One Fifth Avenue

“We used to live up there,” James said. “I tell everyone my wife rescued me from my studio apartment and loft bed. If it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be there.”

“I hope not.” Philip stood up.

“What about you?” James asked. “Have you always lived downtown?”

“I’ve always lived in One Fifth,” Philip said. “I grew up there.”

“Nice,” James said, nodding. “What do you think about the Rices, by the way? Guy seems like an asshole to me. He hassles my wife, and then he’s putting in a two-thousand-gallon aquarium.”

“I’ve learned not to get involved in the altercations of the other residents,” Philip said dryly. “That’s my aunt’s area.”

“I thought you knew Schiffer Diamond, though,” James said. “Didn’t you two used to date?”

“A long time ago,” Philip said. He handed the cashier forty dollars and tried to get away from James by quickly slipping out the door. But James followed him. Now Philip was stuck with James for the two-block walk back to One Fifth. It seemed an eternity. “We should have dinner sometime,” James said. “My wife and I, you and your girlfriend. What’s her name again?”

“Lola,” Philip said.

“She’s young, isn’t she?” James asked nonchalantly.

“Twenty-two,” Philip said.

“That is young,” James said. “She could be your daughter.”

“Luckily, she isn’t,” Philip said.

They reached the building, and James repeated his offer of dinner. “We can go someplace in the neighborhood. Maybe Knickerbocker?”

Philip couldn’t see a way out. What could he say? “I never want to have dinner with you and your wife”? “Maybe after Christmas,” he said.

“Perfect,” James said. “We’ll do it the first or second week after New Year’s. My book comes out in February, so I’ll be away after that.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Brumminger asked Schiffer Diamond over the phone.

“No plans,” Schiffer said, leaning forward in the makeup chair. She’d had four dates with Brumminger; after the fourth dinner, they’d decided to sleep together to “get it out of the way” and ascertain whether or not they were compatible. The sex was fine—adult and technically correct and slightly passionless but not unsatisfying—and Brumminger was easy and intelligent, although somewhat humorless. His lack of humor came from a residual bitterness over being fired from his position as CEO two years ago, then struggling with his perceived loss of status. If he wasn’t CEO, if he didn’t have a title after his name, who was he? Brumminger’s yearlong hejira had taught him one thing: “Soul searching is good, but achievement is better.” He, too, had returned to New York to start over, trying to put together some deals with other former CEOs who’d been put out to pasture at sixty. “The First CEOs Club,” he joked.

Now he said: “Want to go to Saint Barths? I’ve got a villa from the twenty-third until January tenth. If you can leave on the twenty-third, I can give you a lift. I’m flying private.”

Alan, the PA, stuck his head into the room. “You have visitors,” he mouthed. Schiffer nodded. Philip and his young girlfriend, Lola, came into the room. Philip had mentioned he’d be bringing her, and Schiffer had agreed, curious about this girl who had managed to hold on to Philip longer than Schiffer had expected.

Stating the obvious, Philip said, “I brought Lola.”

Schiffer held out her hand. “I’ve heard about you from Enid.”

“Really?” Lola said, looking pleased.

Schiffer held up one finger and went back to her phone call. “What do you think?” Brumminger asked.

“It’s a great idea. I can’t wait,” Schiffer said, and hung up.

“Can’t wait for what?” Philip asked with the curious familiarity of having once had an intimate relationship.

“Saint Barths. At Christmas.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Saint Barths,” Lola said, impressed.

“You should get Philip to take you,” Schiffer said, looking at Philip. “It’s one of his favorite islands.”

“It’s one of everyone’s favorite islands,” Philip grumbl