Midnight Voices

CHAPTER 9

I’m doing the right thing, Caroline told herself. I know I’m doing the right thing. But even with her own reassuring words echoing in her mind, a nagging doubt still buzzed around her like a gnat, so tiny she could barely see it, but its near invisibility frustrating her efforts to banish it. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, knowing the image she saw should reassure her. The creases of worry that had been forming between her eyebrows only a few short months ago were gone, and even without a trace of makeup, she looked almost as young now as she had at her wedding to Brad.

Brad.

That was part of it, of course. Even though he’d died less than a year ago, there were already days when she didn’t even think of him. Not many, but a few. But that was natural, wasn’t it? She was getting married today, so it was natural that she’d be thinking much more about Tony Fleming than about Brad Evans.

Then why did she feel vaguely guilty — somehow disloyal — about what she was doing? But she knew the answer to that, too. Part of it was simply the unexpectedness of it all. Until she’d met Tony the whole idea of getting married again hadn’t occurred to her. Even dating hadn’t been on her agenda, with the pain of Brad’s death still so fresh. But from the moment his hand had touched hers in the elevator of The Rockwell, she’d known something was going to happen. Still, she’d been on her guard, knowing that even though he seemed interested in her, the relationship probably wasn’t going to go anywhere.

But it turned out he really did like children, and his eyes always seemed to be sparkling with good humor, and even on that first night, when she’d invited him to stay for a glass of wine after the kids had gone to bed, she’d found herself pouring out her troubles to him more easily than she would have thought possible. When he’d told her she was worrying too much, that things had a way of working themselves out, she hadn’t quite believed him. And when Irene Delamond called her the next day and asked her if she’d be willing to help redo the entire apartment she shared with her sister, Caroline had been certain that Tony must have had a hand in it. But it didn’t really matter how she’d gotten the job — the commissions on the pieces Irene picked out that very afternoon had been enough to bring the rent current and pay off all the old bills.

Suddenly her job had become secure, and it quickly became obvious that she had a flair for seeing what would work together and what wouldn’t. Irene had eventually even agreed to part with the hideous vase that she had insisted was “perfect” only a few weeks earlier.

A pattern had quickly developed — Tony had found her in the park the next Saturday, watching Ryan play baseball, and wound up spending the day with her. They hadn’t really done much — but it had just been comfortable having him around. A couple of weekends later, when she’d had to attend an auction to help Irene choose a few pieces for her apartment, he’d volunteered to keep an eye on Ryan while he played baseball in the morning and soccer in the afternoon, joining the other weekend fathers almost as if Ryan was his own son, even though Ryan himself objected to the whole arrangement.

“Why does he have to be there?” Ryan had demanded as they’d been finishing up dinner in the same Chinese restaurant they’d first gone to a few weeks earlier. “He’s not my dad!”

“Ryan!” Caroline had begun. “There’s no need to be rude to—”

“Hey,” Tony had interrupted, apparently totally unfazed by Ryan’s outburst. “Ease up! He’s eleven years old, and doesn’t need a baby-sitter.” Then he’d winked at Ryan. “On the other hand, I have a feeling you’re stuck with me, unless you’d rather skip baseball and soccer entirely. Mothers worry too much, but sometimes there’s no arguing with them.”

The next weekend, when Ryan had put up a fuss about getting his hair cut, Tony had taken the boy’s side again. “Why would he want to go to a beauty parlor?” Once again he’d turned to Ryan. “How about I take you to my barber on Columbus?” Apparently deciding that a barber shop was better than a beauty parlor, even if it meant being with Tony, Ryan had gone along. But despite all Tony’s efforts, Ryan had remained wary of him, and when she’d told him they were getting married, there’d been an immediate storm.

A storm that had almost changed her mind.

Almost, but not quite.

“Of course Ryan’s going to object,” Beverly Amondson had told her. “What did you expect? He’s just turned eleven years old, and he misses his father. It’s not Tony Fleming he objects to — it’s anyone. He wants his mother to himself.”

It had almost been enough to dissuade Caroline, and when she’d talked to Tony about it, he had told her he understood exactly how she felt, and that whatever she decided wouldn’t change his feelings for her. “If we have to wait until he’s eighteen and goes off to college, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll just figure out how to make this work.”

But it was Kevin Barnes who had finally made things clear to her. He took her out for lunch one day, and wasted no time with subtleties. “For God’s sake, Caroline, he’s perfect! If I weren’t so happy with Mark, I might just go after him myself. Just kidding,” he’d added as she’d threatened to throw a French fry at him. But then his expression had turned serious. “So what if Ryan doesn’t like him? Ryan will grow up and move on, a whole lot faster than either he or you thinks, and then where will you be? Do you really think Tony’s going to wait for you forever? And why should he, if it turns out you’re a wimp who lets an eleven-year-old kid dictate how you live your life? Believe me, darling, he’ll find someone else — and it won’t be because he doesn’t love you. He’s wants a wife, not a girlfriend, and you can’t expect him to wait around while you pander to Ryan.”

“It’s not pandering!” Caroline had objected, but Kevin had merely rolled his eyes.

“So maybe the word’s too strong. But think about it, okay? Just think about it.”

Which was exactly what she’d done, and in the end she’d decided that Kevin was right.

So this afternoon she and Tony were getting married in a suite at the Plaza Hotel, and in a few minutes she would be leaving the apartment for the last time.

Her eyes flicked to the spot on her vanity where Brad’s picture had always stood, his eyes watching her as she put on and took off her makeup. How many times in the months since he’d died had she sat here talking to him, knowing he couldn’t possibly answer her, but feeling as if his presence was still close. But after she’d made up her mind to marry Tony, she’d put the picture of Brad away, adding it to the collection of things she was keeping for Laurie and Ryan to have when they were grown up. But now, as she started putting on her makeup, she found herself talking to him one last time.

“Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” she whispered. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake.”

There was no answer.

Caroline hesitated one last time before opening the door that led to the living room of the suite in the Plaza. Even through the door she could smell the scent of the roses that had been arriving all day, bouquet after perfect bouquet, each one more lavish than the last. “You said you were allergic,” she’d said when she called Tony after the third delivery. “You told me not to order any flowers because they’d make you sneeze all the way through the ceremony.”

“And you believed me,” he’d replied. “Which just proves that you’re not very observant. Haven’t you ever noticed that I always stop to smell the roses in the park?”

By midafternoon, every available surface in the suite’s living room was filled with vases, and every delivery boy had arrived with detailed instructions on exactly where his vase was to be displayed. The pattern had quickly emerged: white roses at the end of the living room where the bedroom door was, then graduating through ever-deepening shades of pink, culminating in a huge burst of brilliant red at the far end of the room, where the ceremony would take place. Tony had chosen them all, turning what she’d thought was going to be a flowerless wedding into the kind of floral celebration she’d only dreamed about.

Glancing at herself one last time in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, she reached out, turned the knob, and stepped into the living room. There was Tony, unbelievably handsome in his tuxedo, a crimson rose in his lapel, with Ryan standing next to him, identically dressed, looking almost like a miniature version of Tony himself, except that Tony was smiling while Ryan’s features were twisted into a dark scowl. Laurie was on the other side of Tony, in a dress that was a younger version of the one Caroline was wearing, but not identical. “It’s fine for you and Ryan to be dressed alike,” she’d told Tony when they were deciding on the clothes for the wedding. “But no woman wants to have someone else at her wedding dressed exactly the way she is. Besides, men always dress alike. For mothers and daughters, it’s way too cute.” But now, as she began moving toward Tony and her children, she wished she’d gone along with Tony’s idea. It wouldn’t have been cute at all — it would have been lovely. A moment later she was taking the hand that Tony was extending toward her, and the judge they’d asked to marry them was starting the brief service.

Then she was handing her bouquet — a spray of tiny roses whose colors mirrored every shade with which Tony had banked the room — to Laurie, and a moment later Tony was slipping the ring on her finger and she heard the judge softly speaking the words: “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Tony’s strong arms went around her, pulling her close, and a second later Ryan was tugging at her. Hugging her son, then her daughter, she finally straightened up and turned to gaze at the small crowd that had gathered to witness the ceremony.

Kevin Barnes and Mark Noble were right in front of her, Kevin beaming as if he’d engineered the whole thing himself. Claire Robinson was with them, and her smile looked almost genuine, though Caroline wasn’t certain whether it was happiness for her, or happiness at the prospect that she was about to meet half a dozen residents of The Rockwell, every one of them potential customers.

Beverly Amondson and Rochelle Newman were there with their husbands, along with Andrea Costanza, who was being escorted by a man who looked to be a little younger than Andrea, and might have been reasonably good-looking except for his sallow complexion and dandruff-specked shoulders.

On the other side of the room was Irene Delamond, along with a cluster of Tony’s other neighbors from The Rockwell.

Before Caroline could speak to anyone, Claire Robinson was beside her, leaning close as if to give Caroline one of the air kisses she despised. But instead, Claire whispered a little too loudly, “Is that Virginia Estherbrook over there? Introduce me, Caroline. You’ve simply got to introduce me.”

“Don’t you think you might congratulate my wife first, Claire?” Tony asked, his arm slipping protectively around Caroline.

For the first time that she could remember, Caroline saw Claire Robinson blush. Or at least she thought the faint reddening of Claire’s cheeks was a blush, though it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Why would I congratulate the woman who got the man I’d have grabbed for myself if I’d only seen him first?” Claire replied, executing a smooth recovery. But then she offered Caroline one of the dazzling smiles she usually reserved for her best customers. “But you know I congratulate you, and you know I wish you the best, and now, please, please, won’t someone introduce me to Virginia Estherbrook? I’ve seen her as Cleopatra, and Portia, and Amanda in Private Lives and God only knows what all else.”

“Virgie?” Tony called, and across the room the aging actress turned, then started toward Tony, Caroline, and Claire. The crowd opened for her as the Red Sea parted for Moses, and a moment later she was holding her hand out as if she expected someone to kiss the large ruby that glittered on one of her arthritic fingers.

“What a wonderful wedding,” she proclaimed, thrusting her hand into Tony’s. “It almost makes me want to try it one more time.” She turned to Caroline, beaming happily. “But you’ve already taken the only man I ever wanted that I couldn’t have, so I suppose I’ll live out what years I have left as a lonely old crone, drying up to blow away in a midwinter breeze. Is that a line from something? If it isn’t, it should be.” Finally she turned to Claire. “I don’t believe I know you.” Once again she extended the hand with the enormous ruby, and for a moment — just a moment — Caroline thought Claire Robinson might actually kiss it.

“I’m Claire Robinson,” Claire said. “You don’t know what a pleasure this is for me — I’ve been such a fan for so many years—”

Virginia Estherbrook’s smile cooled slightly. “Not that many years, I trust,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly frosty edge.

“Oh, I–I didn’t mean it that way,” Claire said quickly. “I just meant — I mean, when you played Lady Teazle—”

“I’m afraid that was Helen Hayes,” the actress cut in. She turned to Caroline. “Where on earth did you find this enchanting creature?” She paused just long enough for Claire to start relaxing, then: “I assume she must be one of yours, since she’s certainly not our sort.” The emphasis on the penultimate word was just enough to make Claire flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Claire began. “I didn’t mean to—”

But Virginia Estherbrook was already waving her words airily away. “I’m sure you didn’t. People like you never do mean to, do they? Not to worry, dear — all’s well that ends well. And that, my darlings, truly is a line from something, and I believe it sounds like an exit line.” Her eyes fixed once more on Claire, but this time she made no offer of her hand. “Charmed, my dear. I do hope I live long enough for you to see me again sometime.” She paused for a single beat, then pointedly added two more words: “On stage.” An instant later she was gone, fading into the crowd so quickly that it was almost as if she’d never been there at all.

“Oh, God,” Claire Robinson groaned. “I feel like an idiot!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony reassured her. “Virgie’s bark is a lot worse than her bite.” Suddenly the doors to the suite opened, and half a dozen waiters appeared, carrying trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and the reception began in earnest. Caroline, with her children and her husband by her side, began moving through the room from one group to another. To her relief, everyone seemed to be mixing happily with everyone else. Laurie and Rebecca Mayhew had found each other, and were off in a corner by themselves, chattering the way only girls their age can, though Rebecca looked so pale that Caroline wondered how she could even sit up.

Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Andrea Costanza, sitting alone at the end of a sofa, her face reflecting none of the joy Caroline saw wherever else she looked. Threading her way through the crowd, Caroline sat down next to her.

“Okay, give,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

Andrea jumped as if she hadn’t been aware Caroline was even there. “Nothing,” she said a little too quickly.

“It’s got to be something,” Caroline pressed. “You look more like you’re at a funeral than a wedding.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Andrea said. “It’s just that—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s really nothing at all. I’m sure you and Tony will be very happy.”

Caroline looked straight into her eyes. “But you’re not happy for me.”

Andrea shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s just me.” She forced a smile then. “Maybe Bev is right — maybe I’m just jealous because now you’ve had half a dozen husbands between the three of you, and I haven’t even had one.”

Caroline shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s Tony. You still don’t like him.”

“I don’t dislike him,” Andrea began, but Caroline shook her head.

“Not disliking him isn’t the same thing as liking him.”

“What can I say?” Andrea asked, sighing. “It’s probably nothing — it’s just that—” Almost against her will, her gaze shifted toward Rebecca Mayhew. Though Alicia Albion had assured her that the girl was getting better, it seemed to Andrea that nothing had changed at all; in fact, if anything, Rebecca looked slightly paler and thinner than she had last spring. And that, she knew, was what was bothering her. That, and the whole creepy feeling of the building Caroline was about to move into. But what should she say? Should she tell Caroline how worried she was about Rebecca? Why? What could it possibly have to do with Caroline? She made up her mind, and finally spoke. “It is nothing,” she said. “And this is your wedding, and I should be happy for you, and if you’re happy, then so am I.” She stood up. “So lead me to the champagne. Let’s celebrate.”

But before they could even signal a waiter, a voice rose above the babble of voices that filled the room.

Ryan’s voice.

“I’m not your son!” he was shouting. “You’re not my father and you never will be!” As the bedroom door slammed the crowd fell silent, and Caroline felt every eye in the room suddenly watching her.

It’ll be all right, she told herself as she hurried toward the bedroom to find out what had gone wrong. It’s got to be all right. Then she was in the bedroom, and Ryan was glaring angrily at her.

“I hate him,” the boy said. “I hate him, and I’ll always hate him.”

Going to her son, Caroline wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Oh, honey, don’t say that. Tony loves you. He loves all of us.”

Though Ryan said nothing, Caroline felt him stiffen in her arms, and knew he didn’t believe what she’d just said. But still, it would be all right.

She would make it all right.