Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “Mrs. Statham—”

  “Us middle-aged people don’t have to call each other by our formal titles, Claire. You should be calling me Denise. Then again, you shouldn’t really be around in the first place, so—”

  “I don’t think antagonizing me will get you any closer to Jonathan.” I said as firmly as I could.

  “You’re right. Getting rid of you will.”

  I rolled my eyes. I was going to tell Jonathan about this little encounter as soon as he walked back into the room.

  Denise shook her head and turned away, but then she spun back around. “By the way, if you even think about telling him about this—if you repeat any of what I said to you, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  “Do your worst.” My personality was finally re-surfacing.

  She laughed. “Don’t underestimate me, Claire. You’d be amazed at what types of people end up in rehab: Former judges, celebrities, and my favorite—ousted news reporters who are always looking for the right story to get their jobs back.”

  “You don’t have anything on me.”

  “I don’t. But there’s someone on the company board here who does. You must have really pissed her off because she’s been crafting this little story for a while…Remember, it doesn’t have to be true, it just has to look true. So, think about that before you open your mouth. In the meantime, figure out a quick way—a two week way, to break up with my gullible son before I do it for you.” She slid her glasses over her eyes and walked out of the room.

  I sat back in my chair and thought long and hard about what she could possibly have on me. I’d never been arrested, never been to rehab, never done anything that would scare me if it was brought to the light.

  “I’m so sorry about that.” Jonathan walked back into the room. He pulled me out of my chair and smiled. “What was I saying before?”

  “Dinner…” I murmured. I wasn’t going to go. I needed to use tonight to think about what his mother had said to me, to make sure she didn’t have anything that could hurt me. I figured I’d use the same “time with my daughters” line since he always bought that.

  “Right. There’s a new restaurant down at Fisherman’s Wharf and I’d love to—”

  “Raincheck? I promised the girls that I would make pasta tonight. Maybe we can—”

  “I like pasta.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll bring the leftovers to work tomorrow. Do you want me to pack parmesan cheese with—”

  “I can’t come over and have dinner with you and your family?”

  What? “Um…”

  “Um?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What type of answer is that?”

  “You want to meet my daughters?”

  “Do they know I exist?”

  I nodded.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Nothing…” I decided that his mother was full of shit. “Dinner is at seven.”

  Jonathan’s Birthday

  I gazed into Jonathan eyes as he gazed back into mine. We were sitting at a table in Sierra Mar—sharing our own special silence, talking without saying a word. Even though Hayley was sitting across from us, it felt like we were the only people in the room.

  I heard her asking me questions—”Have you always lived in San Fran?” “Are your daughters coming here with us tonight?” “How did you manage to keep this dinner a secret from my brother all this time?”—but all I could say in return was “Not always,” “Not tonight,” and “Umm hmm.”

  I couldn’t focus on anything else but the beautiful man sitting next to me. I was still entranced by the hour long “scenic route” we’d taken before we came to dinner, wishing that it hadn’t come to an end.

  “Excuse me.” A waitress touched my shoulder, snapping me out of my trance. She placed a three layer cupcake in the center of the table and struck a match that made the starry sparklers dance in lively flames.

  “Happy Birthday, Jonathan.” I smiled.

  “Are you going to blow out the candles or are you going to wait until your cake catches fire?” Hayley shook his shoulder. “Hello!”

  “What?” He took his eyes off me and looked down at the cupcake in awe. He blew out the candles in one breath and looked at me again. “I didn’t know they served cupcakes here…”

  “They don’t…But when you tell them your date is Jonathan Statham they’ll make whatever you want.”

  “Is that so?” He smiled even wider.

  I felt my phone vibrating on my lap and looked at the screen: Ashley.

  “Would you two please excuse me for a minute?” I looked back and forth between the two of them. “I need to take this call.”

  “Of course.” Jonathan helped me out of my chair and kissed my cheek before I headed to the bathroom.

  “Yes, Ashley?” I shut the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “Caroline has the car tonight. She’s going to be out until ten with the junior varsity squad…”

  “And?”

  “I want to get some pizza.”

  “Have it delivered.”

  “With my friends! Can I please use your car tonight? I promise I won’t wreck it or do anything—”

  “No, Ashley. We’ve been through this over and over. It’s up to you two to work out how to share that car. Mine is off limits. Forever.”

  “Ugh! Fine!” She hung up.

  My phone rang again and I knew it was Ashley. She always hung up in my face and called right back to apologize—and beg to use my car again.

  “I accept your apology, Ashley.” I held the phone up to my ear. “The answer is still no. And just in case you’re wondering, I did give Jonathan that card that you and Caroline—”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Denise’s raspy voice made me stop talking. “You have daughters…”

  “What do you want, Mrs. Statham?”

  “I’ve told you about formalities. They’re not necessary. Is there a reason why you didn’t invite me to my son’s birthday dinner tonight?”

  Because you’re a bitch… “No, but he doesn’t seem to be missing your presence.”

  “Let me speak to him.”

  “Call him yourself.” I hung up.

  My phone rang again and I saw her number on my screen. I knew that I shouldn’t answer it, that I should send her straight to voicemail like I’d been doing for the past few days, but I picked up anyway.

  “Yes?” I answered.

  “It’s rude to hang up on your boyfriend’s mother. Someone your age should know that. Did you get my package yesterday? I never received a ‘thank you’ note.”

  I didn’t answer. I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from saying the filthiest words my mouth could manage.

  I’d received her “package” at my house yesterday afternoon. It was a beautiful silky red box with pink and purple hearts sewn onto the fabric, with my name etched in glittery black cursive on all four sides.

  I’d sat down on my couch with it, smiling at how detailed it was—thinking that it was another well-thought gift from Jonathan. But as soon as I opened it, I realized that wasn’t the case.

  Inside was a sheet of paper: a record of a canceled consultation appointment from a Dr. Tate Robinson I’d made four years ago. He specialized in vaginal rejuvenation surgery, and at the time, I thought that was what I needed to feel young again, but I canceled it once I started going to Sandra’s practice for therapy.

  Underneath that paper were more papers—more canceled consultations from a Botox specialist, a face lift specialist, and a skin toning specialist. They were all things I thought I needed when I first moved to San Fran to start over, things I thought I needed because my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

  “You definitely made the right choice in canceling those appointments.” She laughed. “You don’t need any of that stuff—not now anyway. But a few years down the line…Well, it’ll be a different story, and I have a doctor that I can recommend. He does it all—he’s even managed to come up with a process that will delay gra
y hair from coming in for another ten years. Would you like me to—”

  “I would like for you to stop playing these childish ass games with me, Denise. They’re not working.”

  “They’re not? Should I start focusing on your past then? Should I mention your twin sister Caroline? How she might’ve made it if you hadn’t been so stupid, like you’re being right now.”

  “What did you just say?” My blood began to boil.

  “I never stutter, Claire. It was very smart of your family to cover up the fact that you switched your flight at the last minute. I can’t imagine what type of sob story the media would have concocted out of that one. I almost missed it when I was looking over all those old articles. It’s like the airline practically buried everything about that crash. I guess it’s a good thing that newspapers weren’t digital in 1991. It makes it harder to find certain things…Of course, the private investigator found it anyway and put everything together for me.”

  She’s investigating me?

  “Mrs. Statham, I’m going to say this one time as politely as I can: Leave me the fuck alone. I haven’t done anything to—”

  “I won’t stop until you stop—until you realize that what you’re doing is wrong—taking advantage of someone younger than you to boost what shredded sense of self you have. You got married at what? Twenty one? Right after you graduated college? And unfortunately your marriage failed. Miserably. So now you want to suck up someone else’s youth knowing damn well that you don’t expect to be there for the long run, that as soon as someone your age or older comes along and seems more secure, you’ll be leaving my son in the cold with wasted time and a scheme to take his money. How fair is that?”

  “Don’t call my phone anymore. I’m not going to—”

  “How would you feel if your sixteen year old daughters were dating someone eleven years older than them? Would you stand by and say nothing? Let them continue doing it because they’re too fucking gullible to realize a pedophile when they see one? Or would you be telling the pitiful excuse for a man to move the fuck on like I’m telling you to right now?”

  “That’s not the same and I’d appreciate it if you just—”

  “Ha! Yes it is!” She snorted. “Tell me something. Do you use that mail-ordered anti-wrinkle cream every day? It’s called Age-Away, right? Is it working well for you?”

  I hung up and powered my phone off.

  I sat down on the vanity’s stool and took several deep breaths. I hadn’t told Jonathan about my sister Caroline—hadn’t even planned to, but hearing her name come out of Denise’s mouth made me sick to my stomach.

  I knew that I shouldn’t mention this latest conversation to Jonathan since it was his birthday, but as soon as the right time came, we were going to have to talk. Regardless of what she had on me, I knew he was way more powerful than she was; he’d definitely put an immediate stop to it, especially since their last few therapy sessions hadn’t ended well.

  I took another deep breath and exhaled, standing up to glance at myself. I forced myself to smile and silently repeated my mantra.

  You don’t look your age…You don’t look your age…

  I stepped outside the bathroom and saw Jonathan heading my way, looking as if he knew something was wrong.

  I looked over at the table and realized his sister wasn’t there. “Where’s Hayley?”

  “She was sick of us staring at each other apparently. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah…It’s just…” It’s his birthday…Lie, Claire. Lie… “Ashley and Caroline are driving me crazy about their shared car again…They called me on three-way to ask about letting them drive my car tonight.”

  “You said no?”

  “Of course I said no. They need to stick together and share what they have.”

  “Okay... Are you ready to go?”

  “After you open your presents. Let’s do that first and then—”

  “I want to open them at home.” He signaled to the waiter that we were leaving and picked up his gifts. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded and placed my hand in his as we walked to the town car. I slipped inside and saw Hayley sitting on the side seats.

  “I thought you left!” I leaned over the seat and hugged her. “He said we ran you away.”

  “Without telling you goodbye? How rude would that be?” She laughed. “I just needed to have a few minutes away from you two. Your lovebird gazes are quite sickening. Could you please hold off on the PDA until Greg drops me off? I want to keep my food down.”

  I blushed. “I’m sorry…”

  “Sure you are. I had a great time, but don’t invite me to anything else unless I have someone to talk to.”

  “She’ll invite our mother next time.” Jonathan slid in and shut the door.

  “Please don’t.” Hayley snarled. “I want to enjoy dinner.”

  Jonathan kissed my cheek and pulled me into his lap. “I think she really is crazy…She made need some one-on-one professional help. I’ve been seeing a different side of her in our latest therapy sessions. It’s like something’s really bothering her.”

  If only you knew…

  Four weeks ago

  I looked over Denise’s latest email and rolled my eyes.

  She’d created another fake account to send me news articles about cougars. This most recent article was about a Hollywood couple who was going through a tumultuous divorce: The actress was fifty and the actor was thirty five. All the critics were saying “Of course it wouldn’t last,” “It was destined to fail,” and “That’s what she gets for trying to land a younger man.”

  In the subject line, she’d typed, “If she was famous, rich, and beautiful and couldn’t make it work, what makes you think it’ll work for you?”

  “Rita, could you please have IT block another email address for me?” I buzzed her. “I’m forwarding it to you now.”

  “Yes ma’am. Oh, and there was another delivery for you today. Would you like me to bring it in now?”

  “Is it a box?”

  “No, it’s wine and two more vases of flowers from your over the top secret admirer.” She laughed. “Do you know if he has any friends?”

  “I’ll ask him. You can bring it in.”

  As soon as I hung up the phone, she walked in with a large bottle of wine and two beautiful vases of pink flowers. The wine was one of my favorite reds—a vintage merlot that was over thirty years old. And like always, my name was etched onto the flowers’ crystal container with the words “Someone very special to me” right underneath.

  I pulled the small white envelope from the stems and opened it:

  Claire,

  I’m looking forward to spending time with you, Caroline, and Ashley this afternoon. Make sure you tell them that there’s a pool onboard.

  Jonathan

  PS—Come to my office after your next meeting.

  PSS—Leave your panties.

  I laughed and opened the other envelope that was attached to the wine bottle:

  Claire,

  Wine is one of few things in life that age well over time. Some would even argue that the longer they age, the better they taste. Some of the best wines can last for decades if they’re stored properly and kept in a chill, dark place. However, even the best aged wines don’t last longer than a day once they’re uncorked and exposed to the air. It’s their Kryptonite; it’s what makes them realize how old they really are.

  This Merlot was bottled in your birth year—forty years ago.

  I uncorked it for you yesterday, so it doesn’t have much time left.

  Enjoy!

  Of course she didn’t sign it…

  I ripped the notecard into pieces and tossed them into the trash. I completely regretted encouraging Jonathan to give her a second chance now; she was clearly replacing her normal “relapse drug time” with ways to hurt me. And to be honest, with each passing day it was working more and more.

  No matter how many times Jonathan told me I was beautiful, no
matter how many times he made love to me and told me I was perfect, one mean text, nasty voicemail, or email from Denise made me succumb to my stubborn insecurities.

  Two weeks ago

  The waves of the ocean slapped up against the windows of his bedroom, and the yacht slowly rocked back and forth.

  He’d just made love to me for the second time that morning, and I was trying to pull myself back down to reality, trying to put the images of our amazing sex in the back of my mind and tell him about his mother; her antics were getting out of hand.

  “What are you thinking about now?” He pulled me into his arms so we were face to face.

  “Nothing…”

  He traced my lips with his fingertips and smiled. “Your eyes give you away all the time. That’s how I know when you’re lying to me.”

  “I can talk to you about anything, right?”

  “Of course you can.” He kissed me. “I don’t want any boundaries between us.”

  How do I say, “Your mother is a bitch and I want you to keep her the hell away from me?” Do I say it outright? Is there a lead in sentence—What can I—

  “That wasn’t a question that led into another question?” He raised his eyebrow.

  “Not really…I just wanted to know.” I closed the small gap between us and ran my fingers through his thick hair, smiling at him as he smiled back at me.

  From the look in his eyes I could tell that he wasn’t buying my “I just wanted to know” excuse; he knew something was off.

  I sighed. It’s now or never, Claire. Just tell him…One…Two…Thr—

  “Would you mind going to dinner with me and my mom next weekend?” he asked.

  WHAT! “You two are on good terms now?” I tried to keep the shock out of my voice.

  “I don’t know…I walked out on our last therapy session, so I wouldn’t necessarily say good terms…”

  “You don’t think you can have dinner without arguing with her?” Please don’t ask me do this...

  “I would just feel more comfortable if you came with me.” He gazed into my eyes, giving me a look that screamed “Please say yes” and kissed me again. “That’s all.”

  “Okay. I’ll come.”

  Last Friday

  I scrolled through another one of Denise’s four page text-rants and vowed to have my number changed. She’d been texting me nonsense all day: old pictures of Jonathan with his ex-supermodel girlfriends, photo-shopped pictures of me with gray hair—sitting in a wheelchair as he pushed me, and links to articles about “How Not to Deal with a Mid-Life Crisis.”