electric blue. Her hearing was perfect. She was surprisingly agile. She had had Gwen late in life. Gabrielle was now ninety-two years old.

  She had been widowed when Gwen was only a year old. Her husband had been a famous painter, and she had never remarried. She’d had several long-term love affairs in her life, but had never wanted to marry any of her lovers. Her current lover, Federico Banducci, was a famous photographer, eight years younger than Gabrielle. He was eighty-four years old, and still working as hard as she was.

  They had met at the Beaux-Arts in Paris when he was twenty and she was twenty-eight, and had only been friends then. They met again fifty years later, at seventy and seventy-eight, and had been together ever since. They had been living together for fourteen years. He’d been studying architecture at the Beaux-Arts, and gave it up for photography. Venetian by birth, of a noble family, he had gone to New York after Paris. There was a palazzo named after his family in Venice.

  He had gone to the States at twenty-one, became an American citizen, was drafted and sent to Vietnam, where he had been assigned as a photographer and had taken some of the most famous photographs of the war. He had stepped into a minefield in pursuit of a photograph of frightened children and their injured mother, and half of his face was badly scarred. The other half was still perfect and looked like a Roman coin of Julius Caesar. Gabrielle saw only the beautiful half, and the beauty in life. They were deeply attached to each other, and Gwen’s unconventional mother suited him perfectly. He had never been married and had no children. He adored Gabrielle and would have married her at a moment’s notice. She had a conviction that marriage only made sense for people who wanted children, and she was long past that age, so she turned him down whenever he asked her, which he had many times. He still tried, particularly when he drank too much wine. But she had finally found her soul mate at seventy-eight. She was a happy, energetic, vital, brilliantly talented woman, and time had only enhanced her wisdom and creativity, and her energy seemed boundless. She was an inspiration to all who knew her. Her work had gotten larger and larger as she got older. She had the strength of a man as she created her horses, many of which were in museums around the world, and sought after by private collectors. She only made three or four a year, so they were in high demand and there was a long waiting list for her new works.

  She always employed two or three young artists to help her, and there was a bustle of activity in her studio as Gwen followed her to the stairs which led to the loft where she and Federico lived. Gwen knew that he was currently in Paris setting up his latest exhibit at the Petit Palais. Gabrielle was planning to go to the opening, and Gwen had promised to go with her, since she wasn’t working at the moment.

  Her mother put on a kettle for tea, as the work in her studio continued without her. They were preparing the pieces she was planning to weld. Gwen settled into one of the comfortable armchairs Gabrielle and Federico had rescued from the street before it could be taken to the dump. The warehouse was filled with an eclectic collection of found objects, beautiful Italian antiques, and Federico’s photographs, which hung everywhere. Their lives and their talents meshed perfectly, and the atmosphere they inspired around them was one of warmth and welcome to the diverse group of people they chose to entertain. Politicians, artists, writers, bankers, scientists. Federico was a fabulous cook and they had friends over frequently, when Gabrielle wasn’t in the middle of a commission, and he wasn’t on an assignment somewhere. They were always busy doing or creating something, both of them were in remarkably good health and working harder than ever.

  “What brings you here today?” she asked her only child, pleased to see her, as she set down a cup of green tea in front of Gwen. She never stopped for visits during her workday, except for her daughter. She was always happy to see her. Gabrielle knew that she was out of sorts over not having any recent film work. Gwen had her mother’s work ethic, but she couldn’t create independently as a sculptor could. She had to find a decent script, and be hired for the movie. Gwen insisted she hadn’t read a good script in a year, and was terrified her career was over due to her age.

  “I missed you, and I can always use your good advice,” Gwen said with a warm look. Gabrielle was more peppery than her daughter, and she disliked talking on the phone. It was easier coming to see her in person, and her mother preferred it. Gabrielle had a beautiful expressive face. She liked to remind Gwen that they had argued constantly when Gwen was in her twenties. But for the past thirty years, they had been extremely close and got along admirably. “I’m worried about Olivia. I thin
k she’s off on the wrong foot. She seems to be in love with a married man,” Gwen said to her mother with a troubled expression.

  “How married?” Gabrielle asked with an impish expression. She didn’t look shocked. Very little shocked her at her age.

  “Married enough. He just left his wife a few days ago, with the usual story about a dead marriage. He has three children, and he and Olivia have been dating for five months while he lived with his wife. I don’t want her to get hurt, or hurt anyone else. And his children are liable to hate her for breaking up the marriage.”

  “You can’t control that,” her mother reminded her. “But that’s not likely to happen. If I know my granddaughter, she’ll get bored with him before it gets too serious. Is he respectable otherwise?”

  “She says so.”

  “I had a few married men in my time, didn’t you?” Gabrielle said, smiling at the memory of particularly one of them, a professor at the Beaux-Arts.

  “Never,” Gwen answered for herself.

  “I was never interested in marriage until I met your father when I was thirty-five.” She had Gwen a year later, and a year after that he died of cholera on a trip to India. “When one of the married men offered to leave his wife, I ran like hell. She doesn’t want to marry him, does she?”

  “Not yet. But you never know, she might.”

  “I doubt she’ll stick with it. Don’t be too worried. Can we get a look at him? Should we invite him to dinner here?” Gwen smiled at the suggestion, everyone loved coming to her mother’s studio for Federico’s pasta dinners. “I’ll invite them when we get back from Paris. Federico says the installation of the show is going well. I offered them a horse for the entrance. I have one I just finished, but they wouldn’t pay to ship it over, so we didn’t send it.” They weighed a ton, literally, and cost a fortune to transport properly.