all
summer long
DorotheaBentonFrank
All that glitters is not gold; Often you have heard it told: Many a man his life has sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old, Youranswerhadnotbeenin’scroll’d
Fareyouwell:yoursuitiscold.Cold,indeed,andlabourlost: Then,farewell,heatandwelcome,frost!
—TheMerchantofVenice,ActII,SceneVII WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE
prologue
Easter Monday, April 6, 2015
Manhattan
Whetherthesubjectofchangewaspartners,possessions,or places,somepeoplehadaneasytimelettinggo.Afixturein the crown of Manhattan’s classic interior designers, Olivia Ritchiewasnotsuchaperson.
Overtheyearsshehadenjoyedtheprivilegeofobserving theprivateandpersonalhabitsoftheonepercentthroughher work.Shewassurprisedtodiscoverthattherewerepeople— manyofthem,infact—whoseclosetsweren’tjammedtoca- pacity with twenty-year-old garments they thought would comebackintovogue.Hersbulgedwithakindofweirdfe- rocity,asthoughtheclosetswerepopulatedbytiny,possessive museumdemondocentsthatguardedthehistoryofherstyle. Thesesamepeoplewiththeorganizedclosets,whoseclothing andaccessorieswereusuallyspreadovertheirotherresidences, which helped to explain why they were so neat, actuallyre- placedthecontentsoftheirspicecabinetsandpantriesannu- ally,andover-the-countermedicinesweretossedoutbytheir expirationdates,justbecauseitseemedlikeagoodidea.Ac- tually,someoneontheirpayrolldiditforthem.Oliviadidn’t doanyofthosethings.Tobeginwith,shehadonlyonehome. And only a part-timehousekeeper.
Olivia Ritchie wasn’t technically a hoarder, but she loved hercollectionsandthepreciouspossessionsshehadamassed overdecades.Shesavedgarmentsandlinenssimplybecause shelovedthefabricortheworkmanship.Youcouldfindthem wrappedinacid-freepaperandpackedinacid-freecard- boardboxesunderthebedandstackedintheverytopofthe linenclosetandarmoires.Therewerescoresofhandbagsand scarvesandmountainsofcostumejewelrythathadbeenout ofstyleforaverylongtime.Sometimesshewoulduseadetail fromoneofthemtorepresentamotifinacustomwallpaperor fabric.Sometimessheusedtheobjectforcolor.Shesquirreled awayallsortsofthingsbecausetheycouldbeanhonestcat- alystforinspiration.Andifshetrulytiredofsomething,she managedtosellittoaclient.
Oliviahaddozensofobjetsd’artandcuriositiesfromallover the world, ranging from a sixteenth-century Italian saltcel- lar sometimes attributed to the school of Benvenuto Cellini todozensofivoryJapanesenetsukes.Shehadminiaturecloi- sonnéboxesthatplayedsweetmusic,tinyFrenchclocksthat chimedassertivelyonthequarterhour,anddozensofhand- carvedChinesepuzzleballs.Theintricaciesofthepuzzleballs neverceasedtoamazeher.Theyseemedimpossibletoher— impossibletoenvisionasanartistandimpossibletorender. Allofthesebelongings,downtothemosthumblebuttonsin herbuttonbox,werepoisedtoignitehercreativespark.These tools inspired Olivia’s magic. She made the dreams of other peoplecometrue.Atleastthatwasthepleasantrationaleto keep themall.
Butshecouldn’tkeepherfirsthusband,thephilandering, financiallyirresponsiblemedicalstudentshehadmarriedin hermid-twentiesagainstthepleadingofeveryonesheknew.
Twoyearsintoitshecamehomeonenighttoanemptyapart- ment.Allheleftherwasanoteonthekitchencounteralong withtenmilligramsofValium.Thenoteread:Sorry.Ican’tdo thisanymore.You’retoodemandingandcontrolling.Youreally oughttogetsomehelp.
Hetookeverystickoffurniture,thecontentsofthekitchen andlinencloset,andneedlesstosay,allthemusic.Oh,he left the wedding album on a windowsill in the livingroom, achoicethatstung.Sherippedthepicturesintoshredsand threwthemoffthebalcony,watchingaspiecesofherdream floateddownto73rdStreet.Ittookherawhiletogetoverit.
Oliviaburiedherselfinworkandbuiltherbusiness,one gnarlyclientatatime.Afterbeingsingleand,shewouldadmit, verylonely,Oliviaachievedextremesuccessandmarried again,thistimewiththeblessingofeveryonesheknew.But shevowednevertoanswertoanyoneagain.Therewouldbe nominglingofresourcesthistimearound.Shewasincharge ofitallandthehappiestshehadeverbeen.Peoplesaidshe haddreamedNickintoherlife—Oliviawasaluciddreamer, somethingthatdrovehercrazybecauseherdreamswereso vividitwashardtotellthedifferencebetweenadreamand reality.Nickteasedherwithoutmercyaboutthem,comparing hertoaNewZealandtribeofindigenouspeoplewhoconfused themalso.
Hersafeandjovial(mucholderthanher)secondhusband— darling, poetic, professorial, and ever the perfect gentleman— NicholasSeymour,wasalifelongstudentandteacher,andhe didn’t particularly care about power. Well, he was happy to cedecontroloftheirmoneyaslongasthingswentwell.For fourteen years of bliss they had been flush and prettymuch abletodoastheypleasedbecauseherbusinessthrived.
NickwaslikeOliviainthathealsocollectedthings.Nick hadshelvesuponshelvesofgorgeoushandmadeleather-bound bookswhosespineswerehandtooledingoldleaf.Hissmall studythatheldthesetreasureshadatinywoodburningfire- place,aluxuryintheirtypeofbuilding.Thecombinationof thelingeringghostsofwoodfiresovertheyearsandoldleather lacedwiththeoccasionalMontecristosmelledbetterthanany perfumeonthisentireearth.AndNickhadanarmyoftiny castleadConfederatesoldiersplacedinbattlefielddioramason afewshelves,litandprotectedbyglasswallsthatlookedlike smallaquariums.Tohiseverlastingdelight,theUniontroops of General William Tecumseh Sherman did not and would neverreflectactualhistoryinhisdepictions.
“It’samightypowerfulfeelingforamodestmanlikeme tobeabletochangetheoutcomeofawar,”hewouldsaywith awinktoaguest.“MayIofferyouameasureofmyoldest bourbon?”
Whocouldrefuse?Heandhisvisitor,usuallyacolleagueoragraduatestudent,wouldsinkintoNick’swell-wornandcrackedleatherarmchairsandsipawayintotheeveningtell-ingstoriesabouttheSouthorEuropeanwarsorjustaboutthegreatbeautytobefoundinalineofSeamusHeaney’spoetry.Nick,whocouldhavebeentheprototypeforOscarMadison,wasamanofmanyinterests.Thewallsandfiledrawersofhisstudywerefilledwithancientraremapsusedbyexplorersinageslonggone.Hisfavoriteswereclassifiedascartographiccu-riosa,atermthatreferredtomapswithgeographicalinaccu-raciessuchasmisshapencontinentsoronesthatshowedplaces
like California as an island.
“Lookatthis,”hesaidtoOliviaonenight,carefullylifting the brown paper away from a new acquisition—a seventeenth-
centurymapdetailingNorthAmerica.“ThisfellowdeLahon- tanwasaFrenchmilitaryofficerstationedinQuebec.Afterhe foughttheIroquois,hemadethismap.”
“Amazing!”Oliviasaid.“Gosh,honey,didn’tyouwearthat shirtyesterday?”
“Yes.Isitacapitaloffensetowearashirtasecondday?” “No, but it’s wearing yesterday’s lunch.” Olivia said and
touched the rather large stainleft by the drips and splatters oftheredsaucefromspaghettiBolognesetheyhadsharedthe priordayatacharmingneighborhoodrestaurant.
“Oh. I’ll change it in a moment.”
“No,youwon’t.Iknowyou.ItwouldtakeanactofCon- gress.”
“I will! But listen to this.” He shuddered and thought, Women!“What’strulyamazingisthattheliteraturehepub- lishedalongwithitdescribedamythicalplace,oneinhabited byalargeandlavishtribeofNativeAmericans.”
“Mythical? You mean it’s a lie?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! In those days, who could call you out?” “Well, they didn’t exactly have Google Earth in the 1600s,”
Olivia said, and smiled.
“No,theysurelydidn’t.”Nickshookhisheadandlookedat Olivia.“God,Ijustlovethisstuff.”
Althoughshedidn’tquiteunderstandhisfascinationwith oldmaps,OliviaandNicksharedanappreciationforfinecraft in any discipline. Their treasures were an extension of who theywereprofessionallyandspiritually.Theywereanideal couple,exceptthathewastrulyabitofaslobandshewasn’t exactly forthcoming about their finances.
Theyforgaveeachothertheirindulgencesandalmostany- thingreally,butunfortunatelyforOlivia,thedreadedmoment
oftruthhadarrived.ItwastimeforhertodownsizewithNick, which meant selling their apartment and moving. Downsiz- ing.Itwasaterribleterm,onethatwokeherupinthemiddle ofthenightwithvisionsofmiseryalongwithherseriousfi- nancialproblemsandgavehercoldsweats.Downsizing.Even thesoundofitwasdepressing.Itimpliedallsortsofterrible things.Failuretomaintaintheirlifestyleasitwas.Getting outofthegame.Yesterday’snews.Done.Finished.Old.Down. Whatwasdown?Hellwasdown.Shewasgoingtohell.
This terrified her, and for good reason. Nick thoughtthey couldbothaffordtoretire,butOliviaknewtheycouldnot. Andiftheconceptofdownsizingdidn’tfillherwithenough dread,theyweremovingtoCharleston,SouthCarolina.She, afourth-generationNewYorker,waswalkingawayfromthe brightlightsofthecenteroftheuniverse.Herfingernails wouldbefoundembeddedinthecementinfrontoftheDec- orationDesignBuilding.Thiscouldeasilyprovetobethe worst decision of her life. It was professionalsuicide.
Inthemindsofherclientsshewouldbewashedup.Moving awayfromNewYorkwouldsurelybeadeathknell!Ittollsfor thee,Olivia.WhyintheworldwouldaclientinManhattan hireaninteriordesignerfromanywhereelse?NewYorkstill hadalltheedge,didn’tit?
ButthiswastheagreementshehadmadewithNick,acon- firmedbachelor,whentheymarriedfourteenyearsago.They soldhisstudioapartmentandhemovedinwithher.When thetimecame,theywouldretiretoCharleston,thelandof hisancestorsandhisboyhood.Hewasbesidehimself,giddy withjoy.
“I’dgoanywherewithyou,”she’dsaidfourteenyearsago, andmeantit.
Then.
“ByGod,you’rewonderful.You’llloveasimplerlife!”Nick bellowedwiththunderousaffectiononsomanyoccasions,and healwaysmeantittoo.“You’reanangel!AndIamalucky man.”
But Nick, with his salt-and-pepper closely clipped beard andblueeyesfilledwithmirth,livedintheworldofpoetry and history and didn’t have an inkling about how moneyor theworldworked.HedependedonOlivia’sbusinessacumen tomanagetheirmoney,andshehaddoneasplendidjobofit. Shesaidalltheirsuccesswasduetobeinglucky.Andshewas. Untilrecently.
Itdidn’ttaketoomanymistakestothrowherbusinessinto a downward spiral. And even though the mistakes weren’t alwayshers,sheultimatelytookthefall.First,therewasthe thirty-thousand-dollarsofathatcameintwoinchesshortthat themanufacturerwouldn’ttakebackandtheclientwouldn’t accept.ThatsofawasnowinastorageunitinSecaucusalong withotherproblematicitems,andtheyallirritatedtheliving helloutofhereverytimeshesawthem.
“Somepeoplearejustdreadful,”she’dthinktoherselfevery timeshemadeadelivery.
Truculentbehaviorwasoneoftheugliestcharacteristicsof the entitled and vastly wealthy. Sometimes her clients were completely unreasonable just because they couldbe.
Next, there was a contract for a total renovation of an eleven-room apartment on upper Park Avenue. The profits fromthatjobwouldhavecoveredtheirlivingexpensesfor twoyears.Butthenthesuddenstunningnewsofthatclient’s explosive, tabloid-documented, acrimonious divorce hit the newsasthoughagiganticroguemeteorhadcrashedinTime
Square.FromeverycornerofManhattantongueswerewag- ginglikethoseofdogsgallopingtowardanoverturnedstreet vendor’spushcart.Allofthatanticipatedincomeandallthose depositsforfabrics,furniture,lighting,andrugsslippedright throughherfingersanddissolvedintoanastypuddleofher growing anxiety and despair. The identical thinghappened whenamajorclientwastransferredtoLondonandanotherto Sydney.Planshadbeendrawnbyanaward-winningarchitect to reconfigure the footprint of their apartments, in addition toplumbingandelectricalplans.Fixtureshadbeenordered, exoticwoodfloorsandpaneledwallshadbeenboughtatauc- tion,andthenwham!Therugwasunceremoniouslypulled fromunderherfeet,likeLucywithCharlieBrown’sfootball. NoonecaredhowthiswouldimpactOliviaprofessionallyor personally. She gave the impression, because it did not pay whatsoevertoeverloseyourcool,thatherbusinesswassosuc- cessfultheircancellationswouldn’tchangeathing.Itwasn’t true.AndshenevertoldNick.
Bad things come in threes, she said to herself.
No,theydidn’t.Theycameasfrequentlyasthefiendishgods oftroublecouldhurlthedisastrouslightningboltstoearth.
Toroundoutherworries,theirapartmentonEast86th Streetsoldformuchlessthansheanticipated.Whiletheapart- ment,asyouwouldexpect,wasametaphoricjewelrybox,the building itself was an unrenovated post–World War II ugly whitebrickmonstrositywithlowceilings,clangingpipes,and noparkinggarage.Thesedays,peoplewantedaview,amedia room,andahealthclubinadditiontoeveryotheramenityyou couldname.Dogwalkersandconciergeservices?Yes.These days,peopleflockednotonlytotheWestSidebuttoareas downtownandinBrooklynwhereyouwouldnothavetouched
your Manolo Blahnik/Warren Edwards–shod foot to the pave- ment a mere ten years ago.
Thingsjustweren’tgoingherway.Atall.SowhileNick mighthavebeengettingusedtotheideaofretirement,she wasanythingbut.Shehadtoworkandsomehowmakeup herlosses.IfNickknewhowclosetheyweretobankruptcy, hewoulddie.Herinsidesquakedatthethoughtofthetruth beingdiscovered.Thankfullyshehadaloyalclientwhodidn’t careifshelivedonthemoon.Hopefullythatclientwouldnot abandonherwhenOliviagaveupphysicalproximitytoher.
SoasitgotclosertoNick’sretirement,shetookadeepbreath andtheyputherco-oponthemarket.Theygotabuyerwho washappytopayfullmarketvalue,buttheycouldn’tgetboard approval.Itfinallysoldbutnotwell.Aftertenmonthsand nooffers,shesignedacontractforapittance.Allcash.They wouldcloseinninetydays.Shebegantopanic.Movingwasno longerapromisebutareality.Onelastworry?Shehadmade thefinaldecisionaboutwhichhousetheyboughtinSouth Carolinaonherown.Sheknewthehouseshechosewasfar toograndforNick’staste.Butthatparticularhousewaswhat sheneededforherselfandfortheimageofherbusinessshe hoped to buildthere.
“Thisisadisaster,”shesaid,referringtothesaleoftheirco- op.“It’slikebeingrobbed.Nottomention,howamIgoingto unravelyearsofpack-rathabitsinthreemonths?”
“Better days are coming!” said her assistant, Roni Larini. “Besides, I’ll help you.”
TheyweresharingalargeGreeksaladandaliterofspar- klingwaterdeliveredfromViandCaféaroundthecorner,at thetinybutbeautifulofficesherentedinadiscreetresidential townhouseonEast58thStreet.
“Thanks.Iknowyouwill.Youalwaysdo.AndI’vegotthe leaseonthisplaceuntilOctober.”
“Maybe you should keep it,” Roni said.
“Maybe,”Oliviasaid,butsheknewshecouldnotaffordto signanotherlease.Notwithoutnewprojectsonthebooks.
RonicouldalmostreadOlivia’smind.SheknewOliviawas completelyoverwhelmed.Andittooksomethingascataclys- micasthenosediveshewasexperiencingtounravelOlivia.
“I’llcheckthefineprint.Maybeyoucansublet.” “There’s athought.”
“What’s the rent?”
“Four, including maintenance.”
“Wecouldgetsixonasublet.Easy.Or!How’sthis?Wefix up the back rooms into bedrooms and you’ll stay righthere whenyoucometotown.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’llbefine,Olivia.We’vebeentotheedgebefore.Are yougettinganysleep?”
“Not much. Nightmares like mad.”
“Youshouldstartdoingyogaagain.Itmakesyouputevery- thing intoperspective.”
RonioftenreferredtoherselfasOlivia’sofficewife.Shemay havebeenonlythirty,butshehadmadeherselfindispensable. Intruth,Oliviawonderedhowshewouldlivewithouther whenshemoved.Buttheyhadsortofaloosebutoptimistic plantoholdtheirrelationshiptogetherbyemployingtheser- vices of frequent emails, FedEx, FaceTime, and Skype. And shewouldflytoNewYorktwiceamonthandstayattheCos- mopolitan Club. Lord knows, she’d paid membership dues for yearsbutwasalwaystoobusytoenjoythebenefits.Ormaybe sheshouldgiveuptheCozClub,putabedinthestorageroom
asRonisuggested,andsavesomemoney.Ithadbeendecades since she’d had to reconsider heroverhead.
ItwastruethatherexpenseswouldbemuchlowerinSouth Carolina, which would help their financial constraints. But couldshegenerateenoughbusinessfromtheretogetheroutof debt?Couldshegenerateanybusinessatall?Wouldshereally beasefficientwithoutRonibyhersideinfleshandblood?She hadaskedRonitoconsidermovingsouthwiththem,butRoni couldnot.Thetimingwasallwrong.Roniwasfirmlytied toNewYork.Hereighty-five-year-oldmotherwasinassisted living, dealing with all the horrors of Alzheimer’s. Her two uselesssiblingsandtheiruselessspouseslivedintheMidwest in oblivion, pretending noresponsibility.
“Iknowyou’reright.Ishouldgobacktoyoga,”Oliviasaid andfishedoutalargeblackolivefromamongthelettuceand tomatoes,poppingitintohermouth.“Iwishthey’dpitthese things.”
“Iwishalotofthings,”Ronisaid. “Metoo.”
CHA P T E R 1
rats
heirsmallcommercialplanewasabouttwentyminutes northofCharleston,descendingthroughathickblanket
ofcumuluscloudstoanaltitudeoftenthousandfeet.Oncethey clearedtheclouds,thelandscapeoftheLowcountryburstinto view.Wavesofbright-greenspartinacoveredformerricefields andmarshlands,theirbladesstandinginsharpcontrastagainst thesparklingbluemajesticwatersoftheWaccamawRiver. Oliviawasmesmerized.Nick’sdelightatthescene,andmost especiallyatherreaction,wasverynearlyatangiblething.
“Beholdparadise!”Nicksaiddramatically,exhalingagush ofrelief.“Thesluicesofwatercuttingthroughthemarshgrass intendrils...”
“JustliketheringletsonthebackofMissScarlett’spretty littlehead,”shesaidinaterriblesouthernaccent.Thenshe cuthereyeathimandsmiled.“I’msorry.Idon’tmeantobe socynical.”
“You’regoingtolovelivinghere.Iswearyouwill,”Nick said,sayingasilentprayerthattheLowcountrywouldworkits
magiconher.“Andyourprettycynicismwillrollawayonthe turnofthenexttide.”
“I’ve always enjoyed the time we’ve spent here,” she said. ButitwasonethingtostayatthegorgeousCharlestonPlace
Hotelandhaveroomserviceandquiteanothertoliveonthe tipofanislandinafunkyoldbeachhouse.
Hereyeswerefocusedonthelandscapeasitrosetomeet them.Hiseyeswerefocusedonher.(Cueupthethemesong fromOutofAfrica.)Herthickblondhairwaspulledbackina ponytailthatdrifteddownherback.Shewaswearingastraw fedoraandallwhitelinen,eventhoughitwasbeforeMemo- rialDay.AbonafideNewYorker,Oliviadidn’tgiveonetiny damnaboutwhensheworewhite.Shehadherownrules.
Helovedherinhats.Andinwhite—itremindedhimofher tangledintheirsheets.Nickwasalltooawareofhershaky feelingsaboutthemove.That’swhyhewentalongwiththe houseshechose.Tobehonest,hewasuncertainaboutwhich housesheactuallydidchoose!Theyhadlookedatsomanyhe couldn’tremember.Tobemorehonest,hedidn’tcareonewhit. Hewasonestepclosertocominghome,andthatwasallthat matteredtohim.
Heknewtherenovationofanyoftheoldhouseswouldbea huge project, and Olivia loved nothing better thanahugeproject.Nickthought,ifhewasright,thatthehouseshedidchoosewashideous,butshesaidshesawpotentialeverywhere.Where?Hethought.Hecouldn’tseepotentialinanyofthem.Thegoodnewswasthatallthehouseswereinsuchdisrepairthathisrelatives,distantastheywere,andoldfriendswouldn’tbeoffendedbyavulgardisplayofwealth.Attheheartofitall,hewasanislandboy,aGeecheeboy,aLowcountryboy.Low-
key discretion was the name of the game for his tribe.
Oliviahadmadeatleastahalfadozentripswithouthim backandforthbetweenNewYorkandtheislandtoworkon thehouse,stayinginahotelcloseby.Surely,justthetime spentthereonrenovationshadmadeherfeelsomeownership, someaffectionfortheisland.Nickfeltcertainthatifhecould gethertowalkalongtheoceanwithhimasthesunwasset- ting,thesaltwaterwouldexorciseherurbandemons,maybe throughherfeet,pullingthemrightouttotheendlesssea likeamagnet.Overtimeherheartwouldsoften.Ithadtoor what?
“WhycanIneverrememberhowbeautifulthisis?”she asked in awhisper.
“Becauseitchangeswiththeseasonsandbecauseit’sreally justsogloriousourbrainscan’tholdtheentirememory.”
“Maybe.”
“Youknow,whenIwasaboysomeonetoldmeastoryabout howangelshavedifferentjobs.Somewatchoverdrunksand babies, but others paint sunsets and color landscapes. That wouldbeacooljob,wouldn’tit?”
“If you believe in that stuff.”
“Ah,mylovely,doubtingThomasina!”Hetookherhandin hisandpattedthebackofit.Hemeantthegesturetosaythat hereinGod’scountryshewouldfindfaith.“Intimeyouwill seewondrousthings.Mydaddycalleditreadingthesignsand wonders.”
Nickwasreadytowaxeuphoricthen.Hecouldhavegone onforhours.Buttheflightattendantpickedupthemicro- phonetoaddressthepassengers,andalthoughtherewasan onslaughtofstaticandblankmomentsofcompletelymissing communication,heknewexactlywhatshewassaying.Itwas time to close the germ-ridden tray table, press the swarmy,
germybuttontoraisehisseatback,andyes,tocheckthe germ-infested-with-something-really-scary buckle on his seat belttobesurehedidn’tgoflyingwhenthepilotstompedon thebrakesasthoughhewasgoingtoslideintothefaceofthe RockyMountainsattheTellurideAirport,oneofthescariest landings he had ever endured. He worried about plane crashes andsometimesobsessedaboutgerms.Okay,hewasagerma- phobe.Normallyhehadapackofsanitarywipesinhispocket. Somehowhehadforgottentobringthem.Butotherthanthese twominorbuttroublesomeissues,NicholasSeymourwasnot neuroticintheleast.
Theplanelandedsmoothlyandstoppedatthegate.Nick smiledwithreliefasthoughhehaddodgedabullet.Okay.He worriedaboutdeathtoo.Andhehatedtofly.Butlifewouldn’t besocruelastosnuffouttheflickeringwickofhisbreath whenhewasthisclosetolivingintheLowcountryagain. Wouldit?No,hethought,andpushedawayasorrowfuland painfulmentalimageofhisownwakeandfuneral.God,how hestruggledtodisguisehislitanyofanxietiesfromOlivia!He knewthatsheknewallaboutthem,buthepretendedshedid not.Andshedidindeedknoweverysingleticofhisbutover- lookedthembecausesheknewthatshewasn’tperfecteither.
Theygathereduptheirthings,deplaned,andstoodbeside thejetwaywithaboutfiftyotherpeoplewaitingtoreclaim theirgate-checkedbags.Aftertenminutesorso,theirluggage appearedandtheybegantheirwaythroughtheterminal towardtherentalcarcounter.Theairportwasgoingthrough amassiverenovation,butthereweresomanypeoplemilling around that it seemed Charleston’s airport had alreadyseri- ously outgrown itsexpansion.
“Irememberthedayswhenthisairporthadonlytwogates,”
Nicksaid.“Thenitopenedarestaurantthatmerelyserved friedchicken,deviledcrabs,andsweettea.Itwasfabulous.”
“Airport food? Fabulous?” “Hard to imagine, but yes.”
“Wow.Andthentheyinventedairconditioningandthe wholeworldwenttohell?”
“Yes,ma’am!Thenextthingyouknowwehadthepleasure ofblueandpinkPrincessphonesandanothernetworkonthe television.”
“Yeah,andrightafterthatEdSullivanwentofftheairand MichaelJacksonwasperforming‘Thriller’onMTVtentimes aday.”
“You’re right! How could you remember that? You could hardlyhavebeenborn!Irecallwatchingitwithsomestudents andwonderinghowlongittooktoputthatmakeupon.”
“Yelloweyes.True,Iwasjustagirloftwenty-one,fresh outofschool.Ialwaysthoughthewasafabulousentertainer. Okay,ourcarrentalisatNational.”
OlivialovedbeingthatmuchyoungerthanNick.Inanodd wayitwasnicetobethoughtofassomebody’sprettyyoung thing.Shehadbeenonherownwithallthestrugglesofmain- tainingherdetail-orientedbusinessforsuchaverylongtime. Theonlypersonshehadeverhadonwhomshecoulddepend wasRoni,butshedidn’tcomealonguntilafewyearsago.
Itwasanincredibleluxurytobelievetherewassomeonein thiscoldandlonelyworldwhocherishedher.Nick’slovewas thegreatestgiftshe’deverknown.Shedidherbesttorecip- rocate,butsometimes—wellokay,often—thestress(andthe nutballswhowereherclients)ofherbusinessgotintheway. Shecouldbedescribedasbitchyonoccasion.Okay,somewhat often.Actuallyshewasaworrier,andsometimesshemayhave
appearedtobealooformaybeillhumoredwhenshewasjust worried.Shedidn’tmeantoseemtobetheflavorofcranky thatgavecertainfemaleNewYorkerstheirreputation.Itwas really her obsession with self-preservation that meant she cameacrossasbuttoneduporfrostyinconversationwhenyou firstmether.Butwhensheneededto,shecouldchannelGrace Kelly.
Thenatureoftheirprofessionalliveswaspolaropposites, hisbeingfarmorepredictablethanhers.Hehadknowndif- ferent kinds of stresses in academia, to be sure—publishing andallthat—buthehadbeenatenuredprofessorforages. Andaseveryoneknows,therewasnotenureintheworldof interiordesign,nosafetynet.Butonthepositiveside,asdif- ferentastheircareerswere,theystillfoundtimefortheirfirst passion—travel.TheywoulddriveuptoMillbrooktoshoot birdsatMashomackinthefall.OrhopontheJitneytovisit friendsintheHamptonsinthesummer.Themoresponta- neousthedecisionwas,themoretheyrelishedit.
“No self-respecting New Yorker spends weekends in the city anyway,” she would say.
Nickstronglydisagreedbutwentalongwithherwhenshe announcedupcomingplans.Hewould’vebeenjustashappyto stayathomeandread.Hehatedtoadmitit,butheespecially loveditwhenherbillionaireclientsinvitedthemontheirdrop- dead-gorgeousthree-hundred-footyachtforasailaroundsome heralded playground of the rich and famous, which happened acoupleoftimeseachyear.Oliviaadoredthespectacularthrill oftheyachtandallthatcamewithittoo.Theoutrageousbe- haviorsoftheyacht’sownersandotherguestsleftNickcom- pletelyagogandspoutinghisfavoriteline:“Ishould’vebeena shrink.”HewouldsaythisandOliviawouldrespond,“Come
on, Nicky. They’re my best clients.” She always hoped those trips would evolve into more business.
Actually,atthepresenttimetheyachtsmanandhiswife wereheronlyactiveclients,buttheprojectwaswindingdown soon and there was nothing on the horizon. Obviously, not everygetawaywasonaprivatejetorayacht.So,eventhough itwasonamuchlessdramaticscale,theywerereallylooking forwardtotheirweekendescapetoCharleston.Nickwasex- citedtoseetheprogressonthehouseandOliviafelttherewas finally enough progress to showhim.
Nickbroughtoutthebestinher,justasatrulygreatteacher should.Shewashermostgraciouswhenshewaswithhim.In return,shehadintroducedhimtootherworldsthatwerecom- pletelyunattainableonaprofessor’ssalary.Butperhapsmost important,shemadehimfeelyoungagain.Therewasnoprice tag for rediscoveredyouth.
Theysteppeduptothecarrentalcounterandaverycordial mannamedEdgreetedthem.Theysignedthewaitingpaper- work,tookthekeys,andleft.
“Boy, that was easy,” Olivia said. “Everythingshouldbesoeasy,”hesaid.
Itwasafteroneo’clock.Outside,thesunwassointense thattheystoppedmidstrideonthesidewalktofishouttheir sunglassesandquicklyputthemon.Theirsunglasseswerein roundish tortoiseshell frames, another preference they shared. Herswereoversize,likeJackieOorIrisApfelmighthave worn. His were strictly Ben Silver Charleston gentlemanly style,owlishandthekindaprofessorwouldchoose.Often,in mattersoftheirownpersonaltaste,theyliveduptotheirste- reotypes.Onewouldnevermistakeherforanacademicorhim foradesigner.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“Great! Then I can do my email.”
Theairwaswarm.Therewasanicebreezeandjustenough humiditytothrowheroffbalance.Oliviahatedhumidity.It didgrotesquethingstoherhairandmadeherperspireinplaces thatshouldnotbediscussedinpolitecompany.Howshewould surviveinthisclimatewithoutashowerfourtimesaday,she didn’t know. Nick seemed impervious to sticky jungle weather. Infact,hislinenshirtandtrouserswerebarelywrinkledeven thoughhe’dbeensquishedintoatinyseatfortwohourslikea humansardine.Shemarveledatthatbecauseherlinenlooked likeshe’dsleptinitforaweek.Atleastshethoughtso.
TheyfoundtheirsportyredSUV,liftedtheirluggageinto thehatchback,crankeduptheengine,andbackedoutofthe space.
“You hungry?” Nick said. “Not especially. Are you?”
“No, but I know from experience that I will be eventually.”
Oliviagiggled,andshewasnotawomangiventoeasyor frequentgigglingbeforeshemetNick.
“Well, listen,” she said after deleting thirty-something piecesofjunkmailanddroppingherphonebackintoherbag, “I’mjustalittleanxioustoseeourhouse.Soifyourtummy canhangonalittlewhile,let’sdropoffourstuffandthenwe cangogrababite.”
“AllIwantisaplateoffriedshrimpattheLongIsland Café,”Nicksaid,adding,“ButIcanwaitabit.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Andachillyglassofacrispsauvignonblanc.” “Mmm. That soundsdelicious.”
“They stop serving lunch at two-thirty.”
Shelookedatherwatch.Itwasalreadyone-forty.Sheknew hewassmilingwithoutevenlookingathim.
“Wellthen,sir,we’dbetterhurryupandgetthere!” You see? She wasn’t alwaysinflexible.
SoonNickwasopeningtherestaurant’sfrontdoorforOlivia andthenholdingherseatforheratthetable.Inamatterof minutes,afterheinspectedandwipedthesilverwarewithhis napkinoutofhabit,theywereeatingthemostperfectlyfried shrimpintheentireSouthandthefirsttomatoesoftheseason. Thetomatoeswerereasonablygoodeventhoughtheywere fromFlorida.Anunspokenbattleexistsamongthesouthern statesaboutwhoproducedthebesttomatoes.Ifyouarefrom Charleston,therichesttomatoesblossomedintheenchanted dirtofJohnsIslandjustlikeJack’sbeanstalk.Therewasa strongargumenttobemadeforthetomatoesfromEstillor Florence,butalltheseharvestswouldn’tcomeinuntilthe middleofJune.ThiswaslateApril.SountilJune,thenit- pickingSouthCaroliniantomatoaficionadohadtostepback andmakehimselfhappywiththefruitsofFlorida.
“Justthink,”Nicksaid.“Downherewecanthriveonthe Mediterranean diet and get really healthy. No moresoufflés atLeBernardinorcholesterolkillergargantuansteaksatDel Frisco’s! None of those decadent cheese and charcuterie boards atGramercyTavernorchocolatedeathwarrantsfromDaniel! Nomore,Isay!We’lllivetobeonehundredandone!”
“I’llsortofmissthesoufflés,”Oliviasaidinaquietvoice. “And the chocolate.”
Nick’senthusiasmevaporatedasherealizedyetagainthat Olivia wasn’t one hundred percent bought into his monastic visionoftheirfuture.Hereallybelievedthatrefinedsugarwas akiller,butshe’dneverbeenparticularlygratefulforhislectures
ontopicsthatwerenotwithintherealmofhisprofessionalex- pertise.Sheshould’vebeen,hethought,butshejustwasn’t.
“Well,we’lljusthavetoscourthetowntofindtheperfect delectablesforyou!Surelysomeoneinthistowncanmakea soufflé?”
Shesmiledathiminaweakattempttorestorehismood. “I’msurethereis,”shesaid.“Aren’tthere,like,threeJames Beard chefshere?”
“Ithinkyou’reright!”Nicksaid,perkingupagain.“Maybe more.IthinkIreadthatsomewhere.Don’tworry,sweetheart. We’llfindthedevilsandcoaxallmannerofgourmettempta- tionsoutofthem.I’llmakeitmypersonalmission.”
“It’s not the end of the world,” she said.
“Well,iftheycan’tbefound,I’lllearntomakeasoufflé myself!”
“ThisIhavetosee,”Oliviasaidandhadaquietchuckleover thementalimageofNickinatoqueandalongaprontothe floor,whippingeggwhitesinacopperbowllargeenoughto doubleasabaptismalfontinakitchenthatlookedlikeabomb hadexplodedinit.Shedippedthecornerofhernapkininher waterglassandwipedsometartarsauceawayfromthefront ofhisshirt.Hesmiledather.Shesmiledback.
“CanIgety’allanythingelse?”thewaitersaid,presenting the check. “Dessert?Coffee?”
Nickknewthatiftheywantedapieceofkeylimepieor thebourbonchocolatepecanpie,thewaiterwouldnothave deniedittohiminamillionyears,butitwasgettingonto threeo’clockandheknewtheyhadoverstayedtheirwelcome. The busy restaurant was empty of patrons except for them. Andhewasprettysurethedown-homedessertsatthatrestau- rant,wonderfulastheywere,couldn’tcompetewithDaniel
Boulud’s or Thomas Keller’s sublime confections. It was an apples-to-oranges situation and unfair to compare.
“No,thankyou,”Nicksaid,handinghimbackthebillwith hiscreditcard.“Butthiswasdelicious.Idreamaboutyour shrimp.”
“They truly are incredible,” Olivia said, smiling honestly. “Well,thanks!I’lltellthechefandI’llberightbackwith
your receipt.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and looked intently into Olivia’sbrowneyes.Whiletheirnewlocalemighthavelacked culinaryartstodazzleherBigApplepalate,hisLowcountry offered other, more deeply meaningful experiences. He was holdingfasttohisconvictionthatovertimeshe’dunderstand thewisdomofhisdecision.Andhewouldinvestigatethecu- linaryscene.HerememberedreadingsomethinginTheNew YorkTimesaboutitnotthatlongago.
“I’msocrazyaboutyouIdon’tknowwhattodowithmyself,” hesaid.
“Ifeelthesameway,sweetheart.Speakingofcrazy,let’sgo see our crazy newhouse.”
“Let’s,”hesaidandgotuptopullherchairback.“Youknow, Ididn’teventhinktoask.Arewegoingtobeabletostayatthe housetonight?Ordidyoumakeahotelreservationforus?”
“Thankyou,mylove,”shesaidandgentlyhungherhand- bagoverhershoulder.“Ihaveasurpriseforyou.”
“Really? What’s that?” “We’re glamping tonight.”
“Oh!Thatsoundslikesomethingpainful.Youhaven’tbeen readingthatFiftyShadesthing,haveyou?”
Olivia shook her head, smiling. They walked out into the parking lot.
“No,babyboy.It’sacomboofglamourandcamping.Glam- orouscamping!”
“Ah! Will your clever ways never cease?”
“Ionlyhopeyou’llalwaysfindthemtobeclever,”shesaid.“Metoo,”hesaidandputhisarmaroundherwaist.“Itwouldbeaterriblethingtokickyoutothecurbandspendthe
rest of my life alone.”
“Hush your mouth, Nicholas Seymour. You’ll do no such thing!Tonightwewillspendourfirstnightinournewhome together!”
“Get in the car, woman, and let’s go see what horrors await us.”
“Nothinglikeanoldhousewhenyou’reinsearchofhor- rors,”Oliviasaid,shakingherheadinagreement.“Ijusthope wehavewaterandpower.Jasonpromisedwewould.”
“Yes,butlet’sgetourprioritiesinorder.Dowehaveabed?”AfewdaysagoshebroughthugeshoppingbagsfromGra-cious Home into the office. The store was havingaone-daysaleandOliviatookfulladvantageofit.SheaskedRonitoship
the contents to Sullivans Island.
Of course Roni nodded her head and said, “No problem.”
Andtheyorderedaking-sizemattressandboxspringthat hercontractorpromisedtosetuponaframe.
“Whatdoyouthink?Youmean,youdon’twanttosleepon thefloorwithme?”Oliviasaid,smiling.
“I’d sleep on a pile of rocks with you,” he replied. “Precious,”shesaidandranherperfectlymanicuredfinger
along his chin line.
Thedrivetotheirnew/oldhousewouldtakethemalong tenminutes.Theycreptthroughthebusinessdistrictonthe IsleofPalmsacrossBreachInlet,onthelookoutforthepolice,
whowereinfamousforpullingpeopleoveriftheydroveone hairoverthespeedlimit.Sureenough,theyspottedapatrol car hidden behind an overgrownoleander.
“Shouldn’t they be out solving crimes?” she asked.
“That’sthewholeproblem,”Nicksaid.“Theydon’thave enoughcrimehere.”
“Oh,brother!”shesaid.“NowI’vehearditall.”Thatjust can’tbetrue,shethought.
MomentslatertheyrolledthroughthetinybusinessdistrictofSullivansIsland.Acasualobservermighthavethoughttherestaurants were giving away freefood. Poe’s Tavern andHomeTeamBBQwerefilledtocapacitywithpatrons,whilescoresofotherpeoplewaitedaroundforatableorcrossedMiddleStreet,payingnomindtothetraffic.MaybetheyweregettingicecreamoranewspaperorperhapstheyhadahairappointmentatBeautyandtheBeach.Ormaybetheywerejustsodrunkoncarbohydratestheywereinawheatstupor.Itdidn’tmatter.PeoplewerewalkingaroundinthestreetasthoughtheywereintheFrenchQuarterpostaMardiGrasparadeinNewOr-leans,utterlyoblivioustocars,bicycles,andgolfcarts,whichcrawled,bobbed,andweavedtoavoidhittingthem.Strangely,nohornsblared.People,pedestrians,andthosewithvehiclesmerelythrewupthewaveofahandtosayGoaheadorThanks.“Icanrememberwhenpeoplereferredtothisislandas
sleepy,” Nick said.
“Must’vebeenalongtimeago.” “Yeah,Iguessitwas.”
“IfthishadbeenManhattan,EMSwouldbedoingtriage.”“Truly.Butthecrowdsareamazing.DidIevertellyou
aboutthebrilliantsignmyoldmanmade?” “Asign?”
“Yes,hehadalittleworkshopforhimselfinthebackofthe garage. I must’ve been a teenager because I was old enough tobeembarrassedbyit.Thiswaswhenwehadthathouseon JasperBoulevard,anditwaslongbeforetheybuilttheconnec- torbridgeontheIsleofPalms.”
“Nixon was in office?” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows, teasing him.
“No,FDR,thanks.Anyway,ontheweekendsthebeaches on this island and the Isle of Palms were absolutely packed. Aroundfourintheafternoon,trafficwouldstartbackingup, andiftheBenSawyerBridgeopened,itgotworse.People wouldgetoutoftheircarsanduseyouryardastheirpersonal comfortstation.”
“What? What are you telling me?”
“Exactlywhatyouthink!Thesepeoplewouldgotothe beachanddrinkbeerallday.Thenthey’dgetintheircarand getstuckintraffic.Sowhentheireyeballsstartedswimming intheirheads,they’dsneakaroundyouroleanderbushand, youknow,go!”
“That’s disgusting!”
“Noargumentthere.Anditalsobreaksawholelotoflaws. Nevermind.Anyway,aftermyfathercatchesthisguywater- ingouryard,hegotthisingeniousideatopaintasign.”
“Which said?”
“Itsaid,NextWeekendTryFollyBeach!Itwasenormous. MymotherandIwerehorrified.NotRick.HethoughtDad wasariot.”
“Thatisveryfunny,”Oliviasaid.“Yourdadmust’vebeena character.”
“Hesurewas.Hewasagreatguy.MybrotherRickisalot likehim.”
“Isn’t it funny how personalities are inherited? How’s he doing?”