And so I’d planned for Isabelle to stay with Daniel. “I need a couple of days to decompress,” I’d said to him, vague. But on Sunday morning he called to tell me he was flying to Chicago last minute for a deal and that he could not take Isabelle after all.
I was irate.
“Are you kidding me? We made arrangements.”
“What do you want me to do, Sol? I didn’tchoosethis. Have Maria come.” His voice on the line sounded distant, removed. The idea that he would suggest our housekeeper move in for three days, as if she did not have other responsibilities, boggled the mind. But Daniel had grown up with live-in help. Daniel wrote the book on privilege.
“Maria has kids of her own, Daniel. I can’t ask her to sit on a school night.”
“What about Greta?”
“I checked with Greta. She’s working.”
“What is it you’re doing? Where are you going?”
I hesitated. I was not ready.
“Fuck. Is this the kid? Are you planning something with that kid? Solène…”
I did not answer.
“Look,” he said after a moment, “I’m sorry. I would tell you to just drop her here, but… Eva’s sick. And I don’t think you’d be comfortable with that arrangement anyway. I’ll be back on Tuesday—”
“Forget it,” I said. “Forget it.”
Hayes, as I expected, was not so understanding.
Landed.
He’d texted shortly before three-thirty.
Need to talk. Change of plans. Call me.
Will do.
And then, much later:
Fucking paps. Sorry. Ringing you soon.
“Hi.” He called after what seemed an eternity.
“Hi, yourself. How was your flight?”
“Long.” His voice was hoarse, raspy.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Why? Are we doing phone sex stuff again?”
I laughed. “No. Just wanted to know where you were.”
“I’m in the car. I’m coming to get you.”
“About that…” I said, and then I told him. That Daniel had flaked, that Daniel knew, that I could join him in Malibu for the evening, but that I could not stay because Isabelle would be home alone. And that I could come up during the day on Monday, but in the evening I would have to return again.
He was not happy. “What?What kind of rubbish is that?”
“I’m sorry.”
