beauty of life. Those are the things that matter. Not money. Not bank accounts. Not the mundane, soul-destroying details.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, feeling as though I’m making an Oscar-winning speech. “We’re on this planet for all too short a time, Luke. All too short a time. And when we come to the end, which will count for more? A number on a piece of paper — or the love between two people? Knowing that a few meaningless figures balanced — or knowing that you were the person you wanted to be?”
As I reach the end, I’m choked by my own brilliance. I look up in a daze, half expecting Luke to be near tears and whispering, “You had me at ‘And.’ ”
“Very stirring,” says Luke crisply. “Just for the record, in my book ‘household expenses’ means joint expenses pertaining to the running of this apartment and our lives. Food, fuel, cleaning products, and so on.”
“Fine!” I shrug. “If that’s the narrow… frankly limited definition you want to use — then fine.”
The doorbell rings and I open it to see Danny standing in the hallway.
“Danny, is a Miu Miu skirt a household expense?” I say.
“Absolutely,” says Danny, coming into the living area.
“You see?” I raise my eyebrows at Luke. “But fine, we’ll go with your definition…”
“So did you hear?” says Danny morosely.
“Hear what?”
“Mrs. Watts is selling.”
“What?” I stare at him. “Are you serious?”
“As soon as the lease is up, we’re out.”
“She can’t do that!”
“She’s the owner. She can do what she likes.”
“But…” I stare at Danny in dismay, then turn to Luke, who is putting some papers into his briefcase. “Luke, did you hear that? Mrs. Watts is selling!”
“I know.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sorry. I meant to.” Luke looks unconcerned.
“What will we do?”
“Move.”
“But I don’t want to move. I like it here!”
I look around the room with a pang. This is the place where Luke and I have been happy for the last year. I don’t want to be uprooted from it.
“So you want to hear where this leaves me?” says Danny. “Randall’s getting an apartment with his girlfriend.”
I look at him in alarm.“He’s throwing you out?”
“Practically. He says I have to start contributing, otherwise I can start looking for a new place. Like, how am I supposed to do that?” Danny raises his hands. “Until I have my new collection ready, it just won’t be possible. He might as well just… order me a cardboard box.”
“So, er… how is the new collection coming on?” I ask cautiously.
“You know, being a designer isn’t as easy as it looks,” says Danny defensively. “You can’t just be creative to order. It’s all a matter of inspiration.”
“Maybe you could get a job,” says Luke, reaching for his coat.
“A job?”
“They must need designers at, I don’t know, Gap?”
“Gap?” Danny stares at him. “You think I should spend my life designing polo shirts? So how about, ooh, two sleeves right here, three buttons on the placket, some ribbing… How can I contain my excitement?”
“What will we do?” I say plaintively to Luke.
“About Danny?”
“About our apartment!”
“We’ll find somewhere,” says Luke reassuringly. “Which reminds me. My mother wants to have lunch with you today.”
“She’s back?” I say in dismay. “I mean… she’s back!”
“They had to postpone her surgery.” Luke pulls a little face. “The clinic was placed under investigation by the Swiss medical authorities while she was there and all the procedures were put on hold. So… one o’clock, La Goulue?”
“Fine.” I shrug unenthusiastically.
Then, as the door closes behind Luke, I feel a bit bad. Maybe Elinor’s had a change of heart. Maybe she wants to bury the hatchet and get involved with the wedding. You never know.
I’d planned to be really cool and only tell people I was engaged if they asked me “How was your trip?”
But when the time comes I find myself running into the personal shopping department at Barneys where I work, thrusting out my hand, and yelling “Look!”
Erin, who works there with me, looks up startled, peers at my hand, then claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“I know!”
“You’re engaged? To Luke?”
“Yes, of course to Luke! We’re getting married in June!”
“What are you going to wear?” she gabbles. “I’m so jealous! Let me see the ring! Where did you get it? When I get engaged I’m going straight to Harry Winstons. And forget a month’s salary, we’re talking at least three years’…” She tails off as she examines my ring. “Wow.”
“It’s Luke’s family’s,” I say. “His grandmother’s.”
“Oh right. So… it isn’t new?” Her face falls slightly. “Oh well…”
“It’s… vintage,” I say carefully — and her entire expression lifts again.
“Vintage! A vintage ring! That’s such a cool idea!”
“Congratulations, Becky,” says Christina, my boss, and gives me a warm smile. “I know you and Luke will be very happy together.”
“Can I try it on?” says Erin. “No! I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it. I just… A vintage ring!”
She’s still gazing at it as my first client, Laurel Johnson, comes into the department. Laurel is president of a company that leases private jets and is one of my favorite clients, even though she tells me all the time how she thinks everything in the store is overpriced and she’d buy all her clothes from Kmart if it weren’t for her job.
“What’s this I see?” she says, taking off her coat and shaking out her dark curly hair.
“I’m engaged!” I say, beaming.
“Engaged!” She comes over and scrutinizes the ring with dark, intelligent eyes. “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m sure you will be. I’m sure your husband will have sense enough to keep his dick out of the little blonde who came to work as his intern and told him she’d never met a man who filled her with awe before. Awe. I ask you. Did you ever hear such a—” She stops midtrack, claps her hand to her mouth, and gives me a rueful look. “Damn.”
“Never mind,” I say comfortingly. “You were provoked.”
Laurel has made a New Year’s resolution not to talk about her ex-husband or his mistress anymore, because her therapist, Hans, has told her it isn’t healthy for her. Unfortunately she’s finding this resolution quite hard to keep. Not that I blame her. He sounds like a complete pig.
“You know what Hans told me last week?” she says as I open the door of my fitting room. “He told me to write down a list of everything I wanted to say about that woman — and then tear it up. He said I’d feel a sense of freedom.”
“Oh right,” I say interestedly. “So what happened?”
“I wrote it all down,” says Laurel. “And then I mailed it to her.”
“Laurel!”
“I know. I know. Not helpful.”
“Well, come on in,” I say, trying not to laugh, “and tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m a little behind this morning…”
