The Friends We Keep

by Jane Green

  And now, he was marrying Maggie. Evvie was, naturally, in the wedding party, and she had no idea how she was supposed to act when she saw this man again. She thought she had prepared herself by armoring up. Protecting herself from the pain of this weekend’s wedding by cloaking herself in exquisite clothes, and jewelry that he could never have afforded to buy, in a bid to prove she was invincible, incapable of feeling remorse; in a bid to show him, perhaps, that she was so far out of his league, he could never hurt her.

  Evvie made sure she looked her best. She had had a nose job years before, her nose now perfectly streamlined and petite, and thanks to ever-changing hair extensions, she had a mane of thick, glossy caramel hair, down to her waist. She was no longer Evvie Hamilton, merely Evvie, and the world knew her by that name. There was Naomi, Christy, Linda, Tatjana, Cindy, and Evvie. And no one could compete.

  When Evvie went out around her neighborhood, it was easy to be invisible. With no makeup, in sweats and a baseball cap, no one gave her a second glance. But she didn’t want to be invisible at Maggie’s wedding; she wanted Ben to see all that he didn’t have. After that amazing week they had had together, she never believed he would really stay away. She thought they had had something special, that he would have flown out to see her. And if not immediately, she had thought, maybe a bit later. She had harbored a fantasy of him coming out perhaps a year later, when they were both a bit more settled, a bit more mature.

  The abortion put an end to that, even though for the longest time afterward she couldn’t believe that he never got in touch. Not to see how she was, not to say hello. Nothing. It was as if Ben had disappeared. As if she were dead to him.

  Soon, she stopped thinking about him, and when fame and fortune came knocking on her door, she could have had, and indeed did have, any man she wanted. That most of them were alcoholic, addicted to drugs, or abusive was not her fault. Her picking mechanism was broken, she joked to friends; she was better off on her own. Sometimes, late at night when she was lying in bed alone, she would wonder about Ben, wonder whether he might have been her soul mate, whether the timing had been all wrong, whether things might have turned out differently.

  She also soon learned fame and fortune were not what they were cracked up to be. Evvie had thought the money would give her freedom. She thought fame would make her feel loved. Neither had lived up to her expectations. Every time she wanted to do something for herself, work would get in the way. A job that paid too much money to turn down; an appearance at a gala that she had to make, even though she was exhausted and had planned to take her mother to Jamaica for a luxury vacation at Round Hill. She could never say no to a job, knowing her years at the top of this business were finite, terrified that there was always someone younger, more beautiful, waiting to take her place.

  There was an old saying that when you’re famous, your trajectory went something like this: Who’s Evvie? Get me Evvie! Get me Evvie but cheaper! Who’s Evvie? Evvie was at the height of her “Get me Evvie!” phase, but she thought it would be different for her. She thought that it was only the beginning, that it was going to go on and on, that the sky was the limit. The most successful supermodels were being offered parts in music videos, in movies. Given that she had already acted as a child, movie roles seemed a sure bet in the foreseeable future.

  Evvie was used to putting on a million clothes, a million faces, but the one face she had no idea how to pull off was the one of the girl whose best friend was marrying the man that Evvie still wondered about.

  She knew she’d had no choice about the abortion—she would have had no career, no future, no independence, and she was twenty-one years old, too young to be able to handle the kind of responsibility that came with being a single mother. Except over the years she had thought about what Ben had said, that she wouldn’t necessarily be a single mother, that they could do it together, that it was something he didn’t just want, but that he was excited about. She still remembered the eagerness in his voice.

  Here she was, in the car on the way from the airport, feeling sick about seeing everyone again. She’d spoken to Maggie before the wedding, had seen Topher from time to time in New York, but had not spoken to Ben since he told her he would never forgive her.

  She got out a compact mirror and checked her makeup, newly applied on the plane as they were preparing to land. She was getting ready for the paparazzi who would undoubtedly be waiting, she told the stewardess, rolling her eyes with a smile. But it wasn’t for the paparazzi; it was for Ben.

  She would use her beauty and her clothes as armor, rise above it and refuse to let anyone see how much she hurt.

  Evvie was determined to show nothing, to give nothing away. She would be friendly and slightly cool at the wedding. Her allegiance was to Maggie, after all. Her allegiance should always have been to Maggie. If it had been, she wouldn’t have gone through all the heartbreak and be in this mess now.

  The car pulled up in front of the hotel, and Evvie looked around at the idyllic countryside, suddenly aware of how inappropriately she was dressed. This was a country village in Somerset, and she was decked out in fur, jewelry, heels, and inch-thick makeup, as if she were about to hit a club in New York. She was doubting herself again, realizing it had been years since she felt this insecure. She sat in the car a few minutes longer, taking deep breaths, eventually pulling her hair back in a ponytail and trying to wipe the eye shadow off. It didn’t do much, other than perhaps tone down the glamour a tiny bit. She sat there just wishing Ben hadn’t taken up quite so much space in her head again, after all these years.

  Evvie got out and thanked the driver, who lugged her suitcases into the lobby. She had three, all huge, matching Louis Vuitton trunks.

  “No!” A tall flurry of red hair and freckled skin came dashing toward her. “You’re still traveling with the giant Vuittons!”

  Evvie was embraced in Maggie’s arms as her eyes filled with tears. The one person she had tried not to think about when she thought about Ben was Maggie. It was so good to see her, to rock back and forth with her in the lobby.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” crooned Maggie, refusing to let her go. “I have to buy all the magazines to see you now. It’s been years. Oh, Evvie, I’m so, so happy you came.”

  “I’m so happy I came too,” said Evvie, meaning it for the first time. “Is Topher here? I tried to get on the same flight but I had a booking and couldn’t make it earlier.”

  “Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” Suddenly, Topher was there, wrapping his arms around both Maggie and Evvie in a group hug as Evvie forgot about Ben for the first time in hours, reveling in being back with her old friends.

  “I hope you’re ready for champagne, because I just ordered us a bottle of Cristal in the bar,” Topher said.

  “You’re so fancy.” Maggie giggled, looping an arm through each of theirs and marching them through to the bar. “I feel like we’re the three musketeers.”

  “We are, and you’re the fancy one this weekend,” Topher said. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Do you think?” Maggie asked. “I’ve been detoxing like crazy to try to get a glow, and I had my eyebrows dyed last week. You don’t think they’re too heavy?”

  “You look the most beautiful I have ever seen you,” said Evvie, for it was true.

  “I can’t believe you’re marrying Evil Ben.” Topher shook his head. “What an insanely small, crazy world it is. Do you make him smile more than he used to?”

  Maggie snorted, the champagne coming out of her nose. “Do you remember how serious he was! Remember how much you hated him, Evvie?” Maggie laughed, missing Evvie’s flush. “He is so not who we thought he was. He’s really kind, and thoughtful. And . . .” She lowered her voice. “He is rather excellent in the sack.”

  “Too much information,” said Evvie, desperately wanting to change the subject.

  “Are you kidding?” To
pher frowned at her. “I want all the grisly details.”

  “I want the details on the dress,” lied Evvie as Maggie went off on a tangent describing finding the perfect dress.

  “So where is the groom?” asked Topher, after a while. “Do we get to see him before the rehearsal dinner? Is he going to be nice to us or will he be grumpy?”

  “You’ll see him tonight and of course he’ll be nice to you. He can’t wait to see you again. Evvie, every time I bring home a magazine that you’re in, he steals it from me. I know you never really knew each other, but I think he’s so proud by some kind of osmosis.”

  Evvie swallowed hard. That was the first thing Maggie had said that hurt. What went through his mind when he looked at pictures of her? Did he feel sadness, or regret? Or worse, anger? Or would it be worse if it were relief? And why did he look at her pictures? She forced a smile.

  “That’s so cute,” she said eventually.

  “Isn’t it? I wish you guys lived here. I wish the three of us could see each other every day. Thank God I’ve found Ben or I’d definitely get you to agree to a pact to live together again.”

  “I’d live together again,” said Topher. “I may be loving New York but I’ll always be a committed Anglophile. I’d be over here in a heartbeat if I didn’t have the soap opera. And I don’t mind agreeing to a pact. Frankly, I think it’s a great idea. Not that anything’s going to happen to you and Ben, but if, for whatever reason, we all find ourselves on our own at sixty, how about we live together again?”

  “Sixty?” Maggie asked, askance. “Our lives will practically be over. How about fifty?” She turned to Evvie, who laughed.

  “Sure. I’m in. But you definitely won’t be on your own. You’re marrying Ben. Topher and I will be the old maids living together.”

  “I very much hope I won’t be on my own at fifty, but just in case, shake.” Maggie extended a hand, and they all shook, with large grins on their faces. Maggie looked at Topher. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked you anything about your job on that soap opera!” Maggie clapped her hands. “Tell us everything. Are you hugely famous? Do you love what you do?”

  “I love what he does,” said Evvie. “I watch that show every damn day. Topher is amazing. You are so good, and I’m dying to know who killed Cassandra.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Topher laughed. “Seriously. We sign contracts and we are not allowed to say anything. But between you and me, let’s just say you should be keeping an eye on Clay.”

  “Do you have legions of women sending you fan mail?”

  “I do,” he said. “And a few gay men. Larry’s more bothered by the gay men than the women, but he trusts me.”

  “Tell us about Larry,” Maggie said. “I’m so sorry he couldn’t be here.”

  “So is he. And so am I. You’ll meet him another time. He’s wonderful.”

  “He is wonderful,” said Evvie, who had met him the few times she’d managed dinner with Topher in New York. “Best of all, he loves Topher as much as we do. And he takes care of you, right?” She turned to Topher, who flushed with pleasure. “He was incredibly sweet with you. I don’t want to say paternal, because that would be creepy, but he definitely puts you first.”

  “Is it awful to say my ego enjoys that?” Topher laughed. “Although, honestly, we take care of each other. It’s really something special. I didn’t think I would find something this comfortable, and easy, and . . . right. I’m happy.”

  “What about you?” Maggie looked at Evvie. “What’s going on in your romantic world? Are you still dating rock stars? And is it true what I read about you and Richard Gere?”

  “I couldn’t possibly say!” Evvie put a hand to her chest but then she laughed. “The truth is, much of that is just the product of my PR firm. Generally I’m having the same disastrous relationships with the same old disastrous men.”

  “Disastrous how?” asked Maggie.

  “You name it, I’ve dated it! I just seem to have this unerring ability to find men who will treat me badly, because they’re either addicts or narcissists. I have no idea why. I keep thinking that this time I’ve got it right, but every time he turns out to be a mess.” She noted Maggie’s sad face. “Do not feel sorry for me. I’m happy. Honestly, I don’t know that I’m very good at relationships, or maybe I’m not very good at picking good men. Either way, life is much less complicated when I’m single.”

  “I understand that. But I think it’s because you haven’t met the right man. And you will. Look at you. You’ll find someone amazing, and maybe it will be in the last place you expect. I mean, my God, who would have thought I would end up getting married to Evil Ben! Evil Ben!” Maggie started to laugh as Evvie tried to join in, wishing she didn’t feel so awkward, wishing she could push away the very real thought that, had things been different, it could have been her.

  “What makes him right for you?” Evvie didn’t know if she should have asked, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “It’s funny. We may be from very different backgrounds, but we’re very similar people. We both love the countryside, and fresh air, and both of us are introverts. We want the same things out of life—a big family, a house filled with animals and kids. And he makes me feel safe. I’m a caretaker, I always have been, and he adores that, and”—she shrugged, lowering her voice—“as I may or may not have already mentioned, the sex is great!”

  Topher burst out laughing as Maggie’s phone rang. “Okay,” she muttered after answering, her face falling. “No? Today? Do you have to? But . . .” There was a silence while she listened. “Okay,” she said eventually before hanging up with a frown.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’d hoped Ben might drop in earlier to see you both. But he says he’s caught up in the pub with his friends, who are determined to give him a special send-off. God, I hope he’s not getting drunk.”

  “The night before the wedding? It’s unlikely, surely,” reassured Topher, but Maggie continued to look unhappy.

  “Look, if you can’t beat them . . .” Topher waved the waitress over and ordered another bottle of champagne, with some tea sandwiches to “soak up the alcohol.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Later that day Topher came to collect Evvie from her room for the rehearsal dinner. She was in a full-length silver crochet dress, her hair in a low chignon, and her makeup was far more subtle than she had worn earlier.

  “Wow.” Topher whistled when she walked out, her skin glowing. “You look like a supermodel.”

  “Ha ha,” said Evvie, nudging him with her shoulder as they walked toward the elevator. “You don’t look so bad yourself, all scrubbed up and in a suit. Brioni?”

  “Oh you’re good.” He smiled.

  “They’re paying you well.”

  “I’m very lucky.”

  They passed a large gilt mirror on the wall and paused. “Look at us.” Evvie sighed. “We’d make a beautiful couple. Wouldn’t it be fun? We’d have separate bedrooms and I’d never bother you for sex.”

  “Well that’s a relief, because it’s highly unlikely I’d respond. Even if you were my type, which, quite clearly, you are not, I’ll always take a cup of tea and an early night over sex. I think in another life I must have been Boy George.”

  “Even with Larry?”

  “God, yes! That’s one of the things I love so much about him. He’s just as happy to climb into bed with the newspapers. I’m sure it’s why it works so well.”

  “You don’t have sex?”

  “Darling, I don’t remember the last time we had sex. That’s not really what our relationship is. It’s friendship, and partnership, and love. If anything, it’s much more than sex.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” Evvie laughed. “Which is probably my downfall. My relationships are always about mostly sex.” She didn’t say that it
was the only time she felt powerful, the only time she knew what to do in order to feel loved.

  They walked into the dining room for the rehearsal dinner, and there, right by the doorway, was Maggie, chatting with someone they didn’t know while she stood arm in arm with Ben. He looked up as they walked in, and his eyes met Evvie’s. Everything about him, his face, his body, was so familiar to her that she inhaled sharply as her stomach flipped over.

  Topher turned to her. “You okay?”

  “I . . . Look at Maggie!” She covered up. “Look how beautiful she is.”

  Maggie, hearing her name, turned, stunning in a pale pink chiffon dress, the tiniest of roses embroidered all over the bodice, a radiant smile on her face.

  “Look who’s here, Ben! You remember my old friends Topher and Evvie.”

  “It’s good to see you.” Ben shook hands with Topher, then turned to Evvie, giving her a hug, and Evvie knew that she was wrong, that no matter how many years it had been, there was something about his smell, the chemistry that still seemed to be there, that continued to make her weak at the knees. As he hugged her, he rubbed her back as her heart lurched. This was what she remembered about him, how tactile he was, how affectionate, how these small gestures made her feel loved. She quickly disengaged.

  I should have told Maggie, she thought, stepping back, wishing she had come clean at the time, although who knew if she would be here if that had been the case. But perhaps better for her not to be here. It was . . . painful.