Page 31 of Pipe Dreams
“Of course. It’s just a few dollars and you two were practically my therapists all the way here.” She could hardly believe how much personal stuff she’d just spewed at these two. They probably thought she was twice as crazy now that they knew the real story.
“Well, I hope it gets a little easier,” Ari said, holding the car door open.
“I’ll be fine,” Lauren said. She was used to handling things by herself. “If you have any real issues with finding a dress, call me. Clothes are my hobby. You and I are about the same size,” she pointed out to Ari. “You could borrow something.”
Ari looked shocked at the suggestion, reminding Lauren just how unfriendly she’d been up until now.Yay. Something else to feel guilty about. “If I’m in a real bind, I just might take you up on that,” Ari said with a smile. “I have a tightly packed therapy schedule tomorrow. I don’t see how I could get near a store.”
The three of them entered the hotel lobby. “I’ll text you a couple of pictures of dresses tomorrow when I’m at home,” Lauren offered.
“Thank you. Seriously.” Ari pushed the elevator button. “All my dresses are either for work or they look like a club kid’s wear. Because I used to be a club kid.”
“I’ll set you up,” Lauren promised as the elevator doors opened. It would be easy. Ari would look smashing in anything.
“I’m so relieved.”
Lauren’s was the first stop, on the fourth floor. “Good night, girls,” she said as cheerfully as an emotionally exhausted person could manage. “See you at the butt crack of dawn.”
She heard laughter as the elevator doors closed again.
TEN
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
APRIL 2016
The next morning at ten thirty, Mike keyed in the security code on the door of his brownstone and walked inside. He tossed his duffel bag onto the floor and kicked off his shoes. Then he listened.
Violins—two of them. Elsa and Hans were practicing. The piece was something fun and fast, with one violin chasing the other one around the melody. The effect was like two chattering squirrels zipping around a tree.
He just stood there in the entryway to his own home for several minutes, listening until the piece broke down.
“You said to repeat!” Elsa said with a giggle.
“But not there!” Hans argued, his voice amused. “Go back to measure fifty-five. Let’s finish this before I’m old.”
The music started up again, and he walked slowly through the house. He’d overpaid for this place, but it was gorgeous. The Wall Street couple who’d sold it to him had done a modern renovation down to the studs. They’d opened up the rooms to make a clean and bright space, with lots of natural light. It was ridiculously contemporary, though, with everysurface painted either a shimmering white or an expensive shade of dove gray. The light fixtures resembled space age bird’s nests. Or something. He couldn’t quite decide what the hell they were supposed to be.
He’d paid a decorator to choose from all the furniture they owned and refinish and reupholster some of it to suit the space. She’d done a good job warming the space up with honey-colored wood finishes and touches of color. He’d probably been a dream client—checkbook open and no patience to sweat the details.
Mike was still smiling as he climbed the stairs toward Elsa’s room. The violins got louder. There was no greater moment in parenting than listening to your kid play Mozart or who-the-fuck-ever andlaughing. They’d had some really dark days these past couple of years. But a few things went right, the biggest one being Hans.
It had originally been Shelly’s idea to ask the violin teacher to move in with them. Hans was in his twenties—your basic starving artist. During the week he auditioned for orchestra gigs. On the weekends he’d charged Long Island parents fifty-five bucks for a half hour of his time. Elsa had taken to him immediately, and he’d been her teacher for years.
There had been an awful month at the very end when Shelly was too sick to get any more chemo. The cancer spread to her lungs, and she was exhausted all the time.
They knew she would die, they just didn’t know when.
Mike spent all his free time either watching movies with Elsa—because it was less terrifying to ride out Shelly’s last days when they were looking at a screen—or having frantic, whispered conversations about the future with his dying wife.
“Hans just broke up with his boyfriend,” Shelly said one night. “He’s homeless. He’s flying back to Germany to re-group for the summer, and I’m afraid he’s going to stay there.”
“Fuck,” Mike had said, massaging his temples. Even one more loss in Elsa’s life was one too many.
“What if he moved in here? He already babysits for us plenty.”
This was true. Shelly had hired him to hang out with Elsa during the final weeks of Mike’s playing season. “Okay,” Mike had said without thinking about it too hard. “Should I write him an e-mail?”
“Do it,” she’d said. And the rest just fell into place. And when Mike had moved to Brooklyn last fall, Hans was all too happy to come along. He lived rent free in one of the most expensive cities in the world, and also got paid a weekly salary to be available when Elsa wasn’t in school.
