“You holding up?” Maureen asked, pressing the doorbell when they arrived at the front entrance.
“I’m fine,” Diane said. She zoned out on the concrete step under her strappy heels, tracing her fingers along her necklace.
“That’s not very convincing.”
Diane met Maureen’s concerned gaze. “It is what it is. Let’s just get it over with.”
“All right,” she said with a conceding sigh. “We’ll keep it short. Just a couple drinks and chit-chat.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky.”
Maureen swooped her arm around her friend, and kissed her temple, just as the door swung open, and a high-pitched squeal shot out. Diane grimaced, digesting the ear-splitting sound and the sight of their overly rambunctious hostess, Delinda Morgan, shimmying with excitement.
“Oh, my word. Ladies!” Delinda craned her neck and yelled into the house, with her double olive martini sloshing out and splattering on her hand, “our bachelorette is here!”
Screams detonated inside, and Diane whipped her head towards Maureen with an annoyed glare—surely not the first one she’d be delivering that evening.
“God, she’s getting divorced, Delinda,” Maureen said, forcing herself inside, “not going on a reality show.”
“You’re just in time,” Delinda said, grabbing Diane’s wrist and dragging the honored guest inside. She whipped her chestnut tinted curls over her beach bronzed shoulder. “We’ve got a fresh batch of margaritas and martinis going around, and Kristine was giving us the juicy scoop on her new gardener.”
“Why would we care about her new gardener?” Diane whispered to Maureen.
“Gardeners are the new pool boys,” Maureen said out of the corner of her mouth. “Screw ‘em while they’re hot.”
Diane rolled her eyes as Delinda led them through her house. The space was overrun with guests, a plague of ritzy updos and skimpy cocktail dresses which Diane wanted to evade at all costs. But she pushed herself forward. Threw on a brave face. Diane distracted herself with the Spanish-influenced décor, the antique tile floors, wrought iron lights and abstract oil paintings—the beautiful rust reds and flashy golds—hanging on the walls. If the company that evening was unavoidably unpleasant, she could look around and escape in the artistic atmosphere.
And at least she had her best friend beside her.
Diane glanced at Maureen. A giddy expression splashed across Maureen’s face; she was certainly enjoying Diane’s public torture. Some supportive dissent would have been nice. Snapping her head around with an annoyed grunt, Diane looked ahead as Delinda brought them out to the spacious lanai. Trapped under the canopy of glass, the sounds were painfully loud, and Diane groaned as she scanned the bustling scene around the inground pool. It was all too much. Too rich. But as she was about to check her manners at the door, and make a run for it, she made eye contact with a familiar blonde sitting comfortably in the corner, sipping her usual flute of pink champagne.
“Thank God you’re here,” Diane breathed, walking over alone, as Maureen and Delinda ditched her to mingle with others.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Kelly Ann said. Placing her drink down, she rose in her lacy, coral sundress and silver, pointy-toed heels. She wrapped her fat, warm arms around Diane in a comforting hug. “How are you, sweetie? You holdin’ up okay?”
Diane sighed and melted into her friend’s embrace. When Diane and Nora moved to Golden Palms, Kelly Ann and Carlton Frost lived next door. Though twenty years her junior, Diane found it easy becoming friends with the two Louisiana transplants. It was a relief to have such kind and welcoming people around in a place where Diane felt so . . . isolated. It was especially easy befriending Kelly Ann, owner of the Southern Belle—the tastiest spot in Florida for authentic barbeque and a posh aesthetic. The Clearwater restaurant featured the most delicious lobster po’boys and pecan-smoked brisket Diane had ever tasted. Of course, Diane was mostly drawn to Kelly Ann by her sweet personality and honest heart, but her savory buttermilk-dipped fried okra certainly helped too.
“I’m doing better now,” Diane said. She took a moment, enjoying her friend’s affection and the scents of sandalwood and sweet rose, flowering off her milky white skin. Kelly Ann always smelled intoxicating, and Diane felt more relaxed breathing her in. “Especially since someone’s taken the time to ask me.”
“Ignore them,” Kelly Ann said, dismissing the crowd with a flippant wave.
“Easier said than done.” Diane pulled away with an annoyed chuckle and sat down next to Kelly Ann on the wicker loveseat. She set her clutch on the glass patio table, next to the row of flickering votives, and eyed the scene around the pool.
“They’re just using you as an excuse to drink and forget about their boring, rich lives . . . including myself,” Kelly Ann laughed and shook her head, her curled, golden blonde hair dancing around her face.
“Stop it,” Diane said, swatting at Kelly Ann’s leg. “There’s not one ounce of boring in you.”
“You’re too kind.” She crossed her legs and reached for her champagne. “But, really? You’re doing okay?”
Diane scanned the arrangement of glowing lanterns and tropical plants around the flagstone patio. She was upset at first. Absolutely annoyed. But as Diane thought about it, the more she breathed in the delicate mix of chlorine and hibiscus garnishing the air, the more her anger dissipated. She was poolside, on a beautiful Friday night, with people who obviously put in a lot of effort on her behalf. It could have been worse. Diane could have been at home, alone, lamenting to her potted lemon trees, the way she always did when her mind was full. Now that would have been pathetic. Diane peeled her gaze from the aquamarine waters rippling a few feet away.
“Better than expected,” Diane said.
“Good,” Kelly Ann said, patting Diane’s knee.
“Can I get you girls something to drink?” Delinda asked, reappearing from the crowd. “Dawn’s watermelon margaritas are totes fab.”
“I’ll take one,” Maureen said, walking up behind Delinda. She took the cushioned chair next to the loveseat. “And if Dee doesn’t want one, I’ll have hers, too.”
“An eager lush,” Delinda pointed at Maureen and winked, “I like it.”
Kelly Ann downed the last of her champagne. “I’ll take a refill, love.”
“Of course,” Delinda said, taking the empty flute. “And you, Diane? Make it a double?”
Diane pushed her hair behind her ears and relaxed into her seat with a shake of her head. “I’ll pass tonight,” she said. “It’s been rather stressful today and—”
“All the more reason to drink.” Delinda laughed. “But suit yourself. I’ll be right back with the alcohol, ladies. And don’t forget, there’s appetizers and other goodies in the kitchen. Help yourselves.”
As Delinda spun and left, Maureen and Kelly Ann struck up a conversation together. Kelly Ann’s second restaurant was opening on Anna Maria Island at the end of the year, and Maureen was Kelly Ann’s trusted interior designer for the new establishment. So, with Diane sandwiched between them, they fell into an in-depth discussion about bar stool styles and fabric swatches, and she took the opportunity to drift off for a moment. She stared up at the night sky, darkening beyond the dome of glass, and deconstructed the last years of her marriage.
How did it all come to this?
Honestly, she knew. Diane knew why she’d become so argumentative. So anxious and depressed, pushing their relationship into one fight, and on to the next, until their marriage was rubbed out by the constant friction between them. Deep down, she knew they weren’t a good match, and they’d fallen out of love with each other. A long time ago. They were both guilty of going through the motions, but it didn’t make it easier. It didn’t erase the heartache filing for divorce. And putting their failed romance aside, where had their friendship gone? Their respect? When did their relationship become nothing but an endless, heated argument with no sense of compassion or kindne
ss—with Nora belittling Diane’s author aspirations at every possible opportunity?
“Why waste so much energy on something so frivolous?”
Most of Diane’s creative doubts were still engulfed in Nora’s cold, disapproving tone. Diane was rational about publishing. She knew making the New York Times Best Seller list was a whimsical fantasy. And of course, writing fiction wouldn’t catapult her into the upper echelons of the financial world like Nora and her seven-figure investments. Being an author wasn’t about that. It was Diane’s dream since childhood, rocking on her family’s porch swing in summer, enthralled by Nancy Drew mysteries until the daylight dropped and dimmed the pages, and the katydids sang their nightfall song around her.
“You sure you don’t need a drink, honey?” Kelly Ann asked, knocking Diane from her thoughts with a bump of her shoulder.
“You sure look like you do,” Maureen chuckled.
Diane looked down and flashed Maureen a scowl. “No. I’m fine.”
“You do know,” Kelly Ann said, rocking her glittery Jimmy Choo heel back and forth, “it is customary to drink when there’s something to celebrate.”
Diane blinked and licked her lips with a quick, annoyed flick. Now, one of her closest friends was going to inform her what a “blessing” it was to get divorced? Just wonderful.
“Oh, God. Not the divorce,” she said. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” Diane titled her head.
“Toast to the U-turn you just received.”
“What?”
“This,” Kelly Ann waved her hand around in the air, her plethora of Pandora bracelets ringing on her wrist, “it’s your U-turn. Your opportunity to turn around, go in another direction, and start fresh.”
Diane snorted softly. “Seize the day?”
“Exactly.”
Diane usually found inspiration in that cliché aphorism, and presented her English students that hopeful adage at the end of each semester. But hearing it that time, in the context of her divorce, Diane couldn’t put an ounce of faith into it. How could she? How could she seize the day or, anything at all, really, when she hadn’t the faintest idea what she wanted, or how she could even find out. Twenty years. It had been two decades since she was single and on her own, and now at fifty, she didn’t have the same fast healing heart she once possessed. Now, she had experience, and from it she knew, some things she couldn’t bounce back from so quickly.
Or even at all.
“Hi, girls!”
A high-pitched, nasal voice pierced the air around them, and Diane looked towards the source of the interruption: the hyper and glitzy Golden Palms resident, Beth Mastroianni.
Oh, dear God.
“Y’all look amazing tonight,” Beth said. She scrunched her button nose and wiggled her manicured fingers, setting her Louis Vuitton bag on the table.
In her late twenties, the brunette was the youngest, and newest member of the group, and she fluttered around with unshakable confidence—and volumized bangs and curls, bouncing on her pale, narrow shoulders—wearing six-inch stilettos to compensate for small frame. Beth and her husband, Joe, recently moved from New Jersey, opening up several fine jewelry stores in the area. There wasn’t a day Beth didn’t show off her status and money, draping herself in diamonds and gold, and that evening was no different. Diane held her breath and released it slowly, preparing herself for whatever annoying rubbish was about to come out of her mouth.
“In honor of the new Miss Diane Hollenbeck, I come with sparkly gifts,” Beth said, digging through her bag, and pulling out a long, black box. “Joe had some expired inventory from the store, and I thought you would enjoy it, Diane. This color is to die for, don’t you think?”
Inside the box, Diane stared at the diamond and sapphire tennis bracelet, but like all the other pieces from Mastroianni Jewelers she’d seen, she wasn’t interested. Diane held the velvet box for a few seconds anyway to be polite, before handing it back.
“I can’t accept this, Beth,” Diane said. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Beth frowned. “Why not?”
“It’s lovely, don’t get me wrong, but honestly,” Diane said, with a slight shake of her head, “it’s not my taste.”
“Don’t be silly, I—”
“It’s definitely my taste,” Maureen said, interjecting with a smile. “I’ll take it off your hands.”
Beth looked between the two friends, then with a little approving nod by Diane, she conceded and handed the bracelet to Maureen.
“Well, at least it’ll go into appreciative hands,” Beth said.
“Very appreciative.” Maureen didn’t hesitate and locked the piece around her wrist.
“And speaking of appreciation. . .” Diane cleared her throat softly and scooted to the edge of her seat. “May I interject before we go any further, and express my gratitude for tonight? I’ll admit, I was dreading the idea of attending a divorce party held in my honor. But today was difficult. More than I anticipated it would be, and I’m grateful I didn’t have to spend tonight alone.”
Maureen rested her hand on Diane’s shoulder. “We’re always here to support you.”
“Absolutely.” Beth nodded.
“And you’re never alone, sweetie,” Kelly Ann said, taking Diane’s hand in her own.
Diane gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.
“Of course, she’s not alone.” Beth smiled and scooped the tight skirt of her ivory-colored dress underneath herself, settling in an open chair. “I’m just disappointed it took so long to throw you one of our fabulous divorce parties.”
Diane threw her eyes across the table. “Excuse me?”
Beth waved her off. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?” Diane asked, crossing her arms and leaning closer.
“I was just agreeing you’re not alone in the divorce category,” Beth said. “We’ve all been there. Some of us more than once. Well, except for Kelly Ann and Maureen. They seem to keep on tolerating those first husbands of theirs.” Beth flung her head back and laughed, sounding like a blender puréeing a parakeet on the highest speed.
Diane tried not to vomit.
“The alcohol has arrived,” Delinda said, returning with a trayful of drinks.
“Thank Jesus,” Kelly Ann mumbled into Diane’s ear.
“There’s plenty more, too, if y’all need refills,” Delinda said. “Oh, and Diane, I brought you a Perrier. Thought you’d be a little dry.”
Diane’s mood lightened at Delinda’s kind gesture, taking the mineral water with a grateful smile. “You’re a mind reader. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Delinda winked and handed out the remaining drinks.
“You know Beth, since you brought it up, there’s a reason I keep tolerating my first husband, as you so kindly put it,” Kelly Ann said, grabbing her fresh glass of pink champagne.
“Do tell.” Beth leaned in eagerly. “What’s the secret to a lasting marriage?”
“Carlton eats my pussy like you wouldn’t believe. Yes, ma’am. It’s like his tongue’s a gold medalist in Olympic muff diving. Sometimes, he just takes a breath, jumps right in, and doesn’t surface for hours.”
Diane’s eyes popped open.
Delinda slapped her hand over her mouth.
Beth’s jaw plummeted to the ground.
While Maureen snorted in laughter, and spit her entire mouthful of drink all over Beth and her new Tom Ford midi dress, showering the pristine white fabric in a splash of wild watermelon margarita.
“Omigod!” Beth bolted up and shoved her martini glass at Delinda. “What the fuck?!”
“I’m so sorry,” Maureen said, offering her a stack of cocktail napkins. “Here.”
Beth pushed her away. “Really? You think that’s gonna help, Maureen!? Goddammit.”
“I’m really sorry,” Maureen spat out. “So, so sorry.”
With an annoyed growl, Beth shook her head and scurried ar
ound the pool, Delinda trailing after her, offering to pay for her dry cleaning. The three remaining ladies watched them disappear into the crowd, then they looked at each other, speechless—and started laughing.
“That’ll get rid of her,” Kelly Ann said.
Diane covered her mouth and tried so very hard not to laugh. Beth was clearly upset. But she couldn’t help it, and laughed too.
“I swear it wasn’t on purpose,” Maureen said, taking a cocktail napkin and cleaning herself up. “Besides, that was all your fault, Kelly.”
“Me? I was stating facts, is all.” Kelly Ann leaned back with a smirk, casually sipping her champagne. “But with her little snide comment about Diane, she was asking for it anyway.”
Shaking her head, Diane took a sip of water. “She was harmless. Annoying. But harmless. I think I was just being overly sensitive.”
“Well, you have every right to be,” Kelly Ann said. “Ending a long term relationship is something to be sensitive about.”
“I agree,” Maureen said. Her expression fell serious as she eyed what was left of her margarita in her glass. “If there came a time my marriage wasn’t working, I’d be crushed.”
Kelly Ann nodded. “Devastated.”
Diane looked down at her drink, absorbing their sympathetic words.
“Ignore all this for a moment. Ignore all the noise and drinks and music,” Maureen said, setting her drink down and taking Diane’s hand. “Don’t pressure yourself to bounce back quickly, because there’s no rush, Dee. Work through the emotions. Be hurt. Be angry. Be devastated. Be overly sensitive for as long as you fucking need. All right?”
Diane held Maureen’s gaze as the corners of her eyes started to water. She cleared the tears away before they fully formed and took a breath. “I think I really needed to hear that right now,” she said.
“Good.” Kelly Ann said. “And like we said before, we’re here for you.”
Maureen nodded. “Always.”
“If you need a shoulder to cry on, or if you need to vent,” Kelly Ann said and sipped her champagne.
Fire and Water Page 2