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“I’m not going to lie. I’ve had celebrity crushes. Hell, every time I see an Avenger’s movie, I want to put my two Chris loves on slow motion and repeat. And I’d think, oh, if I were alone in a room with one of those hotties, what would I do?” I force a pained smile. “But when I’m actually faced with the real thing? This wonderful man who also happens to be extremely famous? He’ll never be like other men. He’ll always be more.”
“I’m certain Jax believes he’s just like other men.”
“I’m sure he wants to be,” I say. “But what we want and what we get isn’t always the same. He’ll always have the public and the pressures that come with it.” I run a hand through my tumbled hair. “Then there’s his …” I can’t say it. I’m ashamed to even think about it.
Mrs. Goldman’s dark eyes don’t blink. “His illness.”
Again my cheeks flame. “Yes. No.” My shoulders slump. “I feel like a jerk for even … especially when I have no idea what will happen. But it’s not exactly like I have my shit together. Half the time, I’m a mess, and I’m afraid I’ll fail him by not knowing what to do.” He’s had enough people bumbling in his life.
I press a hand to my hot forehead and sigh. “I don’t know what I’m even saying. I’m all confused. I just can’t help thinking the deck is already stacked against us. From both outside forces and inside ones.”
“It is,” she says simply. “Stacked against you, I mean.”
I’ve just said as much, but her instant agreement hits me straight in the chest, and I plop back against my seat, deflated. I haven’t had much experience being on the receiving end of advice, but I’m fairly certain the person is supposed to bolster you. Aren’t they?
“Fear will do that to a relationship.” Her smile is thin. “I’d kill for a cigarette, but I’m trying to cut back.” She pours us more champagne before she speaks again. “I told you I grew up on the Lower East Side. But I spent all my married life living Uptown. Eighty-second and Madison. I loved that place. I’d walk to the Met for lunch on my rare days off.”
She toys with the stem of her glass. “Then Jerry passed, and all I could see was him. In every room, every echo when I walked those empty halls.”
“How did you end up here?” I ask, not knowing exactly where she’s going with this, but understanding that she’ll eventually get there.
The lines mapping her face deepen, radiating outward from her eyes and mouth like a starburst. “This is where I met Jerry.”
“In this apartment?”
“No. In this church. We were both attending a wedding here. Patricia, the bride, was my secretary at the brokerage firm I worked in. Jerry owned the firm, though I hadn’t met him until that afternoon. He was too high up in the firm to bother with the new hires.”
“Wow. And now you live here.”
“Yes. I had my lovely four thousand square foot duplex, a home full of wonderful memories, and I could not stand it anymore. One day, my cab was stuck in traffic right outside this building, and there was a big sign advertising the new condo conversions. I remembered that first time Jerry and I had bumped into each other on those stairs leading up to the church doors.” She laughs softly, her eyes crinkling. “Two New York Jews about to head into a Catholic wedding.”
An image of sweat-slicked John, fresh from his run and giving me his smarmy smile as we bumped into each other on the stoop for the first time, fills my mind. “So you brought a place here.”
“Yes. Even though it was tiny, had no doorman, and was away from all my friends. It was the spot where it all started, and now it is home.”
Mrs. Goldman reaches out and touches my hand with the tips of her fingers. Her knuckles are knobby, the back of her hand veined and spotted, but still elegant, her skin cool and soft. “Oh, you should have seen that man in his prime. Jerry was rich as Midas, handsome as sin, and looking at me as if I were a crisp hundred someone had left on the sidewalk.”
I laugh, and she allows a fond smile.
“And I was more than willing to be picked up. We fell for each other like a house of cards in a stiff wind. But I resisted for the very real fear that I’d lose myself to him. It was the late sixties. We women were burning our bras, but it was still a man’s world. I was a novelty to even have an office, much less a secretary. Every ounce of respect I gained I had to fight for. Fight to keep. How would it look if I suddenly took up with the big boss?”
