Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
I felt my eyes grow big.
What was she doing?
“Fabulous,” she said into her phone. “We’re out for a drink. We need to pay the bill and we should be there, I don’t know, in around twenty minutes.” Pause and then, “Marvelous. See you then.”
She hit the screen on her phone to disconnect the call then dropped it in her large, but understated, vintage khaki-green Lowe tote.
She did this while I asked the pertinent question. “What are you doing?”
She picked up her glass of wine and stated, “Your mother is lovely.”
I sensed this was akin to southerners saying, “Ah, your mother. Bless,” which was very much the response my mother elicited often, even from me. One of the reasons why I was sitting across from Genny at that very moment, and not my mom.
“But I fear she might not have taught you something essential that every woman should know,” she went on.
This was highly likely.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“No matter how big or small the problem, it is never the best idea to tackle it alone. And if you have wise women around you, your best option is to take advantage of their wisdom as often as you can.”
“I hear you, and that’s good advice,” I conceded. “But I don’t want everybody to know before Hale knows.”
She reached out, grabbed my hand again, and on a squeeze, she said, “Trust me.”
I didn’t confirm I trusted her.
The server was there with our check, and Genny pulled her billfold out while he was standing at our table whereupon she paid in cash.
And before I even took a sip of my sparkling water, we were out of there.
Nora Ellington, of the Manhattan Ellingtons, was old money.
Old, serious money.
Hobnobbing with the rich and famous, as I’d been doing since Hale entered my life, I noticed the stereotype was true.
New money rubbed it in your face. Logos abounding. Gold and jewels dripping. Range Rovers pimped to the max.
Old money was like Genny’s tote. It was pretty. It was stylish. It was also utilitarian. And if you didn’t know what the four L’s forming a square embossed in one corner meant, you might think you could get it at Target.
The living room of Nora’s sprawling Central Park West apartment, a home I’d never been to (until now), was just like that.
It was gorgeous, and elegant, the value of the real estate could buy a small island, but even so, there was nothing to prove.
White walls. Soft gray furniture with lovely curves and dark wood legs. A round coffee table in the middle that looked art deco, as in, antique, crafted a hundred years ago and painstakingly cared for all that time. An understated chandelier hanging over all of this, an even more understated rug in severely muted tones of yellow, blue, green and peach under it (a rug that was probably made of silk). Pots of healthy plants. Vases of unassuming flowers. Lovely art on the walls. And zero knickknacks on surfaces.
The only extravagance was a black grand piano in the back corner by the window, but even though Nora had three children, it wasn’t covered in silver-framed, black and white, carefully posed photos. Instead, the lid was angled up.
The front door was opened by Mika, wearing a body-hugging, tan sweater dress that swept down to the ankles of her chocolate suede, high-heeled boots.
As we hit the living room, Nora swanned in wearing a pair of high-waisted, wide-leg aubergine trousers that were so long, they covered her shoes Victoria Beckham-style (though I could tell she, too, was wearing heels), and a fitted black turtleneck. No pendant dangling down her front. No bangles jangling at her wrists. Just princess-cut diamond studs in her ears.
Sure, I could tell those diamond studs were over three carats, but she probably inherited them from her mother or some great aunt.
And again, her whole vibe said she had nothing to prove.
Truth told, I wanted to be like Nora when I grew up. She was loyal. She was hilarious. She raised more money for charity than she owned, which was quite a feat, so she was thoughtful and kind-hearted.
But much like Mika, which could be a reason why they were so close, she was who she was. She said what she had to say (and one could just say she had a variety of opinions, and they were strong ones), and if you didn’t like it, that was your issue, not hers. She did what she wanted to do, and the same went.
The only area in her life where I saw her holding back was with Jamie.
It had gotten to the point it was painful watching the two of them together, because it was so obvious she was in love with him. It was equally obvious she thought he’d never move on from his beloved wife who died (now, some time ago) of cancer. And again equally obvious she was not catching a single clue that he’d fallen as deep for her as she had for him, he was just ailing from a chronic case of grief mixed with denial.