A Scandal at Eastwick

by L. C. Warman

  Chapter 36

  Arthur left Paulette’s house an hour later, heart churning in his chest.

  Obviously he had meant to break up with Paulette at some point—some point soon. But he had not expected this. Certainly he had thought his short-lived romance with Clarissa was something that didn’t need to be discussed with Paulette, but he had always figured that if it had come up, she would see it almost as a sort of compliment towards herself, a recognition that she was in league with twenty-something girls who knew worth when they saw it.

  Instead, Paulette had overreacted—severely. It was all of his worst fears about what people might think about a professor dating a student come true. She had raged at him for dating a child. She had shouted at him for dating the girl so close to her own relationship with him. She had intimated that Clarissa had probably hoped for a little more than romance when she hopped into Arthur’s bed.

  Old shrew, Arthur thought as he climbed into his car and turned the ignition. Well, stuff Paulette and her stupid declarations! He had been a single man all his life, and he could damn well be single again. The pain he was feeling now could only be due to the fact that she had broken it off with him—or at least, had said things like “get out of my house” and “don’t you dare try coming back again,” which meant, in Arthur’s limited experience, that he should avoid her for at least a week.

  Arthur drove home, his thoughts churning.

  “Blast it!” he muttered as he pulled into his drive. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the contacts. She was still there—he had been half-worried he had deleted her. Arthur dialed.

  Voicemail.

  “Come on,” Arthur muttered, face reddening. He called again.

  This time, Clarissa picked up on the second ring.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “Paulette found out about us.”

  A pause. “So?”

  Arthur felt a stab of something like panic. When he had told her that they could no longer see each other, she had been quite obviously upset—so upset that Arthur had feared she might make a scene, when he heard she was in town. Their relationship, if it could be called that, lasted only a few months; Arthur had always been aware of the appeal authority gave him to the younger generation, but Clarissa had been friendly, unassuming, and quite forward. She had made it easy to be with her, for which Arthur was grateful, but in the end he had concluded that it just wouldn’t do for his reputation, and so had asked her to remain friends. She had thrown a box of tissues at him and brought up all those silly little things he had said at the start of the relationship, about wanting to settle down and marry and maybe even start a family (ha!). Women should know better by now, Arthur thought, not to trust in such statements.

  But if Clarissa did not care now, when he called her? Well, it was possible, Arthur supposed, but he did not like it. He did not like it at all.

  “So,” Arthur continued, “she was quite upset to hear about us.”

  “Good,” Clarissa said. “I don’t really care for Paulette.”

  “Ah, but darling,” Arthur crowed, “I can understand why. A woman like you, though, has no reason to be jealous—”

  Clarissa laughed, harsh and bitter. “You’re misunderstanding me. I don’t care about Paulette, because she’s a mean woman. And I don’t care about you at all. I’m not jealous, Professor McKenzie.”

  “You don’t have to call me—”

  “You’re a real coward, you know that?” Clarissa said. “Deal with your own mess with your own family. Don’t drag me into it. Happy New Year.” She hung up the phone.

  Arthur stared at the ended call on his phone for some time, mouth gaping. His mind began to spark and sputter, trying to come up with an appropriate understanding of events, one that spared his ego, that made sense with his view of the universe.

  Well, he thought finally, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He would return to the university the next day, end his holiday a little early. He wouldn’t be able to talk to Paulette or the boys for a few weeks, obviously, maybe a few months, until things blew over. But time would heal everything, of course. He had broken a few hearts and would have to lay low while they mended. In the meantime, Arthur could play some tennis at the club. Preferably the men’s-only hour.

  Chapter 37

  “Oh, Harry!” Alyssa cried, embracing him as he entered her rental. She had just packed up that morning and had made sure to mention numerous times throughout the past day just how far her city apartment would be from St. Clair, how nice it had been being so close to Harry and his family.

  But now Harry looked pale and ruffled, as though he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He had been texting her all the night before, letting her know that Arthur had had a relationship with Clarissa (she had feigned shock, and had thought she had done a pretty good job of it), and that his mother was “distraught.”

  “Can I bring her anything?” Alyssa asked anxiously as Harry sunk into the living room couch. Alyssa brought him a glass of water—on a coaster, of course—and fussed over him, smoothing his collar and patting down a rogue tuft of hair.

  “No. I think she’s doing okay now. She’s gone for a spa day. I think it involves cucumbers and a sugar coat, or something.”

  “What a holiday!” Alyssa said. “First Lia blackmails your mother, then she finds out that her partner has been cheating on her.”

  “Technically he wasn’t cheating on her,” Harry said, though his mouth twisted at the mention of his uncle. “And Lia wasn’t blackmailing her.”

  “Oh, really? Did you find out who was, then?”

  “I honestly think it was a bad joke,” Harry said, shrugging. “What secrets could my mother possibly have, anyway? Though if someone actually wanted to blackmail someone else, sounds like they missed an opportunity with Uncle Arthur.”

  Alyssa pressed her lips together. She didn’t like Harry’s easy defense of Lia; she wanted him to disavow her, to say that he suspected the worst, to reaffirm that Alyssa was better in every way. But why? Alyssa knew that, objectively, she would win in a fight against Lia. She was younger, she was better educated, she made more money, and she was more beautiful, if one was not partial to Lia’s oddness. But Lia had history, something Alyssa would never have.

  And yet, Harry had had every opportunity to break things off with her and pursue Lia again. He hadn’t, not yet—unless that’s what he was doing now? Her heart fluttered as she saw his expression grow serious, as his shoulders rolled and he sighed, looking down at his hands.

  “Something else,” he said, and Alyssa felt the pit in her stomach grow heavier. She wanted to slow down time, to beg Harry not yet, not like this. For the truth was that as much as Alyssa puffed herself up, as much as she played the deserving girlfriend and the worthy partner, she had never met someone she liked half so much as Harry, and the pain and wonder of it was that every second she was afraid she would lose him, and every second she feared that unless she could get over this unhealthy worship, she would never be the partner he needed her to be.

  “Yes,” Alyssa said woodenly. If this was it, she would face it. She would be okay. She didn’t believe it as she thought it, not then, but she would, eventually. “What is it, Harry?”

  “James and Mariel. They’re moving to Arizona, where Mariel’s folks are. And it’s cheaper, James said. So there’s that.”

  Alyssa waited.

  “So they’re moving,” Harry said. “For good. They’ll probably start a family out there.”

  Alyssa took a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s…that’s it? I mean, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Harry, you must be so upset.”

  “I think it’s good for him, actually. My mother—I love her, but she can be a lot. It’ll be good for them to start over somewhere.”

  He reached out and grabbed Alyssa’s hand, and she drew him into an embrace. That was it, she thought, heart soaring. She couldn’t believe it. Harry still loved her, and the secret, the secret she had feared
this whole time that could come between them, even before she heard of Lia coming into town, had in fact come out with a contained explosion that had not harmed her. No doubt Paulette might look sideways at Alyssa in the future, especially if she brought Clarissa around, and no doubt Harry might eventually have more questions for her, but for now, all was well.

  It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

  And that stupid gnat, Lia, would soon be out of St. Clair, too.

  Chapter 38

  Atul sat in Julia’s living room, which had been transformed into something bare and sterile, full now of only a few stacked boxes. He was perched on one of them, while Julia hummed as she walked about, dusting windows and wiping down baseboards.

  Atul had never seen Julia so happy. She still refused to tell him any more details about her engagement, though her face had beamed the entire time she cleaned, and she did tell Atul that she was moving west and that he’d probably hear from her within a few months. “You can do a home check then,” she had said, winking at him.

  “You’re not going to miss us even a little, are you?” Atul said, smiling.

  Julia disappeared into the kitchen, still humming and wiping down every nook and corner she could reach. When she returned, she threw herself down onto the ledge of the bay window and tossed her legs up onto it, sighing.

  “I will miss you, Atul,” she said, still smiling. “You know that. And I’ll miss the others, too, even if things have been a little different lately.”

  “Even Lia, you think?”

  Julia sighed. “I don’t have any hard feelings. But yeah, I’ve always missed her. So I still will, probably.” She brightened again. “But it’s hard to dwell on that, all things considered.”

  Atul grinned back. He had a reason to feel both happy and relieved: Namita and his mother both had agreed to a much smaller wedding, though Namita seemed happier about this than his mother, once both sides realized that indeed, the other was not footing the bill. They were to have a small ceremony up north, family and a few close friends only. He was not going to bankrupt himself getting married. And who knew? Maybe Julia would even join them, with her new spouse.

  “There’s just one thing I don’t get,” Atul said. “Was someone really blackmailing Paulette?”

  “Of course someone was.”

  “But it wasn’t Lia. I know we haven’t seen her for years, but…I just find that too wild to believe.”

  Julia grinned at him. “I love you, Atul,” she said. “You see the best in everyone.”

  “You think it was her.”

  “No, I don’t. It was someone else, and it was stupid. It will blow over—things always do.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, I don’t know for sure.”

  “But you have a guess.”

  “I do.”

  “Are you always going to keep every secret from me?” Atul asked with a groan.

  Julia grew more serious. “No,” she said. “Some day, I’ll tell you them all, Atul, because I know you can keep them.” And when she smiled, Atul grinned back.

  Chapter 39

  Lia surveyed the Eastwick mansion one final time.

  She had arrived with such mixed emotions, a little under a week ago. The grandeur and beauty of the mansion had only increased her nerves, only told Lia more plainly that her kind of failure made her a forever exile of St. Clair. She had chosen frothy dreams and fruitless ambitions, and the spoils of this kind of hard work were to be hers nevermore.

  And then the party—the party had been the most unwelcome surprise of her life. She could still remember, with a shudder, the panic and despair that had gone through her at the thought of facing all the ghosts of her past, of comparing herself with every person she had cared about who seemed to have made wiser choices than her.

  She could see now the kind of hysteria built into that opinion: of course no one probably built up the party as much as she did, and everyone had their foibles, their successes and failures, their triumphs and insecurities. But what a night it had been! A night of comparison, of judgment, of fear, of disbelief.

  And then there was Paulette McKenzie’s accusation. It had come out of left field: Paulette’s secret had been the furthest thing on Lia’s mind.

  It seemed that now, finally, the drama and terror over the silly accusation had died down, that Paulette at least now had other things on her mind to deal with. Lia had no desire to speak to Paulette again, to plead her case, to insist that no, she would not sign some silly non-disclosure for whatever amount of money—no matter how nice it might have been.

  But still. She had to know.

  Lia closed up the mansion, taking care to double-check the locks and arm the house’s security system. She gave it a single nod as she left, and it seemed to her that in the bright winter sun, the windows winked back.

  Lia had two stops: the first was the farthest drive, out past the sloping hills of the back country of St. Clair, through the bright and picturesque downtown, still hung with Christmas and holiday decorations, to the smaller cottages and posh townhomes in the rest of the town.

  She checked the address on her phone again and took a long breath. She couldn’t see signs that anyone was inside: the shades were drawn, the garage door closed, the driveway empty. But Lia was out of time now, and out of chances.

  She walked up to the door, painted white and hung with a giant, oversized Christmas wreath that was no doubt foisted upon it by the owner’s mother. Lia rang the doorbell, and then, for good measure, used the lion’s head knocker out front.

  She heard the excited yip of a dog inside and then the sound of footsteps. Lia froze in place, feeling the owner assess her through the door, feeling her weigh whether to let Lia inside and put an end to this saga or to let her leave St. Clair and its secrets forever. It would be fitting, Lia decided, if St. Clair chose to keep some things for itself. She would understand.

  But the door swung open. Bella stared at Lia, her expression mild, neither friendly nor unfriendly. In her arms was a miniature schnauzer with a similar, though slightly more surly, expression. The little gray dog, covered in a black and red plaid sweater, growled at Lia.

  “Can we talk?” Lia asked.

  “About what?”

  Lia considered. But no: they were in too deep, now. There was no reason to pretend. “Blackmail.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Bella’s face, replaced by something more defensive, more closed off. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to hear your confession,” Bella said, moving aside. Lia stepped in. She could smell gingerbread cookies and strong coffee, and her stomach gurgled. Bella motioned her towards the kitchen, a low, dark room with the curtains thrown back on its one window, letting in the bright winter light. “Let me just take these out,” Bella said, and removed not gingerbread cookies, but a tin of muffins studded with blueberries and candied ginger chunks. Lia’s mouth watered.

  “How have you been, Bella?”

  “Fine. You? How’s Hollywood?”

  “Sucked.” Bella laughed, and Lia grinned. “I gave up on it.”

  “Really?” Bella glanced back at her. “For good? I thought you were, you know, maybe moving to New York or something, to take up stage acting.”

  Lia snorted. “I think I can say that my career is pretty well over.”

  “Are you sure? Just like that? You don’t have to, you know. Plenty of people keep acting as they get older. Some people even get their breaks later.”

  Lia felt touched, then embarrassed. “No, I’m done. I’m looking for other jobs.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.” Bella half-smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first person who didn’t know exactly what they wanted to do.”

  “I’m still holding out for a rich uncle somewhere who can make me the assistant at his hedge fund.”

  Bella guffawed. “Don’t hold your breath. Pretty sure Harry has the market cornered on that.” She placed the muffins on a cooling rack and motioned for Lia to follow her to the base
ment, a cozy spot with purple love seats and a giant TV screen.

  “What about you? How are you doing?” Lia asked. Bella folded her feet underneath her.

  “Fine.”

  “You’re at a nonprofit now?”

  “Yes.” Bella shrugged. “I’ve tried a bunch of things. Nothing really seems to stick very long.”

  The silence spooled out between them. “I’m sorry,” Lia said. “That I wasn’t—that I kind of disappeared, for a while. I know you’re fine—I know all of you are. I’m mostly sorry for myself. That I didn’t stay in touch more.”

  “It happens. It’s fine. If you haven’t noticed, the rest of us haven’t exactly stayed the best of friends.”

  “Why?” Lia blurted.

  Bella shrugged. “I dated Atul for a little bit—you were there for some of that. Nothing serious. But it was awkward when we broke up. We kind of split down the middle—Katie stayed with me, though who knows why.”

  Lia had some vague recollection of this, a hint or a text dropped here or there. They had all had a crush on Atul at some point—hormones and proximity made it inevitable.

  “And then Julia had her thing,” Bella continued. “I was…kind of going through something, so I didn’t really reach out. And then I didn’t know how to, after. So that’s that. Trust me,” she finished, with a wry, bitter smile, “it’s not like you really missed that much by moving out. In fact, I kind of envy your decision.”

  Lia smiled. “We can just agree to be jealous of each other.”

  Bella watched her. “So you came to talk about blackmail.”

  “Yes.” She paused. “Paulette seems to think I did it.”

  “Paulette isn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch.”

  “Maybe not. She never suspected you.”

  Bella had prepared for this, obviously; her face remained carefully blank. “That’s an interesting theory,” she said finally. “Care to explain?”

  “I don’t know the why. I’m guessing, to be truthful. You could deny everything and I wouldn’t know any better. And no matter what, I’m not going to tell Paulette, because I think you’re done with it anyway.”