by Saks, Tessa
The doorman nodded as she walked past rows of glossy ebonized sycamore and striped Macassar wood showcases filled with lavish treasures, glittering like fractured sunlight on water. She walked to the back counter where a young gentleman in a well-made suit stood attentively.
“I’m Mrs. Horvath. I have a ring to pick up.”
“Mrs. Horvath, yes, one moment.” The attractive gentlemen ducked into an office.
He reappeared with a little blue box. Ellen stood in breathless anticipation as he opened the box. A flash of light sparkled as a glorious emerald-cut diamond set in platinum greeted her.
“It’s beautiful,” Ellen said as she reached for the ring. It had to be at least four carats, perhaps five. She held it out and admired the cut and design, a beautiful diamond with rising pave on each side. She looked at the engraving inside, then reached for her reading glasses and read, “Eternal love JW.” Ellen’s heart quickened as she slipped the ring onto her finger. She tried to push the ring past her knuckle as the manager approached the counter.
“It’s too small,” Ellen said. “It needs to be sized correctly.” Ellen handed the ring back.
“But it has already been sized,” the young clerk said and checked the size on the tag. Then he slipped the ring onto a sizing cone. “See, a size six.”
“You’ve obviously made a mistake and reversed the size, for I am a nine on that finger. The engraving will probably need to be redone.”
“I need a word,” the manager said rather sternly to the young clerk. “Please excuse us, Mrs. Horvath,” he said, with a tight smile.
“Certainly.” They slipped into the office, and in their absence, Ellen admired the beautiful ring set halfway up her finger. As she studied the play of light, she noticed the annoying age spots on her hands were getting worse and would need a lot of bleaching cream before the trip.
After a few minutes, the manager appeared, followed by the young clerk.
“Mrs. Horvath, I’m sorry, there’s been some confusion.”
Ellen put her hand down onto the counter. “Oh?”
“Yes, this is not your ring. We do not have anything for you. I regret the call was in error.” The manager held out his hand as the clerk turned away, his cheeks now crimson.
“Well, that is a shame, I rather liked this one.” Ellen handed the ring back. The young clerk placed it back in the box, his eyes downcast the entire time.
“So, where’s my ring?”
“That is the error, Mrs. Horvath. I’m sorry, but we haven’t any ring for you.”
“An error? No, I was told I had a ring to pick up.”
“No. There is nothing. We could—”
“Check again,” she demanded as embarrassment blazed across the manager’s face.
“I said, check again. I want to see my ring.”
“Madam, there’s been a mistake. You understand we can’t—” he pleaded.
“But the inscription. You must have a ring for me. You phoned me.” Ellen’s voice rose with agitation. “Look, here …” She pulled the order slip and held it out. “Here is Jonathan’s signature, and here, that’s our account number.” Ellen looked at the two of them, their sheepish expression and suddenly grasped the problem. “Oh wait, is this because it’s supposed to be a surprise?” Ellen smiled with relief. “I won’t say a word.” She winked, delighted at their secrecy.
They stood gaping, unable to speak as they wrestled to find their voices. Finally, the manager said, “There is no surprise, I’m afraid. I regret our policy doesn’t allow us to discuss other purchases. Please, accept my apologies for the error on our behalf. Perhaps you wish to purchase something on your husband’s account. We will offer you a ten percent discount for any inconvenience this caused you.”
Ellen turned away, suddenly aware of exactly why they were denying knowledge of any ring. She knew all about their confidentiality policy. Her body stiffened with disgust as the reality of the engraving came into light. “Of course … the ring isn’t for me. That’s it, isn’t it?”
They both stood silently avoiding the question, unsure how to answer. “You see, the truth is Mrs. Horvath, we have no ring for you or anyone. Your husband did not order any rings.”
Ellen studied his face as he spoke. He shifted his eyes away from her gaze and struggled to stand still. Liar, she wanted to scream. Her anger rose as she pictured the scene of Jonathan and Samantha standing together, picking out rings. Her insides began to churn as her body started to tremble. This was the end. This was everything she was afraid of. She wanted to scream—to lash out at someone, and nothing could stop her from exploding in rage.
Then she spotted Mrs. Z standing across from her at the Sclumberger display case. Ellen’s face flushed with heat. She nodded and smiled toward Mrs. Z in acknowledgment and Mrs. Z smiled approvingly in return. She tried to calm her rage.
“It’s fine,” she said in a soft voice and smiled sweetly at the clerk and manager. “I know all about this ring. It’s for my daughter,” she lied. “She’s engaged and of all coincidences, his name is … Jordan West. My darling husband wants to pay for the ring. She’s so excited, but this is a surprise for her.” Ellen forced an artificial laugh. “I understand your confidentiality policy, of course I do. We can just keep this between us.”
They looked stunned as she picked up the ring box and opened it again. She held the ring out, studying it, before slipping it on her little finger. She held it up to the light, then took it off and handed the ring and the box back to them. “I’m sure she will love it.”
The manager placed the ring into the box. “Please excuse me. Good afternoon.”
Ellen nodded and watched him slither into the office. She turned to the young clerk, who appeared relieved by his departure. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Horvath,” he whispered.
Ellen nodded and smiled. “She’s a very lucky girl, to have a ring like that, and so young.”
“Oh yes,” he said unable to hide his pride. He leaned close and whispered, “I helped her with it, she was very pleased and so was he.”
“Mr. Horvath?”
“Yes, he said she could have whatever she wanted, no price limit.”
“Of course, he’s good like that.” Ellen’s brittle anger resurfaced. She looked at his name badge. “Brad, let’s pick something out for me, for the mother of the bride. Something horribly expensive. How about I come in next week and we design something truly special.”
Bradley nodded just as Mrs. Z approached. “Ellen, I couldn’t help noticing the lovely ring you were admiring, a gift from Jonathan?”
“Yes,” Ellen said, winking at Bradley. “He certainly knows how to spoil his ladies.”
As Ellen said goodbye and walked through the counters, her rage returned with full force.
She stepped outside. In the sudden brightness of sunlight, she was fully aware that it was over and she had lost, and nothing in her life would ever be the same again.
And in that instant, everything she knew, everything she loved, everything she held dear had slipped away. With one swift blow, she was left standing alone, unable to do anything at all to fix it. She had failed … and now, would lose everything that mattered.
***
Ellen marched in the reception area of Baumann and Mackenzie. She pushed the double doors open and headed into Roger’s office. He was on the phone, his back to the door when she burst in.
“Roger, what is going on? I demand to know.” Ellen stood with her arms folded.
Roger spun around “Ellen? Excuse me Fred—I’ll get back to you in twenty minutes.”
“This will only take five—is Jonathan filing a divorce action?”
“Now Ellen, you know client confidentiality won’t allow—”
“Roger, I am also your client. If my name is on that divorce summons, I have just as much right to know. And I need to know—now!”
“Ellen, this is not for—”
“Damn it Roger! Just tell me.”
Roger stared
at her. He leaned back in his chair, tapping on the leather armrests.
“If you say nothing, I’ll assume that I face being served a divorce summons in the next thirty days.” Ellen moved closer. “If I’m not, you could easily put my mind at ease.”
Roger sat in silence. Ellen prayed for him to speak, prayed he would tell her it’s all a lie, a big mistake. The silence hung heavy as she waited, for what seemed an endless amount of time.
“I’m sorry, Ellen.”
The words “I’m sorry, Ellen” told her all she needed to know. They cut into her deeper than any knife. It was underway, and Jonathan had been plotting this all along. She stood motionless as despair circled around her, pulling her down until she grabbed the back of the chair beside her for support.
“My God,” she cried aloud, unable to concentrate. “How can this be?”
“Ellen, it’s just the preliminary stage, these things take time to reach an amicable—”
“Stop!” Ellen held her hand up to shush him. “You’re pitiful and heartless, don’t you dare speak another word.” Ellen stared at Roger for a moment, then turned and walked calmly to the door. The handle was cold and slippery as she opened the door, and her head pounded as blood forced pressure on every vein in her body.
Jonathan was actually doing this. He wanted a divorce and even without her consent, he would eventually win. She was finished. For the first time in her life, she no longer wanted to live. For the first time in her life, she felt unbearable pain and wanted nothing more than for it end.
CHAPTER 13
Sam flipped through the bridal magazines on her desk. She wanted to phone her mother and tell her, but she knew it would be better to wait until it was all completely official. Her fingers traced over the pages filled with creamy dresses and designer dreams. She had secretly planned to marry Jonathan all along, but now that she was so close, it was different—it was real. She wished Jonathan would hurry up with the divorce so she could start booking everything. Having to wait would be painful, but it was only a matter of time before everything she’d ever dreamed of would be hers. For the first time in her life, Sam felt secure about her future. She smiled and opened her phone list and dialed the number.
“Good morning, Waldorf Astoria, how may I be of service?” the cheery voice said smoothly, with mega sophistication.
“I need to talk to someone about using the large ballroom for a very big wedding,” Sam said, trying to imitate the woman’s formal style. Sam grinned as the on-hold music played, Pachelbel’s Canon, the music every bride dreams to hear on her wedding day.
As Sam listened to the slow, pulsating melody, she could see herself walking gracefully down a long, flower-edged aisle, in an expensive designer gown and a church filled with hundreds of important people, and all to the sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon.
***
Ellen stood in front of her bedroom window, looking out toward the garden, as wind raged through the trees. It was true. Her world was on the brink of annihilation and not a thing could be done to stop it. She walked to her bed and sat, staring out toward the heavy gray sky, as despair washed over her again. No time left for any other drastic measures, short of killing Samantha Miller.
Guilt and horror shot through her at even thinking that. How could she imagine such a despicable act? No, she couldn’t actually think of it—yet she wished her gone and wanted her out of her life more than ever. What could she actually do? Was there really a possible way to eliminate her? She thought about how Morty had come up empty in his investigation. What if he knew someone who could scare her, get her to move on, or … Stop it. You can’t. Don’t even think about it.
Ellen went to her desk and sat, staring into the gilt mirror mounted on the wall in front of her. Her face appeared harsh under the overhead light. She touched her cheek, thinking about how, as women age, beauty slowly fades and turns into something else. Refinement. Class. Nobility. Gone forever is the untamed beauty of a sexcat. Instead, the lusciousness mellows. Tempers. Softens. And at the same time, a harshness emerges in the new folds and ridges. The plump, firm vitality of youth slips into maternal comforts and thinning hair, broken veins, discoloration, crepe paper skin.
I’m soft in places that used to be firm and harsh in places that were once, soft. Time keeps etching deeper into my skin and body, stealing my youth, replacing it with worn-out parts. Jonathan accused me of being harsh and lacking compassion for his needs. Am I harsh? Have I lost my youth completely? Am I a bitter, demanding and resentful woman? A shrew?
Ellen turned away and pulled her box of monogrammed stationery out of the desk drawer. She thought about writing Jonathan a letter. Perhaps she should write one to Samantha as well. She reached for the pen and noticed a business card in the drawer from the psychic, the crazy woman from their corporate party. She picked up the card and remembered her words, “I can help you,” she had said. “I can do something no one else can.” What could she do? It seemed completely ridiculous to simply “hold the thought of what you want” and take an unknown herb— yet what if Crystal Dawn really did have something that worked?
The end of her marriage would be the end of love, the end of everything. She loved Jonathan and always would. Ellen had reached the edge. She needed something to happen that could salvage her marriage and her life. She thought of the bottles Patty had given her at lunch. The crazy plan could save her marriage; it had worked for other women. It was up to her now. She needed to take control.
She went to her desk and flipped through her appointment calendar, searching for instructions from her doctor visit. She noticed all the upcoming events, events that she would not be attending after he left her. So many places to go together. She shut the book and stared at the psychic’s business card, wishing she had tried the herb. Too late. Patty had already tossed them.
Ellen opened her purse and took out the two bottles of powder Patty had given her at lunch. The desperation cures. Each offered a promise of hope. Each held a potential for disaster. With such uncertain outcomes, could one be any better than the other? She looked at her wedding picture. The only real certainty she had was that if she didn’t act, it was over.
She studied the bottles again. Both had side effects. Both were dangerous. One held a specific outcome—a dangerous illness that would merit sympathy but would take a long time to develop, and the other—a more uncertain outcome depending on his reaction toward suicide, but had the benefit of immediacy. Both held promise. Both would keep him home and stop the divorce—even if only temporarily. Time was no longer her ally. No—suddenly and without warning, time had turned into her enemy, and these powders were her only defense.
She sat at her desk and stared at each one. How to decide? A part of her did not know what Jonathan would do if she were actually sick. Would he actually respond by caring? Would illness be enough to make him see what is most important?
And suicide! How could she imagine that anyone would believe she was capable of suicide? It was absurd. And God would punish her. But was it only wrong if you succeeded?
As Ellen sat deciding, the sky had grown dim, causing the automatic outdoor lights to turn on. She reached for a pen and started to write a note. This would be an explanation of her desperate action, in case something was to go wrong. But what could go wrong? She had no idea what possibilities lay before her. She only knew she couldn’t continue without any possibilities. She wrote the note trying to explain the futility of her life, the despair Jonathan caused, her inability to endure any more of it, and her decision to attempt one last desperate measure to keep him.
She folded it, tucking it inside her drawer, in a place no one would ever look, unless—unless she wasn’t around—and then he would find it, he would know. He would understand just how much she was willing to risk to fight for his love and their future together.
Ellen stared at the glass of water and the two vials. The only real question remaining was, which one to take? Ellen opened each bottle and looked at the powder
inside. They both looked like soft, white crystalline dust—a combination of sand and sea salt. Yet one powder sparkled more. Did it hold a greater potential for happiness, a greater potential for the promise of love—his love? She took the other vial and hid it inside the shoebox on her desk, then picked up the decoy suicide pill bottles the doctor had given her. These would be the prescriptions that Jonathan and everyone would think she had overdosed on. She tossed the empty decoy bottles onto the floor and then lifted the vial of chosen powder, staring at it as she held it up to the light. “Please help me,” she asked aloud. “Please work.”
She walked to her bed and poured the powder into a glass of water, then sat as the powder dispersed in colorful swirls and clouds. She set the glass down on the nightstand and picked up the shoebox containing the unchosen vial, walked over to her closet, then stepped up onto her stool and replaced her shoebox amongst the many others lining her shelves. Then she went to her nightstand, picked up the empty vial and carried it into the washroom, rinsed it, and tossed it into the trash. She turned and went to her bed, sat on its edge and picked up the spoon and glass, stirring until the liquid turned an amber color.
Should she pray? Would that help her?
“Forgive me, Father, for I am doing something wrong to make something right. The wrong I am doing is small compared to the right that I am fixing. I am doing this in your name, in the name of the union you blessed that no man should dissolve. I am doing this for him, for Jonathan. I am doing this to save him from himself, and I am doing this for love, our everlasting love.” Ellen pulled her bible out of the nightstand and set it on her lap, solidifying her pledge.
“Please God, help this to work. Help me to reverse this mess and have him love me,” she continued aloud. “Help me to be happy again, as Samantha is happy now. Help me to feel the joy and happiness of his love and devotion.” Ellen finished her prayer with a sign of the cross and raised her glass.