To Have and to Hate

by R.S. Grey

  I smile and nod. “It smells so wonderful in here. I’m sure dinner will be delicious.”

  A woman walks into the kitchen carrying an iPad and asks the head caterer if dinner is still on schedule.

  “Right on time,” he confirms.

  Then the woman—a party planner by the looks of it—turns to me.

  “Mrs. Jennings! Wonderful. I thought we could go over the seating arrangement quickly, just in case you had any changes you’d like to make.”

  I’m a little slow on the uptake, frozen in confusion for a microsecond too long before I laugh and remember that I’m Mrs. Jennings. She wants me to go over the seating arrangement.

  “Of course.” I nod. “Lead the way.”

  “So I’ve placed you and Walter at the center, rather than at the heads of the table so that you can mingle among your guests. I know this isn’t exactly proper, but it’s common enough nowadays. If you’d like me to arrange it differently—”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  I glance between Walt’s seating card and mine. Walter and Elizabeth Jennings. What a perfect fictitious couple.

  The thought makes me smile to myself.

  “So then, moving on,” she says, going down the line of seats around the rectangular table. “We have Jake, Christina, Sara. Then Martha, Sylvia, Matthew, Ying, and Doreen—”

  “Where did you place Camila?” Walt asks, stepping into the dining room and abruptly cutting off the party planner.

  He’s not quite done getting ready, still adjusting the lapel on his dark navy jacket and then fixing his watch so it sits perfectly on his wrist.

  “She’s down at that end,” the planner says, pointing at a spot near the left side of the table.

  Walt reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a set of cufflinks. I watch as he starts to put the first one on, but he’s focused on where the planner has put his guest, so he’s having trouble.

  I step forward and take the cufflink out of his hand without asking.

  His attention jerks down to me and I narrow my eyes teasingly, as if to say, I dare you to reprimand me for trying to help.

  “Allow me,” I quip with a private smile, slipping the first cufflink on easily and then holding my hand out for the second.

  He places it in my palm, though I don’t receive any sort of thanks.

  “I’d like her to be on my left,” Walt says, referring to Camila’s placement.

  “Of course. That’s not a problem,” the party planner says, rushing to swap cards around.

  “These are nice,” I say, noting the heavy weight of the round cufflinks. At their center, they carry a stone that looks like blue granite.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “They were a gift.”

  “From who?”

  He glances over at the party planner before he replies, “A friend.”

  Clearly, he’s aware of her presence in the room more than I am.

  A fact he drives home when he tells me I look lovely, likely for the planner’s benefit more than mine. Still, I’m glad I’m focused on his second cufflink so he can’t see how much his compliment has caught me off guard.

  He’s never made any reference at all to my appearance. I hate that I know that, but well…facts are facts. This compliment, however small it may be, still feels like a million bucks.

  “Thank you. I grabbed this dress today.”

  I didn’t have much say in choosing it. As promised, the sales associate collected half a dozen dresses for me to try on, and then she waited outside to confirm which one I should choose.

  “Too short.”

  “Too gappy around your waist.”

  “Not the right color on you.”

  The fifth one—a black one-shoulder midi dress—she absolutely loved the moment I stepped out of the dressing room. The slinky jersey knit sweeps across my chest with a one-shoulder neckline into a tight bodice. The curve-hugging fit continues just past my knees.

  I liked it as much as she did, but the price was slightly over my allotted budget.

  She shook her head. “No! I don’t care. I’ll share my employee discount with you. Consider this a fashion emergency. That dress was made for you!”

  Up until this moment, I assumed she was just really good at her job, convincing people to buy clothes, but Walt is glancing down at me with what I can only assume is approval before the elevator dings and his guests start to arrive.

  I wish we’d had more time to chat before this moment, more time to go over our game plan.

  I wish he didn’t get immediately whisked away by friends anxious to chat with him. I have no clue what they know about me. I’m not sure who might know the truth about us or who assumes we’re really in love, which makes conversation tricky.

  I’m swept up into a small group of women, wives whose husbands all work at Diomedica.

  “I’m dying to know all the details about the wedding. Tell us everything! Who were you wearing? I saw your dress in The Times and I loved it. Good for you for bucking tradition.”

  I smile. “Oh thank you. I actually can’t remember where I purchased it.”

  Yes I do—Zara, but I’ll bite my tongue right off before I reveal that to this group of women who are all dripping in designer labels.

  “And to get married at the courthouse of all places!” another woman chimes in with a shocked laugh. “I mean, leave it up to Walt to get married in some fairytale elopement. So unexpected.”

  It’s clear that not a single one of them knows we’ve faked our marriage. They think we’re young and in love, and I have to stand there and smile and laugh as they gush about what a lovely bride I made.

  I’m extremely grateful when the group disperses for a bathroom break and I can catch my breath away from them. It’s in that moment, as I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, that I find myself at the mercy of stares from across the room.

  I glance up to find a group gathered close, three women and a man all staring at me with unabashed derision and pity. Unlike the other guests, this tight cluster of friends obviously knows the truth. I watch as a tall woman with a sharp blonde bob stares down at the ring on my finger, her eyes widening before she turns back to her friends, whispering quickly. They all glance over, not the least bit concerned with subtlety, and my stomach coils tight. I look away quickly, trying to keep my composure.

  I wonder who they are. Walt’s personal friends? Has he told them the truth about us? I wish I could ask him. I wish I could find out what exactly he’s told them about me. I worry their reactions to me might stem from him, and if that’s the case, I’d like to know, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  Suddenly, sitting through a multi-course dinner party with these people seems daunting to say the least. This mixed bag of work colleagues and friends, of people who are in the dark about our relationship and those that know the truth, will make it impossible for me to navigate a meal without putting my foot in my mouth at least once or twice.

  Sick of being the object of attention, I decide to hole up inside the library for a few minutes, just to regain an ounce of courage before I have to reenter the viper’s nest.

  I turn down the hall, smile at a passing waiter, then round the corner to the library. The deserted hall is a sight for sore eyes and I pick up my pace, my heels quiet on the marble floors so I don’t alert anyone to where I’ve gone. I don’t immediately register the voices coming from Walt’s office. It takes me a moment as I hover on the precipice of the library, my hand on the doorframe. I glance back toward the great room, trying to determine if the noise is carrying down the hall, and then I whip my head to the right as I catch Walt’s voice again.

  “We’ve gone over this a thousand times,” he says, sounding exhausted.

  “That was before I knew you bought her a ring!”

  Ten

  I stand perfectly still, too stunned to move, too scared to draw attention to the fact that I’m only a few feet away from Walt and a mystery
woman.

  “I’m not sure why a ring changes anything.”

  “It’s just one more thing, Walt. One more thing I have to try to reconcile about our already messy arrangement. Can’t you see how hard this is?”

  “The ring is just a ring, Camila. She needed a ring so now she has one. Can we please discuss this another time?”

  “No. Frankly, I’d like to discuss it right now. You’re impossible. I can barely get two words out of you, let alone an ounce of emotion about this whole situation.”

  I can’t hear Walt’s response to this, but it’s only a few seconds before there’s movement near the office door. I leap into the library, turning to press my body flush against the wall beside the doorway, half-hidden in the shadows.

  I hold my breath as Camila passes by, my eyes pinched closed until I hear her footsteps grow quiet down the hall.

  I stay there, shaky with adrenaline, trying to calm my racing heart.

  Walt doesn’t follow after her. I hear him on the other side of the wall. There’s the light clink of a glass, a gentle pour of liquid. I imagine him rubbing his temples—like he does with me—and taking a long sip of his preferred liquor.

  Up until this moment, I didn’t realize Walt had someone like Camila in his life. Sure, he told me he had plans to continue dating, but he maybe should have mentioned having a serious girlfriend. Seems like something a wife ought to know! Ha.

  Oh dear, this situation is getting more complicated by the minute. I feel bad for Camila. What a tough position to be in. If I were in love with Walt, I would want him all to myself too. He has so little time outside of work as it is, and now she has to deal with this on top of everything else. I’d yank the ring off my finger and give it to her if I could, but well…I glance down at the blue diamond, shaped beautifully on my hand, fit perfectly for me.

  My stomach tightens with anxiety.

  I don’t think that’s true.

  I’m not sure I would want to give this ring to her. At least, not unless I had to, and that seems to be the last thing I need to realize at this moment.

  Now I’m the one rubbing my temples.

  My day has gone from bad to worse over the course of one evening. I barely have the energy to drag myself out of the library and rejoin Walt’s guests a few minutes later. Fortunately, I’m on my second glass of champagne and the alcohol is doing wonders to dull my worries.

  Even better than the alcohol is the fact that these people largely don’t want anything to do with me. Every now and then, I’ll get tugged into conversation, but mostly everyone is happy to leave me alone.

  After their initial fascination, the group of wives along with Walt’s work colleagues have turned their attention inward, standing in a tight-knit group, talking over one another to be heard. I think they’ve forgotten I’m here.

  Walt’s personal friends don’t want anything to do with me either, which makes sense, because Camila now stands among them. Every now and then, one of them will glance over at me with a look that says, Oh…you’re still here?

  Walt stands in the middle of it all, near the fireplace. He’s been there for a while now, unable to break free from his spot because there’s a continual stream of people waiting to get a word with him. It’s almost like a scene from the first night of The Bachelor.

  Who will Walt give his rose to? I wonder to myself, concealing my private smile in my champagne glass.

  The dynamic is intriguing to watch—all of them vying for his attention—and I pay careful attention to Camila. Even she can’t hold out for too long. She joins his group, along with their friends, and I sip my champagne like a fly on the wall.

  I can’t help but study Camila. My attention seems to snap back to her like a rubber band every time I try to distract myself with someone else.

  She’s wonderfully beautiful with curly black hair that cascades down her back. Her burgundy jumpsuit is slim fitting through the bodice and hips with a relaxed fit around her legs. The deep V plunging neckline is paired with a tie at the waist, and it all looks so effortlessly sexy.

  She’s older than me, and her age seems to be yet another source of refinement. I feel hopelessly childish in comparison, every bit out of my element in a room full of Walt’s peers.

  More appetizers are passed, and a waiter steps right in front of me, breaking off my stare. I shake my head, declining the small tart, and then I wander over to the windows that encase the room, looking out onto the Manhattan Bridge. My afternoon springs back to mind as if the phrase “coffee shop art” was eagerly awaiting its turn to bombard my thoughts again.

  Oh, yes. Hi, me again, your deepest fear that you’ll never actually make it in the art world and will have to give up and go teach toddlers how to paint at the local YMCA.

  “What’s wrong?” Walt asks, stirring me out of my thoughts.

  I immediately ease my angry scowl—the one I didn’t realize I was wearing until this moment.

  “Nothing,” I say with an adamant shake of my head as I turn back to the dinner party crowd.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Walt insists. “You always have a smile on your face, even on the day you were coerced into marrying me.”

  The joke garners a small laugh, and Walt’s shoulders seem to sag in relief.

  “I’ve just had a rotten day,” I say with a shrug. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  He hums in understanding then turns so we’re side by side, perusing the room filled with his friends and invited guests.

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he says, tipping his chin toward the side hall. “Not if you’d rather make an escape.”

  “Wouldn’t that look weird? Me leaving before dinner even starts?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. This is all uncharted territory for me if I’m honest.”

  I appreciate his honesty.

  I tilt my head to glance up at him and chew my lip for a moment before admitting, “I heard you in your office earlier with Camila.”

  He nods, but he doesn’t seem upset or surprised by the confession. I’m more than a little relieved. I wasn’t sure how he’d take me eavesdropping on him, even if it was just an accident.

  “Is she your girlfriend?” I press.

  He looks down at his drink. “The closest thing to it, I suppose.”

  He sounds a little worn out by the topic, and I’m not surprised given the argument I heard.

  “Is she angry I’m here?”

  “Yes,” he admits with a sigh. “This whole situation has been hard on her. She doesn’t understand it.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  He smiles and glances over at me, catching my gaze.

  “Does she know I’m living here?”

  He looks away again. “Yes. That was…what did you say a second ago? A rotten day.”

  “I could talk to her. Make it clear to her that I’m not…” I struggle to finish the sentence out loud because the notion is so preposterous. Still, I trudge on bravely. “Competition.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I tack on an exaggerated “Obviously.”

  I turn beet red from head to toe.

  Oh my god. Say something!

  “I appreciate you wanting to help,” he says, “but it’s not as simple as that.”

  “Right. Well…I’m happy to leave if it would make it easier for you and your situation with Camila.”

  Please don’t ask me to leave.

  “No,” he replies curtly. “I insist you stay. It’s going to be a great dinner. C’mon, it looks like it’s time for us to take our seats.”

  He motions for me to lead the way, and as I step forward, his hand presses lightly against the small of my back. I jerk in surprise and glance down to see him take his hand away and curl it into a fist.

  Neither of us mentions it as we trail the others into the dining room to sit down. Camila takes her place on the other side of Walt and glances over at me with a tight smile.

  “Elizabeth? I don’t think we’
ve been introduced. I’m Camila, Walt’s friend.”

  “Oh, yes. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Up close, she’s even more beautiful than I realized.

  “I really like your outfit,” I say, trying to show her that I’m not the enemy—or at least I’m not trying to be.

  She chuckles under her breath, and the disdain is evident to anyone listening closely. Oy.

  I decide the only way I’ll survive dinner is to play a little drinking game. Every time I feel awkward, I take a sip of champagne, and boy are there plenty of occasions to drink during a dinner party that’s been planned in honor of a sham wedding, attended by half a table of guests who expect to see a happy newlywed couple and half a table who knows we’re not one.

  When Camila asks to see my ring and I’m forced to hold my hand out in front of Walt, I drink.

  When I catch her placing her hand on his thigh under the table and then watch as he gently removes it, I drink.

  When one of Walt’s colleagues insists on standing up and giving a toast on our behalf, I drink.

  When another guest asks Walt what attracted him to me, I drink, and I listen very carefully for the lie he’ll tell.

  After all, lies are often based in truths.

  Walt’s gaze slides to me, and he seems to think for a second as he assesses me. God it’s taking him forever.

  “Oh come on,” a guy taunts. “It can’t take you that long to come up with something nice to say about her.”

  I blink away the tears that suddenly spring to the corners of my eyes. How embarrassing. I wish I could leap to my feet and leave the table.

  “Her eyes,” Walt says emphatically before turning back toward his guests.

  The women at the table—sans Camila and her friends—all sigh sweetly.

  The men joke and nudge shoulders as if knowing that can’t possibly be the real answer.

  “And what about you, Elizabeth?”

  “Oh.” I force a laugh. “What attracted me to Walt?” I ask in clarification.

  “Yes! C’mon, we gotta know what you saw in the cold bastard,” the man across from me says with a laugh.