“Like I said, a letter from me is only going to be so effective,” Scotty says, his tone gentle. “Itcouldviolate your agreement. It’s impossible to know without reading the NDA. But if my letter does violate it, all hell might break loose. It’s a big risk for potentially no reward.”
I close my eyes and nod as disappointment washes over me. “Right.”
Scotty’s discomfort is palpable. I want to thank him, to tell him he can go. But I’m too afraid I’ll start crying if I try to speak. We are quiet for a long time.
“So, when is your show?” he asks finally. “We should all come. Or Hilary and I and Richard and Gretchen, at least. Richard could buy out your whole show like that.” He snaps his fingers. “And what I lack in buying power, I make up for in enthusiasm.”
From the guileless way he suggests this double date, I wonder if I imagined his earlier suggestiveness about Richard and me.
“Thank you—I appreciate that.” And I do. Though the thought of Richard with his wife at my show is painful.
Scotty nods, staring at the TV. He hasn’t made a move yet to leave. “Haveyou spoken to Richard since we’ve been back?”
The question feels heavy, probably because of the photo sitting in my texts. I consider saying no, but what if he already knows from Richard that we have seen each other? Lying could make us both look worse. Then again, so could any part of the truth.
“We saw each other for coffee. I was sad I couldn’t be at the memorial service.” As if one has anything to do with the other.
Scotty’s face tightens. So much for sounding casual. He stares down into his glass.
Richard and I are a situation with no good explanation. So I scramble to create one.
“Richard wanted some advice on buying some new art.” I know it’s not a great cover story, but it’s all that comes to mind.
Scotty narrows his eyes. “I thought he has dealers he works with.”
Shit.I shrug. “He said he wanted to balance his collection with some younger artists. Advice on the fall shows at some of the smaller galleries can be hard to come by.”
Scotty looks like he might be buying it. “Richard and I haven’t spent much time together since the trip. We saw each other at the service, but even there we didn’treallytalk. None of us are very good with feelings.” He hesitates, and there’s something cool about his expression when our eyes meet. “Listen, I love Richard, he’s one of my closest friends, but he’s…Some people are just too charming for their own good.”
“Yeah,” I say, hoping we can just leave it at that. I get the general idea.
He’s still staring at me, though. Finally, his face softens.
“Gretchenisbest friends with Hilary. All I’m saying is that I know a decent amount about Richard’s marriage.” He hesitates. “And as your friend, I feel like I should say regardless of how…I know how Richard…but he really loves Gretchen. He really does.”
***
We were all gathered in the lounge tent for the briefing after breakfast. The lounge was a third of the size of the dining tent, cozy and chic—leather chairs, gorgeous rug, and a small, crackling fire to combat the early morning chill. They’d made clear in the packing guide that a hallmark of Kilimanjaro was the wild swings in temperature. Cold and damp, then blistering heat all within a day, and that we’d be dangerously cold on the summit. That it might rain a lot or not at all and that snow was possible. But it was one thing to be told something, another to experience it. Already, the weather was reminding us we were no longer in charge.
“Look at this place.” Van gestured at the fancy tea setup on a sideboard. “Remember our first trip spring break sophomoreyear? Driving from Dartmouth to Vegas in Richard’s car?” Van laughed. “That piece-of-shit Chevy…”
Brooks turned to me. “You’d never know Richard grew updirt poor. Did you even have indoor plumbing, Richard?”
Scotty grimaced. “Whoa, Brooks, ease up.”
“What?” Brooks blinked innocently, but his voice sounded genuinely angry suddenly. “Come on—Richard’s proud of climbing out of the gutter and up to the pinnacle of New York society! Fifth Avenue apartment! Goldman Sachs! He even hitched himself to Gretchen Dunlop—ofthoseDunlops!” He eyed me meaningfully, even though I had no clue who the Dunlops were.
What I did know was that this context changed the way I saw Richard. I knew what it was like to grow up with nothing. Our electricity shut off at such regular intervals, we had flashlights stored in almost every corner.
“Excuse me, BrooksGraceofGraceChemical,” Richard said. “I’m sorry that never actuallyhavingto work a day in your life made you such a sore loser.”
Sore loser?
“Fuck you, Richard,” Brooks said.
“Okay, Encyclopedia,” Van said, gripping Brooks by the back of the neck with one huge hand. “Let’s take a breath before you pop a blood vessel, little man.”
Brooks shrugged Van off, then glanced Richard’s way. “Sorry. Stressful morning.”
