Four: Stories of Marriage

by Nia Forrester

  “At least the house is paid off.”

  Robyn shifted, already uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.

  “Paid off, but no upgrades in years. I mean, you all know what it costs just to heat these places in the winter. It’s …”

  “Excuse me,” Robyn said. “Is there a … could you direct me to the powder-room?”

  All three women looked affronted, as though she’d interrupted the beginning to their favorite sport. Robyn had a feeling that she’d done precisely that. They showed her the hallway leading to the bathroom and she made her escape.

  Now that they’d mentioned it, she noticed it—the signs of decay in Elaine’s home. The wallpaper along the hallway, fraying at the baseboards, the chipped paint on the molding above the door, and once inside, the dated fixtures in the bathroom.

  Perched on the edge of the closed toilet, Robyn pulled out her phone and checked her email. The number of messages almost caused her to fall to the floor. All the messages that Frank used to get were now being relayed to her inbox, so along with those that were addressed to her personally, there were dozens of others. And being one of those anal people who didn’t like to see that accusing number of unread emails next to the word Inbox, she had to read them all.

  But it would be impossible to do that here and now. The only solution would be to socialize like her life depended on it, for exactly one hour. And then she would ‘extract’ Chris, to use his word, and they would go home. No way was she going to sleep with all this in her waiting for her in the morning when she got to work. She would use Chris’ office and take care of every single last one of them before the sun rose over the horizon announcing a new work day.

  The pool was covered. A little early in the season, since it was just after Labor Day and still warm out on most days, but Chris had already picked up that Elaine Richards was not as well-off as most of her guests. Over the years, as his own wealth grew, he became expert at picking up on other people’s means, or lack thereof. He could tell the pedigree of a woman’s shoes by one glance at her feet, or the cost of a man’s watch, no matter how flashy. And tonight, if the just-short-of-overgrown garden and afghans in the living room concealing worn leather weren’t enough, he could detect, by the hors d'oeuvres that Elaine Richards was cutting corners.

  There was salmon on bruschetta, but not slivers, instead they were salmon trimmings, the bits and ends that high-end stores sold in plastic containers for a reduced price because they were shredded, poorly-sliced, or the remains left on a cutting board. And instead of prosciutto wrapped asparagus, she had used regular bacon, some of it very fatty. And the miniature meatballs were a little mealy, with too much breading to make the beef go farther.

  The biggest giveaway though was the wine. It was mediocre at best. Chris knew good wine, because he had once studied it out of boredom when he was in France for a long trip back in his twenties. He was dating a model, and she liked to visit vineyards on her spare time. And because he liked screwing the model, as often and in as many ways as he could, he often accompanied her on those visits and bankrolled their stays on in small farmhouses and sometimes large castles, the estates of winemaking families fallen on hard time. In between the all the sex, Chris had learned a few things before growing tired of the model.

  “Did they drive you out of the house?”

  Chris turned to smile at his host. Elaine Richards was wearing all-black. Lounging pants that billowed around her legs and a long-sleeved black blouse with bell sleeves. Around her neck was a light, patterned black-and-white scarf. Another trick, all this black—it was a shade that could look rich, if accessorized correctly. Elaine was wearing large gold earrings and had pulled her hair back into a loose braid, to make sure the focus was on the jewelry and not much else about her attire.

  “Nah. Just not a party guy,” Chris said.

  She sat on the lounge chair next to his, but unlike him, lay back and extended her legs.

  “They can be exhausting, I agree. I have one every once in a while just to make sure people see I’m making an effort. You know, to be part of the group.”

  “I hear you.”

  Elaine laughed a little. “No, you don’t. You’re not a man who tries to be part of any group.”

  “Well …”

  Chris let his voice trail off, not wanting to get into what kind of man he was. In his head, he had begun the time-clock, a countdown to how long before he could end this conversation, find his wife and head home. Another unwelcome realization that had come since he stepped down from SE leadership was that he didn’t like parties.

  He had gone to lots of them when he was CEO and had never really noticed his dislike because he generally had a mission. There was someone he needed to meet, to woo, to convince of something. Now that those motives were no longer relevant he didn’t think he would miss parties if he never went to another one in his life.

  When the hell had that happened though? He used to not want to be home. Ever. Early on, it was like death to have to sit in his own living room without a place to be. And if there was no place to be, he threw a party—invited a bunch of dudes and women over and stirred up some action. Damn. It had been years since he had done anything like that. He had pared down his social life to a few essentials—Brendan, Shawn, and lately, now that he had a solid woman who made some sense, increasingly, Turner as well.

  “Don’t you have a kid about Felicity’s age?”

  Chris looked up. He’d almost forgotten Elaine was there.

  “Yeah. A son. Just turning twenty.”

  “What does he do? Work in the family business?”

  “No. College. He’s at Penn State.”

  “Oh. Nice. Felicity started at Cornell, and then dropped out after a single semester,” Elaine said conversationally. “Some kids just aren’t ready to be away from home, I think. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s one of them. Or if she’ll ever want to be away from home.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Chris said.

  But really, he was just trying to make her feel better. He saw plenty wrong with that. Grit and independence were the two things he most worried about when it came to his kids. Unlike material things, you couldn’t just hand those to them.

  “Or, the more troubling possibility,” Elaine continued. “Is that maybe she messed up because she’s worried about me.”

  “Why would she be worried about you?”

  “You know. Getting older, being alone. Her Dad and I had a nasty divorce. And I mean nasty. War of the Roses nasty.”

  “Except you made it out alive.”

  “Barely.” Elaine Richards gave a bitter laugh. “He’s remarried now and has a new kid. He hardly ever bothers with Felicity anymore and was so eager not to be bothered with me that he eventually paid for and gave me the house and settled a chunk of money on me. But even that’s drying up, and …” She shrugged. “Sorry. First world problems.”

  Chris thought of Sheryl. She had never been his wife, thank God. But he had given her the same treatment Elaine was describing now. At the time, it seemed like more than she deserved. He wondered whether that’s what Elaine’s ex-husband though about her, and whether he would feel differently if he saw her deteriorating living situation.

  But he didn’t know this woman at all. Maybe she had gotten more than she deserved. It was hard to think that, though, looking at her now and seeing the deep sadness, and maybe even a little fear behind her eyes. He could almost relate. It was hard, not knowing what came next.

  “Divorce is rough,” Chris said, settling for a generic platitude.

  “Yes, it is.” Elaine pronounced. Then she turned to him and gave him a determined smile. She was pretty when she smiled. It took five years off her face. “But … thank you for stopping by. I wasn’t sure you two would show. I know we don’t know each other at all and Felicity is your employee after all, so the invitation might have seemed odd.”

  “My kids love her,” Chris said. “We were happy to
come.”

  “And she loves them.”

  “Whatever happened with your car by the way?” he asked. “Got that worked out?”

  “In a manner of speaking. It’s basically dead. So …” She heaved a deep breath. “I’ll be getting a new one. That’s one more … thing to think about.”

  One more bill to think about. That was what she’d been about to say, Chris could tell.

  “Chris?” Robyn had found them. She looked a little puzzled. “I was wondering where you were.”

  Elaine Richards sat up. “He ran away from home,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Robyn. “Away from my home, that is.” She laughed.

  Robyn gave them both an uncertain smile. “Well … I think that’s probably because he’s so exhausted,” she said. “I was just coming to see whether you were ready to go. It was lovely of you to invite us, Elaine, but with work tomorrow, and …”

  “Of course.” Elaine sat up and then stood. Chris did the same. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I hope we can … thank you.”

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Robyn said.

  There was a slight coolness in her voice that Chris detected right away, but that Elaine would not hear.

  In the car, she waited until they had pulled out of the driveway and were on the main road, just three minutes away from home.

  “That was pretty forward,” Robyn said finally.

  “What was?”

  “The way she cornered you outside. I mean, wouldn’t the thing for the hostess of the party to do be to guide the guest back inside to the group? Not hang out with him in the dark for a private conversation. What were you two talking about anyway?”

  Chris looked at Robyn’s profile in the dark. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. I just think it was inappropriate, that’s all. You were out there for a while.”

  “We talked about her divorce. And about her kid. Felicity.” Chris glanced at her again. “Are you jealous? Is that why you said I was ‘exhausted’?”

  “No. I’m not jealous, I’m cautious. You don’t understand women, Christopher.”

  At that, he laughed again. “Okay.”

  “What’s worse is that you think you do,” she added.

  Chris sighed, deciding not to argue, just relieved that the awkward evening was over.

  6

  We need to be in L.A. tomorrow morning.”

  Jamal leaned into her office, holding on to the doorframe, indicating that he was on his way someplace else, and didn’t have time to stop and discuss the matter.

  “Tomorrow morning?” Robyn glanced at her watch. It was already four in the afternoon. “How’re we …”

  “Ten o’clock flight tonight. We need to get in for a nine-thirty a.m. meeting West Coast time,” Jamal said. He was already beginning to sound impatient, which was a rarity for him. “Didn’t you read my email? About Cristian?”

  “Not really. What was …” Robyn turned to her computer monitor and opened up her inbox.

  “We’re being counter-offered. It’s a bullshit counter. We need to not only fix it, but get the papers signed before we leave L.A. None of that ‘think it over and get back to us’ bullshit.”

  Robyn sighed. It looked like she had opened and skimmed the email. And hadn’t identified it as cross-country-flight-serious. One of their artists was threatening to jump ship. He was a Latinx sensation that hadn’t broken through yet to the mainstream but was popularly believed in the industry to be well on his way to Ricky-Martin-level stardom.

  His initial small contract was expiring, and now he was throwing his weight around a little. It happened all the time, and usually got handled with a gratuitous bump in compensation, or the addition of a few more perks. It usually didn’t merit the general counsel, well, in her case acting general counsel and CEO to make an in-person appearance to save the deal.

  “Are you sure we have to go there to make him sign?” Robyn tried.

  “Robyn, I’ve been in this business a long time. Disney is sniffing around this kid. Disney. They’re risk averse and only bet on sure things. This sure thing happens to be our sure thing. At present. So, we’re not going to take the chance of losing him. Okay?”

  “Okay. Gosh. No need to be patronizing about it. I know you’re the talent guru, but …”

  Jamal gave her a look. One that reminded her that personal friendship notwithstanding, he was still very much her boss.

  “Do I need to have Rebecca come with me?” he asked. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

  “No. Of course not. Not to mention, if you take Rebecca, you’ll probably need to take a translator along as well.”

  Jamal smirked. “Have Pam book you on the American Airlines at ten-oh-five. That’s the one I’m on. And if it makes you feel any better, you can spring for business-class.” Then he was gone.

  No, as a matter of fact, it didn’t make her feel any better. She and Mrs. Lawson were going to decorate for Halloween with the kids when she got home. Caitlyn was going to love it, and Landyn wouldn’t understand a thing, but Jasmin and Kaden were supposed to be coming over. They had Friday off, and so were coming tonight to decorate and to spend a long weekend.

  Robyn had been looking forward to it, having all the kids together. She had plans to take them to upstate New York for a corn maze and hay-ride, and to buy country treats like sweet potato pies and tarts; they would pick pumpkins to carve.

  But letting Rebecca go … and God, what had that catty comment been about anyway? Letting Rebecca go in her place on the very first crisis response trip she had as acting GC would be tantamount to telling Jamal she was not up for the job.

  Reaching for her phone she buzzed Pam and told her to book her on the same flight as Jamal to LAX.

  “And see what you can find that has me coming back home the same night as the meeting,” she added. “Doesn’t matter what time.”

  She was already feeling tired thinking about all that time in the air. She would probably be useless once she got home. But at least she would be home.

  Sighing, Robyn found and pulled up Cristian’s current and proposed contracts. This little shit had ruined her weekend before it even started.

  If there were good things about living in what amounted to an affluent small town, this was it—that he could walk down the main drag and elicit only a few stares, but not much else by way of engagement. He had Tiny with him, walking a few paces behind, trying to be unobtrusive. As unobtrusive as a beefy Black man over three-hundred pounds could be, especially in a place like this.

  There was no reason for the excursion other than that Mrs. Lawson mentioned an artisan toy store in town, and Chris, curious about what the heck an “artisan” toy store could be about, decided he would go see, and maybe buy his kids some more crap they didn’t need. He parked on the main street, sliding his Maybach behind a Bentley SUV and feeling cynical for a moment about just the “toys” that not only kids around here, but adults had at their disposal.

  Who the hell needed a two-hundred and thirty-thousand-dollar SUV anyway, any more than he needed his Maybach that cost over three-hundred-grand?

  Shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind, he ducked into a wine store with an interesting display in the window, and a quaint hand-carved sign out front that signaled that the interior would likely be very upscale as well. It was. The displays were not just well-arranged but well-lit, showing off the bottles to highest effect, making the burgundies and the whites look like liquid jewels.

  Tiny, who had no interest in wine leaned in and checked out the small space, then shook his head and posted up outside. Chris laughed to himself. Tiny had been with him for years and had seen his ascent from successful producer to bonafide mogul. Tiny remembered the Chris before the model and the winery tours. He remembered the Chris whose only goal when drinking was to get lit.

  Chris walked the small aisles and grabbed a couple of familiar bottles just for the hell of it. He had a wine cellar at his
house, and it was always stocked, so this would be an idle purchase. Maybe he’d let Tiny have them, and get Big Man indoctrinated into the life of fine spirits. Or maybe he’d get Robyn a little drunk again and just tear that …

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry. Do you have another card you’d like to use?”

  Chris looked up and saw just as the cashier—a young woman who looked she like might not even be old enough to drink herself—handed Elaine Richards a card. She smiled apologetically.

  “Are you sure? Could you try it again?” Elaine put a hand to the back of her neck.

  The girl took the card, her expression clearly skeptical. Elaine pulled out her phone and slinging her pocketbook higher on her shoulder, tapped a few things on the face of it. Chris watched as she blanched.

  “It’s … you can give me back that card,” she said to the cashier. “Something I thought had come through hasn’t, so that one’s no good. If you give me a minute, I can …”

  Stepping forward, his two bottles of wine in hand, Chris smiled at the cashier.

  “I’ve got ‘em,” he said. “And you can ring these two up as well.”

  Elaine looked at him and did a double-take. Her face reddened. “Oh. I didn’t …” She narrowed her eyes a little. “Were you in here the whole time? I didn’t see you.”

  “Just walked in a moment ago.”

  She nodded and took the card from the cashier, her face visibly red. “Thank you,” she said. “I just … I don’t know what …”

  “It’s okay,” Chris said. “It happens.”

  “Not to you, I bet.” Elaine barked out a laugh.

  The cashier rang up the purchase and Chris directed her to bag his wines separately, handing Elaine hers when the transaction was done. They stood together near the door, just inside.

  “This is so embarrassing,” she said. “Two weeks ago, I host you at my house for a lavish party and now you see me scraping together pennies to buy wine, of all things.”

  Chris smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s cool. Nice to see you again, Elaine.”

  He turned to leave but she held his arm, and then let her hand drop again almost immediately.