New York - The Novel

Emma.
    Gorham introduced the Vorpals to the Humblays.
    “We were just looking at this fine puppy,” said Herbert.
    The puppy, it had to be said, was cute. A tiny, fluffy white ball, peeping out with large eyes from beside Emma’s cheek.
    “You should thank Mr. Vorpal,” said Maggie. “It’s because of him that you’re allowed to have a puppy.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Vorpal,” said Emma.
    Vorpal’s sword-like face broke into a smile. “It was my pleasure. I just think it’s nice for the children in the building to be able to have a pet.”
    “That’s so nice,” said Mary Humblay.
    “Have to agree with you there,” said Herbert.
    “Okay, girls,” said Maggie, “you can go if you want. But mind the noise, please.”
    The waiters brought the canapés round. The next guests, the O’Sullivans, arrived. He was a partner at a big law firm, quiet, judicious, but always good company; his wife Maeve was a slim, strikingly elegant Irishwoman who ran her own small brokerage house. Lastly came Liz Rabinovich and her boyfriend Juan. Liz was a speechwriter. She’d worked for some big-name politicians, though she had mostly corporate clients at present. But you never knew with Liz—she was something of a free spirit. As for Juan, he was a bit of a mystery man. Liz said he was Cuban. He’d once told Gorham that his mother’s family was Venezuelan, but that their money was in Switzerland. Juan lived with Liz when he was in New York, but Liz said he had a spectacular apartment in Paris. Gorham didn’t trust Juan. “Liz only likes men she doesn’t trust,” Maggie told him.
    The dinner went well. Liz, who always had plenty of Washington gossip, had been seated next to O’Sullivan. O’Sullivan was discreet, but wellinformed, and he seemed to be enjoying Liz’s company. Vorpal wanted to discover Juan’s business, and Gorham enjoyed watching him get more and more frustrated. At one point, when they were discussing real estate, old Herbert Humblay explained to them how the ancient endowments of Trinity worked. Not only had the Trinity vestry been able, down the centuries, to found one church after another out of its huge rents, but to help the work of other churches all over the world. The value of its real estate holdings in the Financial District was absolutely huge. As Vorpal listened intently to what Humblay was saying, and calculating the numbers, he began to look at the clergyman with a new respect.
    And then, of course, there was Maggie. Gorham gazed down the table toward her. His wife was looking stunning tonight—her red hair had been beautifully cut that afternoon, and she’d had a manicure as well. As she smiled down the table at him, only the faintest glint in her eye gave a hint of the quarrel they’d had last night.

    It was his fault, he supposed. Perhaps if he’d shared more information with her, the conversation might have been different. But then again, it might not.
    He’d never told her he’d gone to see the headhunter at the start of the year. Maybe because he felt that it was an admission that he wasn’t reconciled to his life, even an admission of failure. Also, no doubt, because he was pretty sure she’d have told him to stick with the bank where he was and leave the headhunter alone. If he heard of any job he seriously wanted to consider, that would be the time to talk to Maggie about it.
    Whatever the reason, Maggie had known nothing. She also did not know, therefore, that for nearly eight months, the headhunter had failed to come up with a single opportunity.
    He knew the guy was good at what he did, when he called him from time to time, just to check in, he was always told the same thing.
    “You have to be patient, Gorham. We’re not talking about some middle-management position here. We are looking for a really significant opportunity, a top position, and a good fit. These things only come along once in a while.”
    Intellectually, Gorham understood. But he could not escape the feeling that nothing was happening, that nobody wanted him. He felt worse than ever. And his fraying temper had shown in countless small ways, mostly ina general moroseness, and occasional flashes of irritation with Maggie or the children.
    So when, on Friday night, she had quietly sat him down and made her suggestion, it had come at the wrong time, and produced an unfortunate result.
    “Honey,” she’d said, “I really feel you’re unhappy. And maybe it’s your marriage, but I think it’s