Wish Upon a Star

ELEVEN

It was Wednesday, the day she was going to London. Claire left home later than usual, just after her mother went to the hospital where she worked as a nurse’s aide, and before Jerry woke up, so neither of them saw her negotiating the heavy luggage. She rolled the black suitcase onto the ferry, off it and up to the office. She had a feeling as she made her way to her work station that all eyes were on her but she told herself it couldn’t possibly be true. She stored the case in the closet behind Joan’s desk, sat down at her own and tried not to think about how this was the most exciting day of her life. She told herself there was still a chance that Michael would cancel, but at ten-fifteen Tina called her and told her he was running late because he had to pack.

Claire hung up the phone and wasn’t quite sure if she was feeling relief or dread at the news. Maybe some of both. Where had she read that reality was the leading cause of stress – for those who are in touch with it? She doubted she was in touch with hers. Wild imaginings – way more unrealistic than her daydreams – kept running through her mind. She tried to keep her eyes on the screen and her hands on the keyboard. She actually felt the sweat in the palms of her hands running to the ends of her fingers. Twice she stopped typing to be sure that she had her passport in her purse, along with the ticket. She did. She also had her money. She wondered whether she should change it into English money now. She decided that at lunchtime she would go out and see if she could find a bank that could help her.

She looked back at the ticket. She was seated in 2B. She wondered if it were an aisle or a window and if there would be someone else in their row. If Michael sat next to her would there be someone between them or at the end? And what would they serve? The flight took off at nine. Should she have a sandwich beforehand? Would they show a movie? They were flying British Airways, so would it be a British movie?

At a quarter to twelve, Claire having done very little work, Tina called again. ‘I’ve just confirmed with the limo service. They’re picking you up here at a quarter to seven. Mike has a six o’clock meeting so he’ll probably be late. But it looks like you’re ready to join the Mile High Club,’ Tina chuckled. ‘We’re all going to meet for lunch a little bit early,’ she added.

‘Oh, I thought I’d just run out and do some errands,’ Claire told her.

‘Fagetaboutit,’ Tina told her. ‘We’ve got something special in mind; you can’t miss lunch today. And if you have to run out to Duane Reade for some condoms or something, Joan will let you or Marie Two will tell her to fuck herself. Which, by the way, would be something I’d like to see her try.’

Claire didn’t react, thinking instead about the teasing and innuendo that would probably go on over lunch. ‘Rubbers’ would be mentioned at least as often as in a B.F. Goodrich tires board meeting. She sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘See you in ten minutes.’

When she entered the lounge, everyone was already there. Claire had brought a bologna sandwich but knew she couldn’t manage to choke it down. When she got closer to the table, she saw that a chair in the middle had been reserved for her and – to her complete astonishment – there was a cake in the center of the table. On it, in blue and yellow icing, Bon Voyage Claire was written in melting script. ‘Oh. Oh my. Thank you,’ she said and took her place.

There were more than the usual lunchers. Even Marie Four, Marie LaPierre, was there. After some joking people opened their sandwiches and Marie Three brought out a bottle of champagne. Tina and Michelle passed out plastic cups and everyone had a sip.

‘Look, we got a little something for you,’ Marie Two said. All the women at the table looked at each other and then Marie Two handed Claire an envelope.

‘Oh, no,’ Claire said. ‘I hope you didn’t …’

‘Hey, no bullshit,’ Tina said.

‘Yeah. Ya gave us all gifts for baby showers, bridal showers and … well, this is for you, from all of us.’

‘Except Joan,’ Tina added.

‘She didn’t have no dentist appointment today. She just didn’t want to see anyone happy. Screw Joan,’ Michelle said.

‘Yeah. Screw her,’ Marie Four agreed.

‘Shut up,’ Marie Two told her. ‘Whadda you know about Joan?’

‘Thank you,’ Claire said. She was really touched. She began to put the envelope in her purse. She felt as if all of them were rooting for her; the representative of their underclass.

‘Whaddaya, crazy?’ Marie One asked. ‘Don’t you wanna see the map we got ya?’ Everyone around the table laughed. And Claire opened the envelope. It was a card, and a paper champagne bottle with sparkle confetti popped up when it was opened. All the women had signed it, and they’d also added cash. Three crisp hundred-dollar bills and three twenties.

‘Mad money,’ Michelle said.

‘I’ll say. I’m mad I ain’t goin’,’ said Marie One.

‘Be sure to do everythin’ Joan wouldn’t do,’ Marie Two said and snickered.

They cut the cake and all of them had a couple of pieces except for Claire who could barely take a bite. She returned to her desk and it was difficult – almost impossible – to believe that in only six hours she’d be on her way to the airport with Mr Wonderful. She told herself sternly that she’d have to stop thinking of him in that way but couldn’t quite manage it yet. ‘Michael,’ she whispered. ‘Michael.’ She thought that Joan glanced at her but she ignored it.

At a little after three, she got a call. To her complete surprise it was Abigail Samuels. ‘I wonder if you could come to my office for a moment?’ Abigail asked. Claire agreed, hung up the phone and her heart sank. Of course, there would be some policy or other that this was breaking and she wouldn’t be allowed to make the trip. She should have known.

She told Joan that she’d been called to Miss Samuels’s office, got up and walked down the hall. Joan’s face, never pleasant, now had a pinched look around the mouth and there was a vertical line on her forehead, slightly off-center, that humped her left brow. Claire could see Joan hadn’t been born ugly, but by fifty she’d have the face she deserved. She supposed she would, too.

As she crossed the reception area Michael Wainwright was walking in from what Claire figured was a long lunch. ‘Hey,’ he said, a big smile crossing his face and his voice bright and cheery. ‘I meant to call you, but I’ve had the morning from hell and the lunch that matched.’

Claire felt the eyes of the receptionist, Maggie, on her back and had no idea what to say. She just smiled.

‘You all ready?’

Claire nodded.

‘Great. I figured we leave at about seven. Why don’t you wait in my office?’

‘Sure,’ Claire said. ‘I have to go now,’ she added. ‘I was called to Mr Crayden, Senior’s office.’

Michael Wainwright raised his eyebrows. ‘Movin’ up in the world,’ he said and smiled before he turned in the opposite direction.

On her walk down the corridor, Claire wondered at his completely casual greeting. She was flustered, embarrassed, tongue-tied and her heart was racing. To him, it seemed, this was business as usual. And it is, she told herself. He goes off on trips with different women all the time. Remember that. She calmed herself down and got to the corner office. Abigail Samuels’s door was open. But Claire knocked on it before she put her head in.

‘Oh, come in,’ Abigail said and stood. Her office was small but, being next to Mr Crayden, Senior’s, it had a windowed wall and even a small sofa. ‘You’re leaving tonight, I think,’ Abigail said.

Claire nodded. She felt as if every single person in the office was spending their day thinking about her night.

‘Well, I just wanted to wish you well and give you this.’ Abigail took a small wrapped parcel out of her top drawer and handed it to Claire. ‘It’s a guidebook to London,’ Abigail explained. ‘It’s one of my favorite cities. I took the liberty of marking and underlining the places you should be sure to see; some of them are a bit off the beaten track but they’re well worth while.’

Claire looked at the older woman. She couldn’t imagine why Abigail was doing this, but she was touched and deeply grateful.

‘I used to go to London very often with Mr Crayden.’ Abigail’s face softened, and Claire, for a moment, saw the much younger woman hidden behind the soft jowls and the crow’s feet. ‘We had some lovely times there.’

Claire realized the import of what she had just heard and tried not to show surprise. Abigail Samuels and Mr Crayden, Senior had … ‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘I’ll really treasure this.’

Abigail smiled. ‘I thought you might also want this,’ she said. ‘It’s just a few pounds that I had left on my last visit but it might come in handy.’ She held up a little mesh bag, pretty in itself, and put it down on the desk. ‘Do you know pounds sterling?’ she asked. ‘Of course, the English haven’t changed over to Euros yet.’ Claire nodded.

Abigail opened the change purse and took out some bills and coins. ‘They’re well organized,’ Abigail said. ‘The smaller amounts are printed on smaller paper. And they’re different colors so you can’t confuse a single with a twenty.’ She looked up and smiled at Claire. ‘Of course, they don’t have singles anymore. All of their one-pound notes are gone. They’ve been replaced by these.’

She placed a small but chunky coin in Claire’s palm. ‘When you give a cab driver a twenty and get seven of these back in change they really weigh your pockets down,’ Abigail smiled. She emptied the purse and pointed out the other, lower denomination coins. Then she folded the bills back into the bag and poured the coins in too. She handed it all to Claire. ‘Enjoy,’ she said.

Claire looked at her in surprise and shock. ‘Oh, I couldn’t.’

‘Of course you can,’ Abigail said.

‘Well, you must at least let me pay you.’

Abigail shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about it, dear. It was my per diem money.’

‘Well, thank you,’ Claire told her. ‘Thank you for everything.’

Abigail just nodded and Claire turned to go. But when she got to the door Abigail cleared her throat and Claire, of course, turned around.

‘Be sure to keep your dignity when you come back,’ Abigail said. ‘Don’t have any illusions about the future, even if Wainwright isn’t married.’ And, as Claire looked at the much older woman, she saw something in the fine face, the large eyes that showed her what Abigail Samuels must have looked like thirty years ago. She had been very beautiful, Claire could see and, just as clearly, Claire could also see that she had loved Mr Crayden, Senior back then. She probably still did. Claire wondered at the strangeness of time passing. Abigail had been a girl, just like her. And she must have had many adventures. Claire wondered if Abigail had ever had any illusions, but she thought not. Still, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t had her heart broken though she seemed so even and calm.

As if Abigail could read her thoughts, she looked directly into Claire’s face. ‘Things were different then,’ Abigail said. ‘In a way I think they were easier. People knew exactly where they stood. Men didn’t leave their wives. Women had lower expectations.’ She looked away from Claire, turning to gaze at the view. ‘Sometimes, even when it isn’t appropriate, people find one another and simply can’t be sensible. That hasn’t changed.’ She looked back at Claire. ‘But don’t become confused,’ she told her. ‘All of them have a different set of standards for their wives than they do for …’

Claire looked at her with compassion. But Abigail, a mystery who had revealed a great deal of herself, didn’t want compassion. ‘I didn’t lose my dignity and I have no regrets,’ she said.

‘I won’t either,’ Claire promised.

TWELVE

Tina finally left Michael Wainwright’s office a little after five-thirty, albeit reluctantly. Once she was there alone, Claire called her mother and told her she was off for a few days to Atlantic City. ‘Wish it could be me,’ her mom said. ‘Tell Christine not to throw all her wedding money away.’ Claire promised she would and felt a little guilty.

‘I love you, Mom,’ she said.

‘Love you, too.’ Then there was some background noise from Jerry. ‘Oh, I gotta go,’ said her mother, and hung up.

Now with nothing to do – Claire didn’t want to be caught knitting by Mr Wonderful – she was tempted to snoop. Who was this man she was about to go overseas with? She was far too polite – and timid – to open the drawers of his desk or look in the credenza behind it, but she did start to examine the framed photos and the diplomas on the wall.

He had gone to Yale, and Claire wondered if he had been in Skull and Bones, the elite club that all of the insiders of the insiders were members of. He had also graduated from Wharton Business School, probably the best in the country. There was a silver-framed picture of a young boy with a good-looking older man’s arm around his shoulder. They both held golf clubs.

Beside that was a photograph of Michael with three beautifully groomed women. The oldest must be his mother, because she looked just like Michael (although Claire reflected that, while Michael’s looks were splendid in a man, they were not as appropriate on a woman). She assumed that the other two women, both of whom looked slightly older than Michael, were his sisters. All four were sitting on a damask sofa, two on the seat and one perched on each arm. Claire, despite her unschooled eye, could tell that this was not a snapshot. She wondered what it would be like to have professional photographers come into your home, instead of just setting the time on the Minolta and running into focus.

There was a photo that did look like a snapshot with a much younger Michael, kneeling on long grass, his arm around a Labrador retriever. Claire stared at the picture. She had always wanted a dog, but her mother had not allowed it. In the photo Michael was looking at the camera, but the dog was giving him a look of complete devotion. Claire reminded herself not to look like that when she and Michael were face to face.

Next to the dog picture there were a few awards for his charity work – Tina had told Claire about the boards he sat on – and tucked under a crystal one which had his name engraved on it there was a folded piece of blue paper. Claire picked it up. Then she saw it was a note, handwritten on heavy vellum paper, clearly with a fountain pen.

Michael,

After yesterday I have no idea what to feel about you. I believed, obviously incorrectly, that I was important to you and we each considered the other as central to our life. In case you don’t know this, let me tell you that I value myself enough not just to be hurt by your continued involvement with another woman, but also to be both angry and strong enough to drop you as I would a toad that had somehow slipped into my hand.

I am dreadfully sorry that I lost my temper with you. It was merely the shock of what I consider extremely bad behavior on your part. I won’t bother you with my recriminations again. In fact, I and my circle will be sure to ignore you in the future.

You may forget, Michael, that I was not just a tennis champion but was also known for my good sportsmanship. A gentleman should also play by the rules and you are guilty of a double-fault. I think you should, as on the court, reconsider boundaries and your serve. I’m too good at my game to bother to volley anymore.

I just regret I kissed a toad.

Katherine

Claire looked up guiltily, folded the letter and put it back under the crystal. It was quite a letter, and it must have had some impact on Michael or else he surely would have tossed it away. To stop herself from further predations on Michael’s personal life, Claire forced herself to sit down. The letter, though, had sobered her. She reminded herself she was only getting this opportunity because someone else more entitled had dropped out. She wondered if life was like that – you only got a slice of the cake when someone else went without.

From her vantage point on the sofa she looked out at the hallway and wondered how many more letters like that Michael Wainwright had stored in the lateral files. Did Tina read them all, the way she seemed to read his e-mail? Did she keep them in a single folder? Did she label it, and how? She couldn’t imagine that Tina was good at filing anything except her nails. But Tina had that easy-going personality that could schedule meetings, briskly dismiss the unwanted and pacify those that required it, make up plausible excuses when necessary and juggle a raft of social engagements and girlfriends.

All of the objects, photos and, most importantly, the note, had made her even more nervous. She was out of her depth and she knew she wasn’t a good swimmer. One slip of the tongue, one cramp in her style and she’d go under. But, she reminded herself, she had no illusions about her relationship with Michael Wainwright. She was a convenience, a diversion, a temp. She had started her job there at Crayden Smithers as a temp and, if she found herself humiliated when she returned, she could easily leave. At her level in the business hierarchy it wasn’t hard to find another poorly-paying job and perhaps she would go back to Staten Island, losing the commute and gaining a little self-confidence.

The longer she waited the more doubtful she felt about the whole plan. It wasn’t too late, she told herself, to simply roll her little black suitcase out the door. She could put her ticket and a note on his desk but the thought of him, his smile, his jaunty walk, the ingratiating smile he used when he wanted to get his way, the memory of the feel of his hand on hers stopped her. And, she thought, she would never get to use her passport if she left now. She also wouldn’t be able to face any of the women, not even Abigail Samuels.