Chapter 25
Rory called. “Where are you? I’m in town and I’m taking you out.”
Jack was away that weekend for a work trip and Emily had the kids.
“Let’s go to the Natural History Museum,” said Rory. “Kids love the Natural History Museum. I love the Natural History Museum.”
“What do you love about it?”
“The jewels, obviously. I’m also into the stuffed tigers. I’ll see you in the rotunda by the baby brontosaurus at two p.m.”
“Look at that.” Rory pointed at the Teddy Roosevelt quote carved into the wall of the museum’s rotunda. “?‘If I must choose between righteousness and peace, I choose righteousness.’ What an asshole!”
Connor and Stella stared.
“I mean, what an a-hole!”
Emily said, “You never choose peace.”
“But I should . And I’m not a president. I don’t go around carving shitty ideas into marble.”
“Who are you?” said Stella.
“He didn’t carve it,” said Connor. “He’s dead.”
“I would make a great president,” said Rory.
“Peace isn’t always good,” said Connor. “In World War II, people were peaceful with Hitler and that was bad.”
“Too dark!” said Rory. “Come on, kiddos, let’s go see the elephants.”
They saw the elephants. They saw a movie in the planetarium.
They saw a resin model of ancient hominoid footprints next to chimpanzee prints.
They lay down under a life-size blue whale and looked at large dioramas of seagulls and fish, which made Emily think of Gen.
She no longer had the diorama Gen had made for her.
It once sat on the desk in her dorm room, but she threw it out after the breakup.
Rory declared that they should have breakfast for dinner. She took them to the Plaza, where they ate French toast flooded with syrup and buried under whipped cream.
“He sent you oranges?” Rory said over wine in Emily’s living room. The kids were asleep, the door to their room closed. “Fuck that guy.”
“It was nice. At least, it was nice when I thought Gen had sent them.”
“Because you’re hot for her. For the record, I also think it would be manipulative if she had sent you oranges.”
“He’s trying.”
“To crawl back into your pants! He has been too quiet about your separation. Very suspicious. He’s playing the good guy. Those oranges are proof. This is the beginning of a charm offensive. He’s starting small, but watch him work his way up.”
“He just wants to show that he has changed.”
“That’s what I’m saying . Look, maybe tell Gen how you’ve been feeling. You’re not easy to read. It’s not like she can see visions of vulvae dancing through your head.”
“Didn’t you make me promise not to get involved with her?”
“I am a sex Machiavellian. Whatever keeps you from going back to your toxic ex is an acceptable means to a noble end.”
“She’s not thinking about me like that.”
Rory finished her wine. “Date someone else, then. Go wild. Give yourself a pat on the fucking back, because so many people stay in bad marriages. They hope it’ll get better or it’s too hard to leave.
With my parents, I think they love to hate each other.
Gives them something to complain about besides the help.
Marriage? Kill me! I want a string of adoring lovers.
” She put on her coat, fluffed out her blond hair, and pulled on long, black leather gloves. “Keep me updated on Gen.”
Emily flushed, remembering how she had touched herself: the quick demand of her arousal. “There won’t be anything to update.”
“Ha!” said Rory.
On the subway ride to school, a cockroach dropped from a bench and scuttled by their feet. Stella screamed. Connor jerked his feet away. Emily stomped it.
“ Ew .” Stella’s face was pink and she looked close to tears.
“I hate the subway,” said Connor. “Can we get a driver?”
“What?” said Emily. “No.”
“It’s still moving, ” Stella wailed.
“Daddy got a driver,” said Connor. “Mr. Mike drives us wherever we want to go. Daddy said he’d get one for you, too. Mr. Mike always has candies for us. He hides them in the car and it’s like a treasure hunt.”
On the first of the month, Emily’s bank account was replenished.
It never failed to make her feel horrible and grateful.
She had insisted on paying rent to Jocelyn, who had said that wasn’t necessary, but Emily didn’t want to depend on Jocelyn’s generosity.
She was aware that she escaped that form of dependence only because of her financial dependence on Jack.
Her bank statement read like evidence of theft.
She had to remind herself that Jack was obligated to provide a home for his children, and could well afford it.
Paying rent relieved her, though it was emotional money laundering, where she shoved guilt-dollars out of her account and into Jocelyn’s.
But then she felt awful all over again when she set aside money for a lawyer…
and worried, because no amount she could save would be equal to the financial force Jack could summon against her.
“We’re not getting a driver. Stella, stop.
It’s just a bug.” Stella buried her face into Emily’s coat.
“Daddy says we deserve the best,” Connor said.
“I want a driver,” Stella whispered. At their stop, she said she was too tired to walk, so Emily carried her until her arms ached, then made Stella walk a block, then carried her again.
All the while, Connor praised Mr. Mike and his car, which had seat warmers and a mini-TV screen that showed cartoons. “Daddy said all you had to do was ask.”
Finally, patience gone, Emily said, “Cars are bad for the environment. Subways are better. I thought you cared about the polar bears, or are you a hypocrite?” Connor was silent.
When he had learned about how polar bears starved as ice in the Arctic Circle vanished, he was inconsolable.
Now he glared at the ground. Guilty for making him feel guilty, and for pretending that the environment was the reason she refused to accept Jack’s offer, she said, “I can be a hypocrite, too. I take planes. I don’t always eat leftovers. But we’re not getting a car, okay?”
“I don’t care,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry, Mommy.” Stella patted her arm. “It’s Friday, so Mr. Mike will pick us up from school today. We have him all weekend. Weekends are best for cars. Subways are good for I Spy.”
“Yeah, I Spy cockroaches,” said Connor.
“Connor, shut up !” Stella shouted. She cried the rest of the way to school.
That afternoon, Emily texted Gen. how common is it that people recognize you?
Like the girl with the shoe on the beach?
Y
Depends on the season, Gen wrote. Or the person I’m dating
Emily so intensely disliked the thought of anyone dating Gen that she didn’t write back.
Right now I’m in a fame gully, Gen wrote.
If I were dating right now and she was famous, there would have been paps on that beach taking photos.
Fame is weird and one of the ways it’s weird is how contagious it is.
But otherwise, I get to be mostly anonymous unless it’s Olympic season or right after.
Though queer people always 100% recognize me.
Attention from everyone else will start up again in a few months
Sounds hard
Comes with the territory. It’s not always bad.
I mean, it’s not why I do what I do. But it keeps me honest. The press can’t dig up a dirty secret if I have nothing to hide.
And if I’m always being myself, who cares what they photograph?
I know some actors who have a public life and a private life, but ugh.
THAT would be hard. Keeping your lies straight
Thinking of her marriage with Jack, Emily wrote, I see why people do it
Not me. I won’t lie about who I am
The thought of letting a stranger peer into her private life made Emily shudder.
Kind of enjoying the break, though, Gen wrote. I hate when they pester Gran. Paps are relentless. Even if you give them a shot they always want a photo that you don’t want them to take. An ex broke up with me over it. Said it was too much. I was too much
Too much because of the attention?
Not just that. Too driven. Gen paused. Too unsatisfied
Hard to imagine anyone breaking up with you
It is rare but it happens, Gen wrote. As you well know
I meant you have a reputation
For my handsome looks and fine mind?
I believe that “lady-killer” was the word Vanity Fair used
I prefer “rake.” It’s so sexy. So Regency
So Mr. Willoughby?
I wasn’t thinking Jane Austen. More like grocery store romances. God I love those. The ones where there’s a wallflower with glasses and a duke finds her in the garden. Or maybe she’s a spitfire. No, a spinster! He unbuttons her glove and peels it down to her wrist
Will it be hard to deal with the press when spring comes?
Changing the subject?
No
I wasn’t finished. I am a very attentive duke. To the scandal of the ton
I guess you don’t want to answer my question
Don’t worry. You won’t be caught in a photo with me in Gawker. At least not until sometime in spring, close to when the trials start. You can drop me then
I’m not worried
Not worried your ex might see you with me in a magazine?
Emily’s fingers hovered over the phone.
After a moment, Gen wrote, I don’t even know if I’ll be in the 2012 Olympics
You won’t compete?
Gotta compete. I mean maybe I won’t make the cut. One year, I won’t. It’ll all be over and I’ll have to figure out what to do with the rest of my boring life
Seduce wallflowers?
The phone rang. Gen said, “Any specific suggestions?”
Emily’s pulse leapt.