Very Valentine

“If you think this hotel has changed, how about our Bret?” Gabriel whispers.

“He had to.” I lean against the wall enclosing the roof and look out over the crowd. “These are the people Bret has to impress. It can’t be easy.”

“You’re so forgiving.” Gabriel takes a sip of his drink. “It makes me sort of sick.”

“I’m really just proud of him,” I say. Gabriel looks at me with a mixture of understanding and suspicion. Five years have come and gone since Bret and I broke up. Tonight is proof that he would never have fit into the new life I cobbled together, like patches of leather from the workshop floor. He was destined for this.

“Well, maybe I’m just hurt because the three of us were always us, and now Bret is a them. He’s the only them I know.” Gabriel fishes a maraschino cherry out of his drink. Two more roll around the bottom of his glass.

“How’d you get three cherries?” I want to know.

“I asked.”

I watch as Bret moves from his clients over to the corner of the roof where three pretty girls in their early twenties sip cocktails and smoke. It’s chilly out, but they wear no stockings on their ta

“I’m going to nab the sofa by the fireplace. This fancy outdoor living room is all well and good until winter sets in,” Gabriel says. “I’m so cold you could Zamboni my ass.”

“I’ll be over in a minute,” I tell him, but I keep my eyes on Bret and the girls.

Two of the young women peel away, leaving one shivering blonde with a drink in her hand. Bret leans in and says something to her. They laugh. Then she reaches forward and adjusts the flap on his tie. The intimate gesture forces Bret to take a slight step back.

A breeze kicks up on the roof, and the white lights of the chandelier dance, throwing small beams onto the floor. The girl tilts her head toward Bret. Their conversation has turned earnest. I watch them for a few moments, and then, with the cold night wind at my back, I move toward them.

I extend my hand to the girl, interrupting their conversation. “Hi, I’m Valentine, an old friend of Bret’s.”

“I’m Chase.” She looks up at him. “One of Bret’s many assistants.”

“He has many?”

“I exaggerate,” Chase says and smiles. She has the peridontically perfect teeth of a girl who grew up with all the dental advances of the 1990s, including whiteners, lasers, and invisible braces.

“Boy, you have gorgeous teeth,” I tell her.

She seems taken aback. Clearly, she’s used to compliments, but no one mentions her teeth as her first and best attribute. “Thanks,” she says.

I cross my arms and hold my drink in the crook of my elbow like a potted plant.

When she realizes I’m not going anywhere, she says, “Well, I guess I’ll go and get something to eat.” Her eyes linger on Bret. “Can I get you something?” She doesn’t ask this question like an assistant. Bret catches her tone, looks at me, then says in a very businesslike voice, “No, I’m fine. You go and enjoy the party.”

Chase turns and goes while Bret looks off over the roof, past the East River.

“You can see Floral Park from here.” I point toward the hinterlands, the borough of Queens, from whence we came.

“No, you can’t,” he says.

“It would be great if you could.” I hand him my drink and he takes a sip. “Maybe you’d remember where you came from.”

“Is that a dig?”

“No. Not at all. I think you’ve done amazing things with your life.” My sincerity is obvious, and Bret turns to face me. “So, what’s going on with that girl?” I ask him.

“You are so Italian,” he says.

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on.”

“She thinks so.”

“How do you know?’

“How long have we known each other?”

“Years and years.” Bret squints and looks over in the direction of Queens as if he can see us there, two teenagers sitting on the rectory fence on Austin Street as we talked until night came.

“Uh-huh. Since I had braces. Plus, I happen to be a woman, so I know that she’s interested in more than fetching you a lobster dumpling.”

Bret takes a deep breath. “Okay, so what do I do?”

“You’re going to tell her you’re married to a lovely woman and that you have two beautiful daughters named Grace and Ava. Of course she knows your family because she answers the phone at the office. Or is she the assistant that actually answers the phone? Anyhow, then you’re going to tell her that she deserves a nice guy of her own. She’ll argue with you, and when she does, you’re going to tell her she’s too young. That’s a turnoff when you’re actually young.”

Bret laughs. “Val, you’re fu

“All done. Now you can teach me one.”

In a shorthand only old friends with a history have, he asks, “What do you need?”

“Will you help me save our shoe company?”

“What’s the problem?”

I go into a rambling explanation about Alfred, the debt, Gram, and me. Bret is patient and listens carefully. “Let me look into it,” he says. Then he says the very thing that brings me peace of mind, always did and always will, “Don’t worry, Val. I’m on it.”

I huddle in the cold taxi next to Gabriel like he’s a radiator blowing hot steam. The cab cuts through the busy intersection at Union Square.

“I’m never going to another rooftop party after August. That fireplace was for show. It threw off no heat whatsoever. It was like warming myself on a Bic lighter.”

“It was cold up there but I’m glad we went.”

“What were you and Bret talking about? Is he dumping his wife and you two are getting back together?”

“If you’ll come and work as our na

“Forget it. I hate children.”

“My no

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Just a little. You’re mean. That poor girl didn’t dare go near Bret the rest of the night. It’s like you sprayed him with something. How long do you think that Swiss miss cried in the bathroom?”

“She cried?”

“She didn’t cry, but she would have liked to take one of those stone tiki-sculpture things and clock you with it.” Gabriel leans back. “Of course, she would have needed help lifting it. Those sinewy types have very little upper-body strength. And to be smoking in the new mille

“They’re twenty-two years old. What do they know?” I remind him. “I liked the food.”

“A little too much fig. Everybody is using fig now, in everything. Fig paste on foccacia, fig slices in the arugula, mashed fig in the ravioli. You’d think figs were a major food group.” Gabriel sighs.

“Her name was Chase.”

“Who?”

“The girl interested in Bret.”

“Chase like the bank?” Gabriel shakes his head. “There’s a value system at work for you. Who’s her daddy? The Monopoly Man?”

“You never know. Her friend’s name is Milan.”

“Like the city?” Gabriel asks.

“Like the city and the cookie.”

“Whatever happened to going to the Bible or long-ru

“A Ruth or a Laura would never hit on her boss. A Chase would.”

“You know, I think Bret misses you.” Gabriel looks at me.

“I miss him, too. But when I was with him, I really didn’t think about my life very much. I sort of built what I was doing around him. When we broke up, I had to figure out what made me happy.”

“I don’t know, Valentine. Sometimes I think you traded taking care of Bret for taking care of Gram. You should fall in love again and have a life.” The cab pulls over to the curb on the far corner of Twenty-first Street, in Chelsea.