Danielle Steel - The Apartment

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Abby asked him, sounding strident. “I left you six or seven messages yesterday, and five today, and I texted you too.”

“You know I hate technology,” he said. “And my cell phone died. I couldn’t find the charger. I just found it under the bed.”

“So what did you think of Daphne’s play?” Abby got right to the point, and sounded jealous, which Ivan could hear clearly. Claire silently cringed when she heard the question.

“It’s very good,” he said, seriously. “Not as good as yours, but I can honestly tell her father she has talent. I’m going to call him tomorrow, but I wanted to call you first and make sure you were okay. I was worried about you.” But not worried enough to call earlier, yet Abby was instantly snowed by what he said. All she heard was that he was worried, which was what she wanted to hear, that he cared about her. Her parents had been busy when she was growing up, and never there. They left her with a nanny, while they pursued their careers, and she had been starving for affection ever since. They loved her, but just didn’t have enough time for her. Even now, she had to speak to assistants when she called them. Her father was always in a meeting, and her mother was on the set of a new TV series.

“What are you doing tonight?” Abby asked him in a gentler tone, hoping he’d suggest they get together.

“I have a meeting with another potential backer. We need money to pay the rent.” And the theater wasn’t profitable yet. It never had been. He borrowed from Peter to pay Paul, and was always begging money from ex-girlfriends or friends. He owed everyone a fortune. And he was right, they needed an angel very badly. Maybe Daphne’s father would be it. “I’ll see you at the theater tomorrow,” he said in a loving tone, and a moment later he hung up.

“Where was he?” Claire asked her, trying not to sound as angry as she felt, on her friend’s behalf. But Abby looked relieved to have heard from him, and seemed satisfied with what he’d said.

“His cell phone died, and he couldn’t find the charger, so he didn’t get my messages. He was reading Daphne’s play, and he’s meeting with a potential backer.” It all sounded like gibberish and lame excuses to Claire. Ivan was the consummate bullshitter, but it always worked, because Abby wanted to believe him, and disappointment had become a way of life for her. It didn’t even surprise her anymore.

“What did he think of her play?”

“He said it was good. And supposedly her father is willing to put up some money. Ivan really needs the help.” Claire thought he needed a good swift kick in the ass instead, but she only nodded. There was nothing left she could say. They had said it all in recent years.

Abby told Ivan again how worried she had been when she saw him at the theater the next day.

“I was suddenly terrified you were with Daphne,” she said, embarrassed to admit it, and he put his arms around her and held her tight and then looked into her eyes.

“She’s just a kid. You know I love you.” But Abby also knew that she was a kid with a great figure and a pretty face. And a rich father.

“I couldn’t imagine where you were,” she said softly.

“I was digesting Daphne’s play. I had to read it several times, and I was thinking this morning, maybe we can get enough money from her father to produce your play too. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“When are you going to see him?” Abby asked gently, still nestled in his arms, which was like a drug to her.

“Probably sometime this weekend. I’m waiting to hear from him. He’s a very busy man. I hope he realizes how talented his daughter is, and that she deserves his backing. But you know how these important men are, their priorities are always screwed up.” It was a thinly veiled jab at Abby’s father, who had made it clear he would never give Ivan money to produce his daughter’s play. Her father had met him once and didn’t like him. Ivan’s credentials didn’t impress him, and he thought he was arrogant, a pretentious phony, and her father wanted her to come back to L.A. and work on her novel. But he and Abby’s mother felt she was old enough to make her own decisions, and mistakes. They weren’t going to force her to come home by cutting her off financially. They just hoped she’d see the light one day.

Her Off Off Broadway career had gone nowhere with Ivan. He had a thousand explanations and excuses, and begged her not to give up and be a commercial hack like her parents. He had nothing but contempt for what Abby’s mother wrote, no matter how successful she was. He felt that Abby had a much greater, purer talent, and he pleaded with her to hold out. So far she had. But at twenty-nine, she had nothing to show for it. And her parents felt sorry for her, and were sadly aware of how naïve she was.

Ivan left the theater early that night to meet with the partner of the backer he had met the night before. And Abby was relieved that there had been no sign of Daphne. Abby acted as house manager for him, and handled everything, as she always did. She got home at midnight, after everyone had gone to bed. The loft was quiet. And Ivan sent her a text message before she went to bed. He told her that he loved her. Everything seemed to be back on track with them again. Abby wasn’t worried about Daphne—she was just the conduit to the money they needed for the theater. And Ivan loved her. Abby was enormously relieved. That was all that mattered. The rest would fall into place sooner or later. All she had to do was keep believing in herself, and trust him, just as he said.

Alex Scott went looking for Sasha in labor and delivery shortly before noon on Tuesday. He asked for her at the nurses’ station, and they told him she was finishing a C-section, and they estimated she’d be out in half an hour—she had already closed and the patient was going to recovery in a few minutes. He came back half an hour later and saw her heading for the nurses’ desk with a satisfied expression. Everything had gone well. He met up with her just before she got to the desk.

“Busy morning?” he asked pleasantly. He was happy to see her, and his own caseload was light that day. They’d had no big emergencies so far, and several of their patients from the day before had been moved to the healthy baby nursery.

“It’s been pretty civilized,” Sasha said easily. She had no one in labor at that precise moment, only patients she had already delivered, and the ones from the day before. It was a momentary lull. She had two patients on bed rest for early labor, and they had sent several moms and babies home.

“Let’s make a run for it then, before it gets crazy,” Alex suggested, about their lunch date. “You still want to eat in the cafeteria? We could try one of the nearby delis if you want something edible.”

“It would probably shock my system. I live on cafeteria food. And the minute we go anywhere decent, we’ll both have an emergency as soon as we sit down. It always happens to me if I try to eat anywhere when I’m on duty.” Usually she had no time to eat at all, except a PowerBar she kept in her pocket, and she looked it. She had a slim figure, and was no bigger than her model sister, who worked out every day and dieted ferociously.

They took the elevator to the cafeteria a minute later, making small talk about the food. She helped herself to yogurt, a salad, and a fruit plate, and then added a large chocolate chip cookie, while Alex got a hot meal. They found a quiet table near the window, so they could see the outside world. She noticed him looking at her intently as she set her plates on the table with the Diet Coke she’d picked up on the way.

“Are you on a diet?” he asked with curiosity.

“No, my sister always was, growing up. She trained me not to eat anything she liked so she wouldn’t want it. It’s pathetic, but I still eat that way. She hates fruit and vegetables and would live on doughnuts and cookies if she could,” Sasha grinned at him, and he laughed. She had an easy way about her, and seemed comfortable in her own skin, at the hospital at least. “She’s a model,” Sasha added for good measure.

“You could be too,” he said admiringly. She seemed to have no sense of her looks and wasn’t stuck up the way most pretty women were. He’d been burned by his fondness for beauties over the years. Sasha was a whole different breed, a woman with a brain, who was brilliant at what she did.

“Not if I want to stay sane,” Sasha said about being a model. “Although I guess what we do isn’t so sane either, but at least we don’t have to do it in a bikini standing in the snow, or a fur coat in summer, in seven-inch heels. Modeling isn’t as easy as it looks and I get to wear flat shoes.” She smiled at him across the table.

“Where are you from?” He could hear the faintest hint of an accent, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Atlanta. I moved here to go to NYU, and stayed for medical school. I was lucky I got in. I like it here.”

“Me too. I’m from Chicago. It’s a nice city. I miss it.” He didn’t tell her he’d gone to Yale undergrad, and Harvard medical school. It always sounded like bragging to him. His father and brother had gone to Harvard too. “Chicago is a little gentler than New York.”

“My mother is originally from here. She’s a lawyer,” Sasha said simply, and he nodded.

“So is mine—antitrust law. She loves it, but it never sounded like much fun to me. She wants to be a judge one day. She’d be good at it.”

“Mine is a divorce lawyer,” Sasha said quietly, not wanting to admit how difficult she was. “What made you go to medical school?” she asked him. She was enjoying talking to him. She almost never stopped for lunch, or had time for a social moment with her colleagues.

“My father is a cardiologist, and my brother is an orthopedic surgeon. It just seemed obvious to me. What about you?”

“I always wanted to be a doctor, even when I was a kid. I just didn’t know what specialty. I think infertility and high-risk OB is it for me. Especially now, there’s so much high risk with older mothers, and infertility seems like a very rewarding field, when it works. I love what I do.”

“Me too. I think I’ll go into straight pediatrics, though. Neonatal ICU is fascinating, but I’d rather deal with less high-risk kids.” He asked her where she lived, and she told him about the loft in Hell’s Kitchen.

“I’ve lived there for five years. I have three roommates. They’ve kind of become my family, since I hardly ever get home, and my own family has been pretty disjointed since my parents’ divorce when I was twenty-five. You think you’re all grown up then, but it hit us pretty hard. My father is remarried and has two little girls, and my mom isn’t. She lives for her work.” He said he had a furnished studio apartment a block from the hospital that he used to sleep and nothing else. The apartment she had described in Hell’s Kitchen sounded great to him, especially if it provided a community of people she cared about, which appeared to be the case. Her eyes lit up warmly when she talked about her roommates and their siblings and significant others. It sounded like just what she said, a family of choice.

His own biological family sounded more run-of-the-mill than hers. His parents were still married. He had a brother who was four years older than he, and was thirty-six and still single. They still all got together for vacations and holidays since neither son was married, and they enjoyed spending time together. He didn’t get that sense from her, although she offered no details. But she looked tense when she spoke of her parents, particularly her mother, and she said she had no desire to go back to Atlanta for work, and wanted to stay in New York. She was happy here. Alex said he hadn’t made his mind up, if he wanted to go back to Chicago to join a practice there, or stay in New York. Chicago was an easier city to live in, except for the weather, and he liked the idea of being close to his family, but Chicago was a short hop by plane if he stayed in New York. He went home for weekends whenever he could.

“Families like yours are pretty rare these days,” she said after he told her about them. She was almost envious of him, listening to it, and watching the loving look on his face. “People live all over the country, far from their siblings and parents. My sister lives here now too, and we’re close, but very different. I’m happy that she’s here, though. She hangs around at the apartment too, when she’s not in Tokyo, Paris, or Milan. She leads a pretty glamorous life compared to mine,” Sasha said apologetically, but she wouldn’t have wanted Valentina’s life for anything in the world, or the choices she made in men. “Most people think that kind of life is exciting. I think it’s kind of sad. The people are very superficial, everyone is trying to use you, and when your big moment is over, what do you do? It seems scary to me, it’s all about flash and nothing real. I worry about her sometimes.” In fact, all the time. The men she was attracted to always appeared unsavory to Sasha. They were the exact opposite of someone like Alex, whom Valentina wouldn’t have given the time of day. Sasha loved how normal he sounded, as far as she could tell. He had a stable background, and a family he still liked to hang out with. And his stories about his older brother Ben reminded her a little of her early years with Valentina, before the divorce and it all fell apart. Valentina had already been a supermodel by then, but there had been a kind of desperation to her life choices ever since.