grateful for the money, although much of it went to pay taxes, the mortgage, and some debts. There wasn’t much left afterward, but it was at least a small cushion, along with the rental of the house in the Hamptons.
It was a depressing day for Peter when he left the apartment for the last time. He stopped in the doorway of the boys’ wing of the apartment, and saw a book and a game forgotten in their playroom and tucked them under his arm. He drifted past the suite he’d shared with Alana, the projection room, and the gym with all the equipment still in it, purchased by the new owners since it was nearly brand new and state of the art. They had also bought the heavy silk curtains Alana had spent a fortune on, and much of the furniture in the reception rooms, and beautiful antique Persian rugs, and an Aubusson in their bedroom that Alana had purchased at a Christie’s auction inParis. They were all symbols of a lost life, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever live like that again, if he would be able to even come close to it, and if the world as they knew it would ever be the same. These had been golden years. They had taken a lot for granted, and Peter knew he never would again. But he had also never lost sight of what was most important to him, Alana and the boys. They were the only family he cared about. Alana and the boys were all of Peter’s world, and more than ever now.
Peter moved to a small residential hotel in the East Seventies after he vacated the apartment. He had promised the boys he’d come back to California as soon as possible, and he’d been in New York for a month, selling the apartment and packing up their things, sending out résumés and contacting people about jobs. He could do that from L.A., but he wanted to be in New York in case someone wanted to meet with him. So far no one had; they were too busy with their own problems to think about hiring anyone. But just as Peter was planning to book a flight to L.A., he got a call from an investment bank in Boston. They were impressed by his résumé, and Peter had met the head of the bank several times over the years. It was a solid, reputable firm, and they had taken none of the risks Whitman Broadbank had, so they were still on solid ground. They wanted him to come up and see them, and Peter readily agreed. He was willing to go anywhere for a job. Chicago was on his list of possibilities too, as well as San Francisco and L.A. But he would have preferred an eastern firm. He had gone to business school in Boston, so it was a familiar city for him.
It was snowing when he got there, in the second week of February. He had a long meeting with the board of directors, and they invited him to lunch in the firm’s dining room afterward. It looked like amen’s club, with somber portraits of their founders on the walls, and wood paneling, and his meeting with them went well, although he was severely disappointed to be told at the end of lunch that they were unable to hire anyone at the moment, in light of the current crisis, but he would be at the top of their list when they began hiring again. It was why they had wanted to meet him, but they had no idea when their hiring policies would loosen up, just as no one knew how long the economic crisis would last. So for all intents and purposes, and to meet Peter’s immediate needs, the meeting had been in vain. It was a crushing blow to him.
Peter had driven to Boston, to avoid canceled flights in bad weather, and he was about to head south toward the freeway, when he saw the familiar signs he used to take to go home from school when he was younger. It brought a wave of nostalgia as he thought about his parents. He was tired after the wild-goose chase that had brought him to Boston, to satisfy the bank’s curiosity, but not to offer him a job. He was bone tired, and then as though of its own volition, his car turned toward the highway that would take him home. The only thing he had there now
It was a depressing day for Peter when he left the apartment for the last time. He stopped in the doorway of the boys’ wing of the apartment, and saw a book and a game forgotten in their playroom and tucked them under his arm. He drifted past the suite he’d shared with Alana, the projection room, and the gym with all the equipment still in it, purchased by the new owners since it was nearly brand new and state of the art. They had also bought the heavy silk curtains Alana had spent a fortune on, and much of the furniture in the reception rooms, and beautiful antique Persian rugs, and an Aubusson in their bedroom that Alana had purchased at a Christie’s auction inParis. They were all symbols of a lost life, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever live like that again, if he would be able to even come close to it, and if the world as they knew it would ever be the same. These had been golden years. They had taken a lot for granted, and Peter knew he never would again. But he had also never lost sight of what was most important to him, Alana and the boys. They were the only family he cared about. Alana and the boys were all of Peter’s world, and more than ever now.
Peter moved to a small residential hotel in the East Seventies after he vacated the apartment. He had promised the boys he’d come back to California as soon as possible, and he’d been in New York for a month, selling the apartment and packing up their things, sending out résumés and contacting people about jobs. He could do that from L.A., but he wanted to be in New York in case someone wanted to meet with him. So far no one had; they were too busy with their own problems to think about hiring anyone. But just as Peter was planning to book a flight to L.A., he got a call from an investment bank in Boston. They were impressed by his résumé, and Peter had met the head of the bank several times over the years. It was a solid, reputable firm, and they had taken none of the risks Whitman Broadbank had, so they were still on solid ground. They wanted him to come up and see them, and Peter readily agreed. He was willing to go anywhere for a job. Chicago was on his list of possibilities too, as well as San Francisco and L.A. But he would have preferred an eastern firm. He had gone to business school in Boston, so it was a familiar city for him.
It was snowing when he got there, in the second week of February. He had a long meeting with the board of directors, and they invited him to lunch in the firm’s dining room afterward. It looked like amen’s club, with somber portraits of their founders on the walls, and wood paneling, and his meeting with them went well, although he was severely disappointed to be told at the end of lunch that they were unable to hire anyone at the moment, in light of the current crisis, but he would be at the top of their list when they began hiring again. It was why they had wanted to meet him, but they had no idea when their hiring policies would loosen up, just as no one knew how long the economic crisis would last. So for all intents and purposes, and to meet Peter’s immediate needs, the meeting had been in vain. It was a crushing blow to him.
Peter had driven to Boston, to avoid canceled flights in bad weather, and he was about to head south toward the freeway, when he saw the familiar signs he used to take to go home from school when he was younger. It brought a wave of nostalgia as he thought about his parents. He was tired after the wild-goose chase that had brought him to Boston, to satisfy the bank’s curiosity, but not to offer him a job. He was bone tired, and then as though of its own volition, his car turned toward the highway that would take him home. The only thing he had there now