Samantha and he were bonded together now. They could reinvent their lives. Make plans to move to the Richard Meier building downtown, or a loft in the Flatiron District. They could change their circle of friends. Charlie preferred magazine editors, successful actors, and hip young entrepreneurs to aging socialites and bankers. He could even start collecting again. The art would be healing.

“We’re together. That’s all that matters.” He pulled his chair toward her when he saw more tears in her eyes.

“Thank you, Charlie.” She kissed him hard on the lips. “Thank you.” She knew she had no choice but to be grateful to him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

·CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT·

Frankie

After Frankie left Charlie at Shun Lee West she walked home up Broadway and drifted into the Lincoln Square Barnes & Noble, Tower Records, and Fairway market, and finally landed in Zabar’s housewares department. Wandering absentmindedly through rows of German coffee bean grinders, Italian espresso makers, French food processors, and retro American toasters, Frankie’s mind kept reverting to Charlie asking Samantha, “Did anyone see you?” She couldn’t stop herself from enumerating the possible meanings.

Did anyone see Samantha wearing last year’s ski parka? Did anyone see her calling Charlie while he was toasting a sedentary pediatrician? Did anyone see that Charlie and she were embedded in their own Grand Canyon of Need?

Frankie managed to stay in the store until it closed. Avoiding going home, she moved on from appliances to olives and smoked fish, then circled a special on Spanish Gorgonzola. Finally, she bought a tin of caviar for New Year’s Eve. Charlie had suggested that he come to her apartment and make dinner that night.

“Let’s do something low-key,” he had said. “Drink too much red wine, rent North by Northwest or some other great old flick, and if we’re really lucky we can be happily curled up together and asleep by ten o’clock.”

When Frankie finally got home her doorman nodded his head. “Dr. Weissman, you’re out late tonight.”

“How are you?” Frankie wasn’t in the mood for a chat.

“Where’s Dr. Charlie?” he asked. “He’s such a nice guy, Dr. Weissman, and my girlfriend says he’s famous, too.”

“Your girlfriend knows Dr. Acton?” she asked, drawn in despite herself.

“Oh, she loves those ugly-duckling-into-beautiful-swan reality makeover stories. Anyway, I was at her house, and I see Dr. Charlie on one of her TV shows, and I says I know him! He’s Dr. Weissman’s friend.” The doorman was now beaming. “And I gotta tell you, I got points with my girlfriend. Dr. Weissman, you deserve the best.”

“Thank you. Good night, George.” She began to walk toward the elevator.

“Happy New Year, Dr. Weissman.” He followed her.

“Happy New Year.” She walked into the elevator.

Frankie brought her Zabar’s bag into the kitchen, opened the tin of caviar, and put it in the cat bowl.