She was sitting at the table, head leaned heavily on hand, nursing a club soda and looking perfectly miserable. No, not perfectly miserable—he'd seen her look perfectly miserable before, and there wasn't so much strength of emotion there now. She looked tired, disappointed, lonely, sad, but also somehow numb, careless, unconcerned about what had happened or what might happen. He wondered how Lavery could leave her sitting alone on this night of all nights, especially after everything they'd been through the past year. The smarmy bastard should be thanking the gods for a second, third, fourth, whatever-it-was chance with her and a new start instead of swanning off doing errands for his mysterious new business partner. Robert had overheard part of their conversation as he lingered, perhaps unnecessarily long, just around the corner from their table after ducking outside to the quiet hallway to phone and wish Robin a Happy New Year. Duke had been called away and was apologizing. He likely wouldn't make it back to the Port Charles Hotel lounge before midnight, and he didn't want Anna to wait there for him. He'd call her in the morning.
"Slim looks older somehow," Luke commented, noticing Robert's gaze. "She almost looks her age. Okay, five years younger than her age, but still older. Never thought that would happen. It sucks to be alone on New Year's Eve."
"You were alone on New Year's Eve before I joined you," Robert observed.
Luke lifted his drink and shook his head. "Only temporarily. Spanky will be here any minute. I've got someone to celebrate with at midnight, if you know what I mean—unlike poor Slim, and unlike you, you miserable son of a bitch."
"Who says?" Robert asked in mock-indignation. He smiled at Luke, lifted his martini glass to his mouth, and took a sip, pursing his lips in a chaste kiss that quickly turned lascivious with an unsubtle eye roll, tongue waggle under and around the rim, noisy gargle, and audible swallow. Luke turned away in disgust. "Thanks, old pal. I won't soon scour that image from my brain. Christ, Robert, do us both a favour and go keep someone else company."
Looking over at Anna, who seemed just about ready to leave, Luke smiled. "I've got an idea. Why don't you see if Wonder Woman is desperate enough to let you prop your miserable, alcohol-soaked carcass up against her table? Maybe you can drown your sorrows together."
Robert froze while lifting his glass and held it suspended in air two inches from his mouth, deciding. Then he put down the glass, gave a subtle wave of his arm to a passing waiter, and smiled. "A bottle of your middling bubbly, please. Send it to the lovely, sad-looking lady at the table across the way. One glass for her, one for me—but bring mine over here. I don't want to look too cocky. I'll carry it over with me like a begging bowl."
Anna sucked the last of her club soda from the bottom of the glass with her awkwardly short stir-stick-straw. There was no way to look elegant using such a thing, not that she cared. All she wanted was an early night. Maybe she'd finish her book; maybe she'd watch a film on television. Then bed and sleep, long before midnight. Good riddance to an exhausting year.
A smiling waiter approached with a bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. "Ms. Devane—compliments of a gentleman at the bar."
Anna looked over, nonplussed. Earlier in the evening she'd noticed Robert and Luke drinking together and (she was certain) trading insults. She didn't like to contemplate them ganging up, what they might be thinking and saying about her as she sat so conspicuously alone. She was certain which of the two had sent over the champagne. Luke would have sent scotch. And a single drink. Nothing so extravagant.
"My thanks to you and to the gentleman, but I was just about to leave. You can return the bottle and save my friend the cost. Good night."
The waiter smiled again. "The gentleman suspected you would refuse the gift, and so he instructed me to open the bottle immediately. I hope you understand—the tip was quite generous."
Anna muttered, "It always is."
As the waiter smoothly twisted out the cork, he continued, his tone apologetic. "He also asked me to tell you that if you leave, he'll be forced to drink the entire bottle alone, which he didn't think you'd want. He said something about a scheduled brunch with your daughter tomorrow morning. He doesn't want to show up feeling unwell."
The waiter smoothly filled Anna's glass. She frowned. "Apparently he's not concerned if I'm 'unwell' around my daughter and granddaughter."
Robert spoke from behind her right shoulder. She hadn't noticed him leave the bar. "Not true, Sweetheart. I'm here to make sure you don't wallow in sorrow tonight or feel too much pain tomorrow." He presented his glass to the waiter. "Garcon, fill-'er-up!"
The waiter was gone. Robert sat smiling across from her; Anna sat scowling back at him. "Come on, Devane," he spoke brightly, "turn that frown upside down."
"God, Robert, I love you but you can be so annoying," she muttered. "Are you the reconnaissance party? Will Luke be joining us to ruin my evening further?"
"Nah. You've got me to yourself." He smiled even wider.
She smiled back without humour. "Translation: he didn't want your company tonight either."
Robert shrugged. "Three's a crowd. Tracy's joining him. And since one is the loneliest number, I'm over here. I'm offering to make up a 'deux' with 'vous'."
"Robert, please don't try to speak French," she pleaded. "More importantly, please, please, please go away. I'm really not in the mood."
He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "Sunshine, for the life of me I can't understand why you look so—I don't even know how to describe it—flat. Lifeless. Joyless. Serious. And why you've looked like this for weeks. For god's sake: it's New Year's Eve, and you've got so much to be grateful for, so much to feel energized by and downright giddy about."
Anna stared back. "Yeah, you're right, it's so peculiar that I'm not dancing on the table right now hooting and hollering. Let's see, for the last two years I thought my daughter was dead, I've been pursued—for the umpteenth time, I might add—by a psychopath; and now there's a violent mob war brewing, at the centre of which is a crime family that terrorized my family for years."
Robert leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "That mob-war thing will be a piece of cake. No problem."
Anna pursed her lips. "Spoken like the former, not current, police commissioner of Port Charles."
He continued. "And anyway, why not focus on the positive? Yes, we thought our daughter was dead, but she came back to us. We have another chance. The psychopath has been neutralized. You've got an exciting professional challenge to look forward to this year. And on top of all this, you have one ex-husband back from the dead, another—let's be honest, your favorite—back from near death, feeling and looking better than he ever did. What more could you want?"
Anna looked at him significantly. He smiled at her again. She relented, though only partly, taking the full glass of champagne up from the table and lifting it in a toast. "You're right," she admitted. "Things aren't all bad. I never used to be so ungrateful. I don't know what's happened to me. Age I suppose."
Robert lifted his own glass; they touched rims lightly and sipped. "You've just had the wind knocked out of you. It's understandable. But you've got to find your way back to yourself, Luv. The Anna I knew was joyful and playful." Anna smiled slightly. Robert smiled back. "That's better," he spoke brightly. "Now, if you'll let me party with you girlie, we can try to recapture some of what we had before everything went to hell."