“I understand,” he said quietly as they both finished their snack. “Are you horrified that I have a boat?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “It's just not something I would do even if I could. But you have a perfect right to spend your money any way you like. You do a lot of good for people through the foundation. I just always feel I should be living in abject poverty, and giving whatever I have to someone else.”
“Sometimes you have to keep a little and enjoy it yourself.”
“I do. But I'd rather give mine back. I feel guilty for taking a salary at the center. I just figure other people need it more than I do.”
“You have to eat,” he pointed out to her. He felt far less guilty than she. He had inherited an enormous fortune at an early age, and had lived up to the responsibility of it fully over the course of many years. He enjoyed his luxuries, his paintings, the objects he collected, and most of all his boat. He never apologized to anyone for it, except indirectly to Carole now. Their philosophies were very different, but not too different, he hoped.
“Maybe I've been a little too extreme,” she admitted. “Austerity allows me to feel I'm atoning for my sins.”
“I don't see any sins,” he said seriously. “I see a wonderful woman who has given of her life's blood to others, and works herself to the bone. Don't forget to have some fun.”
“I have fun with you, Charlie,” she said softly. “I always do when we're together.”
“So do I.” He smiled and kissed her again. He loved kissing her, and longed to go further, but he didn't dare to yet. He knew how frightened Carole was, of getting too attached, of getting hurt again, and he had his own fears to contend with too. He worried about the same thing, and he was always waiting for the fatal flaw to surface. In her case it was an obvious one, and not a hidden flaw. It was right out in front, like a flag. She came from a different background than he did. She was a social worker, devoted to her work in Harlem, and she was skittish about his world. She wasn't a debutante or a socialite, and if anything she disapproved of his way of life, although she totally approved of him. But the big question for him was whether or not she could overcome her reservations and accept the way he lived. If they were going to be together, and stay together, she was going to have to make her peace with that discrepancy, and so was he. At the moment, he thought they could. It rested more on Carole, at this point, than on him. She was the one who was going to have to be willing to forgive the frivolous extravagances of his world, without wanting to run away from him.
He took her home in a taxi, and kissed her at her front door. She didn't invite him up, but she had told him earlier that her place was a mess. He had never seen her studio, but could well imagine how challenging it was to live in one room. And she led a busy life.
He kissed the tip of her nose before he left her, and she laughed when she saw that he had green lips. Her face was still painted green from the Halloween party that night.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he promised, as he got back in the cab. “And I'll see about ballet tickets, maybe for next week.” She waved and thanked him again, and then disappeared into the house as he drove off.
His apartment seemed empty without her when he got back. He liked the way she filled his space, his life, his heart.
15
CHARLIE'S SECRETARY TOLD HIM THE NEXT MORNING that she'd gotten tickets to the ballet for Friday night. It was a supposedly excellent production of
He thought about the year she'd told him, and he went through it again. She wasn't there, which was strange. There was obviously a mistake. He mentioned it to his secretary later that morning, and decided to do Carole a favor, and save her some time, since he was sure she'd want it corrected herself. He asked his secretary to call the alumni office and report the omission to them. He gave her Carole's full name, Carole Anne Parker, and gave the correct year of her graduation.
He was hard at work on some financial reports later that afternoon, when his secretary called him on the intercom, and he picked it up, looking distracted. He was trying to make sense of some extremely complicated financial projections far into the future, and had to concentrate on what she had just said.
“I called the alumni office, as you asked me to, Mr. Harrington. And I gave them Miss Parker's name and graduation. They said that no one by that name has ever graduated from Princeton. I asked them to check again, and they did. I don't think she went to Princeton. Maybe that's the mistake. The alumni office insists she didn't.”
