Chapter Twenty-Seven
Evelyn found herself six years in the past, wandering between the packed tables of the French bistro known as Ombre, when her eyes landed on David. He was sitting at a table alone, the white cloth beneath him decorated with rosebuds, a bottle of champagne sitting on ice.
At the time, Ombre was one of the hottest restaurants in all of Manhattan. David had snagged the Saturday-night reservation through a work contact. Evelyn had done her part, too, informing her lead talent, Angelika Marbles, that she would be unavailable during that time.
Except, as so often happened when she tried to make plans, a last-minute emergency had called her into work.
Their plans to go to the zoo that day, along with taking a painting class before dinner, were fully derailed.
Evelyn watched a younger version of herself appear in the restaurant, then make her way toward David’s table.
Flustered, still wearing her work clothes, she looked impossibly casual next to her husband.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Evelyn said, sliding down across from him. “Angelika was just impossible today.”
“Angelika is impossible every day,” David reminded her.
“True.”
She pulled out her phone from her bag, laying it on the table beside her. David’s eyes flicked to it, then back to her, before reaching across the table to take her hands. “Well, you’re here now,” David said. “That’s what matters, right?”
“Right,” Evelyn said, finally noticing the roses and champagne. “And this is . . . this is just lovely, David. I had no idea you were going to do all this. If I had known, I definitely would have worn better panties to work today.”
“I like you any way you come.”
“I bet you do.” She winked at him, and a quiet moment of flirtation passed between them—her foot angling up his calf—until her cell phone started vibrating.
Evelyn pulled away from him, turning her attention to the text message on her phone.
“It’s Angelika. She’s freaking out about a lamp in her office not working. ”
David huffed. “Of course she is.”
“Just give me a second,” she said, and began texting her back. I’m so sorry, Angelika! I will come in early and deal with that first thing tomorrow morning. It will be working by the time you come in. Promise.
Angelika wasted no time texting her back. But I can’t see!
Evelyn knew that wasn’t true. For one, every office at CBS7-T studios had built-in overhead track lighting. The woman was just looking for attention.
Angelika Marbles, host of Live with Angelika, reigned as the queen of daytime television across all channels, primarily because the at-home audience loved her.
The second those cameras were turned on, Angelika became empathetic and charming, the type of woman that every person at home watching could relate to.
When the cameras were off, however, it was another story entirely.
Angelika made work a living nightmare. She threw temper tantrums, crossed all sorts of professional boundaries.
She was emotionally abusive. Sometimes, she just fired people for no reason.
No one wanted to work with Angelika. Except Evelyn.
But she reasoned it was a short-term sacrifice for a long-term gain.
People who proved they were capable of working with Angelika always advanced up the corporate ladder.
Just last week, in fact, famed executive producer Marla Feinberg had taken her out to lunch to discuss her future at CBS7-T studios.
Evelyn had to think carefully about what to text Angelika back. Any sense that she was not at this woman’s immediate beck and call could spell disaster. Meanwhile, her husband was sitting across from her, having planned an absolutely beautiful dinner and waiting less than patiently.
“Evelyn—”
“One second.”
“Why don’t we just put the phone away for now?”
“Just give me a minute.”
It took more than a minute. Carefully, she typed out her message. Oh no! Would you like me to book you an eye doctor appointment? We can’t have our biggest star and most talented persona on daytime television feeling less than spectacular. I will get on this immediately. Don’t worry!
“There,” Evelyn said, clicking off her phone and laying it to the side. “All done.” She hoped. Quickly, she moved to change the topic. “Oh, look! You got us champagne. This must be a very special occasion, then. Shall we drink some?”
David acquiesced, pouring them each a glass.
“Well,” David said, reaching over to take her hands, “the reason I wanted to bring you here is because I have some exciting news to share with you. I’ve been offered a position working in a private orthopedic practice in Westchester.”
Evelyn blinked. “Well, that’s . . . wonderful.”
“It’s a small practice,” he continued happily. “But here’s the really exciting part. This clinic works primarily with EDS patients. In fact, the doctor there is one of the top specialists in the country for EDS, and they want to bring me in to expand the practice.”
“Oh, wow.” She forced a smile. “That’s great!”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“So, you’ll be commuting to Westchester?” She needed to tread carefully.
“Actually.” He reached across the table, taking her hands. “I was thinking . . . we’d get out of Manhattan.”
“Out of Manhattan.” She nearly choked on the words. “We just bought an apartment!”
“I know,” he said, clearly having made the decision already for himself.
“But you’re always complaining about the noise, and the lack of space, and the high cost of living.
If we sold the apartment, tapped into our savings .
. . I really think we could make this work.
Plus, we’ve been talking about starting a family.
This will give us plenty of room to grow. ”
She pulled away from him, downing her entire glass of champagne in one long swig, before placing the empty glass back on the table.
Maybe she would just drink the whole bottle.
She was happy for her husband. Obviously.
And, as his wife and best friend, she wanted to be supportive.
The problem was . . . his dream was completely impractical.
“And what about my job?” she asked.
“We can figure something out,” he said, and returned to squeezing her hands.
“David.” She shook her head, annoyed. “You’re not thinking this through. I mean, I’m working long hours here for Angelika. I’m just beginning to move up the corporate ladder. How am I supposed to add a two-hour commute on top of it?”
“Well, maybe it will be a good thing then if we move? Force you to find some balance.”
“Balance.” She laughed outright. “That is not how television works.”
He ignored her completely. “Besides, everyone knows how good you are at your job. Two less hours in a day isn’t going to change that. If anything, it should make them appreciate you more.”
She was completely speechless. She caught on his eyes once more. He looked so damn happy. She hated having to be the one to play Captain Obvious. She hated being the woman who had to stomp on his dreams and remind him that life wasn’t a fairy tale.
“And the salary?” Evelyn asked quietly. “What does this job pay in comparison to CBS7-T studios?”
“Well, obviously, there would be a pay cut.”
“How much of a pay cut?”
“About two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
She pulled her hands away. “We can’t afford this.”
It was the truth. David was the primary breadwinner in their family. He had student loans from medical school that they were both still paying off. Plus, they had just bought an apartment. He might not have ever dreamed of working in television medicine, but it paid their bills. And then some.
“We can make it work, okay?” David said, fighting her on it. “Yes, we’d have to be more careful about spending and—”
Evelyn cut him off right there. “So, what you’re telling me is that you brought me here, to this very fancy restaurant with champagne and roses .
. . just to tell me that you want to quit your job, sell our place in Manhattan and, on top of that, make less money?
I mean, really, David, I love you . . . but are you even hearing yourself right now? ”
“Evelyn.” David shouted the word. “I’m not happy.”
The table fell into silence. Then again, what could she say?
He was asking her to uproot her entire life. He was asking her to give up her own dreams, change around everything and face financial strife in the process. It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.
“We can’t afford it.”
“We can if we move.”
“You act like Westchester is so much cheaper than Manhattan.” She couldn’t keep the ire in her voice from rising.
“Westchester is just as expensive as New York. And then you have to filter in costs . . . commuting, cars, insurance. Plus, there’s all the incidentals you’re not thinking of when owning a home.
We’d have to pay someone to mow the lawn, shovel the snow . . . repaint the shutters.”
“I can mow the lawn,” David retorted.
“We don’t even have a lawnmower!” she reminded him. “Factor that into our expenses.”
“Lawnmowers aren’t that expensive,” he grumbled.
“It’s not about the lawn mower!” she said, hitting the table.
David came back just as furious. “And you knew that I never wanted to work in television, but I took that job because of you, because it paid well, and so we could afford for you to work your way up the corporate ladder. And now I have this amazing opportunity to do the work that I’ve always wanted to do .
. . and you’re not even trying to consider it.
I’m not happy at CBS7-T studios. You know I’m not happy. ”