by Nikki Bella
“Oh, it was a great party,” Jack said. He undid his tie and tossed it toward the fireplace, with a flash. I watched it fall to the ground. “It went off without a hitch, Margot. First off, you looked absolutely gorgeous. Everyone said so. Not like some kid I picked up off the street, but like a real woman.”
I shifted, my eyebrows drawing low over my eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do,” he said. He was being an asshole. I wanted to smack my hand over his cheek, yell at him—tell him that I was worth more than he ever bargained for. Of course, I didn’t believe it, myself, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
“But regardless, our plan worked,” he continued. “Kelsey totally bought that we were in love. And she saw how happy Gigi was. She seemed genuinely okay with it, like we’d solved some of her problems in the process, as well. She was kicking up a fuss, but now? I mean, the war is over, as far as I can tell.”
“That’s great to hear,” I stammered, speaking sarcastically. After a pause, during a strong, tense moment, I said, “Really. I’m so happy Gigi can stay here. It’s the place she belongs. And you love her so much.”
“I do.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest, giving me a soft smile. “And you were remarkable tonight. I can’t get over it. An actress, in your own right.”
Had I been acting? Had I been acting when I’d realized I was falling in love with Jack? That, if these were any other circumstances, I’d actually be happy marrying him? I nodded, moving my hand to my dress. I unzipped it with a flourish, stepping out onto the hardwood floor in just my balconette bra and panties. My body was thin and angular, but my breasts were firm and upright. I waited, watching as Jack’s eyes traced my body, my waist, my thighs. What did I want him to do? To say?
He stepped forward. He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing those perfect chest muscles, those dark nipples, his black chest hair. I grew hungry for him. My pussy stirred, growing wet. But I remained where I was, wanting him to come to me.
He whipped off his shirt, taking his stance in front of me. He inhaled my smell, the perfume I’d chosen so specifically for the night. Placing my hands on his chest, I could feel his beating heart.
In a whisper, I asked, “What are you doing?”
Jack’s smile cut across his face. “I want to thank you for all you did for me. All you have been doing.”
“You want to thank me?” I asked, incredulous. It sounded like a business transaction. Not like love.
He moved forward and kissed me hungrily, his lips sucking at mine. I pushed him back, feeling a roaring in my ears. He staggered back, looking aghast.
“We can’t do that,” I whispered. “Not unless it actually means something to you. Not unless you can feel—or could possibly feel—love between us. In the future.”
He blinked at me several times. The silence became a wave around us, sweeping me into a moment of pure, unadulterated anxiety. I couldn’t handle it. I turned toward my bedroom, heading inside to put on a ratty black dress—one I’d had even before I’d arrived in Paris and bought “better” clothes. I whipped past Jack, running toward the door.
With my hand on the handle, I heard him say, “Where on earth are you going, Margot?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“I just can’t look at you right now,” I told him, my voice low. “I don’t want to think about the fact that I entered into a loveless marriage. That I slept with someone who could never love me. Who probably doesn’t even know how to love.”
I regretted what I said almost immediately. But without waiting for his answer, I entered the stairwell and raced to the ground. The rain continued to spit, but I could hardly feel it. I was simmering in a pool of my own despair. Racing ahead, I found myself several neighborhoods away. The clock on a nearby church struck midnight, taking me into the second day of my marriage. Shivering, I ducked into a side bar and ordered a glass of dark, red wine. Over it, with my eyes glaring directly into the drink, I felt the sobs come. They made my body shake and quiver and ache. I gasped, knowing the tears wouldn’t end.
The bartender, a man with thick gray hair, placed his hand over mine on the wooden counter. My tear-filled eyes met his. He nodded to me, looking both stern and grounded. “It is going to be all right,” he told me, with a thick French accent. “You just have to keep getting up every day, and going to bed at night. The wine will always help, as well.”
He winked. Then, he raised his telephone—an ancient thing, still attached to a chord—and called me a taxi to take me home. He waved the fee on the wine, probably seeing my torn black dress and my black makeup and thinking me a poor traveler, far from home, rather than one of the richest women in the world. Obviously, he’d missed the rock sitting on my left ring finger.
I placed 50 euro on his bar stool, for him to find later.
Back at home, Jack’s master bedroom door was shut. I snuck into my separate bedroom, just like every other night, and fell into my sheets. I sobbed myself to sleep, knowing I would never find love, that I would never trust another man with my body. I felt so alone. I would have to get used to it.
Jack
“There he is. The newly married man.”
It was my first day on set. We were shooting a movie in Paris, and I was the main lead and love interest, alongside an actress named Theresa Birmingham, a gorgeous, stick-thin redhead of about thirty years old. I turned toward the director who had just greeted me.
“Hey there, Hank. Sorry you didn’t get an invite. Was a small affair. Mostly friends and family.”
“Ah, no worries there. Who’s the lucky lady, anyway?” Hank asked. His head was completely bald and it shone in the camera lights. “They keep saying she’s elusive. Won’t give out an interview.”
“She’s pretty new to the celebrity thing,” I said. “Which is why we got out of New York. Nobody would have left her alone there. And in Paris, people could really care less about it.”
“Smart,” Hank said. “Although, I was surprised that you could start the movie so soon. I figured you’d be on some kind of elaborate honeymoon right now.”
“We’re waiting,” I said. This is what I’d told everyone: that we were adjusting to our new life in Paris and hadn’t really felt the need to “get away” yet. Summer in Paris was absolutely remarkable, with restaurant and art gallery openings, long days of summer sun, and gorgeous parks to enjoy. I’d recently purchased a boat and loved to bring Gigi with me snaking around the lakes.
Of course, I didn’t tell them the reality. That Margot hadn’t spoken to me very often in the three weeks since our wedding. She’d hardly looked at me. Those gorgeous nights we’d spent, out on the terrace, swapping stories, hadn’t returned after the wedding. Sometimes, it gave the apartment a strange, tense feel. But often, when I arrived home, Margot just got out of my way, taking Gigi to the park, or leaving her with me as she went out on the town. We were co-parenting, in a sense. But we were speaking even less than Kelsey and I had, during our last days.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. On the plus side I’d secured Gigi as my own, but I’d also lost something genuine with Margot. She’d been such a bright spirit in my life. Perhaps I’d stamped it out, with my desire to sleep with her.
But if I didn’t see falling in love with her as an option, as she’d asked…
God, I just didn’t know. I hadn’t thought past the “I dos,” into reality.
“Anyway, Jack, have you met Theresa before?” Hank asked me, beckoning for the slim redhead to approach.
“Of course I’ve met Jack,” Theresa said, grinning broadly to me. I could tell, already, she was flirting. She slipped her hand into mine, shaking it. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you since that party you had a few months ago. That girl who fell and twisted her ankle? That was a friend of mine from college.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. I’d completely forgotten about the injured girl at the party—the catalyst that had made so many things happen. I swallowed and
glanced around, wondering when Theresa would drop my hand. “That was a wild party.”
“Sure was. You must have been dating your current wife, around then? But I don’t remember meeting her.”
“Honestly, that party’s such a blur,” I said. “I know she was there, but I think she left early.”
“Ah. And that’s why that other girl stayed over with you,” Theresa laughed, giving me a wink.
Hank cackled, bringing a cigarette to his lips. “Now, now, Theresa. Don’t tease Jack. You know he’s one of the biggest playboys in movie history. Can’t pretend this man doesn’t get exactly what he wants. Right, Jack?”
I shifted, feeling uneasy. “Well, now that I’m married…”
But Hank interrupted me, sending Theresa and I into a far room to read over our lines. We walked along companionably, although I could smell the heat coming from her body. My fingers twitched, sending me back into that old mentality. Shouldn’t I want to sleep with her? I wondered. I certainly hadn’t gotten laid since the day before the wedding. In fact, Margot had been the only person I’d slept with since I’d met her at the bar. Wasn’t that wrong, as our marriage was only a sham?
Theresa and I sat across from one another in a private room without windows. The light was soft, illuminating her face, and illustrating the movie posters on the wall. They were all of Parisian origin, artistic, without the glare and plastic vibrancy of Los Angeles.
“I’ve always wanted to be your co-star,” Theresa said, opening the script. “I’ve heard that you’re an absolute blast to party with. And read lines with. Among other things,” she laughed. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Ha,” I said, eyeing my script. I knew it did, but I felt that that person she was referring to—the “me” of the past—was a million lifetimes away. I’d left him in New York. I’d left him the minute Margot had smiled up at me, asking me what my name was.
“All right. Shall we read lines?” I asked her.
“All work and no play,” she said, teasing me. “I didn’t expect this out of you.”
“I’m trying to take my life more seriously these days,” I said, laughing.
She laughed along, trying to draw out the joke. But was I joking? “You’re hilarious.”
The day went on in a similar fashion, with Theresa hanging onto my every word and namedropping friends we had in common and reciting tales that had happened at my parties. Most of the time, I had no recollection of the stories whatsoever. Most of the time, they fell on deaf ears.
At eight o’ clock at night, we split up for the day. Hank sent Theresa and I out the door to speak with the cameramen and production crew. We walked into the toiling sunshine, our feet hobbling over cobblestones. Theresa brought her face skyward, sighing.
“I think this is the best city in the world,” she whispered. “I’m so happy I get to live here for two months for this film. Maybe I’ll even extend it. Stay for the winter. I don’t know.”
I didn’t know what she wanted me to say. Did she want me to tell her to stay? To stay with me? I hummed, wondering if I could break off, make an excuse. Theresa gestured toward a side alleyway, giving me a playful smile. “Why don’t we head to that cozy wine bar down the road? Catch up with each other? Don’t you want to hear all the New York gossip you left behind?”
I stood, poised, on the street corner. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that if I went with Theresa, I would sleep with her. She was yanking me along, literally pulling me to bed. Meanwhile, at home, Margot and Gigi were probably doing arts and crafts, their scissors weaving across paper and their giggles carrying out over the rooftops.
I shook my head. I wrinkled my forehead, giving her a shy shrug. “You know, I’m exhausted. I really think I’ll go home for the day. But we’ll catch up tomorrow? At work. Okay?”
Without waiting to hear her drawn-out answer, I turned swiftly and rushed into another side alleyway, chasing the sun to the major road between this district and the next. After an entire day away from Margot and Gigi, I knew I needed to clear things up. I needed to tell Margot the truth.
Which was simply this: I wasn’t sure about anything, except that I missed her. That I wanted to be near her. That I wanted to accept that I was falling in love with her—even though I was afraid. Wasn’t that the very heart of love? Accepting that it was scary?
I began to pick up the pace. Cars sped past me, small and compact, unlike the American ones I used to drive. When I reached our steps, a smile stretched across my face. I realized, for the first time, that I was coming back to something that mattered. It mattered more than those reckless parties, back in New York. It mattered more than any woman I’d ever slept with, or given a passing fancy to.
It was home.
When I entered through the door, I found myself face-to-face with a girl, a young woman who waved her hand to me in greeting. “Hey there,” she said. “I just got here. Your wife said you wouldn’t be home and she’s going out to meet up with friends. She’s just getting ready now.”
“What?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “She said what?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’m just here for a few hours, till you got back…” She trailed off. “I’ve babysat for you before, Mister Garrington, remember?”
“Sure.” I barely did. I walked toward the corner bedroom, in which Margot was blaring music, and knocked on it. She appeared in the crack, her eyes dark.
“What is it?” she asked me, her voice crisp.
“It’s me. It’s Jack.”
“I know,” she answered tersely. “I can recognize voices. Amazing, isn’t it?”
I paused, realizing this was one of our first interactions in several days. Bumbling, I took a step back, cracking the door wider. She was dressed up in a slinky back thing, one for clubbing, and had put on thick black eye makeup, bright red lips. She scowled at me like a child. My heart hammered, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
“What is it?” she asked again, echoing herself.
“Why did you hire a babysitter?” I asked.
“Because I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going out. It’s after nine, and Gigi’s going to bed. I didn’t want to hang around here by myself again.” Her nostrils flared, although her lips grew softer. She couldn’t stay so angular for long.
“Where are you going? Can I come with you?” I asked.
“No. I don’t want to tell you,” she said, slipping past me. I eyed her ass, which was perky and small and nice beneath the black dress. She passed some cash to the babysitter, saying, “I guess you don’t need to stay, but here’s some money anyway. Thanks for your troubles.”
“Margot—“ I began, stuttering slightly. “I don’t think you’re making a good decision here.”
“Who are you to say if I’m making a good decision?” she asked me, her eyebrows high. She waited for the young, would-be babysitter to leave before hitting me with the rest of it. “Should I really be paying attention to what you say? Do you want to be my husband?”
I balked, stepping back. The words felt sharp and fresh, as if she’d smacked me. My heart felt tinged with anger, with sadness, with the tragedy of falling in love too late.
“Anyway,” Margot said, flipping her hair. It was styled with hairspray, making her look several years older and even sexier than her normal, demure self. “I’ll be off. Don’t wait up for me, Jack.” She sped toward the door, leaving me in the living room. I heard her heels on the steps, heard her slam the door. In the silence that followed, I stood, poised, my legs straight and stick-like and my heart hammering.
What the hell was I going to do?
Margot
I was shaking by the time I got to the street. My heels stumbled along the cobblestones, making me look foolish, half-drunken. I scowled at the passers-by, still feeling that strange mix of anger and rage and yearning I’d had when Jack had peeked his head in, asking me what I was doing. Why on earth should he car
e?
For the past few weeks, we’d kept our distance. I’d caught him staring at me a few times, his eyes dark and brooding. But I’d always turned away from him, finding solace in abandoning whatever we’d “had.” I’d thrown myself into caring for Gigi, in helping her make new friends by taking her to various clubs and summer activities around the city. While she played and danced and laughed, I read book after book on French grammar and spelling, practicing my diction and pronunciation. Often, I’d wondered how long I needed to remain in the same house with him. After all, who was I kidding?
He wasn’t going to wake up one morning and just “decide” he was in love with me. “Decide” that he wanted to be with me. No. I had to wait it out, maybe till Christmas. And then, as he’d told me before we were married, I could take some of his money and run.
Even if that meant going no further than just across the river, so I could still be here for Gigi.
At the corner of our road, I called the private driver, asking him to pick me up. The club I’d decided to scout out that night was in the 18th arrondissement, near Montmartre. As our driver lived only a few blocks away, I knew he’d arrive soon, and he did, wearing all black and a flat cap just like I’d seen in so many movies I’d watched alone since coming to Paris. I draped myself into the back of his car, smiling up at him as I said the name of the place. “Club Blackout.”
“Really?” he asked, peering at me curiously in the rearview mirror. “I’m surprised, Mrs. Garrington.”
“Please, Max. I’ve told you eight hundred times. I’d love it if you just call me Margot.”
The car swept north, taking me just outside the club. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the crowd parted for me, taking stock. They whispered to one another, realizing I was “somebody,” certainly. But they couldn’t place me yet as Jack Garrington’s hot new wife. I entered the line and was then beckoned to the front, where the doorman let me in without cover. He winked, saying, “You bring in the big ones.”
