Jennifer Sturman - The Pact

“Oh, Richard’s all about slime and slimy reasons,” said Hilary. “I don’t trust his motives one bit. I bet he can’t wait to get his hands on Emma’s money.”

“From what I’ve heard, he already has,” I said. “There are rumors in New York that the Furlongs are the silent partners backing Richard’s new agency. They’re only rumors, but where there’s smoke there tends to be fire in situations like these. I don’t know where else he could possibly have gotten the money. The offices are gorgeous, and the launch party he had must have cost a fortune.”

“You’re kidding,” said Jane in disbelief.

“I wish,” I replied.

“What a skunk,” said Hilary. “You’d think he could at least wait until after the wedding to start raiding Emma’s bank account.”

“The money’s certainly attractive to him, but I think he’s even more excited about all of the other advantages that come with being part of the Furlong family,” said Luisa.

“What do you mean?” Jane asked.

Hilary snorted. “Come on, Jane. Money can buy some things, but not everything. Talk about a name that opens doors! Emma’s father is literally world-famous and has all of these incredible art world connections. And Emma’s mother is related to half of American history, what with all of the Winthrops and Mathers and Jeffersons in her family tree.”

“And let’s not forget the Astors and Rockefellers and Du Ponts,” I added.

“Plus all of the things that money can’t really buy,” Hilary continued. “All the Social Register bullshit and seats on philanthropic boards and photos in W and Vogue. Oh, and did I mention club memberships? Dicky’s probably drooling over the prospect of his own locker at the Racquet Club.”

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” said Jane. “But if this is all so clear to us, why isn’t it clear to Emma? What is she thinking?”

In the moonlight I saw Luisa arch one thin dark brow. “I wish I knew. It’s as if she’s sleepwalking through the entire thing.”

“Maybe there’s something to Richard that we can’t see,” Jane said.

“Like what?” Hilary challenged. “He loves animals? He’s kind to his mother?”

“I don’t think even that’s true,” said Luisa dryly.

“Emma’s not stupid,” Jane answered. “And while her taste in men has always—” she struggled to put it delicately “—left something to be desired, she’s always figured it out in the end. There must be something good in him.” She was clearly hoping that if she said it enough times she would start to believe it.

“Well, whatever it is, he’s managed to keep it pretty well hidden,” said Hilary.

“That’s for sure,” said Luisa.

“Here’s what else I don’t get,” said Hilary. “Even if Emma’s been suckered by Richard, I can’t imagine her parents falling for him. They’re much too savvy. And Emma’s so close to them—if they had any objections, she would have taken them seriously. But they—well, especially Mrs. Furlong—seem completely gung ho about this wedding. It sounds like it’s going to be a real three-ring circus, what with the hundreds of guests and two bands and champagne flowing out of fountains.”

I wondered if I should say anything about the exchange I’d overheard earlier between Emma and her father. It was bad enough that I was guilty of eavesdropping. Surely I shouldn’t compound the sin by gossiping about things I hadn’t been meant to hear. “Maybe her mother’s doing the entire parental reverse psychology thing,” I replied while I was internally debating the merits of full disclosure. “You know, where they don’t want to tell you exactly what they think because they’re afraid that that will make you do exactly what they don’t want you to do? Or that if they tell you what they think and you go ahead anyway, the situation gets really awkward?”

“Is that how they handled these things when you were growing up in Ohio?” asked Hilary. My midwestern childhood had provided almost as much amusement to my friends as my romantic history, particularly after they discovered that Leave It to Beaver was set in my hometown. In fact, Ward Cleaver had once boasted to his sons about having been the best kite flyer in all of Shaker Heights in his youth. That my parents, with their thick Russian accents and bookish ways, bore not even the faintest resemblance to the archetypically all-American white-bread Ward and June Cleaver didn’t seem to matter.

“No need to be snotty,” I said, but even I recognized that my reverse parental psychology hypothesis was fairly lame. I decided to go for full disclosure. “Besides, regardless of what Emma’s mother thinks, I’m pretty sure her father’s not too happy about Richard.” I briefly told them about the argument I’d overheard. I felt slightly guilty, as if I’d betrayed a confidence, but I was so worried about Emma. Perhaps I was hoping that somebody could explain what I’d heard in a way that would make everything all right. I was out of luck, however; my friends found this information just as disturbing as I had.

“What could possibly make Emma talk to her father like that?” asked Jane, shocked.

“I don’t know. They’ve always had such a good relationship. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her raise her voice to him before.”

“He was really telling her to call it off?” Luisa asked.

“He was practically begging her to,” I confirmed.

“Unbelievable,” said Hilary.

“I know.”

“It must feel awful to be about to get married and to have so many people expressing their concern to you,” reflected Jane. “Marriage is scary enough when you’re confident you’re doing the right thing and so is everyone around you.”

“Yes, but you were doing the right thing when you married Sean,” Hilary pointed out.

“I really wish I could feel as good about this as I felt when you two were getting married,” I added wistfully.

“I wish I could feel as good about this as I did when we were getting married. Still, we should be supportive of Emma. She must have some good reason. Maybe she really loves Richard. And whatever her reason, we’re Emma’s best friends. We should try to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Jane’s voice, however, betrayed her lack of conviction. She’d never been a good liar; even the simple white lie was beyond her.

“What doubt?” asked Hilary. “There is no doubt. Richard is a complete and utter snake.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Luisa agreed. “But it still doesn’t explain why Emma’s going through with this.”

“She’s making a major mistake,” said Hilary.

“She really is,” I agreed.

“He is a disaster,” said Luisa.

Jane sighed. Her optimism was tapped out. “He sure is.”

We lapsed into an unhappy silence, sipping the chilled wine. The light from a half moon glossed over the gentle ripples on the water’s surface, and clouds moved slowly across the black sky. I breathed in the clean air, taking in the quiet brilliance of the night. In Manhattan it was probably well over eighty degrees, and so humid that the sounds of traffic and sirens would seem muted by the oppressive heat. Still, even with the heat and humidity, I would rather have been there than in this beautiful spot, dreading the day to come.

Hilary was the first to break the silence. Her voice was calmer now, and she spoke casually, as if she were picking up on a discussion that we’d started a few minutes ago but hadn’t finished.

“So. Is this a pact we’re going to keep?”

I woke up early the next morning and couldn’t fall back to sleep. This was highly irregular—I was famous in certain circles for my ability to sleep deeply and at great length, no doubt as a result of my usual work-induced state of sleep deprivation. Perhaps on some level I already knew what had happened and my curiosity to know yet more nudged me awake.