"Yes, unfortunately it was. It was Vito Caperelli."
"Oh no. He was Dad's friend."
"He was broke. He was into the local numbers game way over his head. Apparently, Mrs. Caperelli couldn't resist telling her crummy brother-in-law all about you and I. He saw an advantage and took it. Working with your father, he knew all about the union trouble and probably thought we'd assume, as we did, that they were behind it. It might have worked if they hadn't dropped your mother's nickname."
"But mom would have recognized Vito!"
"He hired three guys from out of town. He paid them off, paid off the numbers guy and still had cash to spend. That's how he got nailed."
"Mrs. C?"
"The only thing she's guilty of is being a terrible gossip. Archie says she's broken up. She blames herself."
Tristan filled his father in on the whole story including my father's continuing clashes with the union and how he and Archie intended to get to the bottom of that situation as well.
"You know, if I hadn't met Raina I'd probably tell you to walk away from the whole mess. You're putting yourself in a vulnerable position. But," he smiled my way, "I have met her. All I can say is if there's anything I can do to help . . ."
"Thanks, Dad. And I may call on you. The guys stirring up all the trouble aren't from New York. They're from Chicago. Your influence might be useful here."
Nine
We were sitting on the stuffy sofa in our hotel living room. The early afternoon sun slanted through the buildings and onto the lake outside. I snuggled against Tristan's shoulder and basked in what I considered a major accomplishment. There were no material things I could give him, but I had brought his father back into his life. To me, it was important. It balanced us, just a little.
He didn't look at me when he began to speak. "When I was in college, I decided that I couldn't really love a woman. The ones I met were so fucking shallow or so painfully stupid or both that I wasn't able to get beyond it. Women--girls really--pretty much threw themselves at me the entire time I was at Wharton. My father's success, my academic track record . . ."
"Your mouth-watering good looks," I couldn't help add.
"Thank you, yeah I suppose that too. Those were the qualities the women saw and that was why I attracted their attention."
"Well, all those things are part of you, aren't they?"
"A very superficial part. I couldn't put labels on what it was I wanted. I just knew I hadn't found it." He sucked in a deep breath. I could see him will himself to go on. "And, although I didn't really admit it to myself, my mother's death had left me with . . . God I hate this term . . . fear of abandonment. It was, and still is, a deep scar."
This was it. Elsa.
"When we met, I knew she was utterly different from any woman I'd ever known. For one thing, she seemed completely unimpressed by me and not at all attracted."
"I find it hard to believe any woman could fail to find you attractive." He ignored my comment.
"We shared a study group and those can get very intense. You get cases assigned and as a group, you have to present your findings. One lazy ass or one fuck up and you're dead. At the same time, the MBA program is cutthroat--a lot like law school. Graduating at the top of the program is critical."
"I wasn't concerned about that because I had already made up my mind which direction I was headed in. I wasn't going to be looking for any job; I was going to start my own firm. Elsa," he seemed to almost choke on the name, "was talented without being ego driven. Frankly, in spite of her brilliance, I didn't think she had the balls to succeed."
"By the time we graduated, Elsa and I had become good friends. I had already decided she'd be a great addition to my team and that working for me would be a good way for her to cut her teeth in the business and maybe harden up a bit. She became my right hand. She seemed to know what needed to be done before I told her and her business sense was totally in sync with mine."
"We were together constantly. One day, I just realized I was in love with her. It hit me hard. When I admitted it to her, she just told me she'd been waiting for me to get my head out of my ass long enough to see it." He grinned ruefully and flexed his fingers in front of him. Then he got up and stood by the window, half in shadow and almost turned away from me.
"We had it all. The world was ours. We mapped out a perfect life, planned all of the things couples plan. Her parents were elated, my father was mostly indifferent."
Tristan gazed out at the lake, graying in the fading afternoon.
"When she died, all those plans were buried under a mountain of snow. I was directionless. I threw myself into work, as people tend to do, and that translated into the fortune I have today. I treated every deal as if it was the last deal I'd ever do. I worked, literally, as if there was no tomorrow. Because, for me, there wasn't."
He walked back to me and stood in front of me, taking both of my hands in his.
"I hope you can understand now. I promised you that I would tell you why I ask you to live without expectations. Because . . . because expectations hurt. Expectations get crumpled under a semi on a slick highway or buried under an avalanche in the Alps."
He looked at me with such sadness that I wanted to weep for him.
"I know that this isn't what you want to hear. But I told you at the beginning and I'm telling you again now. If you can be happy what I have to give you, I promise I'll be very good to you. I know that the time may come when you won't be satisfied with those limitations. When that day comes, I'll deal with it with as much grace as I can muster."
I took a deep breath. I had thought about how I would handle this all weekend long. It was time. "Tristan, I do understand. And, within your . . . limitations . . . I'd like to continue to see you and enjoy you."
His face lit up, victorious. But I wasn't through.
"However, I'm going to have to impose some limitations of my own."
"I guess that's only fair."
"And it may be that you can't live with them. That's a risk I have to take." I paused to hold on to my composure under the look he was giving me. It was enough to tear my resolve to pieces.
"Go ahead."
"First, you have to stop using your money to 'help' me or my family. I am grateful for all that you've done, but I want you to bow out of the union situation with my father. He's a big boy and he can take care of himself."
"Second, I'm going to be working now and making a decent living. No more wardrobes, no more jewelry. I can dress myself. If I have the time to take a trip, I understand you have a plane and I won't refuse to fly in it. But tone down the billionaire routine. It makes me uncomfortable."