Last Call: A Novel

By Lorraine Marlin

Life is good for thirty-something New Yorker, Elizabeth Archer, who lives in an apartment overlooking Washington Square Park, enjoys a lucrative job in midtown, and is engaged to marry man of means. But things are about to change, forcing Elizabeth to question long-held beliefs about herself and come to terms with who she really is. Set in New York City and on the island of St. Thomas in the 1990s, Elizabeths story unfolds through her interaction with family, friends, and most of all with the men she allows into her life

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493161201

Lorraine Marlin

Lorraine Marlin grew up on Long Island, New York. She graduated from SUNY New Paltz and from Columbia University. While employed by Cunard Cruise Line, she traveled the world, and continues to travel at every opportunity. Prior to leaving corporate America in 2007, she worked as a Global Executive Director at the Estée Lauder Companies in Manhattan. Lorraine resides in Forest Hills, New York. Last Call is her first novel

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Lorraine Marlin.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4931-6119-5

eBook 978-1-4931-6120-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 01/28/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

542635

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

PART TWO

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

PART THREE

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

EPILOGUE

for Cindy, who knows

CHAPTER ONE

New York City – 1994

By the time Elizabeth unlocks her apartment door it’s after midnight, already well past her bedtime. Doesn’t really matter: it’s a struggle getting up in the morning no matter what time she goes to bed. Besides, it was worth staying out late. When was the last time she and Mom spent some time together, just the two of them, and in Manhattan? Possibly never. Plus she had made Mom so happy.

She changes into a flannel nightshirt and goes to the oversized window with a view of Washington Square Park. When she moved in five years ago, the window sill was about eight inches wide, and she was always half sitting on it. So she hired a carpenter to construct the window seat.

Snow is just beginning to fall. She goes into the kitchen, pours a tumbler of amaretto, and returns to the window.

More than happy, Mom was elated, since not only is her daughter finally engaged, but the fiancé is a man of means.

Rita Archer’s husband, Elizabeth’s father, died two years prior from emphysemic suffocation, the result of smoking Camels for thirty years. John Archer had been a gentle man, a mail carrier. While Elizabeth and her sister, Debbie, never wanted for necessities, it was a constant struggle for their parents to fund the extras. As soon as both girls were in school, Rita began a series of part-time clerical jobs. Later, when they were in high school, Mom switched to waitressing. On a good night, she earned as much in tips as she had in a week of typing and filing. But by then, Rita was no longer young. The long hours on her feet left her physically exhausted. Although she never complained, she longed for a more leisurely and less worrisome existence, and secretly felt cheated and frustrated by the choices she had made. Her financial concerns died in tandem with her husband, when she received substantial life insurance payments. Only now is Rita beginning to enjoy her new, dearly acquired status.

The amaretto travels to Elizabeth’s stomach, trailing fire. The apartment is illuminated from the street. She surveys the living room, gratified. She moved out of her parents’ house eighteen years ago, when she went away to college. She lived in many places those first thirteen years, with a series of roommates. This is the first place of her own, filled with her things only. She owned very little furniture when she moved in, mostly second hand, some from her parents’ house. Over the past five years, she has painstakingly furnished the apartment.

She’ll miss this place. They haven’t talked about it, but she knows Andrew will want a house in Connecticut near his parents, or perhaps in Westchester, where most of the people he works with live. She would just as soon remain in the city.

She looks at the clock. 5:47 a.m. Shit. At least it’s Friday.

At 7:15 she finally drags herself into the shower, where she stands with her face raised into the water, hoping to rinse away some of her grogginess. Nothing like a good American shower.

Her morning ablution concluded, she dresses in black leggings, boots, and a bright silk top. She grabs her purse and tote bag. In the hallway her elderly neighbor, Mildred Krauss, wants to talk. Elizabeth flies past, claiming lateness. She treats herself to a cab, even though with traffic it will probably take longer.

Her office is midtown, on 46th and 5th. She picks up coffee at the Dunkin’ Donuts across the street.

The company she works for, Griffin Enterprises, is small but handles a tremendous volume of business. They are on the fourth floor of the sixteen story building. Her boss, Michael Griffin, owner and CEO, occupies the spacious corner office, with windows on two sides. Her office is adjacent to Michael’s, connected by an internal door which usually remains open.

She steps through the interior door. He’s already on the phone. She mouths good morning, placing a Styrofoam container of coffee on his desk. He nods and smiles. Exiting, she closes the door behind her. She wants an easy day, with as little interruption as possible. She gets to work, drafting correspondence for Michael’s signature.

Griffin is an import/export company—mostly import—with a hand in many pots. She started here six years ago, via a temp agency, on a two-month administrative assignment, working for Michael and his business partner, Max Lowenstein. Elizabeth organized their affairs so well that she was offered double her temping salary to remain. A year later, Michael’s life took a turn when Max dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of forty-two. Michael inherited everything. Soon after, the company relocated from a warehouse environment down on Canal Street to their present midtown location.

Business is good, very good. Originally a group of eighteen, Griffin now employs nearly one hundred. Elizabeth has figured prominently in this success. In the beginning, as Michael’s personal assistant, she had been privy to every transaction. A skillful negotiator who quickly gains people’s trust, with an uncanny sense for predicting market conditions, she rapidly became Michael’s confidante and consultant, and after Max’s untimely death, his unofficial partner. He came to depend upon her so much that he nearly doubled her salary once again, and gave her the second best office in their 5th Avenue location. She is probably one of the most highly paid executive assistants in the city.

At 10:30, her private line rings.

Griffin Enterprises, she answers.

Hi, hon.

Andrew! Hello. When did you get back?

Just now. I’m at JFK.

How was the trip?

Oh, the usual nonsense. How are you?

I’m fine. A little tired, but fine. I went out with my mother last night.

Good. I hope you had a nice time. I want to hear all about it, so why don’t I meet you for an early lunch… can you make twelve o’clock?

Sure, I can go anytime. It’s slow today, thank God.

Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon. See you then.

Okay, bye.

She is watching through the glass doors opening onto 46th Street when a limousine pulls up and deposits Andrew. He must have already stopped by his apartment, as he carries only his attaché.

They kiss hello, and begin walking east to Maggie’s Place on 47th near Madison, a bar/restaurant popular with the local lunchtime and after-work crowd. They settle into a back booth.

So, what did your mother say? Was she surprised? Happy, I hope?

Oh, my mother is thrilled to death! I invited her to the Rainbow Room, because she adores the place, and because it’s always been reserved for special occasions in our family—you know—birthdays, promotions, pregnancies… that sort of thing. You should have seen her face when she saw this ring—you should see everyone’s face, for that matter. No one can get over it. Her voice drops. Including me.

Well, I’m glad you like the ring, and that your mom is happy for us. Oh—I almost forgot. I picked this up for you in the gift shop at the hotel. He extracts a flat, cardboard envelope from his briefcase. It contains an Hermes silk scarf, a vibrant floral design.

Andrew, it’s lovely. Thank you so much.

After lunch, he walks her back to work, then proceeds to his own office in the World Trade Center. He’ll be working late, and she’s tired, so they decide not to get together that night, but to stick to their usual Saturday evening through Monday morning date. The arrangement works well for her. Friday nights, she either sees her friend, Melissa, or spends a quiet evening at home. She knows her routines will be altered by marriage, so she cherishes her own agenda while she still can.

She is finishing another cup of coffee, as well as the first draft of the budget proposal for a west coast satellite office, when her private line sounds.

She saves the document in her computer and answers the phone. Griffin Enterprises.

Well hello, stranger. I’m just calling because I understand congratulations are in order… or is it condolences? I’m only sorry that I had to hear this through a third party.

Oh Mel, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you myself—in person. But I thought it only right that my mother be the first to know, and we couldn’t get together until last night. I was gonna call you today, but I’ve been up to my eyeballs in paperwork… I can’t believe it’s four o’clock already. So how did you find out? Let me guess. Mom told Debbie, Debbie told you.

You got it. So tell me, how does it feel to be the bride-elect?

The bride-elect? Melissa, you really do have a strange way of putting things. I don’t know. I don’t feel any different—it probably hasn’t sunk in yet.

Give it time. So what are you doing after work? Wanna grab a beer and maybe some dinner?

I don’t know. I might just go home. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m kind of hung over…

No way, Melissa interrupts. I want to see the crown jewel. Your mother said it was to die for. Besides, what will you do at home? You can’t go to bed at six o’clock. Leave work at five, I’ll meet you at five-thirty, you’ll be home by nine.

Okay, I guess I might as well. As you say, I’m too tired to do anything but wait for it to be late enough to go to sleep, so I might as well enjoy the waiting. Where should we go?

Doesn’t matter. How about Desmonds? We haven’t been there in a while.

Okay, that sounds good. I’ll meet you in Desmonds, at the bar, around five-thirty.

Great. See you later. Bye.

She decides to walk to Desmonds. It is a cold March evening, but the sky is unusually clear.

Negotiating the 5th Avenue crowd, she thinks about Melissa, whom she senses is not thrilled with her news. That’s exactly why she didn’t tell her right away.

She and Melissa have been close friends for the past eight years, and have known each other since childhood. Melissa, thirty-nine, is the same age as Elizabeth’s sister, Debbie. They were all raised on Long Island, all went to the same schools. Back then, Melissa was Debbie’s friend, and Elizabeth, the pesky younger sibling, had often tagged along with them.

Both Melissa and Debbie married their high school sweethearts within three years of graduation, but there the similarity ends. Eighteen years later, for better or for worse, Debbie is still married to Tom, with whom she shares a house, two cars, and three children.

Melissa eloped when she was twenty. The brief marriage ended abruptly when she found her husband in bed with their neighbor. A string of relationships followed. She never remarried.

Melissa is street smart and self-educated, having never gone to college. She’s good at reading people and situations. But she has always been somewhat of a malcontent. She grew up fast, experimenting with LSD by the age of fourteen. She adopted the peace/love philosophy of the 1960s generation at the movement’s decline, when its original hippies were on their way to becoming yuppies. Caught between the expansiveness of the late sixties and the blossom of eighties’ greed, her socialization was disjointed. She has little ambition and no real goals. In fact, Melissa just wants to hang out and have fun. But pushing forty, the opportunity for hanging-out fun is less and less frequent.

Melissa despises working. With application, she could easily have a successful career like Elizabeth, or even better. But corporate nine-to-five is anathema, so she opts to support herself through a series of odd jobs. She has worked for Coliseum Books, The Museum of Modern Art, Macy’s, Paramount Diamond Exchange. Currently, she’s employed part-time at Dyansen Gallery on Spring Street, and also works three nights a week serving drinks at Broome Street Bar.

Elizabeth crosses 8th Avenue and notices the green awning outside her destination reads Kennedy’s. What’s going on? Don’t tell me Desmonds is gone.

Entering Kennedy’s, she is relieved to find that apparently only the name has changed. The interior appears unaltered—perhaps somewhat refurbished—but with the same crowd and same employees. Desmonds is always busy after work, and there are no seats available.

She orders an Amstel and stands with the moist, amber bottle in her right hand, her left hand placed casually on the wooden shelf lining the wall opposite the bar. Every few minutes, she fingers a round, glass ashtray and considers lighting a cigarette.

Melissa arrives, twenty minutes late. She grabs Elizabeth’s left hand. So, let’s see. Her wide brown eyes travel from the ring up to Elizabeth’s eyes, and then back to the ring again.

Holy shit, Beth. This is unbelievable. Is that thing real?

Do you like it?

"Like it… this is like something you see on TV—Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous."

"Oh, come on. It’s not that big."

Yeah, right. Sure. Anyway, congratulations! Come on, let’s get a table. A bottle of champagne. Let’s celebrate.

I’d like to sit down, but I think I’ll pass on the champagne. Haven’t yet cleared the bubbles out of my head from last night.

They take a table in the back room. Melissa orders Dewar’s and water, and a double portion of assorted appetizers.

So, tell me everything. What’s the plan? When is the main event?

Believe it or not, Drew and I haven’t even discussed it yet. He surprised me with this ring on Tuesday, and he’s been out of town until today. I would say…

"Whoa, wait a minute. Back up. He surprised you with an engagement ring? Didn’t you talk about this first?"

Well, sure, of course we talked about it, but always in a ‘someday’ sort of way. We never had any definite plans, until now. And even now, it all seems surreal.

They sip their drinks. Beth, don’t get me wrong. I’m really happy for you. But are you sure this is what you want? I mean, we’ve been friends a long time—longer than I care to admit being able to know anyone! And you’ve always said that you never wanted to get married. You haven’t even been with Andrew all that long—what is it, about a year? You’ve had much longer relationships before… so what’s the story?

Elizabeth lights a cigarette.

You’re right, Mel. Of course you’re right. I never had any desire to marry. In fact, judging from the marriages I know, I’ve pretty much been repelled by the idea. But I don’t know, somehow things are different now. I’m sure timing has a lot to do with it. I mean, let’s face it, I’m getting up there, and if I decide to have children, it’s gotta be soon. And that will be much easier with a father around. And it’s not only that—Drew’s a good guy. He’s not selfish like most men. He goes out of his way to make me feel special. I don’t know, lately I’ve been noticing couples on the street, people in their sixties and seventies, walking along hand in hand, and I realize there’s something to be said for that. I’m not a kid, neither is Drew. I’ve had great times and lots of fun. I guess it’s just time to settle down.

And the fact that Andrew is handsome, charming, and rich doesn’t hurt either, does it?

A raised glass is her response. Melissa does the same.

Works for me! Elizabeth says with a laugh.

They nibble appetizers and order another round. Voices from the jovial crowd at the bar drift into the dining room. They chat about other things—a new movie, Elizabeth’s mother, Melissa’s job—before returning to the main topic.

So, will this be a long engagement, do you think?

Oh, God, no. We’re too old for that. I’m thinking mid-October. Try for Indian summer. If it were up to me, I’d do it as simply as possible—just a few family and friends. But knowing Andrew and his parents, I’m sure they’ll insist upon a big affair, the whole nine yards. I want you and Debbie in my wedding party, of course.

You know I don’t do weddings.

Yeah, I know. But you’ll do it for me. Don’t worry, no taffeta or chiffon. It will be very tasteful and mature, I promise.

The waiter stops by. Melissa orders another scotch, Elizabeth a diet Coke.

So what’s going on with you? Still seeing Martin? Each date with Martin was proclaimed to be the last.

Yeah, I saw him Wednesday night. He came by the bar near the end of my shift, and ended up staying over. It was okay. I know this sounds really mercenary, but I guess I’ll continue to see him until someone better comes along. It’s nice to have a date once in a while, even if it’s not the right one. Not to mention sex, which as I’ve told you, is fantastic. When sex is good, you pretend the relationship is good. But at least I realize there’s no future in it. But you know I’m not looking for permanence anyway. I’m just looking for some fun, without all the trappings. I guess I shouldn’t say that, now that you’re getting married.

I think you can have both. I don’t think marriage and fun are mutually exclusive—not with the right person.

Well, you’re very fortunate if that’s the case with Andrew. I don’t think it’s possible, not for me, anyway. It certainly hasn’t been my experience.

Her remark hangs in the air. They sit back in their chairs, sip their drinks and survey the room.

Elizabeth breaks the silence. Drink up. I know it’s early, but I’m exhausted. Tomorrow’s a busy day, and I need my beauty sleep.

They pay the check and leave.

CHAPTER TWO

Elizabeth allots extra time to shower and dress. This is to be a special evening, and she has been employed all day toward that end.

Her apartment is spotless. Fresh flowers brighten each room. Dinner, created with the finest, overpriced ingredients, is prepared. Red and white wines have been selected. A crisp tablecloth with matching damask napkins graces the table, as does her grandmother’s seldom used silver candle holders. She has loaded five compact discs for uninterrupted music.

After applying makeup, she studies her reflection, pleased. She isn’t beautiful, but she is attractive. Her auburn hair has a natural sheen. The front is cut into layers, but the rest is long. She wears it straight, or piled atop her head in warm weather.

Her eyes are penetrating and expressive. It’s difficult to pinpoint their color—green would be the

Reviews for Last Call

[linyarai · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Very much like Supernatural in the way that God and the Devil hang out in a bar. The story started off slow because of the jumping between characters and times, but it got easier to read and really sucked you in the farther you got. Very interesting and original plot, I enjoyed it.