One Fifth Avenue

“We’re moving to the country. We’ve got a house there. We’re putting on a big addition. It’s better for kids in the country, don’t you think?”

The third town house was larger and less expensive. The hitch was that it was broken up into apartments, most of which were occupied. “You’d have to get the tenants to leave. It usually isn’t a problem. You pay them fifty thousand cash, and they’re happy to have the money,” Emme had explained.

“But where will they go?” Annalisa asked.

“They’ll find a nice, clean studio apartment somewhere,” Emme said. “Or they’ll move to Florida.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Annalisa said. “Kicking people out of their apartments. It’s against my moral code.”

“You can’t stop progress,” Emme replied. “It’s unhealthy.”

And so another day passed during which she and Paul still didn’t have a place to live and were stuck in the

suite at the Waldorf.

Annalisa called Paul. “I can’t find anything to buy. Maybe we should rent in the meantime.”

“And move twice? It’s ergonomically wasteful.”

“Paul,” she said, “I’m going to go out of my mind if we have to stay in this suite for one more day. Actually, I’ll go out of my mind if I have to spend more time with Emme. Her face scares me.”

“So let’s change to a bigger suite. The staff can move our things.”

“The cost,” Annalisa said.

“Doesn’t matter. Love you,” he said.

She went downstairs into the bustle of the lobby. She had always stayed at the Waldorf when the law firm sent her to New York on business, and back then she’d thought the hotel lobby glamorous, with its grand staircases and brass and expensive wares displayed behind sparkling glass windows. The Waldorf was perfect for tourists and out-of-town businesspeople, but it was like a showgirl: One must enjoy the feathers and glitz without looking too closely. Otherwise, one saw the faded carpets and the dirty crystal in the chandeliers and the cheap polyester in the uniforms of the employees. One had time to observe these things, Annalisa noted, when one didn’t have enough to do.

She was informed that a bigger suite was indeed available, and the manager was summoned. He had a soft face and jowls that pulled down the skin below his eyes; the available suite, he said, had two bedrooms and a living room and a bar and four bathrooms. It was twenty-five hundred a night, but if they were staying for a month, he’d give it to them for forty thousand. An odd feeling came over Annalisa, a rush of adrenaline, and she said she’d take it without seeing it first. It was the most exciting thing in weeks.

Back in the original suite, Annalisa opened the safe and put on the diamond-encrusted watch Paul had given her for her birthday. She couldn’t imagine what it had cost, probably twenty thousand dollars, but it put some perspective on the cost of the suite, she supposed. The watch was a little flashy for her taste, but Paul would notice if she didn’t wear it for the weekend. Under an attempt at a casual demeanor he had looked so eager and frightened and proud while she untied the ribbon on the blue handmade box with the beige suede lining. When she’d opened the box and removed the watch, Paul did the honors of closing the band around her wrist. “Do you like it?” he’d asked. “I love it,” she’d said, lying. “I truly love it.”

“Apparently, all the other wives have them. So you’ll fit in,” he said. And noting her expression, added, “If you want to.”

“We don’t fit in,” she said. “That’s why people love us.”

Now she began to pack, placing a bathing suit and khaki shorts and three button-down shirts into a navy blue canvas roller bag. At the last minute, she tossed in a plain black sleeveless shift and a pair of black pumps with a sensible two-inch heel in case there was a fancy dinner. The dress wasn’t summery but would have to do. She put on a white T-shirt, jeans, and yellow Converse sneakers; then she went downstairs again and waited in line for a taxi, arriving at the Twenty-third Street heliport at four-thirty, half an hour early. She was early to nearly everything these days and seemed to spend a lot of her time waiting. The heliport was located under the FDR Drive. The air was dense with the heat of July and the exhaust from the cars stalled on the highway and the stench of the East River. Annalisa walked to the edge of the dock and peered into the murky brown water, watching a plastic bottle lapping at the wood as a condom floated by.

She checked her watch again. Paul would be neither early nor late but exactly on time, arriving at 4:55, as he’d said he would. Indeed, at 4:55, a Town Car pulled in through the chain-link fencing, and Paul got out, leaning into the backseat of the car to take out his briefcase and a small hard-sided Louis Vuitton case covered in black goatskin. Until recently, Annalisa had no idea Paul cared for such things. He bought something pricey nearly every week now. Last week it had been a cigar box from Asprey, although Paul did not smoke.

He loped toward her, talking on his cell phone. Paul was tall and had the slight stoop of those accustomed to minding their heads. He managed to stay on his phone while waving to the pilot of the seaplane and overseeing the stowage of their luggage while a steward helped Annalisa from the dock into the plane. The interior held eight seats done up in plush pale yellow suede, and while Paul and Annalisa were the only passengers, Paul elected to sit in the row in front of her. He finally got off his call, and she said, hesitantly and a little bit hurt, “Paul?”

Paul wore glasses, and his soft, dark curling hair was always a bit unkempt. He was nearly handsome but for his hooded eyes and the slight gaps between his teeth. He was a mathematical genius, one of the youngest Ph.D.s at Georgetown ever, and there was always talk of him winning the Nobel Prize someday. But six months ago, he had taken a job with Sandy Brewer and, in two days, relocated to New York City at a small hotel on East Fifty-sixth Street. When they decided the move was permanent, Annalisa had joined him, but they’d lived long-distance for five months, and the residual effects were still there.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit together?” Annalisa asked. She hated having to beg.

“These cabins are so small,” he said. “Why be crowded? We’re together the whole weekend anyway.”

“You’re right,” she said. It was pointless pushing Paul on the small issues. Annalisa looked out the window. A middle-aged man was hurrying breathlessly toward the seaplane. Annalisa’s first impression was of a man freckled and nearly hairless, like an exotic species of cat. The man was wearing spectator shoes and a white linen suit with a navy silk pocket square; in one hand was a woven hat. He gave his bag to the pilot and came up into the cabin, taking a seat in the row behind Annalisa. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand over the top of the seats. “I’m Billy Litchfield.”

“Annalisa Rice.”

“I assume you’re going to the Brewers’ for the weekend. Are you a friend of Connie’s?”

“My husband works for Sandy Brewer.”

“Ah,” Billy Litchfield said. “So you’re an unknown element.”