Кэндес Бушнелл: One Fifth Avenue

“Ah,” Thayer said. “Billy Litchfield’s old building.”

“With your hundred thousand a year and my eighty, that’s ninety thousand a year after taxes. That’s almost eight thousand a month. We ought to be able to afford a mortgage on that.”

“Right,” Thayer said. “And the apartment is probably the size of a shoe box.”

“It was a storage room. But so what? It’s on Fifth Avenue.”

“And the next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to get married,”

Thayer said.

“And?” Lola said. “It’s not like you’ll ever find anyone better than me.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. The skies outside the window were dark-ening, and there was a clap of thunder. “Storm’s coming,” Thayer said. “I’d better get moving.”

While he was waiting in Penn Station with Sam, the clouds passed over without producing rain. Coming out of the station on Seventh Avenue with Dominique in tow — she was a scrawny kid with limp blond hair, Thayer noted — the air was so still and hot, it was almost nauseating.

Thayer flagged down a taxi and urged his charges into the backseat. “I’ve never been to New York before. It’s so crowded. And ugly,” Dominique exclaimed.

“You haven’t seen the good part yet. Don’t worry, kid, it gets better,”

Thayer said. As the taxi edged down Fifth Avenue, another bank of thunderclouds rolled across lower Manhattan. The skies opened just as the taxi pulled up in front of One Fifth, pelting Thayer and Sam and Dominique with drops of rain the size of pennies.

“I’m soaked!” Dominique screamed, running into the building.

Roberto came forward with an umbrella — too late — and shook his head, laughing. “Bad weather out there, eh, Sam?”

Sam wiped the water off his face. “They said it was supposed to clear up later.”

“I’m sure it will. Just in time for the wedding. Mrs. Rice always gets what she wants,” Roberto said, and winked.

In honor of the occasion, the lobby was festooned with hundreds of fra-grant white roses. Dominique looked around in wonder, taking in the uniformed doormen, the paneled walls, and the riot of flowers. “I can’t believe you live here,” she said, turning to Sam. “When I grow up, I’m going to live here, too.”

Thayer smirked. “Good luck.”

The scent of the flowers drifted into the Gooches’ apartment, assault-ing Mindy’s nose as she sat poised in front of her computer. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment and sat back in her chair. When had it begun, she wondered, this mysterious and unfamiliar feeling of contentment? Was it when Annalisa Rice had returned to One Fifth without Paul? Or had it actually begun earlier, when she’d started writing her blog? Or had it perhaps sneaked up on her when she discovered James was having sex with Lola? God bless that little slut, Mindy thought.

Thanks to Lola, she and James now had the perfect marriage. James didn’t dare cross her. And she no longer had to worry about providing him with sex. Let him have his occasional tartlet on the side, she thought. She had everything she wanted.

Positioning her fingers above the keyboard, she typed: “The Joys of Not Having It All.” She paused for a moment and, gathering her thoughts, began:

“Why shouldn’t life be easier if it can be? Accept good fortune and damn the rest.”