Page 18 of The Frog Prince
“Why do you think I let Tessa have the ball?” Olivia leans back, folds her arms behind her head, and regards me steadily. Her expression is calm—calm but hard. She’s pulling no punches here.
Forgive me. I’m slow. I’m trying to digest everything Olivia’s saying. “I thought David gave Tessa the ball. I thought you were being punished…”
“Punished?IletDavid take it from me. I knew the ball couldn’t sustain that kind of momentum. Everything has its time. Nothing lasts forever.” Olivia laughs, low and harsh, and runs long, elegant fingers through her hair. “Rule number one, Holly: know when to say when.”
ChapterFour
Know when tosay when.
Olivia’s words stay with me as I drive home. The fog is moving in, and it’s not even that late. It’s late August and it feels like winter, and I don’t know if it’s the cold, damp night or Olivia’s fatalism, but I’m definitely depressed.
I realize, too, that my problems seem pretty insignificant compared to David’s loss. His partner died. Mine just divorced me. Jean-Marc and I were married for one (unhappy) year. Tony and David had a meaningful decade.
Driving the hilly, congested streets punctuated with the clang-clang and rumble of the cable cars, I can’t help wondering what makes couples stick.
Why can some people go the distance? What makes a relationship work?
If only I could identify the ingredient that makes two people want to be together and stay together despite the problems, the conflicts, the self asserting its needs, then maybe Jean-Marc and I would be together today.
Maybe my mom and dad would be together today.
Maybe half of U.S. marriages wouldn’t end in divorce.
I change lanes but fail to signal, and suddenly a white Porsche brakes hard behind me, and the driver gives me lots of attention with his middle finger. Thanks, man. That feels good.
For a split second I feel like Loser Girl all over again, and then I shake it off, thinking instead of David and Tony, of how much David loved Tony and how much Tony—and the Leather & Lace Ball—still means to David. And knowing that the ball is David’s tribute to Tony, I can’t comprehend how Olivia, who has been so devoted to David and City Events, can detach herself now.
The ball isn’t about power. It’s about love.
Isn’t it?
By the time I’ve found parking two streets over and hoofed it. in damp darkness to my apartment—the tall Victorian gingerbread house, black since Cindy has left for her long weekend already—Tom Lehman is so not part of my thoughts that when I discover two messages from him, I’m shocked.
But what amazes me most is that Tom Lehman has called twice in less than two hours. Two messages in as many hours smacks of desperation even to me. Dropping my coat, I promptly erase both messages.
And then the phone rings.
It’s him. I know it is. Simply because I know my luck. I’ve had this same luck since I started kindergarten, and it’s not the kind of luck that’s, well… lucky. It’s more like cursed luck, and it works this way—you don’t get what you want, and what you don’t want, you get. So when the phone rings now, I know who it is because he’s the one I don’t want calling.
But the phone keeps ringing, and regretfully I answer.
“Holly. Tom Lehman here.”
Of course. Murphy’s Law meets ancient Chinese fortune. “Hi.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
No kidding. “I just walked in.” God, I wish I’d never given him my home number.Bigmistake. I’m so not ready for this, not ready for men and dates and making up polite excuses when I can still barely get myself up and dressed in the morning without bursting into tears.
“How did your meeting go?”
“It was pretty tense.”
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t sound all that sorry. He sounds cavalier. “It’s not your fault,” I answer, trying to think of a way to get off the phone before something truly awful happens.
“Maybe I can make it better. I’ve reservations at Ovio for tomorrow night.” He pauses for emphasis. “Ovio istheplace to go right now. Great bar. Killer menu. The chef’s that Chinese-Brazilian guy. everybody’s talking about. You can’t get reservations.”