Jay McInerney - Bright, Precious Days

“Aren’t you publishing in, what, three months?”

“God and Phillip willing.”

“You sound worried.”

“There’s a lot riding on this. A hell of a lot.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “It’s going to be fine,” she said, hoping this was true. “You’ll make it work.”

—

She felt tense and anxious after they put the kids down, wondering about Russell’s intentions and her own desires. Sex was practically mandatory on Valentine’s night; even when they’d been in a winter drought, they’d almost always rallied for the occasion. It had been many long weeks since they’d consummated a sloppy coupling on New Year’s Eve, and while she didn’t feel like initiating proceedings tonight, she was open to suggestion, to a reinvigoration of their dormant romance. She told herself she was willing to give him a chance to change her mind about going off with Luke next weekend. When, after reading a manuscript for half an hour and turning out the light, he kissed her chastely on the cheek and said good night, he unwittingly sealed his fate.

—

As the date of her rendezvous approached, Corrine grew increasingly concerned about the weather; a snowstorm was forecast to move in the night before her departure. “Don’t worry,” Luke said. “A little snow won’t hurt us. Even if commercial flights are canceled, we’ll be able to take off from Teterboro.”

“What if I can’t get there?”

“I’ll send Brendan. He’s an ex-cop and he’s got a Suburban that can climb Everest.”

A few days later, after taking the kids to school, she returned to the loft to wake Russell and finish packing. Having slept badly, he was in a lousy mood, cranky about everything in the newspaper, including Obama’s surging prospects against Hillary. “I mean, what do we really know about this guy?”

“We know he opposes this disastrous war, which Hillary voted for.”

“Based on faulty intelligence,” Russell said.

“We all operate from faulty intelligence,” Corrine said, not entirely certain what she meant at first, but suddenly convinced it was a good description of the human condition.

“I still don’t understand why you’re driving into a snowstorm.”

“Casey’s driver says we’ll be fine. He’s an ex-cop.” This was actually true; the Reynes, like many of their peers, including Luke, employed retired cops as chauffeurs, in no small part to avail themselves of the privileges and perks those gentlemen enjoyed. But now it occurred to her that Russell might be tempted to call Casey or Tom to check on her. In a panic, she called Casey from the bedroom. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Tom’s in Dubai, and he doesn’t know or particularly care where I am. As for Russell calling me, if it happens, I’ll dodge the call and let you know he’s looking for you.”

“I’m suddenly imagining every way I could get caught. Not to mention I’m flying off in a blizzard.”

“Live dangerously,” Casey said. “If I sit next to one more dinner partner who asks me where my kids go to school, like I did last night, I’m going to jump out the window.”

Corrine called Luke and asked, “Are we really doing this?”

“Absolutely. I just talked to the pilot. He says we’re good to go. And Brendan’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Russell grudgingly accepted a kiss on the cheek. “I think you’re crazy.”

“I’m doing it for Casey,” she said. Could she really be someone who lied this easily? “She’s going through a rough time.”

Luke’s driver was indeed waiting on the street, brushing the snow from the hood of his Suburban.

“Do you really think we’ll be okay getting to Teterboro?” she asked.

“No problemo. You just leave that to me, miss,” he said, closing the door behind her.

Brendan might have been fearless, but other drivers were creeping and sliding and fishtailing in the snow, slowing their progress toward the tunnel. When they finally reached the Jersey side, they got caught in a long line of cars backed up behind a jackknifed tractor-trailer. By the time they arrived at Teterboro, the snow was falling with a vengeance — the wipers snapping back and forth like twin swords fighting off the barrage — and she couldn’t see how they could take off, her disappointment tempered by relief. Maybe it was for the best after all. Maybe it was a sign.

At the entrance, the driver intoned the magic tail number into the intercom and the gate rose slowly to admit them. She’d been here a couple of times with Casey and Tom, but the idea of flying on a private jet still seemed unreal to her. She remembered some stupid joke of Tom’s, to the effect that if you had a tail number, you’d never be lacking for tail. At any rate, she wasn’t likely to run into anyone she knew out here.

Luke was waiting inside the terminal, looking winter weekend — ready in a navy turtleneck and a leonine shearling coat. As they kissed, he nearly squeezed the breath out of her, and she felt her scruples thawing.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Surely we’re not actually going to fly?”

“Nothing to worry about. Just a few inches of snow.”

At that point a pilot walked over, introduced himself and asked if they were ready.

“Do you really think it’s safe?” Corrine said.

“We’re fine,” he said, “but I think we’d better get moving.” It seemed to her that he sounded less confident than Luke.

“Let’s do it,” Luke said, taking her hand.

They followed the pilot out across the snowy tarmac to the plane, the luggage following along behind on a cart.

The interior smelled of new leather and aerosol. The cabin was just tall enough for her to stand in the narrow aisle, though Luke had to stoop. She settled into a beige leather seat.

“Was there ever a point,” she asked, “at which you woke up and said, ‘Holy shit, I can’t believe how much money I have’? Or is it just a gradual acclimatization? Do you just get used to it?”

“Both,” he said. “You do get used to it, but sometimes, some days, you look around and can’t believe this is how you’re living. Today, right now, would qualify as one of those moments.”

Instead of taking the compliment, she brooded on the implications. “Do you think the pleasure one takes in material well-being is like passion, that it eventually fades?”

“Who says passion has to fade?”

Before she could point out the inevitability of its fading, the pilot came back to instruct her on the safety features of the jet.

“Hope you don’t mind — I’m going to be flying the plane,” Luke said after the briefing. “But it’s a short flight, and we’ve got a great copilot.”

This revelation only served to reawaken her fears. “Luke, are you sure we’re not being reckless? Besides, I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I wouldn’t risk your safety for the world. And you’ll like our destination.” He kissed her and followed the copilot to the cockpit.

It was strange, Corrine thought as they lifted off, being the only passenger on a plane. She wasn’t sure she was the kind of person who could learn to be comfortable with wealth. Or was it just that she’d never had the chance to? She’d spent most of her life on the Art and Love team.

—

Less than an hour later they descended through the clouds over a landscape of downy white hills, the serenity of the view providing a stark contrast to the violent bucking of the plane as they approached a small New England town, Corrine clutching the armrests, wondering if this might, in fact, be the end, the final reckoning for her dishonesty and disloyalty, for sins past and those not yet committed. PRIVATE JET CRASH: LOVERS KILLED EN ROUTE TO TRYST.