Chapter 18 – Amber
Chapter Eighteen
AMBER
I ’m cautious as I approach the James and James offices, my head on a swivel. It’s the end of the workday, and a lot of the staff are leaving. Nathan is unlikely to join the mass exodus, but you never know. My encounter with Mason was bad enough, and Nathan makes him look like a pussycat.
In the before times, when I felt like I was part of the James family, I got along with all the brothers, but Nathan was the most reserved. The most naturally cynical of them all. Elijah and I had a big, flashy wedding, and I remember Nathan looking around at all the ribbons and chintz and chiffon with something akin to amusement. I think even then he had his doubts, and I do rather hate to have proven him right.
I successfully make my way to Drake’s part of the building without any upsetting encounters. I’m early, and Amelia’s workstation outside his office is empty. I knock on the door, announcing myself.
“Come on in,” Drake shouts after a second. “Quick meeting?” he asks when I walk in.
“Yes. We went from civilized to barroom brawl in about sixty seconds.”
He nods sympathetically, and Amelia brings me a coffee from his machine. I stand and look through the window as I sip it. I always forget how magnificent the view is from here. “How are you two doing?”
Amelia blushes slightly, and I notice that Drake’s normally immaculate hair is a little mussed up. Ah. I see. They’re doing very well, thank you.
“While you’re here, I need you to sign some papers.” Drake grabs a file from his desk drawer. “If you’re still sure, that is?”
His lovely brown eyes meet mine, and I see a glimmer of hope there. He loves his brother and is fond of me, and he would like for us to give it another shot. He’s the only other person who knows about that night in Verona’s room. The things she said to me, and the damage it caused. He doesn’t understand, though, quite how bad things have been the past few years.
I thought they’d gotten better since Elijah moved out, but it seems old habits die hard. Today, for example, and how quickly I became my old self again, including the way I dressed, the makeup, the styled hair. Yes, I’m going out for drinks, and yes, I can look however I damn well please—but going into Jamestech, knowing I’d see Mason, felt like marching into enemy territory. I needed that suit of armor again. It didn’t take long for us all to descend into back-biting and sniping, either. I felt so isolated, so attacked. The same way I have felt for years.
But I gave as good as I got and didn’t let any of them, including Elijah, see how much it hurt. In all our years together, I never asked him for backup or showed any weakness—because I am Amber James, Ice Queen Super Bitch. Hard as nails.
Except I’m not, deep down. And just once, I would have loved to hear Elijah tell them to go screw themselves. But I’ve spent way too much emotional energy on this subject, and I don’t want my life to look like that anymore. I don’t want every day to be full of petty squabbles and point scoring. Sad as it is, my marriage is over.
“I’m still sure, darling,” I answer Drake. “Just tell me where to sign.”
We handle the paperwork while Amelia uses the bathroom in Drake’s office to freshen up. “Can we go somewhere different for drinks?” I ask. “The usual Manhattan fishbowl won’t be ideal for me at the moment.”
“Trouble?” Drake cocks an eyebrow.
“Nothing serious. Just a lot of interest after the statement was released. Some overzealous paparazzi. And goodness, a million divorce lawyers offering their services—I was not prepared for that.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I should have warned you. Sharks sensing blood in the water. And while we’re on that subject, I need to say something. The way we’re going about this is unorthodox. I’m one hundred percent committed to making the process as fair and painless as it can be for both of you, but this isn’t the way a divorce normally works. I’d go so far as to advise you to sign up with someone else, or at least find someone willing to oversee the final settlement on your behalf. Just to make sure that my conflict of interest isn’t detrimental to you in any way.”
“But we’ve already agreed on everything and signed what we need to sign, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but nothing is irrevocable yet—you could still get external counsel. You probably should.”
I have, of course, been told this by several people. My parents were horrified when I told them Drake was representing us both, and even Granny Lucille lodged a protest. I’m aware that the traditional approach to the legal ending of a marriage is like a battlefield. Wife on one side with her troops, husband on the other with his. They either go full berserker and fight to the death, or they meet in the middle and hack away at each other until they sign a peace treaty. I don’t want any of that. I’ve had enough conflict with Elijah and his family to last me a lifetime, and I just want this over with as amicably as possible.
“Drake, it’s fine,” I say. “I appreciate you bringing it up, and I know it’s not conventional. But what can I say? I trust you, and I trust Elijah. Whatever has happened between us, I believe in his basic human decency. He won’t be looking to screw me over, and there’s no way on earth that I’ll be looking to do that to him either. I can’t imagine Nathan is thrilled with the arrangement though.”
“You got that right,” Drake says, shaking his head. It must be causing problems between them too, and I regret that. But there’s also nothing I can do about it. “He’s worried about Jamestech.”
I frown and turn that idea over in my mind. It didn’t occur to me that I might have a claim to any part of the James family business. Perhaps that is naive of me. Given that we have no prenup, it would be fair game—but I don’t want it. The James family has enough independent wealth for this to all be settled without having to take a penny from the company. “I see. And Dalton—is your father concerned about that too”
I never felt the same emotional connection to Dalton as I did to Verona. But his health hasn’t been great, and I’m eager to avoid adding anything stressful to his life. He’s no longer a young man, and he has a heart condition. We don’t need to have a soul connection for me to not want to be the cause of any further health complications.
Drake nods. “He is. You know what he’s like. Jamestech is part of him.”
“The great James family legacy. Look, this potentially risks blowing my hard-earned reputation, but could you please do your best to put his mind at rest? I’m happy for you to let Nathan suffer, obviously, but not your father. Please reassure him that I want nothing whatsoever to do with Jamestech. I haven’t asked for that, and I’m not going to. Frankly, I can’t think of anything worse than being tied to that company for the rest of my life. I know they all think I’m evil personified, and that will probably never change, but I don’t want your dad’s blood pressure going up because he’s worried about me stealing his precious business. If you’d like, if you think it would help, I’ll sign something to that effect right here and now.”
Amelia has come out of the bathroom, and she looks between us but stays silent. This must be strange for her. She’s settled into the James clan so naturally, and all she must see is their kindness, their generosity and warmth. I hope that’s all she ever sees. But there is another side to them. People don’t get to be billionaires without a ruthless streak.
“No, there’s no need for that. Not today,” Drake says firmly. “But I will tell him, and I think he’ll believe it. He doesn’t see you as quite the ogre you think he does, Amber.”
“Damn. I must try harder. Anyway, enough.” I shimmy my shoulders and shake out my arms. “I need wine, and I need it now.”
“Shall I call Constantine?” Amelia offers. “I was thinking we could take Amber to my old neighborhood.”
“Good idea.” Drake flashes his wife a charming smile. “I’m pretty sure nobody there will recognize her or care who she is.”
“Are you sure?” I ask when we’re in the elevator. “I could always go in disguise. I have a fake nose and an Elvis wig in my purse.”
“I’m positive, but you could wear them anyway, just for fun?” Amelia says.
We clamber into the limo, and I say hi to Constantine before he drives us over the bridge and into Brooklyn.
We head to a small Italian place, and I smile as I watch Amelia chat excitedly to the owner. “Does she know everybody in this neighborhood?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Drake answers, looking at her fondly. “At least her little corner of it. She grew up here, still has an apartment here. We’ve moved into the Tribeca loft as you know, but her lease isn’t up for a few months. She also has her mom’s house, which she’s almost cleared now and plans to eventually fix up so she can rent it out. That will be the start of her property empire. She’ll be running the world soon.”
He sounds so proud, and I can practically see the connection between them. It’s like an invisible string, binding them together. Her hazel eyes are bright and lively as she walks back to us, waving to a few other people.
“Donny’s going to bring us a couple pizzas to go with the beer. Or would you prefer wine, Amber?”
“Usually, I’d say yes, but tonight I think beer will be perfect. What was it like, living here?”
“Oh, it was great,” she says enthusiastically. “I loved it. There’s a real sense of community, and people really look out for each other, you know?”
I nod, but I actually don’t know. I study the groups of friends, families, and older couples who occupy the tables around us. Everyone looks as happy as Amelia. Nobody seems to be inspecting each other’s outfits or wearing a Rolex, and they’re all relaxed as they eat messy food and laugh and chat. It’s a far cry from what I’m used to.
“I’m moving out of the Manhattan house,” I announce right as the waitress arrives with our beers. I take a tentative sip and nod in appreciation. It’s better than I thought it would be.
“Why?” Drake asks, frowning. “You’ve lived there since you got married, and Elijah was planning to let you keep it.”
“I don’t want it because we’ve lived there since we got married. We expected to fill it with children, and that didn’t happen.”
I can tell from the way Amelia looks away, her pinched expression, that she knows I can’t have kids.
“It’s okay, Amelia.” I pat her hand on the table. “It’s fine for you to know, and it’s fine for us to talk about it. I should have talked about it more in the first place. If I had, maybe people wouldn’t have kept asking. It was like torture—the constant questions. ‘When will we be hearing the patter of tiny feet?’ I felt ashamed, for absolutely no reason, and that made it worse. By the time I was in my thirties, I was getting asked about it so much I considered taking an ad out in the Times . Some kind of announcement of infertility, right in there with the births, marriages, and deaths.”
Drake’s expression darkens. I never told him how much it bothered me either. “And how do you feel about it all now?” Amelia asks, her tone cautious but interested.
“I will always feel sad about it, truthfully—but I also don’t want what I can’t do to define me.”
“That makes sense,” she says. “And moving out of Manhattan, that’s part of your plan?”
I didn’t actually say that I was moving out of Manhattan, but really, why not? What is left for me there? Fake friends, meaningless social events, shopping? Once the divorce goes through, there’s no real reason for me to stay in New York. I could go to Charleston or anywhere I like. Not a day has passed when I haven’t thought of heading back to Lucille’s to lick my wounds. But there’s a difference between running and relocating, and I will not run. For the time being, I will stay in the city. Besides, I’m having quite the satisfying affair, and I’m not sure how far Mr. Smith would be willing to travel.
“Moving out of the house is, for sure. I need to look for a place. The problem is, I’ve never had to do any of this stuff. I haven’t signed a lease or had to figure out how to get the power connected.”
“Life stuff, you mean?” she asks.
“Exactly. I went from my family to college to Elijah. Pathetic but true. I’m sure I can figure it all out.”
“Of course you can,” Drake says. “You can do anything, Amber. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
The pizza arrives, and it’s pretty much the best damn pizza I’ve ever tasted. We lose ourselves in a saucy cheese coma for the next twenty minutes. Afterward, I slump in my chair with my beer. I might even break the rule of a lifetime and belch in public.
As the plates are cleared away, Amelia wipes her face with a napkin and laughs at my expression. “You think that was good, wait ’til you try Mario’s exploding donut balls.”
“I’m not sure. They sound dangerous.”
“They are.” Drake rolls his eyes. “Dangerously good. This place is sinful food heaven.”
“Huh. Maybe I should move here, then.”
Amelia taps her fingers on the table and narrows her eyes at me. “Maybe you should. How about my place?”
“Which one? I believe you’re a budding property mogul.”
“Hardly. But my mom’s place… it’s a nice house on a nice street. It’s not big, and it’s not fancy, but it might be okay for you.”
Drake lets out a surprised laugh, and I turn my gaze to him. Smirking, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I just… The thought of you living in Brooklyn? No way.”
“What happened to not underestimating me? Do you think I’m some kind of pampered princess who might faint if she’s too far away from her nail salon?”
“Uh, well, yeah—a little bit. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings. Look, I get that you’re looking for a fresh start. And it is a nice street, but it’s really not what you’re used to.”
“Darling, I’m used to feeling miserable every single day. Anything will be an improvement on that. Can we go and look at it? Or are you worried that your big brother might disapprove?” I’m messing with him, and he knows it. Drake is the middle sibling and has always worked crazy hard for his place in the hierarchy.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure my big brother will disapprove. You know full well that Elijah will want to have a SWAT team on standby twenty-four seven if you leave Manhattan.” He leans back in his chair and stares at me. I know I have him.
“You’re doing your not-blinking thing, Amber. Are you hypnotizing me?”
“I don’t know—am I?”
“Well, I am feeling sleepy, but that might be the beer. Come on, then. Let’s walk this off. I warn you, though, the entire house is roughly the size of your closet.”
“That’s okay. I’m downsizing on that front as well.”
After Drake pays the bill, we stroll the few blocks to the street where Amelia grew up. She gives me a running commentary as we go, showing me Wanda’s bakery, the deli, and the dive bar that has live music on weekends. It’s very endearing, and Drake doesn’t let go of her hand once.
The earlier rain has stopped now, but there’s still a chill in the air, and I’m glad when Amelia finally tells us we’re here. It’s a quiet street, lined with neat houses. Small front yards are well-kept, a few feature swing sets, and the cars are all at least ten years old. There’s a yellow cab and a plumber’s van, signs of people who have real jobs in the real world. A front door opens and the red tip of a cigarette glows in the dark.
“Hi, Mrs. Katzberg,” Amelia shouts, giving her a wave.
“Hi, Amelia. I watered the plants for you, honey. You doing okay?”
A face comes into view behind the cigarette, and it belongs to an elderly woman with a tight gray perm. She looks wiry and strong and reminds me of Sophia from the Golden Girls. I give her a big smile in case she ends up being my neighbor. She looks unimpressed, but I like a challenge.
Amelia chats with her for a few moments, then leads us into the house. She must have the heating system on a timer, because it’s warm and cozy. It is, as Drake said, very small by my standards. It would take Vicky a half hour to clean from top to bottom, and Dionne would be horrified by the kitchen. Or maybe not—it’s small but spotless and perfectly ordinary.
A framed picture of Amelia and her mom hangs on the living room wall. It was obviously taken at a party, as they’re both holding wine glasses and wearing paper hats. It immediately makes me smile. “You look so similar,” I say. “And you look like you’re having a lot of fun.”
“We always did.” Amelia comes to stand beside me. “She was a terrific lady, and I miss her every day. Are you close to your mom?”
“Ah, no. Not at all, sadly. But I am to my Granny. She lives in Charleston.”
Amelia kisses her fingertips and presses them against the picture of her mother. “So, this is it.” She gestures around herself, slightly flustered. “It’s not much, I don’t suppose, compared to what someone like you is used to.”
Now that we’re here, it seems she’s regretting her suggestion. “It’s gorgeous,” I quickly reassure her. “It’s cute and cozy, and it has a great energy. It feels like a home, not only a house. If the offer is still open, I would love to live here.”
Her face lights up. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy.” She claps her hands together. “Most of Mom’s stuff has been cleared out—my friends Kimmy and Emily helped me. You know Emily, don’t you? Emily Gregor?”
I nod, surprised. Emily is old money—Manhattan nobility—and it’s hard to picture her in this little house with trash bags and a broom. Looks like I’m as guilty of judging a book by its cover as anyone.
“I made a start on the painting,” she continues, gesturing toward a wall full of brush strokes in different shades of yellow. “But I couldn’t quite make up my mind. I love painting. Do you enjoy it? Maybe you could carry on for me.”
I reach out and touch the wall, needing to feel it under my fingers for some reason. “I don’t know,” I reply, gazing at it in wonder. “I’ve never actually painted a wall.”
“Well, this will be a whole new experience for you.” Her bubbly laugh fills the homey space.
I try to imagine myself living here. She’s right, it’s not what I’m used to—I think it might be better. I can picture myself curled up on the couch, eating takeout pizza—or exploding donut balls. I could watch TV alone like I do now, but I wouldn’t feel anywhere near as lonely in a place like this. Maybe I’ll take up smoking and join Mrs. Katzberg on her stoop at night. And I could paint walls, damn it.
It would get me out of my current prison, set me free from the empty shell of my Manhattan world. This would be the total fresh start I need.
Drake shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” He smiles. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you look so hopeful. But I can only imagine how Elijah is going to react when he finds out.”
Ah. Elijah. I try to picture him here, curled up on the couch with me. Painting those walls. Strolling through the lively streets of this pleasant working-class neighborhood. I can picture it, but I quickly chase the images away. Whether he is Mr. Smith or Mr. James, I can’t let him influence my decisions anymore.
For the first time in my life, I need to make choices with only my own thoughts and feelings in mind.