Confidence Read online

  “Well,” said Jennifer, “it’s not as if we have any choice.”

  “No,” said Sharon. She finished her wine and set it down on the marble.

  Edward couldn’t help turning to look at Jennifer again. Ravi saw him doing it and said, “So. Which one.”

  “Of those two?”

  “Yes. Of those two.”

  Edward shrugged. He did not want to look shy in front of the others. He waved at Chrissie for another beer.

  “You know which one I want?” said Guntar. He was swaying a little.

  Edward and Ravi looked at him with interest.

  “All of them.”

  They all barked a laugh like a shout. Edward felt immensely relieved. “Fucking right,” he said. “Fucking right.”

  Even Ravi had found this funny.

  There were also Olivier and Charles Easton and that guy Bobby who nobody seemed to know, sitting in the chairs around the ottoman by the fireplace. Jennifer and Sharon had greeted them when they came in and were looking at them occasionally. Jennifer and Sharon had not said this to each other, but they knew there was always a possibility, if Edward and Ravi didn’t come over to talk to them, that they would end up sitting with Charles Easton. Charles Easton seemed to be talking very intensely, and the other two men were leaning forward to hear him in the thumping and ticking of the horrible Italian house which everybody hated and yet which Davey insisted on playing every single night of the week.

  Charles Easton was wearing a black velvet jacket and white silk shirt, and he had a pocket square. It was preposterous, but it really did look quite glamorous. And Olivier looked quite beautiful too. The guy Bobby had his hair cropped very short, in a kind of menacing way. They all had their heads close together and were frowning.

  “I always wonder what they talk about,” said Sharon. “I wonder what Charles Easton is saying right now. But I never wonder that about Edward. Or any bankers.”

  Jennifer squinted again. “Yeah. I guess. No. I don’t. I never do.” She did a little yoga stretch with her back and neck. “You know, I like this wine, but it’s sticky or something. I would like to shift, I think, to gin and tonic.”

  Charles Easton was, in fact, at that very moment, saying this: “Then I chop a little cilantro, I pan-sear the scallops, and the secret is a drop of sesame oil right in the deep fryer.”

  None of them in the bar could see Lionel Baratelli, at this moment, because he was in the dining room with Jackie Farbstein. Jackie was buying him dinner. Jackie was talking to a girl on his phone and the waiter was standing there waiting for him to finish. Everybody waited for Jackie; it was a thing he could make people do. He said, “So, how was Thailand?” and he held up one finger to the waiter and he smiled at Lionel. “Did you lay waste to Thailand? I can’t imagine Thailand surviving you in a bikini. You were the tsunami.”

  Lionel picked up the wine list.

  Jackie said, “Whatever you want, bro, you choose. Four of you, in one villa? Was your sister there?”

  “Maybe we need a second more,” said Lionel.

  The waiter went away and Lionel read the list as closely as he could, while Jackie Farbstein said, “You are dangerous. Dangerous. I’m not even sure I want to see you. So listen, I would love to chat but I’m just having dinner with my old friend Lionel Baratelli, the writer, you know Lionel, who is a wonderful and fantastic guy. And so I’d better rush, but I’d love to hook up later, if you guys know where you’re going to . . . yeah, that’s later, though. It’s a tasting at nine, then a fashion show or something. So we won’t make the tasting.”

  Lionel called the waiter over and ordered a fairly good Rioja Tempranillo, because it was not extravagant and yet something he would not have ordered had he been paying. When Jackie closed up his phone, Lionel told him what he had ordered and Jackie said, “Excellent, perfect. This is why I love you, bro. This is why we have to spend more time together. I need to learn these things from you.”

  There was a young man in the bar whom Lionel had noticed passing through. Lionel had seen him at this place, and at other places, several times before, and had been curious about him because the guy was always alone and he was always writing in a notebook, an expensive leather-bound one. The guy wore black and he had his hair slicked back like some kind of fascist poster and he always wrote with a fountain pen. Every time Lionel passed him the guy looked up and smiled. He made Lionel a little nervous, because he was obviously some sort of writer, and Lionel was pretty sure he knew everybody who wrote anything of any kind in this town, and particularly in this place. The guy’s handwriting was vertical and regular, and it covered the pages in black, like a harsh and intricate tribal tattoo.

  Sharon was saying to Jennifer, “I’m not afraid of shorting, margin selling, whatever. I mean I spent all that time in options, warrants, all kinds of derivatives. I’m not sure this guy knows who he’s playing with. He told me he wanted in, I said okay, you know there’s a five grand minimum investment, right? And I don’t know if he hesitated for a second, just for a second, maybe it was my imagination, but he’s like, Sure, certainly, no problem. I’m like all right.

  “Yeah, that’s his dad’s firm, right? It’s not really his own money he’s playing with.”

  “I’m not really sure if it’s an institutional investor he wants. I’m not really sure he’s an institution.”

  “You don’t need to waste your time with that,” said Jennifer. “Stick with the big boys.”

  “I’ll let my assistant help him.” Sharon looked over at the guys at the end of the bar, at Edward and Guntar and Ravi, who were all red-faced now. “They are taking their time, aren’t they.” She undid the top button of her blouse.

  Edward said to Guntar, “No no no no no, the XKR has the grilles in the hood. It’s the little one. The XK8 is just a fucking boat. It’s a fucking Taurus. The XKR is like a little shark. Three fifty horse.”

  Ravi said, “Three fifty what? It’s the horsepower torque ratio you want to know about. Three fifty three fifty or three fifty three hundred or what?”

  “It goes fast,” said Edward. “I can tell you that.”

  “Stupid rims though,” said Ravi.

  “So,” said Jackie Farbstein. “Lionel, it is so good to see you. I have to tell you, I have to tell you just one thing, before you tell me all about what you’ve been up to, which I am just dying to hear. I have to just tell you that it is just so great to be with you, I always enjoy seeing you, and it’s just so refreshing, always.”

  “Me too,” said Lionel. “I wanted to tell you about—“

  “What was the wine you ordered?”

  “A Spanish wine. It’s sort of medium-priced, but I’d heard about it through this—”

  “Excellent. Excellent. An inspired choice, as always, I’m sure. You had a chance to look at this?” Jackie unfolded his menu and stared around the room. “What do you think so far? Not bad for a Tuesday. That’s usually the absolute worst here. And it’s getting worse and worse. But it’s not too bad today. You know those two at the bar? When we came in?”

  “Yes,” said Lionel. “Financial. And P.R. Run their own companies.”

  “Really?” said Jackie. “Interesting. You are so good at this, Lionel. You know this one behind you?”

  Lionel twisted. Across the aisle was a booth, and in the booth was a blonde. She wore a black silk dress, which was a little unusual for a Tuesday in here. Beside her was a guy with a funny haircut, a big blonde guy in a sweatshirt with a T-shirt over it. He looked about forty, older than the girl, and he didn’t look at all comfortable with his haircut. “Nope. Don’t know the guy either.”

  “She’s been giving me a lot of attention.”

  “She looks to be on a date.”

  Jackie was bent over the menu. “You want to try a little bit of everything?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay with you if I order? I haven’t tried the new guy’s stuff.”

  “Sure.” Lionel folded up his menu. Now he
wanted to look at the blonde who had been looking at Jackie. Maybe she knew who Jackie was. It was a little weird that Lionel rarely noticed any blondes looking at him, himself, Lionel, these days. And he wasn’t any older than Jackie Farbstein. In fact, Jackie Farbstein was a couple of years older than he was.

  “Shredded pork blinis with tamarind flowers looks kind of cool. What do you think a tamarind flower is?”

  The waiter was there with the wine. He said, “Mr. Farbstein, Davey has just spoken to the chef, and he would love to suggest to you that they make up a tasting menu for you. It would be a five-course menu, and we could suggest—”

  ”Wow, you know, thanks, that is just a fantastic offer, and you know, I want you to tell Davey that we are honoured, that’s a great idea, but I think I will take him up later on that, because I would really just like to try your regular menu for tonight. But if you have any suggestions of what you think is especially good tonight . . .”

  “Of course.”

  “My friend will try the wine.”

  Lionel tasted it and then Jackie began ordering plates of things. He ordered enough for three dinners and said, “So. There is so much we have to catch up about. First of all, of course I want to hear about you and all your projects, and your love life, of course, which is always so fabulously complicated, but—”

  “No, it’s not,” said Lionel, “not at the moment.” He felt in his pocket for his phone.

  “But first, I really have to tell you about this St. Tropez thing I have going, because I think you would be amazed, you really would, you’d be amazed by how fantastic it is. You absolutely have to, have to find some way to come over there and visit me, because we would have the most fantastic time there together. I have stories which would, well, you’re going to hear them.”

  “Do you like the wine?”

  “I love it, it’s delicious, it’s perfect. Cheers. Always great to see you. Anyway. I have this villa, I’m supposed to be sharing it with a guy I know from Miami, but he’s never there. And basically I just chill, I hang out.” Jackie paused, staring across the room. He smiled and raised his glass to the far wall. “I just got a smile out of her.”

  Lionel turned and sure enough, the blonde was raising her glass at them. Her date had his arm around her and was looking over a little dolefully.

  “I think her date’s a little confused,” said Lionel.

  “He doesn’t have a chance with her.”

  “He has his arm around her. Hey, why didn’t you let Davey give us the tasting menu?”

  Jackie shrugged. “I like to control negotiations. It’s my background.” He looked at the blonde again. “That guy’s a putz. He’s out of his league.”

  “Negotiations?”

  “Listen, this villa, last week, we had a bunch of people over, including this model who was. One second.” He answered his phone. “Julia. Julia. Get out of here. Shut up. I can’t believe this. How the fuck are you? What are you up to tonight?”

  Lionel smiled at Jackie and pushed his chair back and Jackie gave him a thumbs up. Lionel walked first towards the washrooms but once he was out of sight of Jackie he wheeled around, through the private dining room, towards the front bar. He passed the young guy with the notebook open on his table. The guy didn’t appear to have written any more hieroglyphics since the last time Lionel had passed. The guy smiled up at Lionel and Lionel smiled back. He was sure he didn’t know the guy.

  Lionel stopped to kiss Sharon and Jennifer, just as Edward and Guntar and Ravi were paddling down the bar to join them. Edward had a flushed and determined expression. His face seized up for a second as he saw Lionel step in, so Lionel stuck out his hand and grabbed him on the shoulder. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Lionel.”

  “Hey, Lionel,” said Edward. “Good to meet you.”

  “This is Edward, and Ravi and Guntar.”

  There were a lot of bone-cracking handshakes.

  “Edward is a rising star lawyer.”

  “Not really.”

  “He’s the youngest senior investment advisor at—”

  ”No no,” said Edward. “Not yet. Almost.”

  “The youngest almost senior.”

  Ravi snorted. “I guess that makes me an almost senior too. And I’m not even a sleazy bond trader.”

  “Congratulations,” said Lionel. He stepped out of their way so they could kiss Jennifer unimpeded.

  Sharon said, “You want a drink?”

  “No, thanks, I’m having dinner with Jackie Farbstein. I just came out to make a phone call. Listen, you know that guy who’s sitting over there with a notebook? The guy in black? Who is that guy?”

  “Oh,” said Sharon, “That’s Davey’s cousin or something. He’s the Northwood kid.”

  “Oh. William or something.”

  “I think. William or James. I think James. He says he’s a writer.”

  “That’s what I thought, because I always see him writing, but I know everyone who’s a writer. What kind of writer?”

  “He published a book of poetry. Or a play. I think. Yeah, it was a play. He’s cute, too.”

  Lionel peered over at the kid, who was writing again. “A play. So how is he a member here?”

  “Oh, you know they give memberships to artists. Free. It’s a good idea.”

  “Yes, it is a good idea.” Lionel took out his cellphone. “I had to pay for mine.”

  “Come by and have a drink with us afterwards.”

  “I will.”

  As Lionel left her, Guntar took her hand and kissed it, and she threw her hair back and shook it all over her shoulders.

  Lionel went out to the lobby to call Sandra. She didn’t answer, so he waited for her message and said, “So we’ve just sat down to eat, and it looks as if he’s ordering everything on the menu, so we may be a while. I’ll call if we go out afterwards. Maybe you want to come and join us.” He was a little relieved that Sandra hadn’t answered. She hated it when he came to this place.

  Edward was saying to Sharon, “I mean I’m a little sick of Playa del Carmen itself, you know, like everybody, and Puerto Morelos too, I mean it’s great the first time, like when you’re in your twenties, but this place is inland, on lagoons.”

  “You are in your twenties,” said Jennifer.

  “Totally environmentally friendly,” said Edward, “you get around on little electrical launches, totally silent, and there are five resorts total, and you can go to any of the facilities, spas restaurants, it’s pretty—”

  ”How’s the golf?” said Ravi.

  “Amazing. Amazing. Greg Norman designed the course. He was there when we were there.”

  “A little hot, I guess, though,” said Ravi.

  “Did you watch him play?” said Guntar.

  Jennifer and Sharon were listening and smiling. After a few minutes, Sharon caught Jennifer’s eye and they both smiled even harder at each other. Sharon looked over at the table by the fireplace, where Charles Easton and Olivier and the new guy with the cropped head were laughing, laughing.

  “My feet hurt,” said Jennifer softly.

  “We could sit over there,” said Sharon in her ear.

  “By this point he was like five under,” Edward was saying, a little too loudly, “and we were just brutally hungover.”

  Jennifer leaned close to Sharon, and she knew it was rude and that everyone could see she was murmuring to her but at this point it didn’t matter; she knew that the ruder she was to Edward the more desperate he would be to impress her. And Ravi she wasn’t concerned with: she had already tried him; he was going to marry some cousin his family had set up for him when he was five. She said softly to Sharon, “Who’s the new guy, Bobby?”

  “Smart guy, apparently. Prof or something.”

  Jennifer sighed. “No, though. We always sit with clever boys. We can sit with clever boys any time we like.”

  Sharon sighed. She turned to Guntar and threw her hair back. She squinted her eyes at him and put her fingers at her throat to play w
ith her necklace. “Guntar,” she said, “do you play golf as well?”

  What were they saying over there to make them look so happy and relaxed and interesting? In fact, Olivier had just said to Charles and the new guy Bobby, “I just said to him, you’re wearing double-pleated pants, what are they, Dockers? Hello! There’s a Guess store right across the street from your building. Three words: go in there.”

  That was what had made them laugh so hard, and this was why the women so longed to sit with them. But this is also why they knew it would be a waste of their time. They were not here for fun. They were here for the kind of guy who would find this conversation very gay.

  And do you want to know what James or William, the guy in black, was writing in his notebook? This is all he had written all night:

  Goldfish Club. Seven p.m. Raining outside. Trying to focus in the hubbub. The soul aches. Something beautiful about the way Chrissie pours the chardonnay. The wine like rain from her hand. The rain of wine. Sharon just arrived. Hasn’t looked over here yet. Hope she doesn’t sit next to me.

  He had changed the name of the club, at least.

  This piece was as yet untitled.

  Jackie Farbstein was off the phone. He said, “So. Where was I.”

  “The villa.”

  “The villa. My friend. My friend. You have to come there. Okay, what is this now?”

  “Rabbit dumplings,” said the waiter, “in miso vanilla froth. And this is the mache mousse with wasabi beet crackers. And those are your seared whiting on lemon zabaglione. The quail broth is coming.”

  “And do we have the pork rolls?” said Jackie Farbstein.

  “The pork blinis. They’re on their way.”

  “Pork blinis, you know your stuff, my friend. Don’t let me confuse you. I’m really looking forward to those. What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Lionel. “I don’t know how to eat it.”