Stori
ABBOTT’S LATE. I’VE been keeping myself distracted, talking with the customers at Whiskey River. I’m wearing my favorite dress. It’s always brought me luck. Elegant and sophisticated, it says I belong in this place, as its proprietor. It brings me good luck. But no wardrobe choice is going to change what’s to be. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
Five o’clock came and went an hour and a half ago, but there’s been no phone call or text and therefore no respect for my time. Would it be an imposition to just let me know you’re running late? Rude, the man’s rude. Stay calm, Stori.
Now the crowd’s starting to pick up. My father has made sure my private table is available when I need it. We know what Abbott drinks because he drank the table’s share when he was here impressing the easily impressionable young women he came with.
Putting all the bits of information I have on George Abbott adds up to an unflattering picture. I’d guess Mrs. Abbott didn’t indulge her boy’s habits or suffer her fool spawn lightly. This guy doesn’t act like someone who’s used to having money. He’s flush with what he sees as his stroke of good fortune, aka his mother’s demise.
He hasn’t a clue about the business I’ve built and what it took to do that. Looking at the property he just sees dollar signs. He’s too old for this to be the understandable excuse of a kid inexperienced in life. It’s more like he never was interested or motivated enough to pay attention to his family’s strong suit. Is it getting hot in here? My stomachs rumbling and now I need to use the bathroom.
On the way to the ladies room I check my phone. Maybe he called. Once inside the stall I scroll through my calls and texts. There’s nothing from Abbott, but here’s one from Oliver. Hope he’s had a better night than I’m having. But no. Oh no.
Oliver: I’m at the vet’s. Louise poisoned by sugarless gum in the Park. Don’t know extent of damage yet. I’m staying here overnight. Text me after your meeting. Love
Shit! Poor Louise. Oh, he must be out of his mind worried. And what about his meeting? He didn’t mention a hint about what happened. I fire off a response.
Me: Oh, Oliver! I’m praying for you both. I’ll call you after I meet with Abbott. He hasn’t showed up yet. Give Louise a kiss from her friend. I’m holding your hand. Love
I’m not going to question him now. He must have missed his meeting with the hotelier. It doesn’t surprise me that he’d put Louise first. And to tell the truth I like that about him. As much as I’ve encouraged him to take advantage of his golden opportunity and pay close attention to the details, there’s a bigger issue here. But I just hope he didn’t miss his big break.
I hear the bathroom door swing open, and Julie’s voice.
“Stori, George Abbott’s here.”
Of course he is, I’m sitting on the toilet.
“Okay. I’ll be right out.”
I make it to the sink, wash hands, straighten dress, and check my breath, all in under a minute. Here we go. When I walk out, I make sure to have a calm, pleasant look on my face. I spot him sitting not at my table, but at one we call the “spotlight”, where everybody can see you. Customers who want to be the center of attention sit there, not men and women navigating a business deal. My father’s setting a drink in front of him. The guy has a smug expression as if he’s the Poker champ and he’s holding a royal flush. It would be foolish of me to deny he holds the cards.
“George!”
I extend my hand and he looks at it for a beat, as if he’s never shaken hands with a woman before. He’s slow to respond but eventually solves the puzzle.
“Hello, Stori.”
A signal to my father brings over the whiskey he anticipated I’d want. Here Abbott and I are just two people casually sharing a drink together. That’s how people would read the scene. Not sure I’m selling the calm which is nowhere to be found inside me.
Taking a big gulp of the thirty-year-old bourbon, he misses the nuance of the nectar completely.
“So, I’ve come to my decision. I’m selling the property.”
He says it as if it’s an afterthought.
“Great. I’m ready when you are. I’ve been pre-approved and I have the down. Just say the word.”
The look he throws me is chilling.
“No, no. I’m going in another direction. I’ve got a buyer who’s offered me something you can’t, and he’s ready with cash.”
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched in the stomach.
“I might be able to meet that number. What is it?”
Cocky. That’s the expression on his face and it makes me want to shove my fist right into his nose.
“It’s not a number. He’s able to sweeten the deal another way. Besides, you got the cash?”
“No. But I could offer a bigger down. I’ve built this business into a success. I’ve nurtured it. Did you know we’re considered one of the finest speakeasies in Manhattan? And we’ve got some tough competition. Your mother was happy with how I valued her property. She said your father would have loved the idea of a speakeasy here. Can’t we talk? Isn’t there any room for negotiations? Just tell me what he’s offering, then we can go from there. Maybe I can sweeten my offer.”
I’m rambling. He knows he’s in complete control. And he has no intention of wasting any more time with me. As he stands, the last of his drink slides down his throat.
“No. I’ve made up my mind. My deceased mother and father have no voice in my decision. My lawyer will be sending you the details. The buyer would like you out as soon as legally possible. Please consider the fact that I’m anxious to close on this. You know, wrap things up.”
Tears well in my eyes. The son of a bitch is walking away before I can respond. My father’s watching, waiting till Abbott leaves. His expression says it all. Seeing my face, my tears, he comes to me, sits, and takes my hands. I can’t even talk. But he knows without being told, and there’s tears in his eyes too.
“Cookie, I think my heart’s breaking for you. Is it done?”
I’m unable to get the words past the lump in my throat.
“Are the contracts signed?”
My shoulders lift. His hand cups my chin and his eyes lock with mine.
“Maybe we can talk some sense into him. It may not be over yet.”
I find my voice. But it’s weak and low. “The buyer offered cash and something more that he wouldn’t reveal. It’s over. Oh, Dad. I’ve worked so hard. This is the place I wanted. It’s our legacy.”
He wipes away his tears and mine.
“This isn’t our legacy. Our resilience is. You’ve got enough money and a roof over your head. You’ve got your health. You’ve got love. Don’t believe your happiness is tied to a place. It’s up here,” he says, pointing to his head. “And in here.” He lays his hand on his heart.
Intellectually I know he’s right, but emotionally I’m so profoundly disappointed. He gives my hands one final squeeze before he gets up.
“Julie and I will take over tonight. Go be with Oliver. Let him comfort you. And remind yourself you already have everything you need.”
I’m in a kind of zombie state, as I move out of Whiskey River and into a cab. The nightscape of lighted skyscrapers and billboards move past me in a watery haze. My tears keep coming. I make a quick stop to change into sweats and tennis shoes and to wash my red nosed face. Who cares? Let my face wear the right mood.
Oliver called, and I let him know I’m staying the night with him at the vet’s. When he hears my depressing news, he doesn’t even try to talk me out of coming. Proof positive that both of us are in a deep funk. He presses for details but I tell him I’ll fill in the blanks when we’re together. Grabbing the few things he requested, I add my down pillow and some snacks to the roll-on. I’m outta here.
Time moves in a new direction now. Not forward or backward, but somehow apart from my thoughts. I’m lost in my mind, seeing myself from afar, replaying the scene. Before I realize, I’ve crossed town.
Funny, but I never noticed this little animal hospital before. The sprawling Park overshadows everything adjacent to it. As I get out of the taxi, it looks like there’s just as many people milling around the Park entrance as there were this afternoon. For me New York’s a night town, its personality most apparent under the dark sky. It’s still warm, even though it’s eight at night. Most people are dressed appropriately in shorts and barely there slip dresses. Not me. I’m dressed for cuddling in a chilly Veterinarian’s office.
I walk through the glass door with the puppy and kitten silhouette logo. An older man behind the front desk greets me and looks at my suitcase.
“You gonna homestead?”
“I’m meeting someone. Can you direct me to Oliver London? His dog Louise is here.”
“Sure, sure. He’s staying in room one. First door on the left,” he says as he points behind him. “But I think they just took him back to see his dog.”
There’s a serious look on his face, and it instantly makes my stomach twist.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything. I just saw the tech come and get him and they rushed back to where the overnights are kept.”
Quickly I move to room one because when Oliver returns I want to be there. I look over our accommodations. Harsh lighting bounces off sterile white walls. It’s chilly with a definite odor of urine. A perfect reflection of my mood. Kind of blank and more than a little pissed.
One small pillow rests against the back of a recliner. I take a seat on the only other piece of furniture in the room, a straight back chair. My night has turned into a big pile of shit. Instead of a sexy champagne celebration in a bathtub for two, which is what I envisioned for us, I’m sitting uncomfortably in an animal hospital hoping I don’t hear more crushing news. Fucking life. And what about Oliver? How’s he feeling?
I don’t have to wonder any longer. The door swings open and Oliver walks in, wiping tears that run down his face. I rush to him and take him in my arms, wanting to offer my comfort and desperate to take his. I wish I could bottle this and give it to every person who yearns to know the feeling of love.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I need you,” he says softly.
I feel the tears running down my face.
“You’re crying. Am I too late?” I say.
“She’s still alive. But she looks bad. And helpless. The tech said the next few hours will tell us. I think they just wanted to give me the opportunity to see her if it . . .”
His voice trails off, unable to utter the rest of the thought.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver. I know you love her.”
He nods his head, unable to respond.
“Life’s so random. Everything was going great for us. My career, yours. Now in the space of a few hours it’s all gone to hell. But for me it’s this turn that hurts the most.”
He nods towards the back room where Louise lies. I can’t think of one thing to say to convince him things will turn out fine. It would be bullshit. I’m not certain anything will right itself. It surely doesn’t look that way. Except for the certainty of us. That I’m sure of.
He takes my face in his hands and looks at me tenderly. My own story suddenly pushing its way back into his mind.
“What about you? Are you okay?”
I shake my head no. Tears roll down my face, allowing myself the indulgence.
“I wish I could take this hurt away from you, Stori. I don’t know what to do. How can I make things better?”
“You can hold me. And don’t let go.”
“Never my love.”
He brings me against him and rests my head against his chest. I quietly cry for Oliver and his Louise, and then for my own lousy twist of fate. But his arms, there’s a beautiful world within them. And I’m carried away to a place where nothing else really matters. The last of my tears dry up, retreating in the wake of the power of love.