One Fifth Avenue

He sat up. “I mean it,” he said. “If you can’t sleep, you should go to the couch.”

“What is your problem?” she said.

“Look,” he said. “I need to get some sleep. I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Take it easy,” she said. “I’ll take a sleeping pill.”

“That’s always the solution, isn’t it?” Philip muttered. “A pill.”

“You’re the pill,” Lola said.

She didn’t fall asleep right away. She lay in the dark, hating Philip. He was no fun, and she probably should break up with him and go out with Thayer. But then she thought about Thayer’s apartment again, and how he had no money and was basically an asshole. If she broke up with Philip, she’d be back where she was when she started in New York. Living in that tiny apartment on Eleventh Street and going to destructor parties every night. There would be no movie openings, no dinners at the Waverly Inn, no rubbing shoulders with glamour. She needed to stay with Philip for at least a little while. Either until he married her, or something happened and she became famous in her own right.

The next morning, Philip greeted her with a chilly “Good morning.” Lola’s head felt like a bowling ball, but for once, she didn’t complain, knowing she needed to mollify him. She dragged herself out of bed and went into the bathroom, where he was shaving. She sat down on the toilet seat, put her arms between her legs, and looked up at him through her mess of dark hair. “Don’t be mad at me,” she said. “I didn’t know you’d be so upset.”

Philip put down his razor and looked at her. Last night, after the embarrassment of running into Schiffer and then lying alone in his bed waiting for Lola to come home, he’d begun to wonder what he’d gotten himself into. Maybe Nini was right: He was too old to be dating a twenty-two-year-old. But what was he supposed to do? Schiffer Diamond was obsessed with her career and didn’t need him. He supposed he could find a nice, accomplished woman who was his age, like Sondra, but that might mean accepting the fact that the exciting part of his sex life was over. He couldn’t do it. It was the equivalent of giving up.

And here was gorgeous Lola Fabrikant, in his bathroom, contrite and pliable. He sighed. “Okay, Lola,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” she said, jumping up. “I promise. Oh, Philip, I love you so much.” And she went back to bed.

Philip smiled. Where did she pick up her crazy ideas about love? he wondered. “Hey, Lola,” he called. “Why don’t you make us some breakfast?”

She laughed. “You know I don’t cook.”

“Maybe you should learn.”

“Why?” she asked. Philip finished shaving, examining his skin in the mirror. He’d had young girlfriends before, but none had been quite like Lola, he thought. Usually, the young women were much more accommodating. He took a step back and patted his face, shaking his head. Who was he kidding? Schiffer Diamond had been much wilder than Lola. But he’d been in love with Schiffer, so her antics had driven him crazy—once she’d even suggested they have sex with another man. She might have been joking, but he never knew for sure. On the other hand, he wasn’t in love with Lola, so, he told himself, he was safe—her actions couldn’t really affect him.

He went into the bedroom. Lola was lying on her stomach, naked under the covers, as if she were waiting for him. “Oh, hello,” she said, turning her head to greet him. Pulling back the covers, he forgot all about Schiffer Diamond as he surveyed Lola’s body. She opened her legs invitingly. He dropped his towel and, kneeling behind her, lifted her hips and slipped his cock in from behind.

He came quickly and felt the sleepy calm that followed the satiation of pleasure. He closed his eyes. Lola rolled over and began playing with his hair. “Philip?” she asked sweetly. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Do you want to come to Atlanta with me?”

“Maybe,” he said before he fell asleep.

11

The drilling had begun again in the Rices’ apartment. Enid Merle got up from her desk in annoyance and went outside. On the terrace above was a pile of copper pipes. So the Rices still hadn’t finished the renovations on their bathrooms. Or maybe the pipes were for the aquarium Paul Rice was rumored to be installing in Mrs. Houghton’s ballroom. Enid hoped the renovation wouldn’t drive her into becoming one of those particular types of old people who, with little in their lives on which to focus, become obsessed with their neighbors. She turned on the History Channel to distract herself. The programs were a reminder of the true nature of human beings—while there were always a few who strived for greatness, most of humankind was engaged in the crude art of staying alive, reproduction, and indulgence in the baser instincts, including murder, paranoia, and war.

Her bell rang. Expecting Philip, she opened the door and found Mindy Gooch standing in the hallway. Mindy’s arms were crossed, and she wore her usual grim expression. “I need to talk to you about som

ething,” she said.

“Come in.” Enid held open the door so Mindy could pass. Mindy’s visit was curious, Enid thought, as they hadn’t spoken since Mrs. Houghton’s funeral.

“I think we have a problem,” Mindy said.

Enid smiled. “I’ve lived in this building my entire life, dear,” she said, thinking that Mindy was referring to their lack of communication. “I was here before you moved in. And I expect to be here after you move out. If we don’t speak for the next five years, it won’t be an issue for me.”

“I’m not talking about you,” Mindy said. “I mean the Rices. Something has to be done about them.”

“Is that so,” Enid said coldly.

“Paul Rice came by my office last week.”

“Trying to be friendly, I suppose.”

“Trying to bribe me to approve his in-the-wall air conditioners.”