Daniel had birthday gifts for Isabelle that he wanted me to deliver Parents’ Weekend. I was okay with the handover, but I feared he was going to use this opportunity to inform me about him and Eva. It was just like him to choose someplace public and impersonal where he could avoid any show of emotion.
I spotted him immediately, staked out at his favorite table in the southeast corner of the room. It really was a beautiful space: wicker lanterns dotting mature olive trees, potted herbs and floor-to-ceiling windows offering up the best of West Hollywood and the Sunset Strip. And my ex-husband.
He was buried in a New York Times. It was one of the things I still liked about him. That he hadn’t given over completely to the digital age, that he didn’t have to fill his silences with an iPhone.
I’d begun snaking my way in Daniel’s direction when a large table near the koi pond in the center caught my eye. There were eight of them, loud. I did not recognize the faces in my line of sight, but the back of one head struck me as familiar. And then I heard the laugh.
My chest tightened. I had ceased to breathe, inching around the perimeter of the table. And as I arrived on the opposite side he raised his head, his eyes meeting mine. The two of us, paralyzed.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Hayes’s lips curled into a wide smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Meeting … I’m meeting … someone…” I was tripping over my words. I could not even register the others at the table. It was just him and me. In this space. And yet I was painfully aware that I could not touch him. That people would talk, that people would judge.
He stood, pushing his chair back.
“No, don’t get up…”
“Where are you sitting?”
I gestured vaguely toward the corner.
“I’ll come say hi.”
I nodded, and then remembered the rest of the table. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”
There were two women, three men I did not recognize, one who looked familiar, and seated beside Hayes was Oliver, whom I had somehow managed to overlook.
“Hi.”
“Solène.” He smiled. I’d last seen him when we got off the boat in Antibes, when I was smelling of salt and sun and high on champagne and the promise of what was to come. A world away.
I excused myself and made my way over to Daniel, but from that moment on, my mind was elsewhere. We talked about the necessary things: Isabelle, the weather. My back was to Hayes. I was out of his earshot, but I could feel him. And just knowing he was there put me on edge. Especially in the presence of my ex.
“Are you okay? You seem distracted,” Daniel said, sometime after we’d put in our order. He was, as usual, impeccably groomed—smooth skin, chiseled jaw, not a hair out of place—the years had been good to him.
“I’m fine.”
“Work?”
“Work is fine. We have a show going up Saturday.”
“Which artist?”
It was nice of him to ask because I didn’t think he cared.
“It’s a joint exhibit. Tobias James and Ailynne Cho.”
“Well, that should be good. Oh, before I forget…” He reached down and handed over two tiny shopping bags: one from Barneys, the other from Tiffany. “For the birthday girl.”
“Two fancy gifts? Wow.”
“Thirteen is a big year,” he said, sipping from his Evian. And then: “One of them is from Eva.”
He had my attention then. “Which one?”
“Barneys.”
Which begged the question: “Why is Eva buying Isabelle a gift from Barneys?”
“It’s not that big a deal, Sol.”
“It is.”
“It’s like a little ring. It’s not a big deal.”
“A little ring from Barneys can be a very big deal, Daniel.”
He sighed, turning to look out the window, the southern view. “Let’s not do this here. Okay?”
Our food arrived then, and we dropped the subject. He asked about my parents, Isabelle’s bunkmates, what I thought of the conflict that had just erupted in Gaza. There was a time when this was not so hard, finding things to say. When we were young, and kind to each other.
That first spring in New York when we were in love and we whiled away hours in Central Park, studying in Sheep’s Meadow and drinking in the lilacs in the Conservatory Garden. He was so tall and brilliant and sure of himself, and he quoted Sartre and Descartes and that was all I needed.
I had just finished my kale salad when Hayes strode up to our table. Suave and gallant in full swagger mode. A printed white shirt, top three buttons undone, skinny black jeans, roguish hair. The polar opposite of Daniel in his gray Zegna suit and a tie I did not recognize but I assumed Eva had something to do with.
“Fancy seeing you here.” He smiled.
“Yes. Imagine that.”
“Hello, I’m Hayes.” He reached over the table to shake Daniel’s hand.
“Daniel, this is Hayes. Hayes, this is Daniel.”
“Daniel. The Daniel?”
“The Daniel, yes,” I laughed nervously, and Daniel threw me a peculiar look.
“Daniel, Hayes is … um … Hayes is…”
“Hayes is a novice art collector who is very impressed with this woman’s knowledge of Fauvism,” he said, dimples shining.
I sat there for a second, drinking in the deliciousness of the moment. Daniel, trying to figure it out.
“All right, I’m going to let you get back to your … meeting. And we’ll touch base later.”
“Sounds good.” I smiled, casual.
I watched as Daniel watched Hayes make his way across the room. Heads turning, members murmuring, par for the course.
“Who is that?”
“A client.”
“Looks familiar. Is he an actor?”
“No.” I did not elaborate further.
“Ford!”
My interrogation was cut short by the approach of Daniel’s longtime friend, fellow entertainment attorney Noah Feldman. Noah was magnetic, kind, sincere, a rarity among Hollywood types. I’d lost him and his lovely wife in the divorce. Along with their three kids. It hurt.
“Feldman!” Daniel greeted him.
“Solène. This is a nice surprise. How are you guys?”
“Good. How are you? How’s Amy?”
“Fine, great. She got a writing gig.” His eyes lit up.
“I know. I saw on Facebook.”
“It’s a pretty big deal. I mean we don’t see her anymore,” he laughed, “but she’s happy. And I’m happy that she’s happy.”
I smiled. Of course he was. What a novel idea: a husband supportive of his wife’s work. A wife that did not fit in a box.
“See those Transformers numbers?” Noah directed at Daniel.
“Fucking Michael Bay…”
“Fucking Michael Bay…”
My phone buzzed then on the table. The guys continued talking shop, and I took the opportunity to glance at the incoming text.
Daniel?????????!!!!!
I snatched the phone and hid it in my lap to respond.
Fauvism???
Shot in the dark.
Meet me in the lavvy in 5 min?
Ha!
Absolutely not.
Fuck.
I looked up. Daniel and Noah were still talking.
“I don’t think that deal’s going to close,” Noah was saying. “Ryan’s got one foot out the door.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Weinstein.”
I returned to my texting:
Later …
?
You look beautiful, btw.
Ditto.
*