might have to pay back. The execution of Charlie’s will had been delayed.
She returned the paper to the stack without buying it, dialed Richard and left a message at his office, then turned the corner and threw up her bacon-flavored vodka onto the curb.
7
“This is some fucking situation!” Claire and Ethan were in her apartment. Richard was on the phone; they had him on speaker. It was rare to hear him curse. “I have to read about my client’s book in the Post ? Jesus, Ethan, you must have known what he was working on.”
Ethan looked wounded.
“He was always working,” he said. “As far as I know, he hadn’t settled on a particular topic. Did you read the article? There was nothing specific. And she’s a bottle blonde, obviously.” He reached over and patted Claire’s hand. Richard cleared his throat. “You have to admire her for sitting on it until the Giacometti died down—she got a Page Six scoop. I’d say it’s a good career move, except that she just got herself fired.” At that, he sounded a little happier.
“Don’t think about this,” Ethan said, after Richard hung up. “It seems like a lot of drama, but he’s a writer, honey. No one will care for long.”
“I think Richard cares.”
“This is slapstick. A two-bit art scandal, slutty yoga instructor, and a perverted, rich fuck. We should be writing a sitcom.” Ethan walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Need a drink?”
“Except it was my husband,” Claire said, sinking into the couch. “It seems a little less funny.”
“Well, it was an inconvenient death. He wouldn’t have wanted all these loose ends.”
“That’s not true. He never liked a neat story. He would have loved this,” Claire said.
Ethan handed Claire a soda. “Yeah, he would.”
Ethan was tasked with sorting through Charlie’s papers and computer files posthaste. He was to send Richard anything that looked like it might be part of a manuscript and organize the rest for the library at Princeton. Claire was relieved she had a reason to keep him employed.
Ethan had been Claire’s first crush in college. They had lived in the same dorm freshman year and shared a loose set of friends, including Sasha. He had the kind of lopsided smile mothers warned their daughters about—except that they should have been warning their sons. Claire didn’t understand it until a ski trip during winter break. They’d gone in a group that included Tyler Hayes, a scruffy jock from Hayden Hall. On their second night, in the great room of the huge cabin they’d rented, Claire saw the longing looks Ethan shot Tyler’s way and it all became clear. While Claire led Ethan out from the closet that year, it was Sasha who nabbed Tyler Hayes. Ethan moved to Los Angeles after graduation and Claire, of course, met Charlie. They kept in touch, though, and when Ethan was ready to come back to New York, Charlie was looking for a new assistant. Fate? Chance? Well, it was something.
Ethan was perfect. Not only was he a fan, but thanks to his time in L.A., he knew his way around ego; he knew how to flatter his new boss—he caught on fast. He was the only person Claire knew who had read every single thing Charlie wrote; Richard always went to him for pull quotes. Ethan had a savant’s grasp of the cumbersome Byrne opus.
When it came to dating, though, he was slightly less adept. He had a penchant for middle-aged men with stout portfolios. Ethan was trim and fashionable—he had no trouble attracting them—but he bored easily, he was erratic. He had difficulty holding on to any one man. His date at Charlie’s funeral, for instance—an environmental lawyer from Virginia—bolted a week later.
Claire watched Ethan work. He was intent. And muscular and tall, and probably great in bed—
“Oh, God. Ethan?”
“What?” He looked up, startled.
“Never mind. I need some air.”
“Okay, love. Good. I need caffeine.”
On the walk to Starbucks Claire felt a familiar
She returned the paper to the stack without buying it, dialed Richard and left a message at his office, then turned the corner and threw up her bacon-flavored vodka onto the curb.
7
“This is some fucking situation!” Claire and Ethan were in her apartment. Richard was on the phone; they had him on speaker. It was rare to hear him curse. “I have to read about my client’s book in the Post ? Jesus, Ethan, you must have known what he was working on.”
Ethan looked wounded.
“He was always working,” he said. “As far as I know, he hadn’t settled on a particular topic. Did you read the article? There was nothing specific. And she’s a bottle blonde, obviously.” He reached over and patted Claire’s hand. Richard cleared his throat. “You have to admire her for sitting on it until the Giacometti died down—she got a Page Six scoop. I’d say it’s a good career move, except that she just got herself fired.” At that, he sounded a little happier.
“Don’t think about this,” Ethan said, after Richard hung up. “It seems like a lot of drama, but he’s a writer, honey. No one will care for long.”
“I think Richard cares.”
“This is slapstick. A two-bit art scandal, slutty yoga instructor, and a perverted, rich fuck. We should be writing a sitcom.” Ethan walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Need a drink?”
“Except it was my husband,” Claire said, sinking into the couch. “It seems a little less funny.”
“Well, it was an inconvenient death. He wouldn’t have wanted all these loose ends.”
“That’s not true. He never liked a neat story. He would have loved this,” Claire said.
Ethan handed Claire a soda. “Yeah, he would.”
Ethan was tasked with sorting through Charlie’s papers and computer files posthaste. He was to send Richard anything that looked like it might be part of a manuscript and organize the rest for the library at Princeton. Claire was relieved she had a reason to keep him employed.
Ethan had been Claire’s first crush in college. They had lived in the same dorm freshman year and shared a loose set of friends, including Sasha. He had the kind of lopsided smile mothers warned their daughters about—except that they should have been warning their sons. Claire didn’t understand it until a ski trip during winter break. They’d gone in a group that included Tyler Hayes, a scruffy jock from Hayden Hall. On their second night, in the great room of the huge cabin they’d rented, Claire saw the longing looks Ethan shot Tyler’s way and it all became clear. While Claire led Ethan out from the closet that year, it was Sasha who nabbed Tyler Hayes. Ethan moved to Los Angeles after graduation and Claire, of course, met Charlie. They kept in touch, though, and when Ethan was ready to come back to New York, Charlie was looking for a new assistant. Fate? Chance? Well, it was something.
Ethan was perfect. Not only was he a fan, but thanks to his time in L.A., he knew his way around ego; he knew how to flatter his new boss—he caught on fast. He was the only person Claire knew who had read every single thing Charlie wrote; Richard always went to him for pull quotes. Ethan had a savant’s grasp of the cumbersome Byrne opus.
When it came to dating, though, he was slightly less adept. He had a penchant for middle-aged men with stout portfolios. Ethan was trim and fashionable—he had no trouble attracting them—but he bored easily, he was erratic. He had difficulty holding on to any one man. His date at Charlie’s funeral, for instance—an environmental lawyer from Virginia—bolted a week later.
Claire watched Ethan work. He was intent. And muscular and tall, and probably great in bed—
“Oh, God. Ethan?”
“What?” He looked up, startled.
“Never mind. I need some air.”
“Okay, love. Good. I need caffeine.”
On the walk to Starbucks Claire felt a familiar
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