“Stay right here,” Regina said, suddenly eager to leave the room. She needed a moment to process the news, and will herself into believing everything really would be okay. “I’m getting champagne. Even if we don’t drink it, we have to at least pop the cork! This is a huge day. I almost want to wake the girls. Be right back.”
“Regina.” Gordon’s voice at her back sounded weary.
Something was wrong.
She turned back toward the couch, fighting her instinct, which was to keep walking—maybe run—into the kitchen. “What?”
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something for weeks. But I kept chickening out. Because I’m scared to hear the answer. But I promised myself that if I sold my screenplay, I’d make myself do it. And now I’ve sold it. So here goes.”
Regina felt her stomach twist and cave. He knew. About the money she’d stolen from Color Theory. Somehow, her husband of fourteen years, who had always believed in her, been her champion, knew she was a fraud. Their life was a fraud. This wasn’t just a sharing-good-news moment, it was an intervention.
Gordon exhaled. “Regina, are you cheating on me?”
“What? Cheating on you? Jesus, Gordon. No!”
He tipped forward on the couch and reached behind him to pull something from the back pocket of his jeans: a small, worn paperback book.
She recognized it instantly: The Little Way for Every Day. Zack’s book.
“Oh, Gordon. Oh God.” She almost laughed aloud with relief. “Now I understand what you’re thinking. It makes sense, but it’s a total and complete misunderstanding. I promise you.” She returned to the couch and sat down, eyes burning with grateful tears. He didn’t know what a rotten person she was, or, at least, not the right kind of rotten.
Gordon, sweet harmless Gordon, scooted a few inches away from her. Like he was scared of her, she thought, and who could blame him?
“You think I was doing something with . . .” She dropped her voice to a whisper, feeling queasy. “Zack.”
“Believe me, I didn’t want to think it,” said Gordon. “But you’ve given me too many reasons.”
“Like what?”
Take your pick, she thought, realizing how stupid she’d been to believe Gordon too stupid to notice her flailing around these past few months. It was she who was the walking midlife crisis!
“Let’s see. First, we go on a family beach picnic, and you run away from us in the middle of it. Literally, you just start running, like you couldn’t stand to stay with us one more minute.”
“Family beach picnic?” Regina’s voice shook with righteous anger. “You mean that night you and Bryan were in the bro-zone, drooling over some girl half your age in a bikini?”
“That’s an interesting take. What I remember is sitting on the beach at sunset with my wife and my friend and my daughters, enjoying a picnic and the sunset, when suddenly my wife announces she’s leaving, and sprints away like she’s being chased.”
“You know me—I’m a card-carrying gym rat.” She faked a laugh. “Sometimes, I take two classes in one day! And the way Bryan was leering at that girl made my skin—”
Gordon held up a finger, silencing her.
“Then, when I see my wife at home, later, she’s all red-eyed and preoccupied. A million miles away. She hardly talks to me, she goes to bed early, and later, when I go to take the trash out, I flip open the lid to see Kaden’s dumped a bunch of plastic in the wrong bin again.” Regina fought the urge to roll her eyes—Gordon, savior of the earth. “So, I transfer it to the recycling, and what do I find sitting under a yogurt container?” He waved the book at her.
She nodded, making sure her brows were furrowed so she seemed extra attentive. As in, Hmmm, tell me more, hoping to seem just as perplexed as Gordon, as if she too were unraveling this mystery. All the while, searching her brain, slaloming back and forth—to tell the truth or not to tell the truth . . .
“This weird little book,” Gordon continued. “Which piques my curiosity, since last I checked, my wife was not a practicing Catholic. Yet there’s a discarded prayer book in my garbage.”
She remembered coming home in a rage and shoving Zack’s book, which Jensen had given her, several layers under the top of the trash. Dammit, she should’ve noticed the misplaced recycling—one of Gordon’s pet peeves! Could she pin the book on one of the school moms? Santa Monicans in their forties—the age at risk for midlife meltdowns—were always trying on various communities and programs that were one step shy of religious cult status.
“I can explain,” she began, knowing well she had no explanation ready. Knowing that Gordon, slow talker that he was, hated to be interrupted and that he was sure to make her wait until he was finished.
“Let me finish,” he said, just as she’d expected. “So, I open it, out of sheer curiosity, find some dude’s name written in the front, and somehow it’s familiar. I can’t say why—let’s chalk it up to my Spidey sense, as Kaden would say—but I impulsively google the guy’s name. It takes me about two seconds on the Internet to find pictures of you with this guy—Zack Doheny—all over your friend’s Instagram, cozy and cuddly, and—”
“You mean Lindsey Leyner? She’s not my friend!” Regina had to stand her ground on this. Yes, Regina was a liar and a thief; yes, she had lusted after another man; but no way was she going to be lumped in with Lindsey-fucking-Leyner. “She’s just this maniac mom I know from Color Theory who’s appointed herself the social media director of the gym, along with every other organization she’s associated with. And plus, everyone hugs everyone after a workout. It’s means nothing. It’s like a high five.”
“Which is exactly what I told myself. I decided it was nothing, and that I’d let it go. I truly did. But then a few weeks later, you go out, supposedly to your Minnow Night, and I fall asleep in my office, and when I wake up a few hours later and go upstairs, I find you lying in our bed almost naked, yelling the name Zack.”
Regina thought of Mel’s favorite phrase. Kill me now.
Gordon sighed heavily and tossed Zack’s book onto the coffee table. “Now you can talk. But no bullshit, Regina. I mean it.”
“Okay.” Regina curled forward and pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes. “Okay.”
“Just come clean, Regina. It’s the only place to start.”
She breathed into her palms and imagined screaming the truth. It’s not an affair! It’s not an affair! It’s just a stupid harmless crush I developed because it helps me cope with the fact that I fucked up our finances and was too scared to tell you.
Had this been the whole truth, she might have had the courage to tell him. But the rest of it—that her “stupid harmless crush” was also her partner in an embezzlement scheme she had not yet stopped—kept her curled into her own lap, rocking back and forth.
No, she could not tell him the truth, even partially. It was too risky. Especially now, when they were so close to making honest money—both of them—and she could put the bullshit with Zack to bed, once and for all.
“Regina.” Gordon’s voice was softer. “Talk to me.”
Slowly, she straightened on the couch, her mind reaching for the solution, any solution. Regina was, as she and Gordon had joked in the early years of Big Rad Wolfe, when she was winning 50K retainers from Silicon Beach start-ups, beating out well-known agencies in the process, the closer. Gordon had even had a T-shirt custom-made with THE CLOSER in big block letters stenciled across the back, gifting it to Regina on the fifth anniversary of her business.
She just had to close this shit down.
She took a deep breath and looked square into her husband’s eyes.
“Gordon. I swear on my life—on Kaden’s and Mia’s lives—that I am not having an affair. I’m absolutely mortified that you think I ever would. But the truth of the matter is, I do know Zack Doheny. He’s a coach at my gym. And he’s . . .” She let her voice quaver and trail. “Kind of obsessed with me.”
“Kind of obsessed?”
; “Yes. It started out as an annoyance. A trainer giving his client extra attention.” As she spoke the words, they felt true. Zack had given her extra attention. “I’m pretty intense at the gym, so sometimes the coaches single me out. Ask me to give demos, motivate the other clients, blah blah.”
Gordon nodded. “No surprise there.”
“But with Zack, it escalated into something . . . different. His attention turned into something more. Doting, then needy. Then kind of . . . stalker-ish. Sort of watching my every move. Making sure he taught the classes I signed up for.” That one was such a lie that she almost burst into laughter.
“God,” Gordon said, his face scrunched in disgust. “That’s creepy.”
“He started texting me, messaging me on social media.”
“What? How did he have your number?”
“Easy. He does office work for the gym, and I’m in the database, along with my contact info. He gave me that weird nun book as a”—she air-quoted—“present, because he fancies himself some kind of Catholic. As you know, I promptly threw it in the trash.”
“And why were you talking to him on the phone? In your bra and underwear, after Minnow Night?”
“Oh God.” Regina winced. “It’s pretty sad, actually. And I know I shouldn’t have felt sorry for him.” Jesus, she thought, if Zack’s Hell were real, she was surely headed there. “He gets drunk sometimes and calls me. Over and over. I’ve blocked his number, but he’ll just call me from someone else’s phone.” The lies were coming effortlessly now—she was amazed at her own creativity. Maybe she should be the writer in the family. “That night, he’d been calling and texting over and over. Drunk and blubbering, saying he loved me. Finally, I got fed up. I yelled at him. Threatened to get a restraining order.”
“So, why didn’t you? This is totally insane!”
She worried she might’ve gone overboard—that part about Zack confessing his love for her. But it was too late now. There was no way out but forward.
“Because, honestly, he’s harmless. Pathetic, actually. A lost puppy. He came to LA to be an actor, and has failed at that and practically everything else. This is the sort of stuff he shares with his workout classes, if you can believe it.” She paused, and for a moment, thought she might break into tears. Not for the lies she was telling the only man who had ever truly loved her. But for her betrayal of Zack. “I feel sorry for him. Everyone does. He’s just a messed-up Millennial kid. He hasn’t really done anything to me. Just a lot of desperate over-communicating. And with all the hashtag-Me-Too hysteria, reporting it could really ruin his life. He’s hanging by a thread as it is.” She took a slow steadying breath, unsure if she should barrel ahead.
“Seriously, Regina? You’re trying to make me sympathetic toward this asshole?”
“No, I’m not.” Quit now, she told herself. You’re digging a hole, Regina.
“I need a better reason. For why you haven’t done anything about this. Why you’ve been keeping it from me.”
“Because.” She fumbled. “Because.” Inside her, she felt the lie she was telling converge with a deeper truth. It gathered and rose, pushing up into her throat, and before she could swallow it down, she heard herself blurt, “I like the attention!”
“You what?”
“The attention, Gordon. Pathetic as it sounds. I don’t want to have an affair with my stupid, juvenile trainer. But when your husband ignores you for months on end, you start to feel a little crazy. A little . . .” Her voice caught in her throat. “Starved.”
She felt a tear leak from her eye and fall down her cheek. Gordon watched her, his expression softening.
“But nothing,” she went on, her voice strained, “and I mean nothing, has ever happened between me and Zack.”
Gordon was silent. Then he reached for her hand.
“Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Wh-what do you mean, okay?” Was he really going to forgive her? Did he truly believe her monstrous lies?
Now the tears were streaming; she could not stop them, nor did she understand why they were flowing so freely, but feared they had to do with the most terrible truth: she did not deserve Gordon.
His hand tightened around hers.
“I mean,” he said, “that I believe you. About this trainer situation.”
“You do?” She blinked at him through her tears.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry to have made you think that I was . . . Ugh. I’ll quit the gym. I’ll change my num—”
“I’ve been pushing you away because of the screenplay. It’s made me completely obsessive. I’m so deep in my own goddamn head all day that I’ve lost touch with the real world. I feel borderline insane sometimes. I think it’s why I got so worked up about this trainer guy. But I’m done being paranoid, and I’m done being distant. Together, we’ll get back on track. Okay?”
“Okay,” she murmured, collapsing against him, her body shuddering with guilt.
And relief.
Yes, she thought, she was a monster. But even monsters deserved love, right?
32
Zack
BY THE TIME JENSEN ARRIVED AT COLOR THEORY, ZACK HAD COLLECTED himself enough to appear calm and relaxed. He’d blotted his sweat, propped open the door of the office, and settled at the desk with the latest issue of Men’s Health to wait for his boss and the “surprise.” He was pretending to read an article about best alt-protein sources when he heard “Z-man!” and looked up to see Jensen approaching with a huge grin. Like a kid about to open presents on Christmas morning—not the face, Zack thought, of a man about to accuse his employee of a crime.
“Hey, Jens!” Zack stood and offered his hand. “Long time no see.”
“Thanks for sticking around, bro,” said Jensen, pumping Zack’s hand, then reaching into the pocket of his khakis to remove a set of keys. “I know it’s late to be stuck at work. But I just had to show you something real quick.” He tossed the keys from one hand to the other. “Let’s take a walk.”
Zack’s nerves crackled. Where were they going? A tremor of fear rolled over him—Jensen was the kind of unpredictable dude whose rage simmered just under the surface of that pearly smile. Had Regina told him about the transfers? Was he about to bust Zack’s head open on the dirty asphalt of the gym’s parking lot? Zack stood and followed Jensen out the back door to the lot. They passed the Color Theory van (the sight always gave Zack a flush of warmth, remembering the first time with Mel) and continued to the far side, where a small white car was parked under the glow of a streetlight.
Jensen broke ahead of Zack into an exuberant jog. When he reached the edge of the lot, he stopped and whirled around toward Zack. “Check it out!” he called, gesturing toward the white car with dramatic flair, the sinewy muscles in his forearm flexing.
As Zack drew closer, he saw it was a brand-new Porsche 911.
“Ta-da!” said Jensen giddily. “Can you believe this bitch? How gorgeous is she?”
“Incredible,” said Zack, still trying to process the situation. Was it possible that Jensen wanted nothing more than to show off his luxury vehicle? “When . . . when did you buy it?”
“Placed the order a few weeks ago. But I just picked her up from the dealer tonight. Little present to myself for officially closing on the new location. Color Theory Malibu opens one month from yesterday! And guess who’s gonna be the manager and head coach?”
“Um,” said Zack. “Who?” He wanted to believe the voice in his head crowing, You, Zack! It’s you! But past experience with Jensen—all those promises that had never materialized—had taught Zack to remain cautiously optimistic.
“You, Z-man! If you accept the offer, that is. It’ll be our sweetest studio yet, by far. Two thousand square feet, all brand-new, state-of-the-art equipment. All I need is a badass trainer to run the show and make it our most successful location ever.”
“Wow,” said Zack. “I’m speechless, Jens.” When, in fact, he
had so many questions. Is this for real? Could Jensen, who Mel had once called a snake-oil salesman, be trusted? “That sounds like an amazing offer. I really hope it comes through.”
“Dude,” Jensen said, the corners of his mouth drooping in exaggerated hurt, reminding Zack of his dad, another silver-haired charmer who could not be trusted. “That stings, man.”
Jensen stepped forward and clutched Zack’s shoulder. Hard. Jesus, the old guy had freakin’ Wolverine hands, Zack thought. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”
Zack wanted to be honest, explain that, yes, in fact, Jensen had made empty promises before. Of a raise, a new title, even backpedaling from small assurances—like not giving Zack the coveted always-full morning classes Bri Lee taught. But he knew it was a mistake to be transparent with Jensen, who had enough money and power to coerce, even if gently, his employees to give him only the answers he wanted to hear.
“Never, man,” Zack said. “As if! You’re always there for me, Jens. And”—Zack placed his hands in yogi prayer at the center of his chest, even added a little head bow for full effect—“I’m grateful. Always.” Eager to change the topic, hoping it would make Jensen release his grip on Zack’s shoulder, he waved at the new Porsche. “And this car is freaking sweet!”
“Isn’t she, though? Want to go for a quick spin?”
Zack hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do now, when Mel was waiting to jump into a Lyft and come to him, finally be with him, was get in a car with Jensen. Even if he was his boss, even if he did just offer Zack his dream job.
“You know, bro, I’m super-fried from teaching tonight. Three back-to-back full classes. I’m dying to get home and crash. Can I take a raincheck?” He knew this was not the answer Jensen wanted, even before Jensen stepped back, let his hand drop from Zack’s shoulder (finally). Jensen looked at him with the same squinty disappointment Zack had seen on his dad’s face so many times, especially after Misty Whatever had made her BS charge and John-John had to bail Zack out of jail.
“Aw, come on, buddy. Why you gotta be like that?” Jensen put on a sad face. “I’m leaving for another week in the morning. You’re not looking to crush this epic good-news buzz, are you?”
Santa Monica Page 29