A cell phone rings.
Celine answers. “Merry Christmas to you, too! Hold a sec. Listen, I have to take this, honey. Keep me posted on this here soap opera, okay?”
Hannah laughs. “You know I will.”
No, Morgan doesn’t favor either Vaughn or myself. But she’s still young. In time she’ll most likely begin to look like me and if she doesn’t, so what? Genes are funny. Everyone knows that. But I can’t be concerned with genetics right now. I’m still trying to grasp what I just heard. Celine completely duped me. She spent the entire evening complimenting my home and my tastes, not to mention the past several months pretending to be my friend. And Hannah. Utter betrayal. I entrusted that little bitch with the most important thing in my life, and she stood there planting seeds in Celine’s head. I want to fire her tonight. Right now! Bonus? She wants a bonus? Hmph. She’ll be collecting unemployment come January first.
I hear footsteps approaching so I duck out of the hallway and head upstairs. I can’t bear to look any of my guests in the face. How many other wolves in sheep’s clothing are out there? How many other Judases in my circle?
I reach the top of the steps. Vaughn is standing in our doorway, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist. “I thought we said five minutes?”
Sex is the last thing on my mind. But, of course, I can’t tell him what I just heard.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, reaching for my hand.
“Nothing.”
“Well then c’mon, Mrs. Hill.” He leads me into our suite, closing the door behind us.
In a moment, my silver skirt and black sequined tank are on the floor, laying besides Vaughn’s pants and button-down shirt. A second later he’s inside of me, and while my body responds to the pleasure, my mind is not in the room. It’s downstairs, in the kitchen, replaying what I just heard.
I consider my next move. There’s no question that I’ll fire Hannah. I’m not quite sure if I’ll tell her why though. If I do, it might trigger further speculation. I’ll have to find some other logical excuse. That will be the easy part; Celine is the issue. I now know she’s dangerous. She’s calculated and sneaky, plus she’s unhappy in her own marriage and has nothing but time on her hands.
“Babe?” Vaughn sweeps a strand of my hair from my cheek. “Everything okay? Look like you have something on your mind.”
I nod, although I’m in much deeper thought than he can even imagine. I stare up at him as he leans over me, resting on a bended elbow. His brown eyes, shaped like perfect almonds, blink rapidly, drawing my attention to his long dark eyelashes. I study the faint, nearly imperceptible freckles on the bridge of his nose. I love those, because very few people even know they’re there, and when I can see them it’s because we’re as close as physically possible. I trace a fingernail over his lips before confirming my response with a kiss.
I’m overly present, wholly aware of everything around me. Especially the fact that this moment is temporary. That we may not always be like this; together and in love. My senses are all heightened. If asked right now, I could describe, with precise detail, the feel of his lips on mine, the smell of our love-making in the air and the faint sound of activity one story below. I’m seeing everything I stand to lose if he ever finds out. And I’m furious with both Celine and Hannah for awakening these fears. I don’t want this moment to end although I know it has to. By now, people are likely looking for us.
Eventually the clock strikes midnight, and Christmas is upon us. We all collect around the tree (which Celine compliments another two times). Tradition dictates we open the majority of the gifts in the morning, but we exchange the small stocking-stuffers. We ooh and aah over the thoughtful gifts, creating a colorful blanket of wrapping paper and bows.
An hour later, we’re walking the last of our guests to the front door. Of course, the final two are Celine and Edward. I suffer through a kiss from him and a hug from her.
“Consider my offer, buddy. I’ll make it worth it.” Edward pats Vaughn on the back.
Celine blows me a kiss as she strides off to their car. “And kiss that beautiful baby good night for me.”
After Vaughn’s gone upstairs, I head straight to the great room, find the small, silver box labeled “To Morgan, love Celine” and drop it in the garbage.
THREE
It’s a bitterly cold Tuesday in the first week of January. I’m sitting on the edge of my tub, the claw-foot one I just had to have despite Vaughn’s objections that it was too vintage for our modern bathroom. But I didn’t care. Since I was a child I’d always dreamed of having one. I think I was inspired by watching those old black-and-white movies in which women would sit in a tub surrounded with bubbles. A hint of cloth peeking out over the edges while they squirted themselves with bathing oils. An old Victrola playing in the background. There was something so very romantic about the whole scene that it stayed with me all these years. A far cry from the pink porcelain tub with the cracked molding that we had in my childhood home. It didn’t matter how much Mr. Bubble I squirted into that bathtub, it never lived up to those images on television.
I turn my focus back to the sunburn on my upper thighs. Gently, I apply aloe. Vaughn warned me about falling asleep in the sun, but that St. Barts beach was too delicious to walk away from, even after hours and hours of sunbathing. I can handle a little discomfort in return for all of the fun we had during our Caribbean tryst.
It did wonders to take my mind off what I overheard on Christmas Eve. Although I tried to set it aside, I did put some thought into how to handle at least one of my problems. I called Hannah yesterday to tell her I needed her to come in this morning, although technically she wasn’t due back until Monday. I’d given her the week off and had planned to grant her a considerable Christmas bonus for all of her excellent work with Morgan. But not anymore.
When Vaughn first suggested hiring a nanny, I resisted. Not only because it seemed pretentious, but also because I didn’t see why I would need help raising my own child, especially when I already had a household staff and had quit my job. But I quickly learned that it’s a lot of work. Simple things, like getting in the car to run to Starbucks became much more complicated with an infant and a car seat. So I agreed to hire a nanny to come three days a week and on some weekends. As much as Vaughn and I are now committed to each other, I still knew better than to tempt fate and hire an attractive, young, live-in nanny. So I hired Hannah, who came with rave reviews from Celine, and it didn’t hurt that she was overweight, a bit frumpy and less than beautiful.
But now she has to go.
I dress, donning the lightest t-shirt and sweatpants I can find, then head downstairs to my office. My thoughts settle on Celine. I’m still unsure of how to handle her. We’d been spending so much time together that she’ll notice a break in the pattern, and I surely can’t tell her what I heard. My poker-face isn’t what it used to be. Being around people I don’t like is difficult enough, being around people who I now hate is damn near impossible.
My mind races to the worst possible scenario. What if she finds out? What if she tells? I can’t comprehend her motive to do so but I never believed she would have said the things she did. I, of all people, know that trust is fragile, and even the people who love you aren’t above betrayal, so what’s to stop a so-called “friend”?
I sip my coffee, nearly burning my tongue in the process. But how could she find out? So what if she suspects something? She could never know for certain. Without a test, no one will ever know. This is the mantra I’ve become all too familiar with. It’s what I tell myself at night to capture the sleep that sometimes evades me.
Despite my self-calming techniques, I find myself googling “DNA” then funneling down to paternity testing and am overwhelmed when a host of sites pop up, all boasting essentially the same claim. Simple, Affordable, Confidential. Next Day Results. 100% Accuracy. My finger trembles over the mouse. I’m afraid to click and find out just how “simple” and “accurate” they are.
There’s a light rapping on the door. I call for her to enter.
Hannah bursts into my office. “Welcome back, Mrs. Hill! Happy New Year! You wanted to see me?”
I swivel my chair to face her. “Yes, Hannah. Come on in and have a seat. We need to talk.”
She unzips her jacket and sits.
“You look great. You always look so pretty with a tan.” She unravels a green scarf from around her neck. “Is something wrong?”
Had I not heard her with my own ears I wouldn’t believe she was capable of such hurtful gossip.
I blurt it out. “We’re letting you go. I’ll pay you for the rest of the week, but as of today, I … I mean we … will no longer be needing your services.”
The color drains from her face, her alabaster skin appearing even pastier. “What? Letting me go? Why?”
For a fraction of a moment, I actually feel bad. This isn’t as easy as I imagined.
“It’s just not a good fit anymore. I don’t believe you’re right for this family,” I say, rehearsing the line I’d practiced in the shower.
“Not a good fit?” Her nose wrinkles as if she just sipped from a glass of spoiled milk. “What did I do?”
I clasp my hands and rest them on the desk. “Hannah, it’s just time we went our separate ways. Thank you for all you’ve done for Morgan to date, but we’ll be moving in a different direction from now on.” I don’t know what my last statement meant, but it sounded like something one would say when terminating an employee.
A pop-up ad appears on my monitor. I catch it with the corner of my eye but when I focus I see it’s another DNA ad. I chase the close box with my mouse, but it evades me much like a real mouse evades a cat. Finally I capture it, click on the X and close it out. Then I lock the screen and turn back to Hannah, who now is all but in tears. But my anger is renewed.
It takes everything in me not to tell her that I heard what she and Celine said. What she probably saw as a little harmless gossip could be the catalyst to a full-on investigation of my daughter. I’m betrayed. Especially since I’ve been so good to her. She was paid exceptionally well, had access to my brand new truck, the pool, sauna, tennis courts—she had it made. I’d even promised her use of our cottage in the Hamptons this summer. Do you know how many nannies would kill for such a gig? And it’s a shame because Morgan seemed to really like her, but I have to cut this cancer out right away. I can’t take the chance of any questions or rumors. It’s entirely too risky. She has to go.
“I’ll need your access cards back,” I say. I really don’t need them because I’ve already changed the codes, but requesting them back drills home the point—she is fired.
“Please. Please just tell me what I’ve done,” she cries, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her sleeve.
“Hannah, it’s just not working out, okay? That’s all I’m going to say, now if you’ll just return the cards—”
“Is Mr. Hill displeased?”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’s dealing with me—not Vaughn. I’m the one who hired her, gave her all of her directives, hell, she’s barely even seen Vaughn the whole time she’s been here.
“Mr. Hill? Don’t ask me questions about my husband. Now, I’ve said my piece.” I stretch out my arm, palm faced up. “The cards.”
“I wish I knew what I did wrong. I can make changes, I really can. I love Morgan, I don’t want to leave her.”
“There’s nothing to change, it’s just not going to work. If you leave quietly, I’d be willing to let you use me as a reference.”
That’s a lie. She’d better hope that no one calls asking me to speak to her character.
“Mrs. Hill, I really wish you would reconsider, I need this job.”
Her tears don’t faze me. I stand up to indicate that this conversation is over. “I’m sorry, but my mind is made up.”
Within the hour all traces of her are gone. Morgan is too young to understand anything, and Vaughn will never be the wiser. The only staff he’s ever been the slightest bit attached to are Rosa, because he loves her food, and Cliff, because he’s grown to trust him over the years. I quickly text my assistant and ask him to set up some new nanny interviews. This time I want an older one, preferably one who’s not American and speaks limited English. I’m not taking any more chances.
FOUR
“I am so full. I can’t believe I let you convince me to have dessert.”
Vaughn weaves our car in between clusters of yellow taxicabs. “How can you not eat dessert on your birthday? It’s against the rules.”
We’ve just celebrated my thirty-fourth birthday with dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in the city. When he zips past the entry to the Lincoln Tunnel, I ask where he’s going.
“I just have to make a quick stop.”
“Now? Tonight?” Just when everything was going so smoothly. The last thing I feel like doing is sitting in the car or in some hotel lobby while he talks shop with a colleague. He purposely makes these stops while we’re together to reassure me that he’s telling the truth. (In the past, many of his business meetings were thinly veiled cover-ups.) Initially I appreciated the gesture, but now these pit-stops have come to annoy me; they make me feel like a child waiting on her father. Tonight it’s especially annoying because it’s my birthday, and all I want to do is go home and be alone with my family.
He squeezes my hand. “It will just take a minute. Mason is catching a red-eye tonight, and there are some plans he needs to show me in person.”
Only because I don’t want to ruin, what’s been so far a perfect evening, I acquiesce.
We pull into an underground parking garage on East 76th street. In the elevator ride I try and suppress my yawns. Once we reach what turns out to be the penthouse, we’re greeted by two burly men wearing dark suits. They smile knowingly at Vaughn before they each reach for the handles to a set of double doors. Slowly, and in perfect unison, they open them wide.
“Surprise!”
I’m greeted by a cast of familiar faces—women, all dressed in dark cocktail dresses, and men donned in casual suits. The room is chicly decorated in shades of black, gray and white with pops of bright yellow; the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a gorgeous backdrop of the New York City skyline.
My sister, Norah, is the first to approach. “Happy Birthday Blaiiiiiir!” She hugs me tightly, swaying me from side to side. “Are you surprised? Did you know?”
I shake my head. I had no idea Vaughn was planning this. The day was already perfect; this is much more than I ever would have expected.
Once Norah releases me from her bear hug, I’m greeted by my mother and a host of friends. In between the hugs and well wishes, I scan the room for my best friend, but am disappointed to learn she isn’t here. If she was, she surely would have been one of the first faces I saw. As if reading my thoughts, Vaughn places his hand on the small of my back and says, “Elle couldn’t make it, Babe. Something to do with work.”
I’m encircled by another group of friends who take turns asking me questions. Am I surprised? Did I know? Where did he tell me we were going? A photographer approaches and tells us all to look casual and forget he’s there as he clicks away. Waiters pass through the crowd of at least a hundred people, carrying trays of my favorite hors d'oeuvres. I can barely finish a glass of champagne before it’s replaced with another.
My glass isn’t the only one that stays filled to the brim. Within the hour my sister’s tipsy-girl teeter has become a drunken-woman stumble. I watch as she dances clumsily in her tight coral dress and four-inch platforms. Even from across the room, I can tell she’s engaged in a full-on flirtatious repartee, with a man I don’t recognize. I excuse myself from my friends and make my way over to her. I reach around her waist and whisper in her ear, “Norah, you should probably drink some water.”
She appraises me with glassy eyes. “B! Have you met Ari? He’s in real estate. He’s a … ah … what is it you do again?”
Now that I
have a closer look, I’m certain I’ve never seen him before. He was probably attractive at one point, but his best days are clearly behind him. His crow’s feet and laugh lines, which ordinarily lend to a man’s allure, make him look weathered. Although Norah’s tastes differ drastically from mine, I’m a bit surprised at her interest in him. Other than his height and expensive suit, there’s nothing appealing about this guy.
“I’m a developer.” Ari offers me a firm handshake but I quickly withdraw from his clammy grasp. He’s creepy.
“Have we met before?” I say, my way of asking this stranger how he made his way into my private birthday party.
“No, no. But I know your husband. My brother and Vaughn do business together.” He flashes a perfect row of veneered teeth. But it doesn’t have the same effect on me as it does my sister, who now has her hand on his chest and is leaning against him.
“Your brother?” I ask, trying my best to not stare at his unibrow.
“Yeah, my brother…” He runs his slippery palm down Norah’s arm. Their hands meet and clasp.
“Norah, let me talk to you for a minute.” Gently I try to pull her away, but she grasps Ari’s arm and tells me, “No.” He whispers something in her ear. She giggles and whispers back. I can already feel people’s eyes on us.
“Aaron, I need to speak to my sister for a moment. Would you mind letting go of her hand? I promise I’ll bring her right back.”
“It’s Ari. Ah-ree,” he says with a touch of annoyance that I’m sure has less to do with me mispronouncing his name, and more to do with me dashing his prospects of casual sex.
“Ari. Sorry. I’ll bring her right back.”
“C’mon Blair, she’s fine.” He smiles, his hand resting on the crest of her ass.
I lose it. “Get your hands off of her! Matter of fact, I think it’s time you leave.”
A Delicate Truth Page 2