Most of those she spoke to wished her well and were sorry she went east but had no connections. Three, however, did. Two grew up in New York and went to college in the east and a third’s brother moved to New York for a job in publishing.
Kate also reluctantly called the Church rectory. She kept it short and direct. Something had come up with her kids and she had to be in New York for a while. She left too quickly to do it in person, but she had to give up her duties. This was a shock to Monsignor Taylor, who was in nominal charge of the programs, but Kate recommended someone she knew could take her place and promised to provide any assistance, remotely, that she could for a smooth transition. The Monsignor wished her the best and said that he hoped to speak to her again soon and to see her in the not too distant future and that he would pray for her.
Kate did not appreciate how highly her work at the Church was valued. But the three with New York connections managed to get her several people to call and after a series of meetings and interviews, Kate found herself a job. Her first day was August 6. By that point, her story about coming east to be with her kids was widely circulated among and almost universally accepted by her friends in Mill Valley. The job was a mid-level position at a fashion-retail company on Seventh Avenue. She found a one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, in a brownstone, a brownstone very like Meg Ryan’s in “You’ve Got Mail,” steps and all. She moved in on September 1.
Maya Yang
In California, while his wife was gone and lining up a job and an apartment in New York, William’s routine changed little. He hired a twice-a-week housekeeper to take over some of the things that his wife had done. He went to work and came home late. Golf at his club on Saturdays, weather permitting; drinks at the Nineteenth Hole when it rained. Mass in Mill Valley on Sundays. Repeat.
His wife’s departure and the turmoil that led to it coincided with something he did on a semi-regular basis. He was a mentor to former associates at the firm and sometimes, usually once or twice a year, had lunches with them. Maya Yang was one. She was an associate in William’s department who left as a sixth-year associate when she was told she would not make partner. She now worked in the general counsel’s office at a small tech firm in San Francisco. He’d seen her in January, and they had a lunch scheduled for July 12.
There was nothing special about her. An attractive Asian-American, she was slightly-built yet tall, with long, straight hair kept as William remembered his daughter kept it. Maya was simply another very smart, very hard-working former associate and their conversations had always been strictly professional. She knew almost nothing about his family, although she recalled seeing his wife at firm functions and knew his daughter was in law school in New York.
When they sat down, it was unusual, his ordering a Scotch. When he spoke, it was out of character. He began with almost a sneer: “You know, I thought my daughter would do what you did.” By which he meant going to law school, working at a San Francisco firm, and making partner or getting a good job at a company in the city.
Maya had no idea what she was supposed to say to this or why he was saying it. She looked at him. He looked at his glass. “I wanted her to stay here but she had to go to New York. Now she’s left law school after first year and is about to marry a woman and my wife has run off to be with her in New York.”
Maya was embarrassed about being there for this but was also struck by how much he trusted her to confide like this. Still, she had no idea what she was supposed to say or do.
“Bill.” He looked up. Shit, she thought, he wants me to provide some insight or comfort. “I’m sure you’ll get together again soon.” That was what she came up with. It did not matter; he was not listening. She was there for him only so there would be someone he could tell this to.
Which, of course, was worlds apart from what Maya thought her purpose, even after he threw a couple of twenties on the table and left, telling her to get herself a nice lunch.
Maya remained briefly but did not order anything and picked up a salad as she walked back to her office. It had been the most bizarre experience of her life. And she was trying to figure out what was so unsettling to him. So his daughter left law school; Maya knew plenty of classmates who did. And his daughter marrying another woman; we are in San Francisco, for god’s sake, a live-and-let-live town, especially for gays. So it was his wife leaving. It must be his wife leaving.
The Rescue Attempt
Shortly after the “lunch,” William called Maya to apologize, adding that he trusted that they would keep what he said between the two of them. “Of course.”
She heard nothing from him for two months. She wondered what happened and whether he had gotten through whatever led him to open up. Out of the blue, on a Saturday in early September, he called. He started a monologue. He went to New York to try to “rescue” his daughter. He said he arranged to have a client meeting a few weeks before his daughter was to marry this friend of hers. (This surprised Maya, who thought his wife’s leaving was the source of his crisis.)