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NICK
I’m folding carryout boxes in the storeroom at Dede’s pizzeria when she rushes through the door with a business card in her hand.
“You are not going to believe this,” she whispers. “Your new friend Adam and his people are relentless.”
I inspect the card after she hands it to me: Charlotte Holgate, Executive Assistant to the President & Chief Creative Officer, Coleman, Sanchez & Partners.
“I don’t know the name,” I tell Dede.
Her eyes go wide. “Well, she knows you, mister. That happens to be someone from Adam’s office.”
“So? Is she ordering pizzas or something?”
Dede tilts her head to one side, giving me a smirk. “Don’t be dense, sweetheart. She asked for you by name.”
“She did?”
“And she’s taking up one of our tables,” Dede adds. “Maybe you could go ask why the executive assistant to the president and chief creative officer is here so paying customers can sit down if they want to actually eat something.”
I jump to my feet. “Are all the tables full?”
Dede swivels toward the door. “Not yet,” she reports. “But I don’t want anybody camping in here if they’re just going to flap their gums.”
When I step into the dining room a moment later, I spot Adam’s associate immediately. It’s like the Sesame Street song: ‘One of these things is not like the other.’ Our usual crowd is mainly young artists, students, musicians and indie creative types. Charlotte Holgate looks like someone who never travels below Fifty-Seventh Street, lives and breathes haute couture and freshens her lipstick every five minutes. As I zigzag through the tables and chairs, she looks up from her phone and waves one slender hand.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” she says, halfway rising from her seat. “And I’m so sorry to disturb your day.”
“No problem,” I reply, sounding slightly dumbfounded. “What can I help you with?”
She motions for me to sit across from her, so I pull out an empty chair and plop down. When I’m seated, I detect a faint hint of gardenia perfume that wafts around her like an invisible veil.
“I wanted to talk to you about Adam,” she says.
I immediately shake my head and push the chair away from the table. “There’s nothing to say,” I tell her. “Plus, this is really weird for you to come here and lecture me about my personal life.”
Her nose crinkles when she smiles. “Lecture you? Is that really why you think I’m here?”
I shrug. “Maybe that’s the wrong word,” I answer. “But it feels like that. I mean, I barely know Adam. We just met a week ago or whatever. So it’s…” I pause to gather my thoughts. It seems beyond surreal that someone who works for a guy that I don’t really know showed up here to discuss…whatever this is. “It’s very nice to know that Adam’s friends support him and everything, but I’ve really got nothing to say.”
As I get to my feet, Charlotte reaches into her massive black leather satchel and pulls out a phone.
“Just one second?” Her eyes are pleading and there’s something soft and gentle in her voice. “I wrote down a couple of little things that I wanted to share if I had the chance to talk to you.”
I sit down again, tapping one foot from nerves and embarrassment. It feels like everyone in the dining room is watching us. I imagine that they’re trying to figure out why Dede’s delivery guy is sitting at a table with someone who could join The Real Housewives of New York City with one blink of her false eyelashes.
“Okay, here we go,” she says after swiping and tapping her phone for a few moments. “And before I say another word, I want to thank you for taking the time to hear me out.”
I nod silently when she glances up.
“The thing is,” she begins, “I’ve known Adam for a very, very long time. I’ve seen him happy, and I’ve seen him not so happy. I’ve been by his side as he built the firm from a tiny two-room office in a very dodgy building in Midtown to the current operation with offices in New York, London and Los Angeles. We have more than one hundred—”
She stops suddenly. “Sorry, Nick. That was starting to sound like a sales pitch to a new client. And that’s not at all what I want to talk with you about.”
The front door opens and two regulars head for our table. They’re a married couple, both in their seventies and prone to curmudgeonly rants about politics or their sex life. Since they order both delivery and carryout, they’ve become friendly with me. They’re both photographers, so we usually chat for a few minutes about new gallery shows and exhibitions. But when they glide up, I quickly apologize and tell them that I’m in the middle of something.
“Me, too,” says Eleanor. “I’m in the middle of my life.”
She’s giving me a stern glare, but then her husband starts chuckling and tugging on his beard.
“This your mother?” he asks.
Charlotte squeaks. “Do I look old enough to be his mother?”
Benny snorts. “You bet, toots. Although the plastic surgeon did a pretty good job of trying to make you look like his older sister.”
My eyes bulge at the remark and I quickly send them on their way with a promise to stop by soon to checkout Eleanor’s new work. She has a gallery show coming up in a few weeks, and I’ve been giving her feedback about some of the prints.
“Well, they’re more fun than a lobotomy!” Charlotte quips.
My face is bright red. “I’m sorry about that,” I tell her. “They’re really cool people. It’s just that they weren’t born with filters.”
She giggles. “My kind of people, actually,” she says. “So don’t sweat it, kiddo.”
“I won’t,” I tell her. “But I really do need to get back to work.”
“Of course, but just one more thing?” she says.
There’s an authentic glimmer in her gaze that’s undeniable. In the short time that we’ve been talking, I’ve started to find her to be engaging and compelling as well as slightly pushy.
“Okay, sure.” I glance over my shoulder at Dede behind the counter. She’s been watching us the whole time, and I can’t wait to hear what she has to say about my highly unusual visitor. “But just a few more minutes.”
Charlotte sighs. “Thanks, Nick. I was actually very nervous coming down here today. I’ve never done anything like this in my life, but I felt somehow compelled to intercede before it’s too late.”
Now I’m laughing. “Too late? What are you talking about?”
“Look,” she says, “I’m just going to cut to the chase because I’ve already taken up too much of your time.” She stops, takes a breath and looks at the notes on her phone for a few seconds. “I was your age once,” she continues. “A man that I was interested in cheated on me. I thought that it would never happen again. But guess what? It did. After that, I decided it must be me. I was very naive. And quite timid. My parents argued a lot when I was little, so all of that convinced me to give up on love.”
The front door opens again, but I don’t even look up. I’m intrigued now by Charlotte’s earnest remarks.
“Anyway, one day, at the entrance to the Columbus Circle station,” she says, “I dropped my purse. It was rush hour. Everyone was in a frenzy to get home. Except for one man. He helped me scoop up my things. Then he helped me to my feet. And then do you know what he did?”
I shook my head
“Well, he smiled,” Charlotte says. “Then he told me to have a nice night. And then he vanished into the crowd.”
“Did you ever see him again?” I ask.
She nods. “The next week. He smiled again and said hello. That went on for a few months until one day, feeling bold and optimistic, I asked him if he’d like to have a drink.”
“And then?” I ask.
“Long story short, Danny and I have two kids, we’ve been together for ten years and he’s the absolute love of my life. Do you know the moral of the story?”
I smile. “That I should carry a purse and ride the subway if I want to meet someone?”
Charlotte makes a face. “No, but you could probably pull off a cute little clutch tucked under your arm,” she says with a laugh. “What I’m talking about is time and patience. For both of you guys. Adam told me that your ex was a shit. And his was, too. So you’re both very determined to avoid being hurt again, right?”
I nod.
“And that’s totally understandable,” she says. “But sometimes we have to take chances to capture the dream. We have to take a leap of faith to find happiness and our forever home. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”