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‘Thank you.’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘I read that investigative piece you did for New York magazine, the one on the restaurant letter-grading system? That was so interesting. And the travel piece you did on that yoga retreat? Where was that? Brazil?’
Andy nodded.
‘It made me want to go. And I assure you, yoga is not my thing.’
‘Thanks. It, um …’ Andy coughed, trying hard to suppress a smile. ‘It means a lot to hear you say that.’
‘I’m not saying it to make you feel good, Andy. I’m saying it because it’s all true. And Emily has given me an initial sketch of your ideas for The Plunge, which I think sound terrific, too.’
This time Andy allowed herself a wide grin. ‘You know, I have to admit I was skeptical when Emily approached me with her idea for The Plunge. The world didn’t seem to need another wedding magazine. There just didn’t seem to be any place in the market for it. But as she and I talked it through, we realized there was a serious lack of a Runway-esque wedding magazine – super high-end, glossy, with gorgeous photography and zero cheese factor. Something that featured celebrities and socialites and weddings that were financially out of reach for most readers but that still played to their daydreams and plans. A book that offered the sophisticated, savvy, style-conscious woman page after page of inspiration on which she could model her own wedding. Right now there’s a whole lot of baby’s breath and dyeable shoes and tiaras, but there isn’t anything showing a more sophisticated bride her options. I think The Plunge will fill a real niche.’
Max stared at her, a bottle of root beer clutched in his right hand.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you the full pitch. I just get excited talking about it.’ Andy took a sip of her Corona and wondered if it was insensitive of her to drink in front of Max.
‘I was ready to invest because the idea is solid, Emily’s very convincing, and you’re extremely attractive. I didn’t realize you can be every bit as convincing as Emily.’
‘I went overboard, didn’t I?’ Andy buried her forehead in her hands. ‘Sorry.’ She said the words, but she could think of nothing other than Max calling her extremely attractive.
‘You’re not just a good writer, Andy. We can all get together in the city and discuss the details next week, but I can tell you right now that Harrison Media Holdings would like to be a principal investor in The Plunge.’
‘I know I speak for Emily and myself when I say we would love that,’ Andy said, immediately regretting her formality.
‘We’re going to make a lot of money together,’ Max said, holding his bottle up.
Andy clinked it. ‘Cheers. To being business partners.’
Max looked at her weirdly but clinked her bottle again and took a sip.
Andy felt momentarily awkward but quickly reassured herself she’d said the right thing. After all, Max was a player. Linked to models and society stick figures. This was business, and business partners sounded good and smart.
The mood had changed, that much was clear, so Andy wasn’t surprised when Max dropped her back at Emily’s in-laws’ right after their late-afternoon steamer expedition. He kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for a great day and made no mention whatsoever of getting together again, save for a meeting in his company conference room with Emily and a full legal and accounting team.
And why would he? Andy wondered. Just because he’d flirted a little and called her attractive? Because together they’d spent a single perfect day? None of it meant a damn thing more than due diligence on Max’s part: he was scoping out his investment, being his usual charming and adorable self and having a little flirtatious fun on the side. Which was, according to Emily and everything she could find online, exactly what Max did, and did well and often. Clearly, none of it meant he was the least bit interested in her.
Emily was ecstatic to hear how successful the day had been, and the meeting in the city the following Thursday was even better. Max committed Harrison Media Holdings to a staggering six-figure number to get The Plunge up and running, more than either of them had even dreamed of, and, almost even better, Emily wasn’t able to join them for the spontaneous celebratory lunch Max proposed the three of them share.
‘If you had any idea how hard it was to get this appointment, neither of you would even suggest I skip it,’ Emily said, rushing off to some celebrity dermatologist she’d been waiting nearly five months to see. ‘She’s harder to get an audience with than the Dalai Lama, and my forehead wrinkles are getting deeper by the second.’
So once again Max and Andy went alone, and once again, two hours turned into five, until finally the maître d’ of the midtown steakhouse politely asked them to leave so he could set their table for a dinner reservation. Max held her hand as he walked her home, thirty blocks out of his way, and Andy loved the way it felt to walk alongside him. She knew they made a cute couple, and their attraction to each other elicited smiles from strangers. When they reached her building, Max gave her the most incredible kiss. It was only a few seconds, but it was soft and perfect, and she was alternately pleased and panicked that he didn’t push for more. He didn’t mention anything about their seeing each other again, and although Max most certainly went around kissing girls wherever and whenever he felt like it, something intangible told Andy she would be hearing from him again soon.
Which she did, the very next morning. They saw each other again that evening. Five days later Andy and Max had separated only grudgingly to go to work, taking turns sleeping over at each other’s apartments and choosing fun activities. Max took her to a favorite family-style mob-esque Italian place deep in Queens, where everyone knew his name. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he assured her it was only because his family had gone there at least twice a month when he was growing up. Andy took him to her favorite West Village comedy club, where they laughed so hard at the midnight show that they spit their drinks across the table; afterward, they roamed half of downtown Manhattan, enjoying the summer night, not finding their way back to Andy’s place until nearly sunrise. They rented bikes and took the Roosevelt Island Tram and tracked down no fewer than half a dozen gourmet trucks, sampling everything from artisanal ice cream to gourmet tacos to fresh lobster rolls. They had mind-blowing sex. Often. By the time Sunday rolled around, they were exhausted and satiated and, at least in Andy’s mind, very much in love. They slept until eleven and then ordered in a huge bagel spread and picnicked on Max’s living room carpet, alternating between a real estate makeover show on HGTV and the U.S. Open.
‘I think it’s time to tell Emily,’ Max said, handing her a latte he’d made with his professional espresso machine. ‘Just promise me you’re not going to believe a word she says.’
‘What, that you’re a huge player with commitment issues and a tendency to go for ever-younger girls? Why would I listen to that?’
Max swatted her hair. ‘All grossly exaggerated.’
‘Uh-huh. I’m sure.’ Andy kept her tone light, but his reputation did bother her. This felt different, granted – what playboy lies around watching HGTV? – but didn’t all the girls probably think that?
‘You’re four years younger. Doesn’t that count?’
Andy laughed. ‘I guess so. It helps knowing I’m barely thirty – a baby, for all intents and purposes – and you’re way older than that. Yes, that part’s nice.’
‘You want me to say something to Miles? I’m happy to.’
‘No, definitely not. Em’s coming over to my place tonight to order sushi and watch House reruns. I’ll tell her then.’
Andy was so caught up in wondering how Emily would react – betrayed that Andy hadn’t told her sooner? Irritated that her business partner had gone and gotten herself involved with their financier? Uncomfortable because Max and Miles were such good friends? – that she’d entirely overlooked the likelihood that Emily had suspected something all along.
‘Really? You knew?’ Andy said, stretching a sock-clad foot out on her secondhand couch.
Emily dipped a piece of salmon sashimi in soy sauce and popped it into her mouth. ‘You think I’m a fucking idiot? Or rather, a blind fucking idiot? Of course I knew.’
‘When did you … how?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe when you showed up at Miles’s parents’ place after your day together looking like you’d just had the best sex of your life. Or maybe it was after our meeting at his office, when the two of you couldn’t stop staring at each other – why do you think I didn’t come to lunch? Or the fact that you’ve completely vanished this past week and didn’t return phone calls or texts and have been shadier about where you’ve been hiding out than a high school kid trying to duck her parents? I mean seriously, Andy.’
‘For the record, we definitely did not sleep together that day in the Hamptons. We didn’t even—’
Emily held her hand up. ‘Spare me the details, please. Besides, you don’t owe me any explanations. I’m happy for you both – Max is a great guy.’
Andy looked at her warily. ‘You’ve told me a hundred times what a womanizer he is.’
‘Well, he is. But maybe that’s in his past. People change, you know. Not my husband, that’s for sure – did I tell you I found text messages with some chick named Rae? Nothing solid, but definitely requiring further investigation. Anyway, just because Miles has a roving eye doesn’t mean Max can’t settle down. You might be just what he’s looking for.’
‘Or I may be his flavor of the week …’
‘No way to tell but time. And I say that from experience.’
‘Fair enough,’ Andy said, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say. Miles had the exact same reputation as Max, but without any of the soft side. He was affable enough, certainly social, and he and Emily seemed to have a lot in common, like a mutual love of parties, luxury vacations, and expensive clothes. For all the years they’d been together, though, Andy still felt like she didn’t really know her best friend’s husband. Emily made frequent, casual comments about Miles and his ‘roving eye,’ as she called it, but she shut down whenever Andy tried to delve deeper. As far as Andy knew there had never been any concrete proof of infidelity – at least nothing public, that much was certain – but that didn’t mean much. Miles was savvy and discreet, and his job as a television producer took him away from New York often enough that anything was possible. It was likely he cheated. It was likely Emily knew he cheated. But did she care? Did it drive her crazy with worry and jealousy, or was she one of those women who looked the other way so long as she was never publicly embarrassed? Andy always wondered, but it was the single subject they had come to some unspoken agreement never to discuss.
Emily shook her head. ‘I still can’t really believe it. You and Max Harrison. In a million years, I never would’ve thought of setting you guys up, and now look … it’s wild.’
‘We’re not getting married, Em. We’re just hanging out,’ Andy said, although she’d already fantasized about what it would be like to marry Max Harrison. A crazy thought to be sure – they’d known each other under two weeks – but already things felt different than they had with everyone she’d ever dated, with the possible exception of Alex all those years earlier. It had been so long since she was this excited about someone. He was sexy, smart, charming, and, okay, pedigreed. Andy had never imagined herself marrying someone like Max, but nothing about it sounded terrible.
‘Look, I get it. Enjoy. Have fun. Keep me in the loop, okay? And if you do get married, I want full credit.’
Emily was Andy’s first call when, a week later, Max asked her to be his date to a book party Max’s company was throwing in honor of one of its magazine editors, Gloria, who’d just published a memoir about growing up as the daughter of two famous musicians.
‘What do I wear?’ Andy asked in a panic.
‘Well, you’re officially cohosting, so it better be something fabulous. That eliminates pretty much your entire “classic” wardrobe. You want to borrow something of mine or go shopping?’
‘Cohosting?’ Andy all but whispered the word.
‘Well if Max is the host and you’re his date …’
‘Oh, god. I can’t handle this. He said there are going to be a ton of people there because it’s Fashion Week. I’m not prepared for that.’
‘You’ll just have to channel the old Runway days. She’ll probably be there too, you know. Miranda and Gloria definitely know each other.’
‘I can’t do this …’
The night of the party, Andy showed up to the Carlyle Hotel an hour early to help Max oversee the setup, and his expression alone when she stepped into the room, wearing one of Emily’s Céline dresses accessorized with chunky gold jewelry and gorgeous high heels, made it all worthwhile. She knew she looked great, and she was proud of herself.
Max had taken her into his arms and whispered how stunning she looked in her ear. That night, as he introduced her to everyone – his colleagues and employees, various editors and writers and photographers and advertisers and PR execs – as his girlfriend, Andy swelled with happiness. She chatted easily with all his work people and tried her best to charm them, and, she had to admit, had a wonderful time doing it. It wasn’t until Max’s mother showed up and homed in on Andy like a shark circling its prey that Andy felt herself get nervous.
‘I simply had to meet the girl Max can’t stop talking about,’ Mrs Harrison said in some kind of crusty, not-quite-British, probably-just-too-many-years-on-Park-Avenue accent. ‘You must be Andrea.’
Andy glanced quickly around for Max, who hadn’t even hinted his mother might be in attendance, before turning her full attention back to the toweringly tall woman in the tweed Chanel skirt suit. ‘Mrs Harrison? What a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, willing her voice to stay calm.
There was no ‘Please, call me Barbara’ or ‘Don’t you look lovely, dear,’ or even ‘It’s so nice to meet you.’ Max’s mother brazenly appraised Andy and pronounced, ‘You’re thinner than I thought you’d be.’
Pardon? According to Max’s description? Or her own reconnaissance? Andy wondered.
Andy coughed. She wanted to run and hide, but Barbara rattled on. ‘My, my, I remember being your age, when the weight would just fall off. I wish it was like that for my Elizabeth – have you met Max’s sister yet? She should be here soon – but the girl has her father’s body type. Bearish. Athletic. Not overweight, I suppose, but perhaps not quite feminine.’
Was that really how this woman talked about her own daughter? Andy instantly felt sorry for Max’s sister, wherever she was. She looked Barbara Harrison in the eye. ‘I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve seen a picture of Elizabeth and she’s just beautiful!’
‘Mmm,’ Barbara murmured, looking unconvinced. Her dry, slightly leathery hand wrapped around Andy’s bare wrist a bit more tightly than was comfortable and pulled – hard. ‘Come, let’s sit and get to know each other a bit.’
Andy tried her best to impress Max’s mother, convince Barbara that she was worthy of her son. Granted, Mrs Harrison had wrinkled her nose when Andy described her work at The Plunge, and she’d made some vaguely disparaging comment about Andy’s hometown not being anywhere near Litchfield County, where the Harrisons kept an old horse farm, but Andy didn’t leave the conversation thinking it was a disaster. She’d asked interested, appropriate questions of Barbara, told a funny anecdote about Max, and explained how they’d met in the Hamptons, a detail Barbara seemed to like. Finally, out of desperation, she mentioned her stint at Runway, working under Miranda Priestly. Mrs Harrison sat up a little straighter and leaned in for further questioning. Did Andy enjoy her time at Runway? Was working for Ms Priestly simply the best learning experience she could have imagined? Barbara made a point of mentioning that all the girls Max grew up with would have killed to work there, that they’d all idolized Miranda and dreamed of one day being featured in her pages. If Andy’s little ‘start-up project’ didn’t work, might her future plans include a return to Runway? Barbara had become downright animated, and Andy did her best to smile and nod as enthusiastically as she could manage.
‘I’m sure she loved you, Andy,’ Max said as they sat in a twenty-four-hour diner on the Upper East Side, still both amped up from the party.
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t say it felt like love,’ Andy said as she sipped her chocolate shake.
‘Everyone loved you, Andy. My CFO made a point of telling me how funny you were. I guess you told him some story about Hanover, New Hampshire?’
‘It’s my go-to anecdote for Dartmouth people.’
‘And the assistants were tittering all over the place about how pretty and sweet you were to them. I guess a lot of people don’t take the time to talk to them at parties like these. Thanks for doing that.’ Max offered Andy a ketchupy fry and when she refused, popped it into his own mouth.
‘They were all so genuinely nice. I loved hanging out with them,’ she said, thinking how she really had enjoyed meeting everyone, Max’s icy mother being the only exception. Plus she was thankful: Miranda hadn’t shown up. It was a blessing, but given her new romance and the Harrison family circles, Andy knew the time would come.
She reached across the table and took Max’s hand. ‘I had a great time tonight. Thanks for inviting me.’
‘Thank you, Ms Sachs,’ Max responded, kissing her hand and giving her a look that caused her stomach to drop in that telltale way. ‘Should we head back to my place? I think this night is just getting started.’
3
you’re walking, sister
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, everyone’s nervous on her wedding day. But I’m sure you know that. You must have seen it all by now, am I right? You and me, girl, we could write a book!’
Nina guided Andy into the bridal suite with a hand planted firmly in the small of her back. The spectacular reds and oranges and yellows of the changing leaves stretched out for miles through the large picture window that spanned the length of the suite. Fall foliage in Rhinebeck had to be the best in the world. Mere minutes before the view had filled her with happy memories of growing up in Connecticut: crisp fall days that heralded football games, and apple picking, and later, a return to campus to start a new semester. Now the colors looked muted, the sky almost ominous. She grabbed the antique writing desk for support.
‘Can I get some water?’ Andy asked, the acidic taste in her mouth threatening to make her sick once again.
‘Of course, dear. Just be careful.’ Nina unscrewed the cap and handed it to her.
The water tasted metallic.
‘Lydia and her team are almost done with your bridesmaids and mother, and then she’ll be back to touch you up.’
Andy nodded.
‘Oh, sweetheart, everything’s going to be just fine! A little case of the butterflies is perfectly normal. But those doors will open and you’ll see your handsome groom waiting at the end of the aisle for you … you won’t be able to think of anything in the world but walking into his arms.’
Andy shuddered. Her soon-to-be-husband’s mother hated her. Or at least didn’t approve of the wedding. She knew most brides and their mothers-in-law had issues, but this went beyond. It was a bad omen at best, a potential nightmare at worst. Surely she could work on the relationship with Barbara. She’d make a point of it. But she’d never be Katherine. And what about Katherine in Bermuda? Why had Max failed to mention the whole interaction? If there was nothing to hide, why was he hiding it? Regardless of what had unfolded, she needed an explanation.
‘Which reminds me – did I ever tell you about my bride who was marrying the Qatari oil czar? Real feisty girl with a quick mouth on her? They had just under a thousand people, rented out Necker Island in the British Virgin Islands and flew in all their guests. Anyway, they’d been fighting all week, arguing about everything from the seating assignments to which of their mothers would get the first dance. Normal stuff. But then on the morning of the wedding, the bride makes a comment to her cousin about her career as a television anchor, something like ‘‘So and so said he thinks I only have another six months, maybe a year doing local before I get an offer from one of the networks,” and the Qatari just flipped. Asked her in this real low, angry voice what she was talking about – hadn’t they agreed she would no longer work after the wedding? And I’m like, whoa! This is a pretty big issue to have not worked out beforehand.’
Andy couldn’t focus on anything but the knot of tension in her forehead. A dull ache. She desperately wanted Nina to stop talking.
‘Nina, I really—’
‘Wait, this is the best part. So, I leave them alone to hash it out, and when I come back a half hour later, they seem okay. Problem solved, right? So boom, boom, boom, the groom walks, the bridesmaids walk, the cute little flower girls walk, and then it’s just the bride, her father, and myself. Everything is going according to schedule. Her song begins, the entire ballroom turns to look at her, and with this huge beautiful smile on her face, she leans in close to whisper in my ear. You know what she says?’
Andy shook her head.
‘She says, “Thank you for making everything so perfect, Nina. This is exactly what I wanted, and I’m definitely going to use you for my next wedding.” And then she took her father’s arm, held her head high, and walked! Do you believe it? She walked!’
Despite feeling uncomfortably warm, almost feverish, Andy got goose bumps. ‘Did you ever hear from her again?’ she asked.
‘Sure did. She divorced him two months later, and she was engaged again a year after that. Second wedding was a little smaller but just as pretty. I get it, though. It’s one thing to call off an engagement or even a wedding once the invitations are out – it’s hard, but it happens. But on the actual day? You’re walking, sister. Get yourself down that aisle and do whatever you have to do afterward, you know?’ Nina laughed and took a swill from her own water bottle. Her ponytail bobbed cheerily.
Andy nodded meekly. She and Emily talked about that all the time. In the almost three years since they’d launched The Plunge, they’d seen a handful of weddings called off in the final weeks before the big day. But on the actual day itself? Not one.
‘Come, let’s get you in the chair with the cape on so you’ll be ready for Lydia. She knows to tone down the makeup once they’re finished shooting the portraits. Oh, I’m just so excited to see this on the page! It’s going to sell a trillion copies.’
Nina was tactful enough not to say what they were both thinking: this wedding would sell a trillion copies not because Andy was a cofounder of the magazine she would be appearing in, or because Monique Lhuillier had personally designed Andy’s one-of-a-kind wedding gown, or because Barbara Harrison had expertly sourced the finest wedding planner, florists, and caterers money could buy, but because Max was the third-generation president and CEO of one of the most successful media companies in America. No matter that the economic downturn combined with some poor investment decisions meant Max had to sell off the family’s real estate piece by piece. That Max worried constantly about the financial viability of the company mattered very little to the general public: the Harrison family name, combined with good looks, impeccable manners, and impressive educations, helped maintain the illusion that Max, his sister, and his mother were worth far more than they were in reality. It had been years since they’d been named to Forbes’s richest-Americans list, but the perception remained.