“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” she said. “What if I wanted something different?”
He smelled his beer as if it were an exotic flower and then took a swallow. “I haven’t seen you drink anything but white in, what, ten years?”
Which was true, but still. “Maybe I don’t like change just for the sake of change.”
“So you are pissed off we’re not at the Palmer House.”
“Do you really think this is a better alternative?” she asked, spreading her arms. If there was a place that was the literal opposite of the elegant Palmer House Hilton, with its soaring, gilded atrium, Jack had found it.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Never know until you try. Excuse me for a second.”
He went looking for the bathroom. She couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed to her that he’d almost flinched. Probably because he’d felt a vibration in his pocket. So he was going to text.
Jessica, probably.
Who did look ever so slightly like the only other one Holly had actually seen in person. So maybe he had a type.
Give him credit, Jack only stayed in the bathroom for as long as he would if he were actually peeing.
When he sat back down, she said, “So, will this little adventure satisfy your wanderlust for the evening?”
“About that.”
“Here we go.”
Jack drank half his beer and then looked up as if to signal for another. Then he remembered: no table service. Holly wondered how long his forced enthusiasm for the place would last. Because Jack Wright was not accustomed to carrying his own drinks.
“You know how I feel about the club,” he said, leaning forward so he could speak at an almost-normal volume.
“Do I?”
Her family had been members of the Union League Club for generations, and while it was not nearly as business minded as other old-line Chicago institutions, it had certainly provided Jack with valuable connections in the early days of their marriage. If he had noticed the subtle slights from her parents and their friends back then, he never showed it. And now that he was not her boyfriend Jonny but Jonathan Wright, visionary founder of Cancura, he was a celebrity there. Her parents had taken Holly and Jack to dinner on New Year’s Eve for years, but now that they were snowbirds, Holly and Jack had taken over the standing reservation and begun including some of her old friends and their husbands.
“Those people are only interested in me because of my money,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table.
“For years, you were only interested in them because of their money,” she countered.
“What are you saying?” he asked defensively.
“Simply that you have found investors there, which has worked to the advantage of everyone, including some of our dinner dates this evening.”
“Which makes it feel like work.”
For some reason, Jack was spoiling for a fight, which made her only more determined not to let him have one. She finally sipped her wine, which was as terrible as she’d guessed it would be.
“That fucking Chris guy, the husband of what’s her name—”
“Karen.”
“He puts in thirty-five grand and thinks it makes him chairman of the board—”
“That’s a lot of money for some people.”
“Bullshit. He’s got plenty more.”
“So you’re worried he’s going to talk about Cancura, and you don’t want to? This is unfamiliar territory.”
“Can’t we just do something to mix it up for once?” he said, finishing his beer and heading over to the bar.
He spoke briefly to the bartender, who was working with someone else to restock a beer cooler. In the light over the bar, Holly could see her hair was streaked with vivid magenta. She was the kind of person you described as having dyed hair.
Jack came back. “She’s busy. She said she’d bring the drinks over in a minute.”
“What do you mean, ‘Mix it up’?”
“Cancel. Do something else. Have some fun.”
The anger she’d fought so hard to control began to bubble like a simmering pot.
“We cannot cancel, Jack. People hired babysitters. They got dressed up. They’re on their way into the city right now.”
“It’s not like they’ll go hungry. They can have dinner without us.”
The lid on the pot began to rattle. “What is wrong with you? We can’t treat our friends like that!”
“They’re your friends, Holly, not mine.”
“This is the first time I’ve noticed you drawing a line between friends and investors.”
He looked at her intently. “You know what your problem is? You want everything to be the same, same, same. The same restaurant on the same day with the same people. You’re fucking married to these rituals and traditions, this idea that we do things a certain way for no better reason than because we always have. You’re just like your mother, Holly, and there is no way I’m going to end up like your father.”
Two things happened at once. Boiling over, Holly said, “You asshole!” and her hand flew out, knocking her wineglass over—just as the bartender arrived with their new drinks. White wine splashed her bare midriff as the glass fell off the table and broke on the floor.
Holly, frozen, couldn’t speak as the glaring bartender set the new glasses down and said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“That’s just fucking awesome,” said Jack, rising again. “Call me when you get it under control, okay?”
He stopped at the bar on the way out, no doubt to apologize for his crazy wife and give the bartender a ridiculous tip. Jack cared what everyone thought of him, including people who had no idea who he was.
Everyone, apparently, except Holly.
She cursed herself for giving him the excuse he wanted to leave. He obviously hadn’t planned to go through with the evening at all. All his claims rang false, because he lived to schmooze, always wanted to be around people with money, and never let personal chemistry
