Charlie had no doubt that Frankie knew him well enough to see that Samantha defined him. He assumed Frankie knew he cared for her deeply. They had become, in fact, very close. But he was ultimately drawn to Samantha because she was so self-centered. And only that impeccable self-centeredness could absorb his weakness.

“I want to help her,” Charlie explained. “You of all people should understand that.”

The waiter brought over an array of plates. “Black cod, ants climbing on tree, crispy vegetables. Shall I split?”

“It looks fantastic and we’re famished,” Charlie said with renewed excitement. “It’s true what they say about Chinese food. One minute you’re full and then you’re hungry as a bear. Please just split it in half for me and my gal, here.”

Frankie looked at the ants climbing on tree. They were cellophane noodles with tiny specks of beef over broccoli. It looked like a science experiment she had done in fifth grade before she knew anything about men who effortlessly ordered exotic main courses or got cell phone calls from their ex-wives in Aspen during dinner with their lover. It was from before the city she grew up in seemed as vulnerable as she was and even the most privileged were scurrying to ensure their survival like ants climbing a tree. “There’s nothing like sitting down to a good meal with a person you really adore.” Charlie took a sip of his martini and finished his drink. His words were beginning to slur. “I’ll always treasure our friendship, Francesca Weissman. I hope you know that.”

“Excuse me.” Frankie got up from the table.

“Are you okay?” he asked with polite concern.

“An ant went down the wrong tree.”

Charlie laughed. “We can get chow mein if you prefer.”

Frankie headed to the ladies’ room and never came back.

Charlie called Frankie twice that night and left a note with her doorman. He had no regrets about Frankie Weissman. He had never misled her. If Charlie had accomplished anything since the day he was rejected from the Ivy, it was that he had become a gentleman.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

·CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN·

Samantha

Samantha asked Charlie if she could meet him under the canopy at the Carlyle. She couldn’t bear to walk past her old doorman or be inside their old apartment. Standing in the cold, Samantha felt the heat from the hotel canopy’s electric red grille on her hair and the brisk cold on her face. It was the same sensation she had thirty years ago when she would wait with Grey Navez, who lived at the hotel, for her father’s chauffeur to give them a ride up to a school dance.