joyous pride in her successes. He has a right to, Jennifer thought. If not for him, I’d be back in Kelso, Washington.
When Jennifer returned to the office, Ken Bailey was waiting for her.
“Have a good lunch?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Is Adam Warner going to become a client?” His tone was too casual.
“No, Ken. We’re just friends.”
And it was true.
The following week, Adam invited Jennifer to have lunch in the private dining room of his law firm. Jennifer was impressed with the huge, modern complex of offices. Adam introduced her to various members of the firm, and Jennifer felt like a minor celebrity, for they seemed to know all about her. She met Stewart Needham, the senior partner. He was distantly polite to Jennifer, and she remembered that Adam was married to his niece.
Adam and Jennifer had lunch in the walnut-paneled dining room run by a chef and two waiters.
“This is where the partners bring their problems.”
Jennifer wondered whether he was referring to her. It was hard for her to concentrate on the meal.
Jennifer thought about Adam all that afternoon. She knew she had to forget about him, had to stop seeing him. He belonged to another woman.
That night, Jennifer went with Ken Bailey to see Two by Two, the new Richard Rodgers show.
As they stepped into the lobby there was an excited buzz from the crowd, and Jennifer turned to see what was happening. A long, black limousine had pulled up to the curb and a man and woman were stepping out of the car.
“It’s him!” a woman exclaimed, and people began to gather around the car. The burly chauffeur stepped aside and Jennifer saw Michael Moretti and his wife. It was Michael that the crowd focused on. He was a folk hero, handsome enough to be a movie star, daring enough to have captured everyone’s imagination. Jennifer stood in the lobby watching as Michael Moretti and his wife made their way through the crowd. Michael passed within three feet of Jennifer, and for an instant their eyes met. Jennifer noticed that his eyes were so black that she could not see his pupils. A moment later he disappeared into the theater.
Jennifer was unable to enjoy the show. The sight of Michael Moretti had brought back a flood of fiercely humiliating memories. Jennifer asked Ken to take her home after the first act.
Adam telephoned Jennifer the next day and Jennifer steeled herself to refuse his invitation. Thank you, Adam, but I’m really very busy.
But all Adam said was, “I have to go out of the country for a while.”
It was like a blow to the stomach. “How—how long will you be gone?”
“Just a few weeks. I’ll give you a call when I get back.”
“Fine,” Jennifer said brightly. “Have a nice trip.”
She felt as though someone had died. She visualized Adam on a beach in Rio, surrounded by half-naked girls, or in a penthouse in Mexico City, drinking margaritas with a nubile, dark-eyed beauty, or in a Swiss chalet making love to—Stop it! Jennifer told herself. She should have asked him where he was going. It was probably a business trip to some dreary place where he would have no time for women, perhaps the middle of some desert where he would be working twenty-four hours a day.
She should have broached the subject, very casually, of course. Will you be taking a long plane trip? Do you speak any foreign languages? If you get to Paris, bring me back some Vervaine tea. I suppose the shots must be painful. Are you taking your wife with you? Am I losing my mind?
Ken had come into her office and was staring at her. “You’re talking to yourself. Are you okay?”
No! Jennifer wanted to shout. I need a doctor. I need a cold shower. I need Adam Warner.
She said, “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Why don’t you get to bed early tonight?”
She wondered whether Adam would be going to bed early.
Father Ryan called. “I went to see Connie Garrett. She told me you’ve dropped by a few times.”
“Yes.” The visits were to assuage her feeling of guilt because she was unable to be of any help. It was frustrating.
Jennifer plunged herself into work, and still the weeks seemed to drag by. She was in court nearly every day and worked on briefs almost every night.
“Slow down. You’re going to kill yourself,” Ken advised her.
But Jennifer needed to exhaust herself physically and mentally. She did not want to have time to think. I’m a fool, she thought.