Lara decided to work at home mornings.
"I want us to be together as much as possible," she told Philip.
Lara asked Kathy to arrange for some secretaries to be interviewed at the penthouse. Lara talked to half a dozen before Marian Bell appeared. She was in her middle twenties with soft blond hair, attractive features, and a warm personal ity.
"Sit down," Lara said.
"Thank you."
Lara was looking over her resume. "You were graduated from Wellesley College?"
"Yes. "
"And you have a B.A. Why do you want a job as a secretary?"
"I think I can learn a lot working for you. Whether I get this job or not, I'm a big fan of yours, Miss Cameron."
"Really? Why?"
"You're my role model. You've accomplished a lot, and you've done it on your own."
Lara was studying the young woman. "This job would mean long hours. I get up early. You'd be working at my apartment. You'd start at six in the morning."
"That wouldn't be a problem. I'm a hard worker." Lara smiled. She liked Marian. "I'll give you a one-week trial," she said.
By the end of the week Lara knew that she had found a jewel. Marian was capable and intelligent and pleasant. Gradually, a routine was established. Unless there was an emergency, Lara spent the mornings working at the apart ment. In the afternoon she would go to the office.
Each morning Lara and Philip had breakfast together and afterward Philip would go to the piano and sit in a sleeveless athletic shirt and jeans and practice for two or three hours while Lara went into her office and dictated to Marian. Some times Philip would play old Scottish tunes for Lara: "Annie Laurie," and "Comin' Through the Rye." She was touched. They would have lunch together.
"Tell me what your life was like in Glace Bay," Philip said.
"It would take at least five minutes." Lara smiled.
"No, I'm serious. I really want to know."
She talked about the boardinghouse, but she could not bring herself to talk about her father. She told Philip the story of Charles Cohn, and Philip said, "Good for him. I'd like to meet him one day."
"I'm sure you will."
Lara told him about her experience with Sean MacAllister, and Philip said, "That bastard! I'd like to kill him!" He held Lara close and said, "No one is ever going to hurt you again."
Philip was working on a concerto. She would hear him play three notes at a time, over and over and then move on, practicing slowly and picking up the tempo until the different phrases finally flowed into one.
In the beginning Lara would walk into the drawing room while Philip was playing and interrupt him.
"Darling, we're invited to Long Island for the weekend. Would you like to go?"
Or, "I have theater tickets for the new Neil Simon play."
Or, "Howard Keller would like to take us out to dinner Saturday night."
Philip had tried to be patient. Finally, he said, "Lara, please don't interrupt me while I'm at the piano. It breaks my concentration."
"I'm sorry," Lara said. "But I don't understand why you practice every day. You're not giving a concert now."
"I practice every day so I can give a concert. You see, my darling, when you put up a building and a mistake is made, it can be corrected. You can change the plans or you can redo the plumbing or the lighting or whatever. But at a recital there is no second chance. You're live in front of an audience and every note has to be perfect."
"I'm sorry," Lara apologized. "I understand."
Philip took her in his arms. "There's the old joke about a man in New York carrying a violin case. He was lost. He stopped a stranger and said, 'How do you get to Carnegie Hall' 'Practice,' the stranger said, 'practice.' "
Lara laughed. "Go back to your piano. I'll leave you alone."
She sat in her office listening to the faint strains of Philip playing and she thought, I'm so lucky. Thousands of women would envy me sitting here listening to Philip Adler play.
She just wished he did not have to practice so often.
They both enjoyed playing backgammon, and in the eve ning, after dinner, they would sit in front of the fireplace and have mock-fierce contests. Lara treasured those moments of being alone with him.
The Reno casino was getting ready to open. Six months earlier Lara had had a meeting with Jerry Townsend. "I want them to read about this opening in Timbuktu," Lara said. "I'm flying in the chef from Maxim's for the opening. I want you to get me the hottest talent available. Start with Frank Sinatra and work your way down. I want the invitation list to include the top names in Hollywood, New York, and Washington. I want people fighting to get on that list."
Now, as Lara looked it over, she said, "You've done a good job. How many turndowns have we had?"
"A couple dozen," Townsend said. "That's not bad from a list of six hundred."
"Not bad at all," Lara agreed.
Keller telephoned Lara in the morning. "Good news," he said. "I got a call from the Swiss bankers. They're flying in to meet with you tomorrow to discuss the joint venture."
"Great," Lara said. "Nine o'clock, my office."
"I'll set it up. "
At dinner that evening Philip said, "Lara, I'm doing a recording session tomorrow. You've never been to one, have you?"
"No. "
"Would you like to come and watch?"
Lara hesitated, thinking about the meeting with the Swiss. "Of course," she said.
Lara telephoned Keller. "Start the meeting without me. I'll get there as soon as I can."
The recording studio was located on West Thirty-fourth Street, in a large warehouse filled with electronic equipment. There were 130 musicians seated in the room and a glass-enclosed control booth where the sound engineers worked. It seemed to Lara that the recording was going very slowly. They kept stopping and starting again. During one of the breaks she telephoned Keller.
"Where are you?" he demanded. "I'm stalling but they want to talk to you."
"I'll be there in an hour or two," she said. "Keep them talking."
Two hours later the recording session was still going on.
Lara telephoned Keller again.
"I'm sorry, Howard, I can't leave. Have them come back tomorrow."
"What's so important?" Keller demanded.
"My husband," Lara said. And she replaced the receiver.
When they returned to the apartment, Lara said, "We're going to Reno next week."
"What's in Reno?"
"It's the opening of the hotel and casino. We'll fly down on Wednesday."
Philip's voice was filled with distress. "Damn!"
"What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry, darling, I can't."
She was staring at him. "What do you mean?"
"I thought I had mentioned it. I'm leaving on a tour Mon day."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ellerbee has booked me on a six-week tour. I'm going to Australia and..."
"Australia?"
"Yes. Then Japan and Hong Kong."
"You can't, Philip. I mean...why are you doing this? You don't have to. I want to be with you."
"Well, come with me, Lara. I'd love that."
"You know I can't. Not now. There's too much happening here." Lara said miserably, "I don't want you to leave me."
"I don't want to. But, darling, I warned you before we were married that this is what my life is about."
"I know," Lara said, "but that was before. Now it's different. Everything has changed."
"Nothing has changed," Philip said gently, "except that I'm absolutely crazy about you, and when I go away, I'll miss you like the devil."
There was nothing Lara could say to that.
Philip was gone, and Lara had never known such loneli ness. In the middle of a meeting she would suddenly think about Philip and her heart would melt.
She wanted him to go on with his career, but she needed him with her. She thought of the wonderful times they had together, and of his arms around her, and his warmth and gentleness. She had never known she could love anyone so much. Philip telephoned her every day, but somehow it made the loneliness worse.
"Where are you, darling?"
"I'm still in Tokyo."
"How's the tour going?"
"Beautifully. I miss you."
"I miss you, too." Lara could not tell him how much she missed him.
"I leave for Hong Kong tomorrow and then..."
"I wish you'd come home." She regretted it the moment she said it.
"You know I can't."
There was a silence. "Of course not."
They talked for half an hour and when Lara put the receiver down, she was lonelier than ever. The time differences were maddening. Sometimes her Tuesday would be his Wednes day, and he would call in the middle of the night or in the early hours of the morning.
"How's Philip?" Keller asked.
"Fine. Why does he do it, Howard?"
"Why does he do what?"
"This tour of his. He doesn't have to do it. I mean, he certainly doesn't need the money."
"Whoa. I'm sure he's not doing it for the money. It's what he does, Lara."
The same words that Philip had used. She understood it intellectually, but not emotionally.
"Lara," Keller said, "you only married the man - you don't own him."
"I don't want to own him. I was just hoping that I was more important to him than..." She stopped herself in mid-sentence. "Never mind. I know I'm being silly."
Lara telephoned William Ellerbee.
"Are you free for lunch today?" Lara asked.
"I can make myself free," Ellerbee said. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, no. I just thought we should have a talk."
They met at Le Cirque.
"Have you talked to Philip lately?" Ellerbee asked.
"I talk to him every day."
"He's having a successful tour."
"Yes. "
Ellerbee said, "Frankly, I never thought Philip would get married. He's like a priest - dedicated to what he does. "
"I know" - Lara hesitated - "but don't you think he's traveling too much?"
"I don't understand."
"Philip has a home now. There's no reason for him to be running all over the world." She saw the expression on Ellerbee's face. "Oh, I don't mean he should just stay in New York. I'm sure you could arrange concerts for him in Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles. You know...where he wouldn't have to travel so far from home."
Ellerbee said carefully, "Have you discussed this with Philip?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first. It would be possible, wouldn't it? I mean, Philip doesn't need the money, not anymore."
"Mrs. Adler, Philip makes thirty-five thousand dollars a performance. Last year he was on tour for forty weeks."
"I understand, but..."
"Do you have any idea how few pianists make it to the top, or how hard they have to struggle to get there? There are thousands of pianists out there, playing their fingers to the bone, and there are only about four or five superstars. Your husband is one of them. You don't know much about the concert world. The competition is murderous. You can go to a recital and see a soloist on the stage dressed in tails, looking prosperous and glamorous, but when he gets off that stage, he can barely afford to pay his rent or buy a decent meal. It took Philip a long time to become a world class pianist. Now you're asking me to take that away from him."
"No, I'm not. I'm merely suggesting..."
"What you're suggesting would destroy his career. You don't really want to do that, do you?"
"Of course not," Lara said. She hesitated. "I understand that you get fifteen percent of what Philip earns."
"That's right."
"I wouldn't want you to lose anything if Philip gave fewer concerts," Lara said carefully. "I'd be glad to make up the difference and..."
"Mrs. Adler, I think this is something you should discuss with Philip. Shall we order?"
