by L. C. Warman
Bella glanced over at Katie and scowled. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Well, apparently the feeling is mutual.”
Julia snorted at this, but the noise had no humor in it. Atul felt a profound sadness come over him as silence descended on the group once more. Not long ago, they had enjoyed each other’s company with ease. Lia’s departure had unraveled the group, but not at first: they had spent years trying to get together, to force a magic that was no longer there. Atul had been there for them when he could be, and vice versa, but it was as if the laughter had drained from every interaction.
And Atul thought he knew why.
At least, part of the reason. The problem was, he couldn’t share it with anyone else. But when he thought of it, Atul grew angry. Angry because things could have been so different—if only Lia hadn’t gone, if only he had not been so self-absorbed, if only the rest of them had understood that they needed each other, especially after a blow like the one…well.
But that was not the way the world worked. Now, Atul was trapped in a yawning ballroom, surrounded by the ghosts of friendships past and thinking about the bleakness of their future.
Chapter 9
Harry perused the array of snacks laid out on the buffet table: smoked gouda and multigrain crackers, lobster on some sort of sweet potato chip, blackberries and fig spread and something that might have been red bean hummus or pâté or something else entirely.
What he could not do, he knew, was look around the room. Because Alyssa was nearby watching him, and would immediately jump to the conclusion that he was looking for Lia.
Even if that was exactly what he wished to do.
Oh, not because he still harbored feelings for her, of course—they had been so young back then, and Harry had in his own way been frustrated with the relationship before Lia had left. He had been hemming and hawing about breaking up, wondering if he should go to college single as so many of his friends suggested, though he had struggled in a boyish, immature way, thinking to himself about birds in hands versus bushes, wondering if it was possible to find a girl as pretty and nice as Lia who would want to be with him. He had been relieved when she had left, once he had gotten over his bruised ego.
And now? Now he wanted to see the girl who had left it all behind years ago, who had pursued a dream and come back empty-handed. He wanted to read on her face her emotions: disappointment? Despair? Relief? What was it like, on the other side of the death of a dream? Harry didn’t know; he had never dreamed like Lia had. It was something he had always liked about her.
“Fancy catching you here,” a man said, and Harry spun around to see Lucas Kowalski, looking tall and smart in his finely cut suit, holding a glass of wine.
Lucas looked amused, which annoyed Harry, for some reason. What did he have to smirk about?
“Good to see you, Lucas,” Harry said. “Seems like all the old high school friends are coming out tonight.”
Lucas graced this with a polite chuckle, that glint still in his eye. Harry tried not to let his annoyance show. He and Lucas had been friends in high school, moderately good friends, in that they had both played on the lacrosse team and shared a few classes here and there. Lucas had been smaller back then, quieter: in some monstrous turn of fortune, he had grown six inches his senior year of high school, his personality multiplying with his size. Harry thought that he, too, would be confident and gregarious if he was six-four. The world was always kinder to tall men.
“Have you spoken to Lia yet?” Lucas asked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I heard she’d be here. No. Have you?”
“No,” Lucas said thoughtfully. “But I think I might.” He shook himself. “She’s just over there, by the bar.”
Harry risked it, but only after glancing at Alyssa, who was leading Clarissa away to some distant corner of the room for one of their frequent girl chats. He spun and took in Lia, trying to impress every detail in his memory to review and dissect later.
She looked almost the same, Harry thought, but she carried herself differently. How, he could not even articulate: it was in the slope of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. Better or worse, he could not determine. She still had the same dark eyes, the same angled chin that gave her a strange and almost awkward profile, but which transformed into something startling and beautiful head-on. Her hair was swept up into a loose bun, and she wore a stunning, floor-length gown that certainly couldn’t have been part of her wardrobe. Unless, of course, that was par for the course in Hollywood, if that was what aspiring actresses had in their closets all the time, just in case.
He turned back to Lucas, expecting the amused glint to be directed his way again, but Lucas was still staring at Lia, thoughtful.
“How long will she be in town?” Lucas asked.
“Who knows,” Harry said—almost snapped, before he caught himself. “Not long, I presume.”
The slam of a door startled them both. Harry heard the stomp of heels on the ground, and then his mother appeared at the threshold of the ballroom, face a shocking shade of red. She spotted him and strode over, hands shaking as they held up her skirts.
“Mom?” Harry said, stepping to her. “What’s the matter?”
“Where is she?” his mother spat, shoulders still shaking. Her cream-colored gown revealed a thin line of sweat sweeping from underarm to underarm. “Where is she? I need to talk to her.”
She made an effort to control the volume of her voice, glancing left and right at the people who had paused their conversation to take in the strange scene. With an effort she brushed back one strand of her hair and squared her shoulders, forcing a pained smile.
“What’s wrong?” Harry repeated as Lucas quickly poured a glass of water and offered it to Harry’s mother, who took it with a confused expression. “Mom? What’s going on?”
His mother didn’t answer. Her eyes went wider, and a look of pure malice spread over her features. Harry did not need to turn to see that she was staring at Lia.
“Bring her to me,” she said, voice cold.
Chapter 10
Lia could not believe that she had been guilted into this. What incredible folly, what astonishing foolishness, to think that she could attend such an event! She felt as if the eyes of the entire room were turned upon her, and at the same time, as if every shoulder were turned against her. She knew it had to be self-absorption that made it feel that way, that the Eastwicks’ friends were not all hers and plenty of them had no idea who she was; still she felt enough of their raised eyebrows and cold interest to feel herself the object of negative scrutiny and wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor and disappear.
She promised herself she could escape as soon as she had made the rounds, and was just getting ready to do so when she spotted Atul at the other end of the room. Her heartbeat quickened, and she felt something like hope: if anyone would be happy to see her, it would be Atul, kind Atul who always had a positive word for all of them growing up, who soothed over their spats and who listened to each side, taking none.
Lia approached, seeing as she did so that he was in a perfect circle of her high school friends: there was Julia, and Katie, and Bella, all ringed around him. Lia felt her stomach twist; over the years she had lost touch with them all, fueled at first by excitement and nervousness during her first few months in the new city, later prolonged due to her fear of reaching back out, her worry about whether they would judge the endless cycle of audition-rejection-reinvention that seemed to be the norm out in Los Angeles, but which only fellow actors and entertainers could understand. She feared the questions: When are you coming home? How much longer will you give this? Or worse, the platitudes: I’m sure you’ll get the next job! Oh, plenty of actors took a while to get their big break, right? And all of it had been silly and for naught, for now Lia was back, without her friends and without her pride.
She caught Atul’s eye as she walked over and smiled as wide as she could. Atul returned it, thank goodness—but was Lia imagining
something frosty in it? Atul was never frosty. She hesitated, then plunged forward, pressing one hand onto Bella’s shoulder as she slipped into the circle, smiling around at the rest of them like some babbling idiot, not sure what to do or what to say and managing only:
“Hey guys!”
Stony faces met hers. Katie broke the silence first, drawing Lia into a hug and smiling, too, though she seemed grim.
“Lia!” Katie said. Katie had always been the most well-liked out of all of them, with friends in all grades and social groups. She had an ease about her that Lia always envied. “It’s been so long! How are you?”
“Oh, fine,” Lia said, with a nervous laugh. She glanced at Atul, who still looked grim. Then at Julia—Julia, always the smart one. What was Julia doing now? Was she a doctor, a lawyer, a scientist? Lia had deactivated her old social media accounts upon moving to Los Angeles, creating new ones totally disconnected from her past life. At the time it seemed like a good idea; now it just seemed like folly, an attempt to reinvent herself when she had really no need to, an attempt to slough off her old life when doing so meant that her new image was just a hollow shell, devoid of history, connections, friendships.
And Bella—why was Bella looking at her that way? Was she imagining it? Were they really so angry with her, after all these years?
“I’m sorry I didn’t call more,” Lia blurted. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure what to say, after some time. I missed you all. I wish I had stayed in touch…” She trailed off, her words met with blank faces and neutral expressions. No understanding nods, no hands placed gently on her arm. No “it’s fine, of course, we forgive you!”s. Lia felt a little nauseous.
“Don’t worry about any of that,” Katie said, after a beat. “How long are you staying?”
“Just for the holidays—”
“YOU!”
The booming voice made all of them jump, and Lia whirled around to face one of the apparitions she most dreaded meeting that night.
Paulette McKenzie.
The mother of her high school boyfriend made a beeline for her. Lia saw the other guests take notice, nudging their friends and nodding in her direction, their expressions ranging from confused to intrigued.
Lia had time only for a few observations of her former potential-future-mother-in-law: first, Paulette looked exactly the same, though with the skin pulled tighter over her square face. Second, Paulette had not, in the interim ten years, softened in her regard for Lia in the slightest. Third, Paulette looked angry enough to murder her.
“You,” she hissed, coming up close to Lia and snaking her hand around Lia’s arm. “You’re going to come with me right. Now.”
Lia had barely enough time to register that Harry was behind Paulette, Harry and some tall friend who met Lia’s eyes with cool interest. She tried to pry Paulette’s fingers off of her arm as Harry took his mother gently by the shoulders and whispered in her ear, his eyes darting only once up to Lia.
“I won’t let her pull this,” Paulette said. “If she thinks she can come here and—” Her voice grew high and shrill. Katie and Atul exchanged a glance, while Bella scowled and Julia looked forlornly at Paulette, some dark shadow passing over her face. Harry bent again to his mother’s ear and whispered quickly, and Paulette finally released her talon-like grip.
Lia remained frozen, eyes still searching Harry’s. How strange it was, she thought, to be here again, as though she had been transported ten years in the past (albeit, to a much fancier part). And yet the friends she met greeted her with icy coolness. And Harry, Harry would barely even look at her. It was like she had been exiled from her past life—except, she had done the exiling herself.
And Harry: he was the same as ever. Eyes so dark they were almost black, a helmet of dark brown curls that caressed his ears (No update in haircut, eh? Lia thought). A pale complexion, broad shoulders, and that way he cocked his head just so, making him look boyish and intrigued all at the same time.
The butterflies were there, too, but not the butterflies of young love, or even of rekindled lust. The butterflies of seeing an ex, of being exposed to their sight and their judgment, and knowing that in comparison, she came up far, far short.
“Harry,” Lia said finally. She almost extended him a hand before thinking better of it. “It’s good to see you.”
“Harry!” Paulette said, voice high and shrill. Lia colored; she felt as though the eyes of the whole room had turned upon her. “Harry! Now!”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, blushing. “I need you to come with us for a moment.”
Chapter 11
Paulette didn’t trust that nasty young woman one bit.
She had seen the way the girl eyed her son, watched her as she twirled a strand of dark hair on her head, looking coquettishly at a boy who would never again be within her reach. But all that, all that was expected! This betrayal—this—this monstrosity—was beyond belief.
She could murder her.
But instead she followed her son and that woman into a spare bedroom of the Eastwick mansion, one of those horrendous rooms full of drapes and canopied bedspreads and vintage boudoirs. Paulette had always pretended, around Elizabeth, to be absolutely charmed with them, though in truth she could think of nothing she liked less than stuffy oversized furniture and restored antiques. It screamed old money so loudly as to be almost pathetic—the truly wealthy, like herself, had no need to flaunt it with such grotesque shows. The truly wealthy knew how to be discreet.
The truly wealthy knew how to keep a secret.
“You,” Paulette said, turning on Lia just as Harry shut the door. But Paulette drew back almost immediately: they were not alone, but joined by one of Harry’s friends from the party. What was his name again—Luke, Lars?
“Um, Lucas,” Harry said, blushing, as he looked from his mother to his tall friend. “This is a family matter. It might be best if you—”
“She’s not family,” Lucas said, nodding towards Lia. The silly girl was looking like a lost duckling, head swiveling from left to right, complexion pale, bare arms clutching each other.
“What does that matter?” Harry said, annoyed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Mrs. McKenzie, you’re obviously distraught about something,” Lucas said, turning his head towards Paulette. “Something to do with Lia?”
“Yes!” Paulette said, teeth clenching. It was all she could do not to throw her hands around Lia’s throat. “This woman is—is blackmailing me.”
This would be the place in a movie where Lucas would gasp, Lia would faint, and her own son would shout something supportive and disbelieving, like, “Say it isn’t so, my dear mother!” But instead the three young people looked at her with blank, confused expressions, as if they couldn’t quite make sense of the word.
“Mom?” Harry said finally.
She hadn’t planned on producing the note here, but what else could she do, with the three of them gaping at her like beached fishes? She tore it from her purse, where she had crumpled and stuffed it down, down, down, beneath her matte lipstick and coconut hand sanitizer to where it could get lost in the sea of other receipts from the past week, where it could disappear like the shameful thing it was.
Paulette handed it to Harry. He read it, puzzled, as Lucas came to peer over his shoulder.
“I know your secret,” Lucas read aloud. “For $250,000, it can remain a secret. Further instructions to follow.”
Both boys looked up at Lia.
“I never wrote anything like that!” Lia said. She did a good job of looking confused, Paulette would give her that. But what else could one expect from an actress?
“Where did you find this, Mom?” Harry said slowly. “And what secret are they talking about?”
Paulette gave Lia a long, hard look, daring her to say anything. But of course the girl wouldn’t; of course she wanted her money, her way to weasel back into the life of St. Clair, which she had been only too willing to give up ten years ago. Paule
tte had never liked her, not when Harry had first shown Paulette a picture of the girl’s Cheshire Cat smile in the school yearbook, not when she had gone out for lobster and sushi on the shore with them at the yacht club and told Paulette she was a vegetarian, not when she had come over for Thanksgiving, senior year of high school, and Paulette had seen the way her son had looked at her.
And now? Now the girl was going to try to profit from those moments where she had ingratiated herself into their lives. Paulette had no doubt in her mind it was Lia: who else had just arrived in town? Who else had the need for the money?
Who else knew her secret?
But Lia remained silent.
“Mom?” Harry said again. “Where did you find this?”
“It was slipped inside my purse,” Paulette said. “Inside the coat room.”
“But anyone could have done that!” Lia burst. “You can’t think it was me—it’s not even my handwriting.”
“It looks like it was written with someone’s left hand—or non-dominant hand,” Lucas said, peering again over Harry’s shoulder. “Someone attempting to disguise it.”
“But I didn’t do that!” Lia cried.
“Kindly get out,” Paulette said to Lucas. To Harry she added, “You see, Harry? The first thing she does when she returns—try to get money from me!”
“Maybe it was a prank,” Harry said, frowning. “What secrets are they talking about, Mom? You don’t have any—at least, nothing that you’d pay $250,000 to keep.” The last was said lightly, but Paulette saw the seed of suspicion in his eyes as he looked up at her. That was the first thing that Paulette would punish the girl for—making her son look at her in that way. Making him think the worst of her, all because of an ill-conceived little note.
“Of course I don’t,” Paulette lied. “So if you’ll just admit it was you,” she added to Lia, lip curling, “then we’ll be done with it. And you’ll leave me alone from now on.”