“Shit,” Martin muttered.
“We can get out through the restaurant,” Angie whispered, indicating the upscale eatery to our left. I turned and prepared to scurry away from the Davidson family carnage, when Nicola caught sight of me.
“You!” she cried, and the hatred in her voice left little doubt that her “you” meant me. Slowly I turned to face her. “How could you do this to me?” she hissed, venomously.
“I—I—didn’t know...” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly, Neil appeared, followed by a group of men in suits (obviously his groomsmen) and the five bridesmaids we’d met earlier. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Nicola... what’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong!” Nicola screeched, tears streaming down her face. Her words were barely intelligible as hysteria distorted her voice. She pointed an accusing finger at Jim. “He—he ruined everything! And she...” The finger of blame was now pointed at me. “She—she—”
Eileen, having finally put two and two together, chose that exact moment to faint. I had always thought that when people fainted, they crumpled, rather attractively, to the floor, à la Scarlet O’Hara. Not so in Eileen’s case. Her body stayed completely rigid and she tipped backward like an upended vase. One of the bridesmaids gave a terrified scream, which set off the others. Soon, the whole group had dissolved into chaos.
“Call 9-1-1!” a bridesmaid kept screaming. “Call 9-1-1!”
“I’m a doctor, goddammit!” Neil and at least two of his attendants cried. They hurried to crouch over Eileen’s comatose form.
“She’s not dead!” another bridesmaid wailed. “She can’t be dead.”
“It’s okay,” a male voice attempted to soothe them, “she just fainted.”
“But she hit her head on the floor!” someone shrieked. “I heard it crack!”
“How could it crack?” another replied. “The floor’s carpeted.”
“You’ve killed her!” Nicola screamed at her father. “You’ve killed my mother at my rehearsal dinner! I hate you! I hate you!”
A crowd of guests had emerged from The Garden Room and were now surrounding the maelstrom, as were a number of hotel staff. I felt the urge to help, to at least offer my wrap to keep poor Eileen warm. But obviously, my good intentions would not be welcome. “Let’s go,” Martin said, commandingly, and pushed me through the restaurant and out into the night.
No one said anything until we were safely inside a cab zooming back to Queen Anne. Sophie spoke first. “Poor Nicola. This is just so awful.”
“It is,” I sniffled, digging in my purse for a tissue.
“I just don’t understand how you couldn’t have known, Beth,” she continued. “I mean, weren’t there signs?”
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “I just thought he worked a lot, and he told me he lived on Bainbridge Island.”
Angie sighed. “I remember Nicola saying that her parents had a summer place there.”
“Oh god,” I moaned. “That must be where he took me.” A sudden jolt of remembrance struck me: Jim and I rolling around passionately in the feminine apricot guest room. It was probably Nicola’s bedroom! I had almost had sex with her dad in her own summer bedroom! She would hate me forever!
“Look,” Martin said from his position in the front seat, “I’m sure if we dissected the past few months we’d find all sorts of clues, but what’s the point? Right now we have to focus on helping our friends get through this.”
“Nicola must be crushed,” Sophie said. “She worships her father.”
Angie countered, “I think we can safely put that verb in the past tense.”
“Poor Nicola. And poor Eileen.”
“What about me?” I felt like whining. “I’m a victim in this too!” But of course, my angst was nothing compared with finding out at your daughter’s rehearsal dinner that your husband had been cheating on you, or that your much-adored father had been banging one of the guest speakers. Not that we had ever actually banged, but it was not for lack of trying. God, it was no wonder Jim had problems getting it up. His guilty conscience must have been affecting his erection.
“Obviously, we’ll need to contact Nicola soon,” Angie said. “We don’t want to be painted with the same brush as—” She caught herself. “Sorry Beth, it’s just that we don’t want Nic to think that we knew what was going on between you and Jim.”
“I know,” I sniffled, a fresh batch of tears seeping from my eyes.
Sophie added, “She’s really going to need the support of all of her friends right now.”
“We’re going to have to rally around her,” Angie said.
“Yep,” Martin nodded from the front seat.
I wanted them to rally around me as well. It look all of my willpower not to beg: “I need you too! Don’t desert me because of one stupid mistake!” I couldn’t believe that in one horrible evening, I’d lost the man I loved and my dear friend... and sort of... stepdaughter, I guess. I suddenly felt extremely nauseous. But still... what Nicola was going through was much worse. It would have been selfish to plead for their support.
Moments later the cab pulled up in front of my apartment. I began to fish in my purse for cab fare. I didn’t want my friends to think I was cheap as well as an adulteress. “Don’t worry, Beth,” Martin said. “We’ve got it covered.”
This small gesture of kindness sent another wave of emotion through me. “Thanks,” I managed to mumble as I dabbed my eyes with the soggy Kleenex. Clutching the door handle, I faced my friends before exiting. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I’m sorry... about ruining everything.”
“Stop blaming yourself,” Martin said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“You didn’t know,” Sophie agreed, a little grudgingly.
I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the curb. As I turned to close it behind me, Angie scooted out to join me on the sidewalk. “Wh-what are you doing?” I asked.
“What? Did you think I was going to leave you alone in the state you’re in?” She turned back to the taxi. “Good night!” she called, waving them off. Then, tucking her arm through mine, we walked to my building.
As soon as we stepped into the apartment, we could hear Kendra on the phone.
“I mean, what if I had lain down on the sofa and the knitting needle had punctured my jugular? What then? . . . I know ... I know... I would have bled to death in a matter of minutes.”
I let the door slam behind me to alert her to our presence. “Let’s go to my bedroom,” I said morosely.
“We’re not thirteen,” Angie retorted. “We shouldn’t have to hide out in your room like a couple of kids.” She stalked through the kitchen in her high heels to where Kendra was pacing in the dining area. “Umm...excuse me,” she said, waving her hand to get Kendra’s attention. I hung back a few steps behind, biting my lip anxiously. Now that I wouldn’t be able to move into Jim’s Seattle apartment, I couldn’t afford to blow things with my roommate.
Kendra gave Angie a withering look but said into the receiver, “Just a second, Mom . . .”
“Hi,” my friend stepped forward, extending her hand. “You must be Kendra. I’m Angie Morris . . . Yes, I’m that Angie Morris, co-host of The Buzz on Channel 13.” Kendra continued to stare at her warily.
“Listen Kendra,” Angie said, adopting a serious tone. “Beth and I have been through a real tragedy tonight. We were attending a friend’s rehearsal dinner and there was a medical emergency. The bride’s mother... she collapsed. We don’t know what the prognosis is yet but... we do know that she’s going to have a real struggle ahead of her.”
“Oh . . . well, that’s a shame.”
“I know. So we were wondering if you could take your phone call into your room, so Beth and I could have a little time alone to decompress?” She lowered her voice as if I couldn’t hear. “She’s really been shaken up by this.”
Kendra glanced over Angie’s shoulder and saw m
e standing there. I must have looked a complete mess because she put the phone back to her ear, said, “Sorry about that, Mom,” and proceeded to her bedroom.
Alone, Angie and I sat at the kitchen table. I stared blindly at the quilted placemat before me, absently playing with the ceramic frog-shaped salt shaker. Angie sighed. “God, what a night.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Do you want something to drink? Wine? Tea, maybe?”
“Tea would be nice. I’ll put the kettle on.” I started to get up but she put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “I’ll do it. You just take it easy.” Her kindness brought another onslaught of tears, but I silently wiped them away with the back of my hand as Angie filled the kettle.
When she returned, she looked at me earnestly. “You really had no idea, did you?”
“None,” I croaked. “God, I would never have gone out with Jim had I known. I mean, I left Colin because I wanted to get married and start a family! Oh god!” I cried. “Colin wanted to try to work things out with me but I was so sure I had a future with Jim!”
Angie placed her hand over mine. “Oh, Beth . . .”
“Jim said we were going to go on a trip together... He said he was going to get an apartment in Seattle . . .” The tears were flowing freely now. “I really thought...” I trailed off.
Angie retrieved the seashell-appliquéd Kleenex box from on top of the TV and placed it on the table before me. “I know this sucks right now, but you’ll get through it.”
I blew my nose loudly. “Nicola will never forgive me.”
Angie sighed. “That’s a lot to ask, Beth. I mean, you slept with her dad.”
“We never actually slept together,” I countered.
“Somehow, I don’t think the fact that you told all her friends that her dad can’t get it up is going to make her feel any better.”
“I didn’t know it was her dad!” I cried in a hushed voice, for fear of alerting Kendra. Such immoral behaviour would certainly be grounds for eviction.
“Of course you didn’t, but put yourself in her shoes. You’d be pretty pissed off if I got it on with your dad.”
“Angie,” I said, “you’ve seen my dad.” My father was a balding, portly man of sixty-six. While he had twinkling blue eyes and a friendly smile, he was no Jim Davidson.
“I think your dad’s kind of cute. He has nice hands.”
“Don’t be gross!” I snapped.
“See?” she said, laughing despite the gravity of the situation. “No girl wants to think of her dad as a sexual object.”
“But Jim’s so young,” I said. “How many forty-eight year olds have twenty-eight-year-old kids?”
“It’s pretty rare.”
We sat in silence for a moment, each of us absorbed in her own thoughts. Finally, I said, “I know this is about Nicola and her wedding and everything but... I was kind of in love with him, you know.”
“I know,” she said gently. The kettle began to shriek and Angie stood up. “Where do you keep your tea?”
Thirty
THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke to the sound of the blender. While Kendra made her breakfast smoothie, I lay huddled under the blankets, my eyes still stinging from yesterday’s tears. When Angie had finally left last night, her parting words were: “Try to get some sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning.” While brighter might have been a bit of an exaggeration, the whole mess did seem slightly less insurmountable.
I had to talk to Nicola; there was no doubt about it. Once she realized that I, too, was a victim of her father’s lies and perhaps my own stupidity, she would have to forgive me. In fact, once she understood that I really had no idea that Jim was married, let alone to her mother, maybe we could commiserate? Discuss his numerous untruths and deceptions? Perhaps Eileen Davidson would even like to join us? We would meet at Nicola’s apartment, and over wine—or something a little stronger, say... martinis—we could bitch about our betrayal. Maybe we would even come up with a plan for revenge? We’d be like The First Wives Club—except we’d be The First Wife, The Ex-Mistress, and The Estranged Daughter Club.
When Kendra finally left, I stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone. As I began to dial, I had a sudden attack of nerves. What if Nicola refused to take my call? What if Eileen answered the phone? Or worse, Jim? What if the three of them had stayed up all night talking and crying and had reunited as a family? Maybe Jim had convinced them that it was all my fault. He might have told them that I seduced him, that I had worn a ridiculously short skirt and revealing top to our first interview, and he’d been powerless to resist me! No, I couldn’t call.
At that moment the phone rang in my hand. My heart began to beat rapidly with fear. It would undoubtedly be someone from Nicola’s camp calling to berate me. It was probably one of those look-alike bridesmaids. She might even be calling from a cell phone to let me know that the five of them were outside my building and could I please come downstairs so they could beat me with chains and tire irons. I couldn’t answer it! But amidst my fear, I felt a small glimmer of hope. Maybe it was Nicola reaching out to me? I picked up the phone.
“How are you feeling today?” Sophie asked, her tone not altogether unkind.
Well, it wasn’t Nicola but at least it wasn’t a menacing gang of bridesmaids. “A little better, I guess.”
“Good. I just got a call from one of Neil’s attendants. The wedding’s been postponed . . . indefinitely.”
“Oh . . . have you spoken to Nicola?”
“She’s not accepting calls right now. Neil’s friend is going to tell her that I’d love to talk to her, and that I had no idea—” She stopped.
“That I was dating her dad,” I finished glumly.
“Well . . . yeah. I mean, she’d feel even more betrayed if she thought we knew about it.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’m going to take Flynn to the park. If I hear from Nicola, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. So...will I see you Thursday at the stitch ’n bitch club?”
Sophie hesitated before answering. “I think we should maybe leave it for a while. You know... just until things calm down.”
“Right.”
When I hung up, I felt the prick of tears returning to my eyes. Any sense of promise for a positive outcome to this disaster had drained out of me. Sophie was pulling away from me, I could feel it. She was siding with Nicola, and who could blame her? She was probably afraid to have me over to her house in case her dad popped by for a visit. I couldn’t bear to lose the stitch ’n bitch club! They were the best friends and the cheapest therapy I’d ever had!
I was slicing a cucumber with the hope that the slices would soothe my irritated eyes, when the phone rang again. This time, I was too defeated to feel any fear.
“Hello?”
“Are you feeling any better?” Angie asked.
“No,” I said, my voice wobbling with emotion.
“Well, I had a call this morning from one of the bridesmaids.”
“Where was she?” I asked, a little fearfully.
“What? I don’t know. The wedding’s been postponed.”
“I know.”
“Did Sophie call you?”
“Yeah. I think she hates me now.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Angie said supportively. “She’s just a little overwhelmed by all that’s happened.”
A sob shook my words. “She—she said we should cancel the stitch ’n bitch club.”
“Well . . .” Angie began ruefully, “it’s just for a while . . . until things calm down.” I nodded, mutely. My friend filled the silence. “Nicola’s not taking any calls right now. Her mother’s been sedated and she’s staying by her bedside. I’ll give her a few days and then try to contact her again. I’m hoping she’ll talk to me. I told her bridesmaid to let her know that I didn’t know about... uh . . . well . . . you know . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So . . . I want you to get up, get dresse
d, and get some fresh air. I know it’s going to be hard for a while, but you can’t let this destroy you.”
“Okay.”
After I’d hung up, I was tempted to guzzle the family-sized bottle of Nyquil that Kendra kept in the medicine cabinet and head back to bed, but I followed Angie’s advice. Instead of lying around with cucumber slices on my eyes, I ate them. It was about all the solid food I could handle, but I desperately needed a coffee. Grabbing a crumpled pair of jeans off my bedroom floor, I slid them on, followed by a baggy sweater with no bra. Since I would never love again, it didn’t really matter what my boobs looked like. Hair uncombed and face devoid of makeup, I headed out to the street.
At the coffee shop around the corner I ordered a large latte. Hopefully, the caffeine would stimulate me out of my melancholy. When my order was ready, I methodically doctored the frothy beverage, adding two packets of raw sugar and stirring slowly until the sweetener dissolved. I dreaded going back to the empty apartment. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts and memories—not to mention the telephone that could only relay more anger and disappointment. But a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror behind the coffee counter told me I really wasn’t fit to be seen in public. Just because I would never have another relationship with the opposite sex didn’t mean I should go around scaring people. Holding the warm paper cup, I walked back out onto the sunny sidewalk.
As I approached my building, I heard a car door slam across the street. Still a little frightened about a bridesmaid swarming, my head jerked nervously toward the sound. I recognized the car first, the dark blue BMW that had once so impressed me. And there he was, walking briskly toward me, his face set in a grim expression. Something about the steely look in his eye made me want to run inside and hide. I took a step toward the door, but he called out, “Beth!” In contrast to his hardened expression, his voice was plaintive.
“Go away!” I called back, but stood my ground. He broke into a jog and was soon face-to-face with me.
“We need to talk.”
He looked tense and tired, but nowhere near as bad as I did. “I told you at the wedding, there’s nothing to talk about.”
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