Page 16 of Buttons

The waiter materializes at our table. “Mr. Plaza, Ms. Ruiz. May I suggest the 2011 Barolo?”

Carmella raises a brow at me. I nod, beyond caring about wine pairings.

“So,” she says when the waiter disappears, “are we pretending nothing’s wrong, or would you like to discuss why you look like you slept in your car?”

“Elowen left.” The words come out flatter than I intend.

Carmella doesn’t look surprised. “When?”

“Yesterday. She formally resigned as my executive secretary this morning.”

“Ah.” She takes a sip of water, leaving a perfect lipstick imprint on the glass. “May I ask what prompted this dramatic exit?”

“Don’t play games, Carmella, it’s not like you.”

For what it’s worth, she looks ashamed. “The list, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Thatsent her running for the hills? Seems like an overreaction to me.”

“Exactly.” Relief floods through me at her instant understanding. “It was years ago. A practical exercise in decision-making. She’s acting like I committed some cardinal sin by approaching marriage logically. If it were up to me, everyone would do the same. The divorce rate is much too high.”

Of course, a little voice screams inside me,You’re on the verge of divorce, dummy!But it’s inconvenient to me, so I ignore it.

The waiter returns with our wine, going through the tasting ritual that suddenly seems pointlessly elaborate. When he leaves, Carmella leans forward.

“Julian, you did nothing wrong. Some women need emotional drama. They create crises to feel important.”

“That doesn’t sound like Elowen.” Even as I say it, I’m not sure it’s true. The Elowen I thought I knew wouldn’t abandon her responsibilities on a whim.

Carmella shrugs one elegant shoulder. “People surprise you, especially when they feel threatened.”

“Threatened by what?”

Her smile turns knowing. “By reality. By the fact that relationships aren’t fairy tales. That men like you make practical choices.” She swirls her wine. “It’s actually rather manipulative: creating this situation where you’re suddenly helpless without her, waiting for you to come begging.”

I hadn’t considered that angle. “You think she planned this?”

“I think she saw an opportunity and took it. It’s a power play, Julian. And judging by your appearance, it’s working.”

Our food arrives: poached salmon for her and steak for me. I cut into the meat, thinking that I have that meeting at two p.m., so I can’t stay long.

“The Children’s Hospital Gala is next week,” I say after a few bites. “Elowen was supposed to attend with me.”

Carmella sets down her fork. “That’s the black-tie event at the Haverford? Where you’re presenting the corporate donation?”

I nod. “Elowen handled all the details. The seating arrangements, my speech notes, even had my tux dry cleaned.”

“And now you’re left scrambling.” She shakes her head sympathetically. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Strategic abandonment. I could help.”

“What?”

“With the gala. I could attend with you. It’s for a good cause, and it would save you the embarrassment of showing up alone after”—she gestures vaguely—“all this.”

The offer is perfectly logical. Carmella moves in the same social circles. She’s poised, articulate, and familiar with these functions. There would be no awkward explanations needed. Everyone knows we’ve maintained a professional friendship over the years.

“That’s generous of you.”