He’d said nothing when she’d finished, but sat in silence as her heart pounded, the guillotine above her life hanging by a fraying thread. Eventually he’d stood up and said he was getting in the shower and she should tidy herself up. They had to leave in twenty minutes. And that was that.
Now here they were, hidden behind their masks, to all the world a beautiful, successful couple with nothing to hide, and as Jason handed their keys to the valet, Marcie felt tears sting her eyes again. What would she do if he divorced her? Where would she go?
“I’ll see you at eleven,” Jason said. In the dark she could barely see his eyes beyond the ebony of his mask. “Back here.”
“But shouldn’t we . . .” go in together? She didn’t get to finish the sentence. He was striding away already. She stared after him, to where two Pierrots were signaling in overblown mime that guests should go around to the back of the house.
“Jason!” she called out. He didn’t even look back, and after a moment, she had no choice but to head in the same direction. The Pierrots pretended to cry as she passed, mocking her upset, and then flourished hands with a smile to direct her, as if she didn’t already know the way.
There were so many guests. It was as if the whole of the city had been invited, and Marcie felt lost as she walked into the multicolored kaleidoscope of light and music and bodies. Podiums had been placed around the candlelit gardens and contortionists and fire-eaters dazzled the onlookers who sipped their chilled Cristal. The vibe was richly decadent and the mood seemed to have spread through the guests, who laughed too loudly for polite company and touched and flirted around her. Marcie shivered despite the terrible heat. It was dangerous. It was too much. It was very Keisha.
She grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, who, like his coworkers, was dressed in black from head to toe, as if simply a faceless shadow or a ghost, a devilish sprite, and forced her way toward the house.
A few people turned and looked her way as she passed them by, nods of appreciation from the men, circumspect appraisal from the women, but with everyone’s face hidden to one extent or another, Marcie could barely tell who was who even when she did know them. The tennis club set were gathered by the lit-up champagne fountain and canapé counter, heads thrown back in overloud laughter as their men talked among themselves elsewhere.
She couldn’t see Jason anywhere, nor could she see any of their set. But as more people arrived, the garden was getting crowded. There were way more guests than William’s usual hundred or so closest friends who were normally invited onto this hallowed ground. Three hundred perhaps. Too many. Marcie’s head started to spin. It was crazy that she and Jason were here after what had just happened at home. Was Jason telling William about it right now? Talking to Noah? Discussing how best to get rid of her?
She drained her champagne and reached for another glass on a passing tray. Mint julep. Eleanor’s drink. Not to Marcie’s taste but she drank it anyway. She needed something to calm her down. It wasn’t just that Jason now knew—awful as that was—it was that someone else did. The person who’d sent that envelope. But who was it? Someone here? Were they watching her now? Her breath caught as she turned on the spot, searching the people around her. It felt as if they were looming at her out of the night, laughing at her, faces distorted and monstrous rather than beautiful.
Her own mask was tight against her skin, pressing at her temples and eyes, and for a moment she was sure she would faint. She needed to get inside to the cool air-conditioning, away from the crowd. The terrace doors were pinned open behind the band that played old-style jazz born in a time of prohibition, and Marcie slipped gratefully inside.
She was headed to one of the downstairs bathrooms when an arm grabbed her, long fingernails tight on her skin, so suddenly that she almost shrieked.
“Marcie.”
The creature before her was a blazing phoenix. The red and gold of the ruby-encrusted flamboyant mask was an extension of the dress that swirled bright and tight around Keisha’s magnificent body. At a quick glance she was alight and beautiful and powerful, but her eyes, trapped in all that glamour, were bloodshot and fearful.
“I have to speak to you. It’s all awful. He hates me. He’s going to get rid of me, I can feel it.” She gripped Marcie’s arm tighter. “Can’t we run away? You don’t love Jason, I know you don’t. I can take some jewelry, we’ll have money . . .”
Marcie yanked her arm free. She didn’t need this. Not now. “I’ve got my own shit going on, Keisha. I can’t deal with you and your crap.” Keisha thought she had problems. How could Marcie explain to her what Jason now knew? How her own life, just when it had become filled with so much promise, was rapidly going down the tubes and she had to rescue it somehow? She stared at the younger woman, exasperated. “I’ve told you before. I can’t be poor again. I won’t. Where could we run with nothing? Nowhere.”
“But you don’t understand. I can’t go on like this! I can’t,” Keisha said. “And today he got a—”
“I can’t deal with this.” Marcie cut her off. “Not now. Take care of your own shit.”
She turned away and moved quickly, not so much as glancing back until she was safely locked in the bathroom, finally alone. She ripped the claustrophobic mask from her face and pressed her head against the cool tiles.
She wanted to cry, self-pity welling up inside her. Maybe running away with Keisha was going to be her best option after all, but how would that work? She was used to the finer things in life now, and was on the cusp of being respected. They’d be a joke, the talk of the town forever, and torn apart by expensive divorce lawyers, no doubt left with nothing, not even their dignity. They’d end up in some trailer somewhere, where still people would sneer at them as outcasts. It would be worse than it had been before.
Her stomach tightened and she took a few shaky deep breaths to stop herself from throwing up. Pull yourself together, she told herself. It’s not over yet. Jason wasn’t going to come at her with a divorce right away. He’d want to think his options through. Plus, this was high society, where appearances were everything; wasn’t that why they were at the party? Things between them would probably never be the same, but surely he’d want to paper over the cracks? He didn’t need another divorce and it wouldn’t do him any good at all if anyone else found out about her past. Mud would stick. He’d already had one scandal with his father; he didn’t need another one with his second wife.
She stood up straighter and dabbed at her face with a paper towel. Anyway, he was keeping his own secrets, wasn’t he? Those calls. The lies. Was it Jacquie he’d been talking to? Maybe she was even here, at the party. It was impossible to tell with everyone so overdressed and disguised, and there were so many people. Could it have been Jacquie who’d been doing the digging, who’d unearthed this stinking dirt on her? Did she now want her old life back and was going to any length to get it? Maybe she’d heard that the second Mrs. Maddox was on the rise and wanted to stop it. That bitch.
Her overheating panic was subsiding and a chill descended onto her skin. This was a mess that she needed to figure out. But what was she going to do? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t stay here, at this party. Keisha was unstable and Jason wasn’t talking to her. She’d feign a headache and go home, where she could think.
She retied her mask and took comfort in her reflection for a moment, soothed by her own beauty, and unlocked the door. She knew what she had to do. Find William and make her excuses. If Jason had told him, it would be obvious by his reaction to her. She’d know then how much she needed to plan.
The party outside sounded like it was from another universe, one of carefree laughter and music and noise, a place that was entirely alien to her. She was about to head back toward the patio to try to find their host in the madness of it all when she saw Noah and Iris standing just inside the French doors, for once alone, not surrounded by sycophants. They were locked in a private conversation, their heads turned inward, Iris’s face lined and serious, her filigr
ee mask held down by her side. Marcie’s heart thumped hard. Were they talking about her? Did they know? Maybe Jason wasn’t the only one to have gotten an envelope delivered about her. Her stomach tightened again. That didn’t bear thinking about. She needed to deal with the problem in hand rather than inventing more. She retreated farther into the house, not wanting to face them, whether they knew or not. Her head was pounding and her body exhausted.
At least it was cool inside, and with Julian and Pierre operating from their glitzy catering truck, the house was blissfully quiet and dark, thick walls protecting it from the decadence that raged in the heat of the gardens. It was creepy though, devoid of life, and Marcie couldn’t help but think of Eleanor wheeling herself around as she slowly faded, her body eating her up while her mind stayed sharp, and now there was Keisha, beautifully powerful and healthy, but with her mind collapsing. A cursed house. A cursed girl. Maybe they were all cursed in one way or another.
She shivered. Maybe she wouldn’t try to find William. She could sneak away unnoticed without saying her goodbyes. Would Jason care? Had anyone even asked him where she was?
“A mistake? That’s all you can say?”
In the silence the voice made her catch her breath—a sharp retort, bullets in the night. Was that William? She froze in the corridor, stilled by his tone. He sounded impatient. Angry. But who with? Keisha? Marcie crept forward, past the sweeping stairs of the main house, following the words like bread crumbs, until she drew closer to William’s study. Had he called Keisha in there like a headmaster would a naughty schoolgirl to reprimand her for some misdemeanor? His voice dropped as she drew closer, as if aware that someone somewhere might hear him shouting and that would never do.
“For God’s sake, you should be able to explain it.”
“It was the system crash—”
Jason. That was Jason, not Keisha. What were William and Jason fighting about?
“To hell with the system. The system couldn’t do this. The audit starts Monday, Jason, and if this isn’t made good by then—”
“It will be. It’s an error, that’s all. A transfer gone wrong somewhere. This stuff happens. You’re worrying over nothing.”
“Are you all right?”
The hand on her shoulder was like a cobweb brushing against bare skin and Marcie almost shrieked as she spun around toward the worried face. Elizabeth. It was just Elizabeth. “Marcie? Are you okay?”
Elizabeth had a mask painted on, quite a delicate design of flowers and birds, expertly done, but it was already starting to run at the edges, where her full cheeks crushed the skin around her eyes whenever she smiled. She was in danger of becoming clownlike. Poor Elizabeth. She didn’t belong here either.
“No, I’m not, I’m afraid,” Marcie said. “I’ve got an awful headache. I was looking for Jason to tell him I’m thinking of getting a taxi home.” She glanced toward the office door, thinking fast. She’d been caught eavesdropping, so there was no point in pretending otherwise. “But it sounds like he and William are having words. I was too nervous to interrupt.”
“Men always do sound so angry, don’t they?” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know why they need to half the time. Sensible conversation is so much more productive . . .”
The office door opened and both men came out, silencing Elizabeth, and for an instant Marcie didn’t recognize either of them, their expressions demonic half-shadows behind their masks. Then they saw the two women a few feet away and light smoothed the darkness as if it had been simply a figment of her imagination rather than an insight into who perhaps they really were.
“What are you doing here?” Jason was looking at her with such disgust, such irritation, that she couldn’t find any words.
“I . . . I . . .”
“Marcie isn’t feeling well,” Elizabeth said. “I’m going to run her home.”
“I just need to lie down for a while in some quiet,” Marcie muttered.
Marcie wasn’t sure if she was sad or relieved when Jason didn’t offer to come home with her, but instead just nodded. “If you’re sure. I won’t be home late.”
“I’ve got a headache.” William sounded as snippy with Elizabeth as Jason had been with her. “Have you got any Advil in your purse?” Whatever it was they’d been talking about, it was far from resolved. Elizabeth flushed slightly and shook her head.
“No. I’m sorry. Surely you have some in the bathroom?”
William glared at her as if the effort of the stairs was too much.
“Why don’t you go get a coconut water?” she said. “They always rehydrate you. I’ll stop at the drugstore on the way back. Can’t have you not enjoying your own party.” She smiled, trying to lift the moment.
“Enjoy the party?” William grunted. “I didn’t want this party.” He hadn’t even looked at Marcie. “We’ll pick this up later, Jason, and it had better turn out to be like you said.”
He walked away toward the kitchen, and Jason stared after him.
“Is everything okay?” Marcie rested her hand on Jason’s shirtsleeve. Through the fabric she could feel the strength in his arms that used to turn her on so much and she’d thought would protect her forever.
“Go home, Marcie.” He shook his arm free, not hard enough to make a statement but with enough force to make her feel quietly abandoned. “I’ll see you later.”
Screw you, Jason, she thought, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. Maybe I’ll tell the world myself just what you think your second wife is. Maybe I’ll take the power back rather than leave you with it like a sword hanging over me. But the words that actually came from her lips betrayed her and made her feel smaller. “Okay. Have a good time. I love you.”
“Come on,” Elizabeth said, when Jason didn’t return Marcie’s sentiment. “Let’s get you home.”
Elizabeth was parked in front of the garage and it was a relief not to have to walk through the throng of partygoers to reach the car, instead slipping out the side door of the house.
“Thank you for this,” Marcie said. “You’re very kind.”
“No problem at all. I needed a break from all the people, if I’m honest. I’m not much of a party person, as you probably already know, but I’m so used to doing whatever William asks it’s almost second nature to show up to everything.”
Their host had come out front and was standing on the steps, drinking from a carton. He didn’t look at them as they drove past, and Marcie was about to turn her attention back to Elizabeth, when her mouth fell half-open as she stared out the window. It couldn’t be. A fresh gaggle of guests were arriving at the house, climbing out of limousines in five-inch heels and expensive dresses, laughing and chattering as they made their way toward the gardens.
One figure was hanging back, a tight black dress hugging her narrow frame, dark hair thickened by extensions and piled up in curls on her head, eyes sharp as she watched Elizabeth’s car leaving. Her face was half covered with a glittering black mask, but Marcie would recognize that slash of a bitter smile anywhere. Jacquie. Jacquie was at the party. As they pulled out into the street, Elizabeth was still droning on, but Marcie felt as if she were listening underwater. Jacquie.
Maybe she needed to go back.
40.
Keisha had floated like an unwelcome ghost through her own party, at times sure she was entirely invisible. In so many ways, she had been. An object, a delight, a curio. And then, of course, by the end of the night, damaged goods. A mockery. But not a person. Not a breathing thing of her own. A hum of unsympathetic whispers as she’d drunkenly taken flight, ushered out by Iris and Elizabeth and Virginia.
Even here, in the quiet dark gloom of Eleanor’s bedroom, it felt as if the first wife had more energy in the house than Keisha had, her own dark skin absorbed by the grainy night, leaving her almost incorporeal. There would always be earth and grime under her shaped and polished nails. She shivered and beat her fist at the side of her skull. Who could she talk to? Who would listen? Could she even make any sens
e of her jumbled, cotton-wool thoughts?
What time was it? Two? Three? Probably later. Everything had become a haze, the past forty-eight hours a jumbled kaleidoscope of images and memories. She should have taken the Valium script Marcie offered, always proud KeKe, your pride is your downfall, like you could ever have quit when you’d finished what you’d gotten—who were you kidding, always kidding yourself, a lie to a fool, yes yes Auntie Ayo please shut up in my head I know there was no boy please leave me alone. The tension with William as she’d quietly climbed the walls when the Xanax ran out, and then this evening, as she’d dressed and preened and pretended makeup and clothes and money could make everything better—a mask behind a mask, always hiding, always hidden, concentrate, focus, everything is crumbling, drowning, cut to pieces—the shouting as he held the photo out at her—head thrown back, laughing, peeling her top off as she danced, breasts out in the night air, whole body wild and full of dark magic like how Auntie Ayo used to be behind her locked door—slamming the door on Julian and Pierre as their heads turned as one toward the noise as they glided across the marble beyond.
The memories wouldn’t stop stabbing her. William’s face so red. Spitting at her, hot and wet as he raged, his words just noise as she’d wished he’d die right there on the spot, that throbbing vein in his skull that taunted her when he was angry and when he was huffing and puffing and fucking her. The loathing in his eyes, so obvious even with her junkie itching skin and thoughts so confused no wine could ease them. “I’ll deal with you later. I’ve got bigger problems than a drunk, slutty wife. And to think I believed I could make something of you.” Make something of her. Reshape her. Break her. He was worse than her family back home.
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