Olivia was expected at her mother’s for lunch at one o’clock. Paul was going to see the apartments then, and they were going to meet up again at three, and maybe go to a movie, or go back to her place and cuddle up in bed. The weather was brisk and staying home appealed to both of them, now that they had the luxury of time together. Paul kept playing the scene of the day before with Eileen over in his head, wondering how it had happened and come to a head so quickly. Eileen had instigated it, but it was time. He hadn’t had the guts to bring it up, but he couldn’t be torn between two women and two lives any longer. The past five months had been torture. Olivia had given him a reason for being, and the strength to leave Eileen, once she confronted him.
They left each other like lovers who wouldn’t meet again for years, and Olivia finally climbed into an Uber, and headed to her mother’s apartment at the Dakota on Central Park West. The apartments there were legendary, as she was. Countless famous people lived there. Her apartment was on two levels, with curving staircases, a wood-paneled library that had cathedral ceilings, and antique ladders that moved on a brass rail to allow one to reach all of the books on any shelf. She had a grandiose living room, an oval dining room, and five handsome bedrooms. The art on the walls was by famous French Impressionist painters, and lesser known artists of the same school. She had a state-of-the-art kitchen and a French chef. Gwen Waters had an enviable life and lived in a precious world, with objects that were dear to her, antiques she had collected around the world, and exquisite French fabrics. Most of it was the result of her extraordinary career, and some of it gifts from the men she had married. She had married three times, and Olivia’s father had been her second husband. Tom Page, the famous producer. Her other two husbands had been as famous as he was. She had been a major star for more than thirty years, divorced once, and widowed twice, the first time when her famous British artist husband had committed suicide. All of her husbands had been older than she was, a tendency Olivia had learned from her. Gwen’s stays in Hollywood while filming had only been temporary. She had been famous since her early twenties, and the apartment in the Dakota had been the home that Olivia had grown up in, and she always felt like a child again when she went to visit her mother there.
Gwen’s career had slowed down noticeably in the past two or three years, and at fifty-six, still strikingly beautiful, she was frustrated not to be seeing better scripts. She hadn’t made a movie in a year, or seen a script she wanted in two years, and she was well aware that her age was responsible for it. Women in their fifties were not highly prized in Hollywood, although she was one of the few exceptions. But she was no longer making two or three fabulous movies a year. She hounded her agent about it constantly, and he assured her that there had been no great movies made recently, and when he had the right part for her, she would see the script immediately. Nothing had been worthy of her lately.
Gwen was happy as soon as she saw Olivia bound down the stairs to the living room. The two women looked nothing alike, yet both were exceptionally beautiful. Gwen was tall and very slim, with ebony dark hair and enormous brown eyes. She could play any part, was willing to be transformed into characters of any age, and performed the parts convincingly, which had won her the two Academy Awards and seven nominations. She was never morbidly depressed, as some actors were when they didn’t win an Oscar. In her case, there was always next year. Each of her performances was a gem, which won her the praise of the critics and her peers, and audiences loved her. She had a natural kindness which came through whatever part she played, although she did villains well too, and enjoyed them. Olivia’s petite redheaded beauty was a throwback to her paternal grandmother. She collapsed onto one of the comfortable couches, and smiled at her mother.
“You’re looking very happy today.” Her mother smiled warmly at her. It had never particularly impressed Olivia that she had a famous mother. She was used to it.
It had annoyed her when her friends at school made a fuss about her mother being a big star. Gwen had picked Olivia up at school every day, like any other mother, when she wasn’t on location. And Olivia had spent school vacations all over the world, visiting her mother on location, or her father until his death when she was seven. She was as discreet as her mother was and had taught her to be, and never talked about the things they did or stars they knew. Her mother’s fame was a fact of life to her, and not something she chose to discuss with outsiders. She had already been a huge star when Olivia was born when Gwen was twenty-nine.
All of Gwen’s husbands were dead now. There had been other relationships over the years, though none recently. She had been alone for the past eight years, since her last husband died, after seven happy years of marriage. He had been a major film star and died of a brain tumor. Gwen had nursed him until his final hour, and held him in her arms when he died. And now at fifty-six, she had begun to think that the good times were over, in her career and in her personal life.
Nothing exciting had happened to her since her last movie, which had been recently released and was a box office hit. But for the moment, she had nothing in the works and was tired of reading bad scripts. The time she spent with Olivia was a welcome distraction. The life of an actress at her age was not easy, and the good parts had been thinning out since she turned fifty. Gwen’s mother assured her that there would still be great parts in her future, perhaps fewer but better than ever, but Gwen didn’t quite believe her. As close as she was to Olivia, Gwen was equally so to her own mother.
“So tell me what’s new with you,” Gwen asked Olivia, as they nibbled tiny crackers with homemade pâté on them, which the cook always made when he knew Olivia was coming. They were having cheese soufflé, her favorite, for lunch.
“Well.” Olivia hesitated, wondering if now was the best time to tell her mother about Paul. But she was so pleased that he had finally moved out of the house in Greenwich. It had taken him long enough, after telling her how dead the marriage was right from the beginning. “I’ve been seeing someone I like a lot,” she admitted, looking mischievous. She always confided in her mother, and Gwen had suspected for a while that there was a new man in her life, but she didn’t want to ask her, and preferred to wait until Olivia felt ready to tell her on her own.
“What’s he like?” Gwen asked with interest.
“Smart, serious, quiet. Older than I am, but not too old. He’s the managing director of an ad agency, and head account executive. He’s very creative. And he has three kids.”
“Divorced or widowed?” Olivia waited just long enough for her mother to raise a questioning eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me he’s married.” Gwen looked worried.
“He’s getting divorced. His marriage has been dead for years.”
“Men who cheat on their wives always say that,” Gwen said wisely. “He’s not living at home with her, is he?” Olivia shook her head confidently, and Gwen was somewhat relieved. “When did he move out, before you started dating him, or after?”