Shortly after Maritza has her dressed and primped, I go to her room to find her curled up in her bed.
“Baby, you’re gonna wrinkle your outfit,” I say.
Her little face crumples. “It hurts.” She points to her stomach.
Vaughn enters. “Are we ready? Cliff is pulling the truck around.” Her expression stops him in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“She doesn’t feel well, her stomach hurts.”
“Since when? She was fine this morning.”
“Sometimes these things just come on. I don’t think we should take her. She should be home when she feels like this.”
I see the conflict in his face. He’s torn. He wants her to go, he wants to insist that she’ll be fine, but a small part of him knows that would be wrong. What kind of father would put a silly photo shoot before his child’s health? It’s exactly what he’s thinking right now. He places his hand on her forehead, feels the warmth and says, “You don’t feel well, Princess? What hurts?”
She shakes her head and points to her stomach, a pitiful frown on her face.
That did it. His heart can’t take it. He relents. “I’m sorry Baby, it’s gonna be okay. Daddy’s gonna make it better.” He turns to me. “You’re right, she can’t go feeling like this. I’ll call Stu to cancel.”
I’m overwhelmed by my luck. The timing couldn’t have been better if I planned it myself. But just as quickly, I’m ridden with guilt. Guilt for feeling so happy that my child is ill. Guilt that doubles when I look at Vaughn. He couldn’t love her anymore if she were really his own. I know how much this photo shoot meant to him, and he’s willing to call it off— for her.
Later that evening we’re all together in the media room watching television. I’m nestled into the crook of Vaughn’s arm, and Morgan is asleep, draped across my lap. She began to feel better a couple of hours later, after taking a little Children’s Mylanta.
Vaughn’s cell phone rings. “Hey Stu. What’s good? Yeah, I know … I feel bad about it … yeah, she’s better now … maybe a bug … Really? When?”
I sit up.
“Oh yeah? ... That’ll work … would really appreciate it … Great… Okay … Tomorrow.”
He hangs up.
Shit.
“Guess what, Babe? The editor is willing to extend the deadline for us. Says she had her heart set on featuring me. We can do the shoot tomorrow and still make it in the father’s day issue.” He strokes Morgan’s hair. “See, baby girl, we’re gonna get our pictures taken after all.”
I smile broadly, the best I can muster to conceal my disappointment. “They extended it just for you?”
“Yeah, well ya’ know. I’m kind of a big deal.” His tone is playful, but I know he’s serious. It’s very rare that Vaughn does not get his way.
So, despite my efforts, we’re here at a studio in Manhattan, setting up for our family shoot. Morgan is feeling well, her spirits are high, and Vaughn is in his glory. He’s got his wife and precious daughter at his side. The perfect family—the rich, handsome former athlete, his beautiful wife and their beloved daughter.
NINE
I’m at LaGuardia Airport driving around in circles hoping the next time I swing through the Delta terminal that Elle, my best friend, will be there. Her flight from Atlanta was delayed.
There are no words to describe how elated I am that she’s back in town. Since she moved to Georgia to be with her boyfriend, Luke, I’ve felt like a part of me was missing. Phone calls and text messages just aren’t cutting it.
Ah, there she is. I honk my horn and wave frantically as I weave my way towards the curb. She spots me, and her face lights up. I park and hop out of the car.
“Heeeey!” I hug her tight. “God, I missed you, girl. You look great! I love the hair. Why didn’t you tell me you cut it?”
“I just did it yesterday. Hadn’t planned on it, just went to the salon and decided to try something new. You like it?”
Her light brown bob gleams under the sun. I’ve never seen Elle’s hair above her shoulders, but I like it. It’s funky. She looks younger than her thirty-five years. “I do. It fits you, you look good with short hair.”
“You’re looking good too, miss. But you always look good.”
“Ladies, keep it moving, you gotta keep it moving now,” yells a short, balding TSA guy as he waves his orange baton at us.
“Ugh, I forgot where I was,” Elle says. “Back in mean ‘ole New York. Almost forgot how rude ya’ll can be.”
“Ya’ll? I’m ya’ll now? How quickly we forget our New York roots, Miss Westchester County 1992.” I lift one of her suitcases and load it into the back seat.
She grabs the other one. “Oh God, that was like a hundred years ago. You know I still have that crown somewhere.”
“You should, the way you fought and clawed to win it.”
“Whatever!”
We climb into the car.
“It’s crazy how quickly you can get used to everyone being so polite and friendly. It’s another world down there, Blair. I love it.”
“I can tell, I see the difference in your face. You’re glowing. Unless there’s some other reason you have yet to tell me about…” I direct my gaze at her stomach.
“Please, what you’re seeing is the glow of a woman who is in love with a wonderful man. Oh, and maybe it has a little something to do with this!”
She pops out her left hand. On her finger is an enormous, glittering diamond, set in the middle of an exquisite platinum band.
“Oh my God, Elle! It’s gorgeous! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now. Isn’t it beautiful? Even nicer than the last one.”
“It sure is. Is that an Asscher cut? I love it.”
“Damn, you know your diamonds. Yes it is.”
“I don’t know how I didn’t notice it when I first saw you. Ah, you think you’re slick. You tried to distract me with your new haircut, you sneaky broad.”
“We have so much to talk about,” she says. “It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.”
“Ladies!” We look to our right, and there’s that orange baton, waving furiously at us. “Keep it moving, you can’t sit here in your car holding up traffic. C’mon now.”
“Okay!” we say in unison. I laugh so hard my stomach aches. God, it feels good to have her back home, even if just for a week.
The plan had been to drop her off at her hotel so she could unpack and freshen up and then we’d meet up later for dinner, but we can’t contain our chatter. So, I take her straight to the Paramount Hotel in Times Square and wait while she changes. Then we head downstairs for dinner at the Library Bar and Restaurant.
“Soooo,” I say after we’ve ordered our meals, “give me the details. How did he propose? Did you pick a date? Tell me everything.”
She tells me the story of how he proposed while they were on vacation in Prague. Initially, I wasn’t supportive of her decision to move to Georgia. It’s not that I don’t like Luke, in fact I adore him and think that in spite of their differences, he’s perfect for her. I just didn’t like the idea of her uprooting her whole life for a man.
I reach over the table and clasp both of her hands. “I’m so happy for you. You’re finally getting everything you’ve ever wanted. No one deserves it more.”
“Thanks. Things are really good. Better than I thought they ever could be. After that whole Marcus fiasco I thought I was destined to be alone. And the sad part is that I actually had become okay with it, I’d given up on myself.” She frowns, her mind clearly back in that dark place. “But enough about me, what about you? Talk about one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. You and Vaughn are going strong.”
“We are, but I’m scared.”
“Of?” She takes a sip from her glass of wine.
“She’s looking more and more like Dylan every day, and people are starting to notice.”
“You think? She didn’t look anything like him in the last pictures you sent me.”
/> I hand her my cell phone to show her the latest shots.
Her face says it all. “Okay, a little bit. Maybe around her eyes, and … well, she has your nose—”
“Elle, stop. You know you see it.”
She sighs. “Yeah, I do. She does look a little like him. But I see it only because I’ve seen Dylan. You’d have to see them both side by side before you suspect anything. Besides, genes are funny. A lot of people don’t look anything like their parents. I think you’re getting worked up over nothing—”
Our server brings our meals then spends entirely too much time grating fresh pepper on Elle’s sea bass. As soon as he leaves, she asks me if Vaughn has said anything.
“No. If he thinks anything he hasn’t said it, well, not to me at least.”
“You know, he’s so in love with that little girl, even if she came out a whole other race, he wouldn’t notice. I think you’re overreacting. Where’s this all coming from?”
I tell her about Celine and Hannah’s conversation.
“You fired her?”
I nod.
“Good! Ungrateful wench. Talking your business like that. And with Celine of all people.” She wags her finger at me. “I told you I didn’t dig her when I first met her. Something about her spirit didn’t sit right with me.”
I tell her about Celine’s mother and about how I’ve created distance between us and although she’s out of town, she still makes me uneasy. “I have to handle her with kid gloves for now. If I cut her off completely, who knows what she’ll do.” I stab my asparagus with the fork, then take a bite, but I can’t taste a thing. “Keep your enemies close, right?”
“Maybe,” she says, “but let’s dissect this a bit. Hannah was the one who brought up the idea that maybe Morgan was adopted. Then Celine said maybe she’s a love child or whatever, right?”
I nod.
“Well, even if Celine went around saying that Morgan’s not really yours, and even if people believe it, that’s a huge leap from the truth. No one would ever believe that she’s not Vaughn’s—who would think you’re capable of such a thing? No one. You’re the perfect little wife, always have been. At least according to “them.” You can’t stop the rumors from spinning, but at the very worst, Vaughn looks like the dick, and you look like the loyal wife who’s sticking by his side.”
I’m not sure how to take this. Should I be happy that no one could ever believe I was unfaithful, let alone passing my ex-lover’s daughter off as my husband’s? Or embarrassed that I’d be viewed as the poor, stupid wife who stuck by her husband despite the ultimate betrayal? But, Elle is right, even under the worst case scenario, no one could possibly surmise the truth. Only three people in the world know, and two of those three will take it to their graves.
The waiter returns and asks if I want to take my food home. I look down, I’ve only taken a few bites, an entire meal still remains, but I tell him no.
After two rounds at the bar we head back upstairs to her suite. I perch on the edge of her bed as she unpacks.
“All of this for seven days?” I ask.
“I need at least two outfits a day. Meetings in the morning, then all of these dinners and happy hours at night.” She holds up two pairs of pumps. “Plus these shoes take up so much space.”
“I see. So, what’s up with Jonathan? We keep saying we’re going to get together with the kids, but it never happens.”
“I spoke to him right before I left Atlanta. I’m hoping to get a chance to see him before I leave. To see the new baby.”
“Oh, wow! I didn’t even know Lauryn was pregnant again. He didn’t mention it on Facebook.”
“Between you and me, I don’t think he’s too happy about it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just think that marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Plus her mom…”
“Say no more. That old crow can put a hurting on any relationship. Speaking of moms. What do Luke’s parents think about that?” I gesture towards her engagement ring.
She stops unpacking and slumps into the armchair.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
“No, it’s okay. They know. His sisters are thrilled of course. Any excuse to get dressed up and throw a party for those two.” She laughs. “But his parents … I don’t know. He told me that he told them, but hasn’t said much about their reaction. I guess he doesn’t want to upset me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, thinking that even when all appears to be well there’s always something or someone there to ruin it. In Elle’s case it’s her bigoted soon-to-be in-laws. They were very upset to learn that their eldest and only son, Luke, was in a relationship with a woman who not only hailed from way north of the Mason-Dixon line, but was also a bi-racial agnostic. When he made the mistake of bringing her home to meet his parents at their estate in Atlanta, he quickly learned that his Southern Baptist dad and otherwise congenial mom would never accept their relationship. And definitely not their marriage. I’m sure news of their engagement has his father twitching in his Brooks Brothers suit.
“It’s okay,” she says smiling broadly. To anyone who doesn’t know her they’d believe she was in no way disturbed, but because she’s my best friend I know that she is. I know just how much family means to her, especially since she spent so much time traveling as a child and never really had the opportunity to set up roots like most young people. Elle never had a gaggle of hometown friends and childhood hangouts to build adolescent memories. Instead she spent her summers abroad and moving from city to city due to her dad’s government career. I suppose it’s partly because she has no siblings and the one I have is quite the wretch that she and I became so incredibly close when we met ten years ago. We are, in a sense, the sisters each of us never had.
Her cell phone rings. The timing couldn’t be better. A heavy cloud was beginning to float overhead. From the grin on her face I can tell it’s Luke. Her faux smile becomes an authentic one as she giggles, recapping the events of her evening for him. Then she takes the phone into the bathroom and speaks a bit lower.
I step out into the living room and turn on the TV to give her some privacy, but not before I catch myself staring at her, envying her. Envying what she and Luke have. Their love is pure, untainted. They’re on the cusp of a future filled with opportunity. No secrets in their pasts, no skeletons in their closets. Yes, Vaughn and I are very much in love. Not a night goes past that I don’t thank God for the way things have panned out for us, but I wonder if we’re on borrowed time. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.
TEN
“Blair, I have a call for you. From a Stewart. Do you want to take it?” says Patrick, my personal assistant. He and I are en route to a charity auction out east. Cliff is driving.
“Stu?” I ask, as I flip through my notes. I’m scheduled to say a few words to encourage donations. “Why is he calling me on this number?”
Patrick shrugs and hands me his cell.
“Hey Stu. What’s doing?”
“I don’t think this is the Stu you were expecting.”
My stomach caves. “How did you get this number?”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.”
“I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” I watch Patrick from the corner of my eye. He’s tapping away on his iPad, pretending not to listen, but I know he is.
“Would you rather I discuss it with Vaughn?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Great. So meet me on Friday at our steakhouse, near the campus. I’ll be there at two.”
Patrick glances at me then turns away. His interest has been piqued.
“I have to check my calendar, but I’ll see.”
“See you then.” He hangs up.
Patrick says nothing, but I know he’s loggi
ng this conversation in his mental rolodex. On the surface I remain placid. Inside, I’m an emotional wreck.
*****
“He called me!”
“What?” Elle says.
“Dylan. He called.”
“Hold on.” She whispers into the phone. I hear a door close. “What? When? What did he say?”
I recap our conversation. “What do I do? Do I meet him? Do you think he’ll tell Vaughn? What if he does?”
“I don’t know. Let me think.”
“What am I going to do? Vaughn is going to die if he finds out. I can’t let him find out, Elle. I can’t.”
“You’ve got to calm down.”
“I can’t!”
“Getting frantic is not going to help. Now, breathe and calm down. Tell me again. What did he say exactly.”
I repeat everything. Word for word.
“Well, if he really wanted to out you, he could have, right? If he found your number that easily he could’ve just as easily called Vaughn.”
“Yeah, but … but what does he want?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“You’re saying I should go?”
“I don’t know that you have a choice. Or…”
“Or what?”
Elle is silent.
“No. No, don’t even suggest it. I can’t tell him,” I say. “I can’t believe you’d even—”
“I’m just saying. You never thought you’d hear from Dylan. This changes everything.”
“No…”
“It might be the cleanest way. Then he can’t hold anything over you.”
“Vaughn would kill me. Kill me.”
“Okay. Okay, so just go and find out what he wants. We could be stressing over nothing,” she says unconvincingly.
She knows like I do that nothing good will come of this meeting.
A Delicate Truth Page 6
