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“Renata won’t shut up about that deal you got her on those armchairs,” Phillip said.
“I fear that she’s creating a bit of an unrealistic myth. I have some high-end clients who occasionally change their minds. Now I’m getting calls from everyone she knows.”
He took a bite of asparagus and said, “That’s a good thing, right?”
I sighed and pushed some of the food around on my plate. “I’m grateful, but I was hoping to take a little time off.”
“Tell me more about this business of yours.”
“I started the decorating side of it when I was twenty-five, right out of design school, with just a few clients, and built it up over time. There are some pockets of real estate in New Jersey that would rival Philadelphia and the surrounding areas, and people who are willing to pay a premium for a foyer rug or high-end table lamps.” I took a sip of wine. “The life coaching evolved out of that. I had a few B-list celebrity clients in the city and realized theyneeded more than just a redecorated townhouse. They needed a total life overhaul. Get out of the bars, stop sleeping around, go to yoga a couple times a week, and do a cleanse, you know?” He nodded. “The thing about famous people is that they pay so much attention to the exterior of their lives, the interior can fall apart due to lack of attention. So I got certified as a life coach and marketed myself as a life designer.” I shrugged. “It grew from there, rather quickly. At its height, I was pulling in over a million dollars in profit per year.”
Phillip looked impressed. “Amazing, for someone who couldn’t be much older than thirty.”
“Thirty-two,” I lied, taking the three extra years. “But thank you. Age doesn’t matter if you have the right idea and are willing to work hard.”
“I doubt you’ll find very many celebrities in Reading.”
“My list is deep enough that I don’t really need new life coaching clients. I’m happy to go to New York when needed and do the occasional decorating job here. Projects I’m passionate about.” I let a slow smile spread across my face. “At this point in my life, I can afford to be selective.”
As I said the words, I felt a spark of pride. The statement itself was true, and it was quite a claim for a woman who’d never gone to college. Who’d spent several years living in her mother’s old minivan.
“Do you have a card?” he asked. Then he held up his hands, laughing. “To set up a golf game. Not for design work or, god forbid, ‘life coaching.’” He put the words in air quotes.
“Don’t knock it until you try it. I actually specialize in life transitions, and divorce is one of the biggest you can have.”
“For now, let’s just start with a golf game. In my opinion, there’s no better way to clear your head than playing eighteen holes.”
I set my fork down and smiled. “That sounds fantastic.” I pulled the solitary business card from my purse and handed it to him. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
***
It took a couple weeks, but Phillip and I finally got that golf game scheduled. By then, the air had the bite of late fall, and as we stood in the pro shop waiting for my borrowed clubs, Phillip said, “There’s probably only another month or so before the course closes for the season.”
“What do you do for fun during the winter?”
“Watch golf on television,” he said.
A man wearing a green sweater vest with the logo of the country club stitched over his heart set a golf bag next to me. “I have Stephen all ready to caddy, Mr. Montgomery.”
“I think we’d like to caddy ourselves today,” Phillip told him. To me he said, “I hope that’s okay?”
I shrugged. “It’s pretty much the only way I’ve ever done it.”
It had been a few years, and I hoped the feel of the game would return quickly. I never really enjoyed it but had tolerated hours on the course every weekend in the service of connecting with a man who’d had an extra $90,000 of his elderly aunt’s money burning a hole in his pocket.
I set up at the first hole, my club hitting the ball with a satisfying smack, arcing into the air over the fairway. I turned to Phillip and said, “I was worried I’d shank it.”
“You look like a pro,” he said. “You say you played in college?”
“My boyfriend was on the men’s golf team. He got me hooked on the game, and I played for a few years after we broke up, but then life got in the way. I started dating someone who wasn’t a golfer, and we spent our weekends doing other things.”
I caught a tiny smirk on Phillip’s face as he set up his next shot. We played the rest of the hole in silence, Phillip coming in one under par and me one over.
We hefted our bags over our shoulders and walked to the next hole. The wind gusted and the trees around us swayed at the tops, white puffy clouds scudding across the sky.
Phillip looked at me and said, “The other night, at Renata’s, you shared that your divorce was contentious,” he said.
I balanced my ball on the tee. We had arrived at the reason we were here today. “There were a lot of assets to divide, and it got heated,” I said. “There were winners and losers and feelings got hurt. It worked out fine in the end, as I’m sure yours will too. You’re in the worst part of it right now. The negotiating. The fighting over every little thing.”
