“Why did you put up with it? Him sleeping around on you? Didn’t it make you angry?”
She sat quietly with the question, staring into space. He figured she wasn’t going to answer and he thought about getting up and going to bed. But eventually she spoke.
“That part didn’t really bother me. Not the way you think. But there was this one time…” Her voice caught. “It was when my daughter was about five. You already know I can’t do magic myself. I mean, I can do it, just not…”
“With an audience.”
“Right. Well, he’d left for his second tour. It was eight months long, all over the country, and I was stuck at home, hating myself for not going, hating him for leaving me behind. There was a woman in the Midwest. He hired her to be his assistant onstage for a two-week run at the Arie Crown Theater in Chicago. Essentially, he hired her to be me. They became…involved, and she followed him to Indiana, which was his next tour stop. Jonny didn’t like that. He didn’t like her unpredictability. He’d broken things off but she wasn’t listening, she was showing up at the stage door, showing up at his dressing room, wouldn’t take the hint, kept chasing after him, even though she had her own family that she was neglecting. He gave me the woman’s number and asked me to call her, make it clear that he was through with her, that he had a family, too, and that he’d go after her for damages if she didn’t back off. He needed to feel relaxed and calm in order to have a successful show, and she was getting in the way of that.” She looked at Felix then, as though he’d asked for a better explanation; as though she needed to defend herself.
“We couldn’t afford to fail. We’d poured everything we had, financially, emotionally, into this tour, and when I couldn’t be part of it, the pressure mounted even higher.” Claire coughed, ran a tight hand through her hair. “So I did. Of course I did. I got her on the phone and let her have it. The worst, cruelest things I could think of, whatever I thought would be most likely to make her stop—and that night, she was upset, of course, she really thought he was going to be with her, I guess—she was driving erratically, swerving, and she crashed into another car. There was…a child in the other car, a little boy.” She cleared her throat. “He didn’t make it.”
She picked up her glass of wine. There were only a few drops left. She lifted it to her mouth and tilted it, and her hand trembled when she set it back on the table.
“So no, the infidelity on its own didn’t bother me. Our marriage was probably over when I froze up during our first show and had to be left behind. Things were never the same after that. I could survive it for my daughter’s sake, and I did, but I will never forgive him for making me make that phone call.”
Felix swallowed. She’d no doubt gone over the event a thousand times already, and he was positive no insight or opinion he offered would make a lick of difference to her.
“We didn’t have any more children after that. I couldn’t do it. I knew I didn’t deserve them,” she finished.
He reached over and laced his fingers through hers, gave her hand a squeeze.
“Jonathan’s the one who doesn’t deserve to live,” he whispered fiercely.
She refused to look at him.
But a moment later, she squeezed back.
Jessica
When Claire called that morning, Jessica let her cell phone ring five times before picking up. She wasn’t trying to play hard to get; she needed a moment to compose herself.
She’d seen Claire doing exceptionally intimate things on videotape and couldn’t figure out how it would be possible to conceal it.
Just seeing the caller ID put Jessica in such a heightened state of anxiety, guilt, and persistent, dragging lust that she could barely string a sentence together. She’d crawled into bed and feigned sleep when Cal got home at nine the night before. He’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned out the light as her heart thundered in her chest and her body thrummed and vibrated with unfulfilled desire.
“Hi-this-is-Jessica,” she blurted in a torrent of words before the voicemail could kick in.
“Hi, Jessica, it’s Claire. Is now a good time to talk, or are you busy?” Claire’s low, flat tone managed to sound bored and alluring, as though she were issuing a challenge: Bet you can’t get me to change the inflection of my voice. Try, though!
What would it take to make Claire’s voice higher, expressive, full of passion? The way she sounded when she…?
Jessica bit her knuckles to suppress the hysteria that threatened to burst forth. “Not busy. A time. Good. A good—time.” Get it together.
A pause. “Okay, good. I owe you an apology, and a second apology for taking so long to do it. I’m sorry about the way I treated you at brunch. It was atrocious, and—I’m sorry. I wish I could do it over.”
“That’s okay,” Jessica said quickly.
“It’s not okay,” Claire responded.
It’s not? She’d never had someone try to talk her out of accepting an apology before, especially not the person who’d apologized.
“As I’m sure you could tell, I’d had too much to drink. I should probably take a page from Cal’s book and abstain for a while.”
“Cal’s not ‘abstaining for a while,’ he’s three years sober.” Jessica found that her voice came back fine when irritation took over.
“Yes, of course, you’re right. And while being drunk’s certainly no excuse, it’s part of the reason I overreacted,” Claire continued.
Jessica felt a familiar, bland acceptance make her features go slack. How many times in her life had she endured this exact conversation?
Her mother’s version was less eloquent, but the message was the same: “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but it wasn’t me, it was the alcohol, so…” After which Jessica would reassure her: Of course, I understand, you were drunk, it’s not your fault. (Let’s just get this over with so we can go back to ignoring each other.)
But Claire surprised her again. “If you’re willing, I’d like to make it up to you. I thought we could get lunch and go shopping today, and you could buy a new dress—my treat—something to wear at the club.”
Jessica’s pulse raced. “When-like-right-now?”
“Sure, if that works for you.”
“It works.”
“Would you like to drive? It might be easier for you to learn the ins and outs of the city that way.”
“Sure, good idea.” Keeping her eyes on the road would prevent her from staring openly at Claire and seeing in her a past she shouldn’t know about.
“I’ll text you my address. And thanks for accepting my apology.”
* * *
“I think it’s good you’re driving.” Claire folded her long legs into the passenger seat of Cal’s BMW and flipped down the sunshade.
The day was quintessentially Californian, in the low eighties, breezy, with a light hovering of smog in lieu of clouds. Claire wore Armani sunglasses, a black T-shirt that read I WANT TO BELIEVE, a pair of skinny jeans, and some strappy black heels. The T-shirt had been cut with scissors into a low V-neck. She filled it out in a way Jessica would never fill out anything, and Jessica couldn’t prevent her eyes from flitting to the cleavage that was approaching her.
Claire kissed her on both cheeks—that weird Paris-by-way-of-LA thing people did on the West Coast. Jessica never knew whether to make a kiss sound next to the other person’s ear, or to actually kiss their skin. Before she could decide, the moment was over. She fought the urge to reach up and touch the place where Claire’s lips had brushed her skin.
She put the car in drive and glanced down at her cubic-zirconia-speckled flip-flops, picked because they’d be comfortable for walking around in, but now she wondered if that was the wrong choice. She admired Claire for the confidence to wear heels when she was already Amazonian size.
“I like your shoes,” she said. “Is that what women go shopping in out here?”
“You know, I didn’t even think about it. I’m so used to wearing them as an eff you to my husband. He hates
it when I’m taller than him.”
Does her husband know what’s on that videotape?
Jessica pulled out of the driveway onto Edgecliffe Drive.
“Oh, my God, I meant to tell you, I saw your husband’s show when I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“When was it?”
“I was thirteen, so, 2004? I really wanted to be called onstage but he’d already chosen his helper beforehand, I think.”
Claire snorted derisively. “Sounds about right. He can’t stand leaving any element to chance. If you’re a good magician, it doesn’t matter who you call up, it’ll go off without a hitch. I mean, Cal never has any trouble choosing audience members. Case in point,” she added under her breath.
Was that a dig? Jessica thought. Or a compliment?
“Let me guess, the woman you saw, she was tiny,” Claire continued.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Always are.”
She flashed on an image of Claire and Cal and Brandy writhing together and blinked to cast it out.
How did the shy girl in those videos turn into you? Sexy and smart and everything I want to be?
Silence stretched on between them, and Jessica wondered if she should turn on the radio. But that might draw too much attention to the fact that she’d noticed the silence. Also, which station? Would Claire approve of the stations she’d preselected (KROQ; KIIS) or did they make Jessica seem young and unformed, her musical taste dictated by Top 40?
Did Claire like the temperature and fan level of air-conditioning Jessica had chosen, or was she an open-window kind of person?
She wanted the answers beamed directly into her cortex so she could do everything the way Claire preferred.
Claire flipped the shade down and examined her lips, using her middle finger to smooth out her lipstick. Jessica couldn’t help staring at Claire’s perfect mouth. A mouth that had thoroughly tasted her husband’s. What would it feel like to kiss her? Would it bring her closer to Cal, provide a heightened connection, ease some of her loneliness?
She compiled a list of the times Claire had touched her. Outside the club, of course, when she’d rescued Jessica with the password; before brunch, when she’d leaned on her shoulder to put out her cigarette; in the hallway, encircling her wrist; and just now, with the cheek kisses. She was certain Claire didn’t remember any of those moments, but for Jessica they were electric currents that tied her to Cal’s past.
“Is your shirt from The X-Files?” Asking questions was always good. It put the focus on the other person and took the pressure off her.
“Yes. Did you watch it on DVD?”
“I’ve seen a few episodes. My mom watched it but I wasn’t allowed. I remember going to bed on Friday nights when I was a kid and hearing the theme music.”
Another silence filled the car and Jessica racked her brain for something else to say. When they reached the bottom of the canyon, the light at the intersection turned yellow. Jessica slowed down.
“You got it, you got it, run it, run it,” Claire chanted.
Jessica gripped the steering wheel and moved into the center of the intersection, then yanked the wheel to the left. It was red by then.
Claire leaned over and honked at the person who had the right-of-way.
“Bravo,” said Claire. “Well done.”
Jessica blushed under Claire’s praise, despite the fact that she was pretty sure she’d committed two moving violations in less than three minutes.
“Don’t worry about the cameras, by the way,” Claire said.
“Cameras!?”
“No one ever pays those tickets and they don’t follow up on them.”
Before Jessica could get more information about the cameras she hadn’t even noticed, Claire pointed at the car ahead of them on the right. “Ugh, I can’t stand it when people do that.”
“Do what?”
“Dangle their arm all the way out the window like they don’t have a care in the world. Like they’re indestructible.”
“The guy with the cigarette, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the alternative to his hand out the window, though?” Jessica asked. “Asphyxiating himself?”
“No, but he could be a normal, tense smoker, holding his cigarette close, not flapping his arm all the way down the side of the car like he doesn’t even want to be smoking. I’d kill for a cigarette right now.” Claire loosened her seat belt and rolled down her window. “Pull up alongside him.”
“Um, why…would we do that?” She could accept the fact that the trip had turned into Mrs. Toad’s Wild Ride, but she drew the line at deliberately sideswiping someone. However, she also had the distinct impression that it didn’t matter who was behind the wheel; Claire was the one driving.
“Just pull up alongside him,” Claire said. “Get close but not too close.”
“Wait, what are you going to do?”
“Now’s your chance, go.”
Although she wanted to resist, Jessica did as told. When only a few feet separated their window from the other guy’s, Claire reached out and plucked the cigarette from the guy’s fingers.
“Go, go,” Claire whispered urgently. She ducked below the view of the window, tucked the cigarette in her mouth, and took a deep, satisfying drag.
“Oh, my God.” Jessica put the pedal to the metal, trying to make a clean getaway, but another car swerved in front, preventing her from zipping ahead.
She hooted with nervous laughter as traffic slowed to a halt at the light. They were stuck right beside their victim.
“Did you take my cigarette?” he yelled.
Using only her tongue, Claire flipped the lit end around and closed her mouth over it, then sat up in her seat as though nothing were amiss.
“No,” Jessica called back. “You must have dropped it. Sorry!”
Claire leaned out the car window and gave a big, confused shrug. A tendril of smoke escaped from her nose and her eyes watered. He squinted at them a moment longer, but, having no proof, waved them away in irritation when the light changed.
Jessica hung back so he could pull ahead. Claire flipped the cigarette back around so it hung properly out of her mouth. The smoke she’d been holding in plumed out. She coughed and took another drag.
Jessica was incredulous. “How did you learn to do that?”
Claire tapped a caterpillar-size ash out the window.
“I learned it twenty years ago. It was going to be part of my act.”
“I didn’t know you had an act.”
Claire tapped her forehead. “Only up here.”
“But you wanted to be a magician?”
She continued looking out the window. “If you can’t be one, marry one, huh?”
“I guess.”
Claire turned to Jessica, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Never thought I’d have another reason to use it, though.”
They both laughed and Jessica’s heart soared.
* * *
The angular salesgirl at Maxine’s boutique on Beverly Boulevard decided they were valid customers and doggedly pursued them around the store.
Armed with selections in black, midnight blue, lavender, and peach, Jessica drew the dressing room curtain closed. None of the dresses had price tags, which made her nervous. In high school she’d had to leave a consignment store when the prom dress she’d fallen in love with turned out to be more expensive than she realized. Halfway through being rung up, her mother threw a fit in front of the other customers.
“Um, Claire?” she whispered, ducking down toward the bottom of the curtain where she could see Claire’s bare feet. “It doesn’t say how much these cost.”
The feet turned toward her. “That’s okay.”
“Maybe we should go someplace else. I just…don’t want there to be any surprises.”
“Do you like the dresses?”
She smiled. “Hell yeah.”
“Good enough
for me.”
Jessica took a deep breath and zipped up the latest one: a Romona Keveza black dress with an asymmetrical neckline and thigh-high leg slit.
When the time came to pay, Claire kept a poker face at the register so she never did learn what it cost.
After shopping, they went to Murakami Sushi for lunch, and Jessica was proud of herself for trying eel and spicy tuna instead of her usual California roll.
* * *
Back at the car, Claire walked to the driver’s side. “If you want, I can drive.”
Jessica squinted into the sun. She’d left her sunglasses inside the car. “Was I going too slowly?”
“No, but you seemed a little stressed about it.”
Only because you made me run a red light and commit Grand Theft Cigarette. “Oh, okay.”
“So do you want me to take over?”
“Uh, whatever you want.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. Is that weird? Do you mind?”
“If I minded I wouldn’t have asked.”
Jessica tossed the car keys to Claire, who let them hit the garment bags and clatter to the ground.
“We’re not the Dukes of Hazzard,” she said.
Five minutes later they glided east on Sunset Boulevard. Jessica settled into her seat and tried to breathe normally. Their dresses hung by the windows in back, and it was nice not to be worrying about whether they would’ve impeded her sight line. It was also nice not to be worrying about her driving performance, battling traffic, getting pulled over for running reds, or generally keeping them both alive.
“What do you see yourself doing in ten years?” Claire asked.
“I know this isn’t what I’m supposed to say, but I always just sort of wanted to be a mom.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
It felt good to get the words out, to know she hadn’t wasted a natural opportunity to say it. The honesty was liberating. “I want three kids, I think,” she continued. “At least two. I was an only.”
“Oh? Well, there are pros and cons to siblings.”
Claire’s phone lit up, buzzing. The screensaver was a picture of her teenage daughter. “Sorry, I have to take this.” Claire didn’t bother signaling, just pulled over to the side, parked, and answered the call in a low voice.
Club Deception Page 20
