What would David make of how she looked? Ella had yet to lose her baby weight. She was about thirty pounds over her normal weight. Casey said she looked pretty, but Casey was being kind most likely. For Mother’s Day, Ted had bought her a Steiff hippopotamus toy and membership at an exclusive gym around the corner from their apartment. “You have such a great figure, Ella. You just have to get back in shape. You know, for health reasons,” he said. But he didn’t want to touch her lately. Even when he kissed her good night when she went to sleep, it felt chaste, as if she were his child. Also, Ella was nursing, and she was hungry and sleepy all the time. She drank quarts of water because her mouth felt dry, and she craved chocolate bars and cake. Ted didn’t like her to eat so many sweets, so she tried to throw away the candy wrappers and cheesecake boxes after she ate them. Laurie didn’t think all that refined sugar in the mother’s diet was a good idea for the baby, either.
Ella smoothed down her hair and stared at the brass name plaque. Perhaps she should go back home and call David to say she couldn’t make it. She pulled down the black knitwear suit jacket that Casey had selected for her. Ella thought it looked pretty, but she placed her right hand on the thick roll of fat around her middle. That was all David would see—she was sure of it. Last night, Casey had come by after work and laid out the outfit for her: a black St. John’s suit with small gold buttons, nude stockings, patent high heels, and the large Tahitian pearl earrings from her father. It had been Casey’s idea that she call David Greene to say hello. When she heard that David had asked for Ella to stop by, Casey was adamant: “Listen, just go. Say hi to your friend, Ella. You have to get out of the house. The baby’s doing great. Get out of the house. Ted is—Ted. You have to get a life of your own.” Casey had been inflexible on this point.
Ella heard steps, and she turned around. The corridors were empty. The streams of blue-jacketed boys were away for the summer. They called her Miss Shim, and when she married, it was Mrs. Kim. School was out, but its redolent perfume of tempera paints and lunchroom had lingered, making her recall all the happy times she’d had amid the school of bustling boys—amazingly different from a lifetime of girls’ schools and yet parallel in its cloistered privacy from the other sex. St. Christopher’s was the first job Ella had ever had. She couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.
The door opened before she knocked. The steps must have come from behind the door. The tinnitus in her ears had stopped a few weeks after she delivered Irene, but her hearing hadn’t returned to its full range.
“Oh, Ella! You’re here! I didn’t hear you.” David pulled back reflexively, not knowing if he should kiss her hello. Then, in a swift motion, he reached over and kissed her on the right cheek. His faint stubble and lips brushed against her skin. His breath was scented with wintergreen LifeSavers, and she detected the menthol of Bengay on his dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. David’s long torso gave him intense lower back problems, and he had to use a lumbar cushion with his ergonomic chair. At the end of the workday, she’d sometimes walk in on him doing his stretching exercises on the office floor before he cycled across town to his house on the Upper West Side.
“Please come in. I’d almost given up hope—” David smiled, feeling so happy at the sight of her that he was almost worried she’d disappear.
Ella’s shoulders stiffened, and she felt as if she were caught in his gaze. She’d almost gone straight home. But he’d opened the door. Remembering suddenly, she held in her stomach, hoping that the dark suit made her appear thinner. Casey swore that it made her look like a sexy nun, making Ella burst into giggles. For that was without question David’s type. She so wanted him to think she was still pretty.
David gestured to the Windsor chair opposite his desk, then sat at his desk chair.
Ella sat where he’d indicated, feeling disappointed they weren’t sitting next to each other on the green Chesterfield—how they used to sit when they worked together.
“You look marvelous, Ella,” David said. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Tears sprang to her eyes. How could he always be so kind?
“Oh dear.” David got up to bring her tissues. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Whatever is the matter? Oh, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“Oh God. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I think I’m just so happy to see you. Isn’t that funny?” Ella caught her breath. “You must excuse me. It must be motherhood.”