“Appreciation.” He smiled his sexy self-deprecating smile. “My life is worth living.”
“And you’ve got a really big cock,” I added. “I’ve appreciated that too.”
“Fuck.” He shook his head. Then his voice came out low and husky, “We don’t have to end this. It’s barely started.”
Hope fizzed inside me like bubbles in champagne but I wouldn’t let it sway me. There was no point in baring my soul, because he’d only offer solutions I couldn’t accept. Better to let him think he was wrong for me so I could leave with my self-esteem intact.
I stepped back, putting some distance between us. “Great memories.” I even managed a smile. “Every girl needs a story about the one that got away.”
Someone had to be strong. I just wasn’t sure why it always had to be me.
“Okay.” Something was happening behind his eyes, and I wasn’t sure what it was. It looked like determination. “But I’ll text you my address here. I’m at Bondi Beach.”
I nodded, trying to keep it casual. “Hence the tan.” I hadn’t imagined him as a surf swimmer, but clearly, there was a lot I didn’t know about him. What I did know, however, was enough to close the door on future contact. He could text all he liked. I’d said it was over. I was sticking to that. I just needed to make sure I didn’t get drunk and think it would be a good idea to ring him.
Twenty-four hours cooped up with Missy Lou in her Rose Bay mansion wasn’t the best way to avoid alcohol, but that led to the very clever option of deleting his details from my phone, which I would do as soon as I was alone.
I held out my hand. “So goodbye.”
He took it solemnly and shook it. “For now.”
Whatever.
I stayed where I was, watching him leave the room, his lanky stride, his wide shoulders and slim hips, his large hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look back, and my last glimpse of him was a stray dreadlock wavering as he went out of sight and the door closed.
A second later—well before I’d had a chance to regroup—it opened again and Missy Lou stuck her shiny blonde head in. “I’m leaving now.”
I nodded. “I’m coming with,” and after snatching up my handbag, I followed carefully behind her out the door and down the corridor, still not trusting my wobbly legs a hundred percent.
She glanced back once and saw me wall-walking, then returned to my side, linking my arm with hers. I’m sure we looked like we’d stepped back in time, girlfriends strolling together. That was one thing I admired about Missy Lou—she could care less what people thought about her. Yet she cared a great deal what she thought about herself, and for that reason she’d always wanted the best: best husband, best house, best car. I’m sure that’s why she’d never had kids. She couldn’t guarantee they’d be perfect.
One side of my brain wondered if any of it had made her happy, but the other side assured me she was kicking goals, so perhaps that’s all that really mattered in life. Happiness was so wretchedly fleeting, it seemed pointless trying to grab onto the slippery damned thing!
At the nurses’ station I signed out and received a copy of my pathology report. Pure alcohol, no drugs. So Rohypnol hadn’t been part of the equation. That made me feel good. Then Missy Lou walked me to the main reception where I signed more forms and paid the bill—two grand—goodbye bonuses, which I’d been keeping as a buffer. Still, I felt better when I told them to refund Finn. Before you could say fast exit, we were out in the late afternoon sunshine and someone was handing Missy Lou the keys to her silver Bentley.
I hadn’t even realized they had valet parking at hospitals. And maybe they didn’t. Maybe Bentley drivers could organize extra service wherever they went. I was just glad to be quickly on the road, incredibly impressed with the plush comfort of the cream leather interior, the polished wood and the pure wool surrounding me. Less impressed with Missy Lou’s silence as we drove. It felt condemning. I knew I should be grateful to her for bailing me out, but in truth, I just wanted to escape Sydney the way I’d escaped Surfers Paradise. And I had a hotel booked.
“Are you sure you can’t just drop me back to my car so I can go to Newcastle?”
Her eyes never came off the road. “No. I’ve told Marcus you’re coming. He’s making a vegetarian dinner.”
Damn it.
I could feel resentment surfacing. It always did when I was forced into something. And just as predictable as the resentment was my petty impulse to annoy Missy Lou. I opened the glove compartment and was further impressed to see it lined with the same cream leather that surrounded it. A black glasses case and a book sat inside. I reached forward, but Missy Lou—who still didn’t take her eyes of the road—said, “Touch that and I’ll tell Ange you kissed Daniel on the night of their wedding.”
My mouth fell open in indignation as I turned on her. “We all kissed him that night. So did half the waitresses at the reception.”
“You’d rather Ange knew that?” A beat of silence followed before she added, “Shut the glove box.”
Bitch. Why did girlfriends always have to have something on you?
“I was looking for food,” I lied, and wanted to slam it, but it had soft-close hinges so it slid shut in silent, slow motion. “My stomach is very empty.”
“We’ll be home in ten minutes. You’ll just have to wait.”
I crossed my arms and glared out the window.
When I didn’t reply, she added, “If you hadn’t spent so much time saying goodbye to your boyfriend—”
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I wanted them back. But I was still angry with him for thinking there should be something between us, and me wanting there to be, when it was broken before it started. When would I learn not to blurt things out?
Predictably, Missy Lou said, “Then who is he?”
“Just some guy I fucked.”
“Don’t swear.”
That made me crankier still, reminding me of Damien and people like him, thinking they could boss me around.
“Since when do you arc up about swearing?” I turned my best glacial stare at her, arms still crossed. “You swore more than all of us put together in high school.”
“Times change.” Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her peaked sunglasses impenetrable.
I frowned and went back to looking out the window at the leafy street, and only then realized we were cutting through Paddington on our way to Rose Bay.
Simon.
Sickening guilt filled the space where my anger had been. It was late afternoon—I glanced at the dashboard clock—five-forty-five. The dragon would be home by now, probably making his dinner, talking about her trip, asking about me and how that went. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d respond, whether he’d be cool about it, or if he was still upset about what we’d done and how it had made him feel. I wanted so much to not care, to think it was his problem and not mine, to be professional. But I was a soppy twit, so on top of all the shit with Finn, I ached about having hurt Simon and wished things could have ended differently.
On a normal day, I would have wallowed in that pain, but by that point I’d had about as much bad feeling as I could take. My stomach was queasy from it. I just wanted some bland food and a good night’s sleep.
I also wanted Missy Lou to stop resenting my presence, but she was renowned for carrying a snit interminably. As usual, if I wanted harmony, I’d have to create it myself. Humble pie was probably my quickest option. I dropped my arms and said, “I’m sorry, L. You’re a good friend and I’m a bitch.”
“True.” She kept driving, and I waited for the rest. But it never came. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be incensed or to laugh, until finally she added, “But that won’t stop me doing what Fritha asks. She’s not a bitch.”
There was no arguing with that. We all held Fritha up as our ideal, and whenever one of us was fighting with the other, she brokered a peace. Most often, I was the recalcitrant child being pull
ed into line. Maybe it was time to grow up.
“Anyway,” I said, “despite your bad opinion of me, I appreciate you taking time out to help me when I was…drunk.” I’d been about to say indisposed, but there was no point in mincing words.
Missy Lou said nothing for a while. Then reluctantly, she offered, “You’ve done the same for me.”
“Not in the last decade.”
She nodded, her disapproving mouth softening for a second before she said, “Your time will come.”
I looked at her afresh. That had been decidedly cryptic. Was she saying I’d have my turn at rescuing her from drunken oblivion? How likely was that? I ignored the million dollar view of Sydney Harbor rushing by on my left to observe her. “Do you drink now?”
“I’m an alcoholic.”
She kept driving, but the silence in the Bentley was suddenly impenetrable. Outside the world rushed by, but I was cocooned by the ten star luxury of her ride and my own shock.
She lifted her chin. “A high-function alcoholic.”
“Of course.” If there was a best sort of anything, Missy Lou would be that. “But since when?”
“Since I found out Marcus was gay.”
I blinked, but it was all slow motion. In fact, I was sure I could see my eyelashes lower and then rise again.
“Fuck.”
“Quite.” She didn’t admonish me for swearing this time.
I slumped back in the seat and stared blindly out the window, my brain too jangled with flashes of memories and conversations and What the fuck? overlay to make any sense. But I knew Missy Lou well enough to say, “I won’t tell a soul.” I had no idea why she’d told me. We hadn’t been particularly close in the last ten years. But I knew, sure as hell, that she wouldn’t be broadcasting this news.
Crazily, in the middle of all my jumbled thoughts, I heard Fritha’s imaginary voice saying Well, Missy Lou won’t be worried about your husband sitting job.
Nice to have a positive. But shit, no wonder they hadn’t had children!
I wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about it, but Marcus was at home cooking and I knew we were only minutes away, so I said, “Do you mean gay, or bi?”
“Gay.”
“But you two—”
“The sort of gay who pretends you’re a man so they can have sex with you.”
Fuck.
I couldn’t even say it aloud. Couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t think past wanting to go back in time ten years to slash the tires on his car so he’d never get to the nightclub where they’d met. Life just wasn’t fair. Missy Lou was prickly as hell—and the excuse for her increased prickliness over the last ten years was obvious—but she’d always been a good friend and a decent human being. In her own quiet way, behind the scenes, she’d organized the rescue of many a lame duck and fallen sparrow. Myself included. She didn’t deserve this.
We pulled into her street and I had to blurt, “You haven’t left him because…?”
“He hasn’t been unfaithful.”
What?
I turned in my seat to stare at her. I’d assumed…But how could she know…?
I saw her swallow but she kept her eyes on the road. “I asked him why we had sex…in a certain way.” She swallowed again, showing discomfort with the conversation for the first time. “He told me.”
“How long ago?”
“Six years.”
“Fuck.”
We pulled into her driveway and beyond her immaculate lawn and stately jacaranda trees, I had a view of her ten million dollar historical mansion with its white plaster walls, high pitched roof and gingerbread house shutters and trim. She touched something on the dash and the automatic garage doors opened. We drove inside and when the car had stopped beside a flashy silver Ferrari, she turned to me and said, “Marcus is inside. He doesn’t know that I’ve told you. Please try not to let on.”
“Of course.” I heard my own voice, sounding affronted that she even had to say that, but I was so lost in the middle of this I actually felt like I needed everything spelled out. “But who else knows?” That was important information, because this was far too big a revelation for me to contain. If Frith knew, I could phone her tonight and talk about it, get some perspective.
Missy Lou took her sunglasses off and gazed at me for some time before she said, “You and I and Marcus.”
Fuck.
I couldn’t help blurting, “Why me?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
That slowed my pulse, and tiny pattering fingers of dread ran across my heart. This wasn’t Louella. I was the impulsive one. She never took ill-considered action. And telling a blabbermouth like me was definitely ill-considered.
“Jillian.” Were her eyes glazed? God, was she drunk now? “I’m counting on you.”
“I know.” I didn’t dare say I won’t let you down because my track record didn’t back that up. “I’ll be as annoying as I usually am.”
She nodded. “Good.” Then she reached past me to the glove box and opened it, helping herself to the sunglasses case. When it was open, I realized it was a tiny kit. She took out an eye whitener and put a drop in each eye. Then she sprayed mouth freshener in her mouth and popped in two Tic Tacs before retrieving a moist towelette and wiping her hands. I caught a sniff of mint on that too before she balled it up and put it into a small plastic rubbish bag inside the car’s console.
I felt like a ghost, watching her silently as though she’d done this a thousand times and had forgotten I was even there. But when the case was back in the glove box and she’d straightened in her seat, she turned her head and smiled at me—the fakest smile I think I’d ever seen—and said, “Show time.”
My chest ached, and I couldn’t help blurting, “I love you, L.”
Her smile softened. “I know.” Then she let herself out of the car and I had no choice but to follow, not knowing what to expect. But exactly as had happened in the dozen other times I’d come to stay with them, she led me out of the garage into a hallway. Then we walked through their family room, the most casual room in the house with comfy white Chesterfields you could actually sit on for more than ten minutes, unlike the formal lounge with its ridiculously stiff French-something carved chairs with floral chintz, and a chaise lounge that was too hard to nap on.
Marcus was in the black marble kitchen putting olives and cheese on a platter.
“Jillian!” He looked delighted. “Short notice, but a happy surprise.” He didn’t sound the slightest bit adverse, which was typical Marcus, always the gracious host.
Missy Lou stepped into the kitchen and went to his side, and again I felt like a ghost as he put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head. The way he always did. Only this time, I noticed the vacant look in Missy Lou’s eyes. I was staring at that, wondering how many times I’d missed it, when she glanced across at me and raised an eyebrow.
I suddenly realized I was standing there saying nothing, and now Marcus was staring at me, all querulous eyebrows in his white shirtsleeves and expensive herringbone trousers. He looked like he’d come straight from the bank, although which branch would be anyone’s guess.
I threw back my shoulders. “You know me, always turning up at the wrong time looking for a handout.”
In fact, I’d never asked them for money once, but Marcus liked to draw attention to my lack of assets, albeit in a teasing manner which he probably imagined was funny. I usually tried to get in first.
He smiled the charming smile that looked so perfect on his always freshly-shaven face. “I make it my life’s work to help the needy.”
“Out of their life’s savings,” I shot back. The last thing I felt like doing was bantering, but a quick glance at Missy Lou’s downturned mouth showed me I had no choice. For the next ten minutes I traded insults, made him tell me how many new businesses he’d acquired since I’d seen him last, and dug to see how obscene their bank balance was, as if I cared. He ne
ver disclosed figures. He was too well-bred for that. In his own way, Marcus had a lovely dignity about him, an old world charm that I’d always imagined perfectly suited Louella. They were like a power couple from Mad Men, his dark hair and chiseled jaw contrasting nicely with her groomed, blond femininity.
At last, Missy Lou pulled out of his embrace and picked up the cheese platter. “Jillian’s leaving in the morning so I don’t have much girl-time, and I want to hear gossip about the other two.” She placed a perfunctory kiss on his cheek. “Dinner at eight, darling?”
He frowned, looking momentarily disappointed, but I saw no signs of suspicion, thank god, because I’m no actress. I shot him a final, “Don’t burn the dinner,” jibe before I followed Missy Lou through the dining room with its Edwardian Oak dining setting and stiffly buttoned red leather seats. French doors opened onto her veranda and a view of Sydney Harbor that never failed to take my breath.
She nodded at the antique sideboard and said, “Merlot.”
I picked up a bottle and two glasses and followed her onto the veranda. When we were installed on cane wingback chairs with the snacks on a low table between us and our wine poured, she said, “So, how is Fritha?”
Something about her stillness alerted me to the fact that Marcus might be eavesdropping, so I said, “Fine. Great,” then realized how unrealistic that sounded, so I quickly added, “For a grieving woman. Alec left her.”
For a wookie.
Missy Lou merely arched a perfect brow. “Why?”
I shrugged. “She wouldn’t say, but I’m guessing it was another woman. You know what it’s like, they always go younger.”
“Indeed.”
I felt as if we had to keep acting so I said, “We got drunk and I left the next morning.”
Missy Lou smiled politely, then started telling me about her latest visit to Ange who lived less than an hour away in the respectable middle-class suburb of Parramatta.
I smiled and nodded at the antics of Ange’s cats—Pixie and Mixie—and was appropriately impressed with Danny’s pay rise at the radio station where he sold advertising. Ange had apparently stopped singing on Friday nights at the local club –and that made me sad. It had been her only creative outlet. Growing up, she’d been the Bollywood Queen of Dakaroo, and we’d all expected her to make it big as a diva. Instead, she’d married a local boy from another Indian family who’d taken her to Sydney to pursue his dream of owning a radio station.
Husband Sit (Husband #1) Page 16
