by Thérèse
Make your mind up, India thought irritably. It must be a hundred degrees under this frigging canopy.
“Okay. It’s a wrap.”
It was over. My God, if only removal men in London worked like that, India thought, as within seconds the set was dismantled and the equipment disappeared into black vans.
Sasha the journalist arrived full of apologies for being late. She’s so tiny, she looks like she fell off a charm bracelet, India thought. She’s even thinner than Angel, that trainer of Adam’s. Blocking out the thought, India took in Sasha’s cream shift dress, which was cut wide at the neck and fell to one side revealing a razor-sharp shoulder blade. She arranged herself opposite them, and then, tucking one long leg behind the other, threw back her waist-length blonde streaked hair. She paused for effect before going through her list of tightly scripted questions, and the sisters gave their answers from crib sheets.
“Thank you both; this has been awesome,” Sasha gushed.
Annabelle stood up. “It’s been a pleasure,” She turned to the young man who had appeared at her side.
“Miss Butler, my friend is such a huge fan of yours … would you mind?” he said adoringly, holding out a pen.
This subterfuge still amused Annabelle. “Of course.” She signed his notepad with a practiced twirl.
Sidestepping crates and boxes to get to the house, India was horrified to see the “rose-arranger” trashing the roses, breaking the stems, and throwing them into a plastic bag. What a waste, she thought. I’d have loved to have had them in my room.
“That was great, darling. You were fantastic,” Annabelle said, climbing into the Lincoln next to India a short while later. “You handled it all like a pro.”
“I enjoyed it.” Understatement of the year, she thought, tugging at a few stray false eyelashes. Now I know what it feels like. It must be incredible to get paid so much to do what Annie does. It didn’t feel like work at all.
There was a mob of paparazzi at the end of the driveway. Paparazzi. India thought, Why do they have such an exotic name? They all look so scruffy and ordinary.
India put her head down as Robert steered the car through the gates. “Don’t worry; they can’t see us through this glass,” Annabelle reassured her. “And hopefully they’ll drop the story once the piece is out.”
“I think I’m having an allergic reaction to the makeup,” India complained. “My face is stinging. Have I gone all red?”
“It’ll settle down, you look fine,” Annie soothed, peering at her own face in a tiny compact and then snapping it shut. “Now tell me again what Lizzie said. She was on edge when we had lunch and that was before any of this other crap with Sophie happened. I’m worried about her.”
“I wasn’t surprised when you told me Stan had been having an affair with their nanny,” India said, frantically searching her purse for lip salve, “I wouldn’t trust him an inch. He has that creepy way of undressing you with his eyes.”
“Yes, and there’s been a string of affairs.” Annabelle sighed. “Right here, Robert, please… Darling, don’t mention anything to Lizzie about me going into hospital. I don’t want to worry her; she has enough on her plate already.”
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
“You’ll either hate Lizzie’s place or love it,” Annabelle told India when they were a few minutes away from the house. “Stan chose it… Always a mistake to let the man pick, don’t you think? Especially a man like Stan? Apparently he had the travertine marble in the garden shipped in from Bagni di Tivoli. It’s like a miniature Getty…”
Robert pressed the intercom, waited for the buzzer, and the gates swung open. Neatly avoiding a couple of kids’ tricycles in the driveway, he delivered them to the front door where Silvia, a large Hispanic woman in a black dress and white cobbler apron greeted them with a broad smile. Lizzie appeared behind her.
“I’m so happy to see you both.” She gave them each a warm hug. She looked fragile but stunning in a pair of tight white jeans and a pale blue tee that barely covered her toned stomach. “We’re eating outside. Come on in. What would you two like? Champagne?” She ushered them through the house into an architecturally landscaped garden with tall clipped hedges sectioned off by razor- edged bamboo pathways.
“Perfect,” India and Annabelle answered in unison.
Lizzie popped her head inside the kitchen door and Silvia appeared with a shimmering bottle, three tall- stemmed Simon Pearce flutes and hand-sewn cutwork napkins on a large silver tray. Minutes later she brought out an array of toast, beluga caviar, and finely sliced onion with chopped eggs and crème fraîche.
Standing against a backdrop of travertine marble steps spilling over with cascading water, Lizzie expertly eased off the cork and filled their glasses.
“To friendship and women.” They clinked their glasses.
“And good health,” India toasted, taking a delicate sip of the delicious chilled Cristal.
“So what’s been going on?” Lizzie asked. “India, I’m so sorry about the other night.” She looked at Annabelle. “I had a complete meltdown on the phone.”
“India did tell me things aren’t so good. Are you okay, Lizzie? How are you? Do you want to talk right now?” Annabelle probed gently.
“More than anything else in the world,” Lizzie answered. “Are you ready to eat?”
“Yes! It’s been a busy morning – I’ll tell you later.” Annabelle said.
“Silvia, por favor,” Lizzie signaled with her hand as they sat down. Silvia returned with warm spinach salads and fresh lobster flown in from Maine that morning. She kept the champagne flow-ing while they ate.
“I can’t go on living like this,” Lizzie said, after a while and pushing away her plate. “How could I ever trust Stan again?”
Annabelle nodded.
“And the person I really don’t understand is that girl … the nanny, our nanny. Aren’t there enough men out there for her to get laid without destroying other people’s lives? She lived in our home. She took the kids to school. She pretended to be my friend and all the time…,” she paused, eyes full of tears. “I just don’t have the emotional equipment to understand how she could have done this to us.”
“I think there are men’s women and women’s women,” India volunteered. “Some women look on other women as friends, others see nothing but competition. They’re needy and desperate. All they can think about is themselves.”
“That’s so true,” Lizzie said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right. Some women freeze you out the minute there’s a man around, like you suddenly went invisible.”
Over coffee, Lizzie brightened up a little.
“Girls, this has really helped me clarify things. If I do nothing, it’s like giving him permission to do it again. I have to get a sense of control, put some shape into the future and stop reliving the past. Whatever I decide, I’ve made up my mind, from here on in I’m not going to play the victim.”
“Now THAT’S the Lizzie I know.” Annabelle smiled, picking her Miu Miu quilted purse from the back of her chair and rooting for her phone to call Robert. “It’s four thirty. I could stay here all evening, Lizzie, this has been wonderful, but we’d better go. I have to help the girls pack and be up early in the morning to see them off.”
“Thanks so much for inviting me, Lizzie,” India said, taking Annie’s cue and sliding back her chair. “I don’t know what I can do to help, but I’m around, and if there’s anything at all…”
“Thank you both,” Lizzie responded with a grateful smile. “Group hug?”
They folded their arms around each other.
Lizzie stood at the door for a few moments after the car had left the driveway. Then turning inside, she went across to the vintage Bauhaus mirror and took a long look at her reflection. She straightened her back, picked up her phone and dialed 411.
“City and state, please,” chirped the automated voice
“Beverly Hills, California.”
“Say t
he name of the business you want, or say residence.”
“The legal firm of Wright Keller and Partners,” Lizzie said clearly, then pressed 1 and waited to be connected. Her hands were shaking.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
“How’s it going? What’re you up to?” Adam shouted, over some unexpected static. “I feel like I’m under house arrest here.”
India checked the time on her phone. It was eleven thirty.
“You woke me up actually.” She yawned as the drone of a low-flying helicopter drowned out her voice. They waited a few moments until it circled off.
“Say it again,” Adam teased.
“What?”
“Say ‘actually.’ No, wait. Say ‘wawta.’ It turns me on.”
“Wawta, wawta everywhere and not a drop to drink,” India enunciated slowly. “Are you absolutely crazed now?”
“I’m getting there,” he said. “Try ‘actually’ again; that works for me every time.”
“Mmm … well, actually I was thinking about the night of Fred’s party … the private after-party, actually.” She slid her leg against the silkiness of the sheet.
“It’s stayed with me too,” he said. “I have a few ideas for a sequel.”
“I like the sound of that…,” she murmured, rolling onto her back. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well … let’s start with – ”
“Damn,” India cursed as Bella hammered on her door. “Auntie India … Wake up … Auntie India, we’re going.”
“Sorry… The girls are shouting at me. I have to go. Joss is taking them to Laguna, to summer camp. I think they’re about to leave … I’ll call you later,” she said. “But I want to tell you something. It’s why I sounded a bit off the other day.” She paused. “Annie found a lump; it’s on her thyroid. They’re pretty sure it’s benign but she has to have it removed. She’s going in tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Indie, I really am. I’ll let you go. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I wanted to ask her if it was okay, before I told you. She was fine about it, said you were hardly going to announce it on Twitter!”
Adam laughed. “I hope she’s okay. Give her my best.”
“I will. I’ve planned a movie fest. It’ll be just Annie and me here all day. After that we’re going to swim and soak up some sun before dinner.”
“The image of you in a bikini will keep me company all day…,” Adam said huskily.
India flopped back against the pillow and sighed. Who knew where this relationship was going? But she certainly intended to find out. The intensity was exhausting. She was emotionally raw and her physical desire for Adam was palpable. She ached at just the sound of his voice…
“Auntie Indie…”
‘’Okay, okay, I’m coming,” India yelled back, wrenching herself out of bed and racing barefoot across the lawn, darting around the sprinklers to get to her nieces.
“Right,” India said, as the tail end of the car, hands waving out the windows, disappeared around the corner. Annabelle was fighting back tears. “Evening gowns it is.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Annabelle laughed.
“Nope. It’s our very own screening. We’re starting with Bugsy Malone, and then I’ve lined up Breakfast at Tiffany’s. India grabbed the still-protesting Annabelle by the hand and dragged her upstairs to her closet. “I’m thinking long black Audrey for me and a flapper Bugsy dress for you.”
“You’re cracking up, darling, I swear.” Annabelle was helpless with laughter as she slid into an Alexander McQueen sequined silver dress.
“I need pearls and you need a headband.”
“Maria will think I’ve gone mad,” Annabelle said as India tied a velveteen ribbon across her sister’s forehead.
“Let’s go,” India replied, twisting her own hair in a topknot and securing it with a diamante pin before reaching for Annie’s hand.
“Please take your seat,” she announced with a flourish, indicating one of the plush burgundy armchairs in the Art Deco screening room. “The show is about to begin.”
Hours later, Annabelle and India sat enjoying the warmth of late afternoon sunshine under the shade of canvas umbrellas as Maria grilled vegetables and levered thin-crust pizzas from the Tuscan fire oven.
“Darling, that was exactly what the doctor should have ordered,” Annabelle murmured, dreamily, sipping Sancerre. “What a perfect day…”
“Yes, I loved every moment. Took me right back – do you remember before Dad left how often we played dress-up?”
“I do, darling, and did I ever tell you how grateful I was for how you looked after Mother? I know I’m probably being over-dramatic and nothing’s going to happen to me tomorrow … but I want you to know how grateful I am. You never resented me for taking off or coming here…”
“Well, let’s not get carried away…” India joked, looking at Annie, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you... I wanted you to follow your dream. You always had such a passion for what you do. Holly Golightly could be talking about you, back there, you know; when she asked if the girl was, ‘deeply and importantly talented.’ It’s a great way to put it, Annie. You ARE deeply and importantly talented.”
“I’ve been lucky, that’s all,” Annabelle said, squeezing her hand.
“I sometimes envy the fact that you always knew what you wanted to do. You were so clear about it.”
“True. But you were the one with our dolls and teddy bears lined up giving them spelling tests and singing lessons all the time. You’re a born teacher, darling. You’re importantly talented too.”
Then why do I feel like I’m in the wrong place? India thought. I always wanted to teach. Why isn’t it enough for me? Why?
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Tangled in a confusion of sheets and mixed up dreams, India tossed around in bed all night. She was relieved when sunlight eventually streamed through the shutters. She showered, dressed quickly in a pair of blue jeans and tee, and took off in search of coffee. Joss was already pulling the SUV round to the front of the house.
Annabelle was in the kitchen. Her purse was lying open, everything from it strewn across the table as she hunted frantically under a pile of cushions. She wore a long black halter dress and flat Manolo thongs. With her hair pulled back in a loose knot and without a trace of makeup, Annie hadn’t looked so vulnerable or beautiful to India in years.
“Have you seen my phone?” she asked India. “I’ve looked everywhere. I remember having it at the hospital the other day. I don’t think I’ve seen it since.”
“No. Sorry,” India said, checking her watch. “I think we should get going. We’re already running late. I’ll look for it for you when we get back; you won’t need it. I have mine.”
“Where could it possibly be?” Annabelle said, flinging her makeup bag and wallet into her Fendi fringed tote with trembling hands. “And I can’t even have a cup of coffee this morning. I can’t think straight.”
India stepped over and put both her arms round Annabelle’s shoulders. “There’s no need to be frightened, Annie. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. Remember what Rand told you. He’s sure it isn’t anything scary. This time tomorrow it will all be over. You’ll be just great.”
“I know, darling. I know.” Annabelle hugged her tightly. “Thank you. I love you.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to pretend this is a movie. I’ll play the part for all it’s worth!” Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she strode toward the door and punched the air.
“Fear nothing!” she cried. “In God’s name, forward boldly!”
“Annie, you may want to think this through… Joan of Arc ended up burnt at the stake. How ’bout you channel Scarlett O’Hara?”
“You’re right, darling…” Annabelle laughed, turning round as she reached the door. “And after all … tomorrow is another day…”
Anna
belle was delivered to the prep room minutes after they reached St. John’s Hospital. India and Joss were left sitting side by side in the carpeted waiting room. The hours dragged by. They took turns going outside for some fresh air, and, at one point, India stepped out to call Adam.
“My nerves are shot to pieces. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Annie. She was due out of the theater an hour ago and nobody’s told us what’s going on.”
“Don’t worry. You said yourself this is really routine. They always misjudge the time – believe me I know; I played a surgeon on Grey’s Anatomy.”
India laughed nervously. “That’s very encouraging. Thank you, Dr. Brooks. I have to go.”
India’s mind was a complete blank. She couldn’t even find the energy to speak; then a heavy wooden door opened and a doctor came toward them smiling as he took off his surgical mask. Joss sprang up and India rushed to his side.
“She’s doing really well,” the surgeon said, looking from one to the other, kindly. “I’m sorry we took a little longer than expected, but we removed part of Annabelle’s thyroid gland where the nodule had grown.”
“What does that mean, exactly, Doctor?” Joss asked, his voice tremulous.
“It means that the lump was contained. It was small. When we do a biopsy we’ll be able to make certain that it was a benign tumor. I’ve seen a lot of these and I’m pretty certain it was.”
“So my sister is going to be okay?” India cut in. She needed more reassurance. She wanted to hear words like “clear, successful, noncancerous.”
“Yes,” he said; then, with more emphasis, added, “She is going to be absolutely fine. In fact, you can go in and see her, though she may not be making a lot of sense. Remember, she’s had a very heavy anesthetic.”
India and Joss followed an orderly down the corridor to a private room where a nurse was checking Annabelle’s pulse.
“Miss Butler, you have company,” she said.
Annabelle looked up at them. Her face was ashen and partly hidden by an oxygen mask.
