Swearing Off Stars

by Danielle Wong

  “Don’t say that,” she countered quietly.

  “It’s the truth, Scarlett.”

  “That’s not fair. I don’t want either of us to face the torment and humiliation—”

  “I know, Scarlett. You only care about what the fucking world thinks.”

  She opened her pink lips to protest, but I turned away before she could.

  I tried so hard to gather my emotions. Maybe I could leave before it was too late. I wiped my stinging eyes and watched the tears dry from my hands. All I wanted was to look at her and feel nothing. But as I lifted my head and met those knowing green eyes, I felt the remaining pieces of my heart shatter once more.

  Chapter 43

  I wasn’t sad. I was enraged. How could it be that after all these years, I was still so naïve? I should have learned my lesson when she turned me away the first time. And the second. But I was so certain that something had changed, that she was a different person. And now, in just a couple of blissful months, I’d let her break me again.

  I wasn’t sad to leave Hong Kong. Although I’d enjoyed most of my time there, New York was home. I was sad to leave Mac, though. When he noticed me packing up my trunk, he got a worried look on his face. I made up some lame excuse that I’m sure he didn’t believe. In the moment, I didn’t feel a shed of regret. It all hit me on the flight home.

  Mac was one of the only two people I cared about in Hong Kong. Aside from being sweet and funny, he was a genuinely good person. He carried my trunk downstairs and drove me to the airport himself. Until that morning, I hadn’t even realized that he owned a car. My anger toward Scarlett was no match for the kindness Mac had shown me.

  I was determined to do anything I could to ease my pain. Unfortunately, that took the form of drowning my sorrows in cheap wine on every flight. I drank more than I should have and paid for it during my Los Angeles layover. I spent that hour hunched over a dirty toilet in the ladies’ restroom. All the kneeling made my legs go numb, and the smell of urine only rendered me sicker.

  Needless to say, the flight back to New York was uncomfortable. I stumbled off the plane without a fraction of dignity in tow. I’d phoned Robbie from Chicago and told him I was coming back, and he picked me up from the airport with a hopeful look on his face, awaiting at least a speck of good news. I shook my head and climbed into the front seat.

  We drove silently back to Brooklyn as the clouds multiplied overhead. Robbie opened his mouth a few times to say something, but quickly recoiled when he saw my dejected face. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, talk about what happened. Not yet, anyway.

  I drifted into a nap on the way back, unable to resist the tug of sleep. Maybe it was the jetlag, but I had a feeling it was something else. I woke up to Robbie rubbing my back gently. Shreds of overcast light peeked in through the car windows and my apartment building stood straight ahead.

  “Let’s go up,” he said. “I’ll grab your luggage.”

  I nodded and walked sluggishly inside.

  Robbie set my trunk in the bedroom while I collapsed onto my couch.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” he called from the kitchen.

  “Tea,” I replied weakly.

  He returned minutes later with a hot mug. I took a sip of black tea and felt the warm liquid run down my dry throat.

  “Get some rest, okay?” he said. “I’ll check on you in a few days.”

  He kissed my forehead before turning to leave. I watched him linger at the front door for a second, fingertips tracing its wooden frame. Then he shook his head and closed it gently behind him. My heavy eyelids shut against my will as I tried to say good-bye. Although I couldn’t verbalize the words, I knew for certain that Robbie Wells would always be a true friend— perhaps a better one than I deserved.

  Chapter 44

  Brooklyn, January 1950

  I woke feeling extremely disoriented. Where am I? I’d gotten so used to living at Mac’s that I didn’t even recognize my own apartment. As the past few days’ events gradually became lucid, I realized that I was no longer in Hong Kong. I was no longer with Scarlett.

  That fleeting awareness had little effect on my fatigued mind. I wasn’t even conscious enough to fully grasp the big picture. I buried my cloudy head under a puffed throw pillow and snuggled back into the woven quilt wrapped loosely around me.

  DAYLIGHT woke me up the next morning. Or is it the ringing? I was jolted out of an unknown dream as I heard the first high-pitched sound. My initial instinct was to feel around the coffee table. I reached my arm out abruptly, drowsy eyes still closed, but all I succeeded in doing was knock over a mug of cold tea. I cursed as the chilly liquid spilled over my icy fingertips.

  Another shrill ring. I opened my eyes as widely as I could, squinting into the bright light pouring in from the windows. A dull achiness plagued my lower back when I tried to sit up. As another ring burst through my ears, I rolled off the sofa and onto my parquet floor. The phone stopped ringing.

  I put my hands to my head and rubbed my sore temples, wondering how long I’d been asleep. Thoughts of Robbie came to mind as I stared at the spilled black tea on my coffee table. After everything that happened, he still cared about me. He was there for the ups and the downs, plus everything in between. I smiled slightly at the realization.

  As I continued to wake up, remnants of rage and resentment cluttered my thoughts. It was like everything Scarlett came rushing back at once. Fragments of our heartrending aftermath came together into something I’d denied from the beginning: the truth. No matter how much I treasured Scarlett, I couldn’t change her mind.

  Two quick knocks on the door brought me back to my messy apartment. I stood up and ran my fingers through my stringy, unwashed hair, reluctant to see who was there.

  “Lia? You there?”

  Robbie. I relaxed instantly. I swiftly turned the knob and opened my front door. Robbie was leaning against the wall outside, looking comfortable in a maroon peacoat and slacks. His tan skin was slightly worn from the war, but he could still pass for a man of forty. He looked great, despite the concerned expression lingering on his familiar face.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping toward me.

  I threw my arms around my dear friend and he embraced me back.

  “Come in,” I said quietly. I took the bag of groceries he was carrying and set it on my kitchen counter. He stopped in his tracks and looked around the apartment, running a weathered hand through his dark hair.

  “Lia . . . have you been out of the house since I dropped you off?”

  “No,” I muttered. “It’s only been a couple of days—”

  “It’s been two weeks.”

  I looked at him in shock. I had no memory of waking up more than twice in all that time, a few times at most.

  Without speaking, he folded up my quilt and dried up the tea on my coffee table.

  “Have you even eaten?” He gestured to my shrunken frame.

  I shook my head and felt my stomach grumble. “I’m a mess, Robbie,” I sobbed.

  He walked over and put his arm around me. “Ready to talk about it?”

  I sighed and collapsed into his welcoming hug. “Okay.”

  I spoke until I was out of breath, rattling off every trivial detail as I took him through the previous two months. He listened patiently and nodded every now and then. After two and a half hours, I’d imparted everything I could remember.

  “Please say something,” I begged, desperate for some sliver of hope.

  Robbie looked at me with a sad but knowing smile. “I’m sorry, Lia. But you did everything you could.”

  My head went numb. Somehow, hearing another person say those words was a hundred times worse than my own recognition. If even Robbie thought it was over, I had zero chances left.

  Chapter 45

  London, February 1950

  SCARLETT

  “Thank you, Robbie,” I say before hanging up the receiver.

  I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. I made the call. There�
��s no turning back now. Two quick honks remind me that the car is waiting downstairs. I have a flight to catch.

  Chapter 46

  LIA

  The January weather rendered me a quiet homebody. I stayed inside and had no problem dozing past noon. This quickly turned into a lazy winter routine. I’d wake up late, sip coffee, and read all day long. It was too comfortable to change.

  After missing several calls—presumably from my frantic secretary—I finally answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Lia? Hi! Did you extend your leave?”

  Per usual, Giselle was talking a mile a minute.

  “Hi. No—I’m back. Sorry for not calling.”

  “Oh good! I was so worried.”

  “Is everything okay at the office?”

  “Oh yes, everything is fine. We’re awfully busy without you though.”

  I told her that I was ill and needed some more time off. A female deputy managing editor was filling in for me, and I assured Giselle that Brianna would continue to do a great job. I had been gone longer than I would have liked, but I trusted her judgment and work ethic. After Giselle relaxed a little, I said that I would phone when I was ready to come back. It was a lie, unless you count a sick heart among excusable ailments. Missing work was completely unlike me, but I needed time to heal and reset.

  Against my wishes, Robbie told my parents that I was back in town. He thought it would be good for me to be around family, even though my mother and I hadn’t spoken since be-fore I left for Hong Kong. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing her—but I was excited to see my dad, who phoned and eagerly asked if he could bring over some lunch the day after Robbie told them I was home. I opened my door that afternoon to see him holding a fresh box of pasta. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Lia!” He set the food down and cloaked me in a giant bear hug. When he released me, he raised his eyebrows. “So, tell me about—”

  “I’d rather not talk about it, Dad. I’m just trying to . . . move on.” Avoiding his gaze, I walked over to my whitewashed cupboard and grabbed two plates. “I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

  “I understand, hun. No need to explain.”

  I appreciated his accepting reaction, while also realizing that Robbie had probably already filled him in on most of the story. They were always talking behind my back. I didn’t mind this time, though—it was anything but malicious, and it saved me a lot of explanation I wasn’t ready for.

  “Fresh pasta for my Lia,” my dad said as I returned with plates and utensils, revealing our steamy lunch. Notes of thyme mingled with spiced onions in creamy mushroom sauce. My shoulders relaxed a little as I inhaled the familiar aroma.

  “Mom?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yep,” he said quietly.

  “I wish—”

  “She’ll come around, my love. She just needs time.”

  I looked down, not really believing his response.

  “So,” he continued. “Robbie seems happy to be hanging around again.”

  I nodded and swallowed my first bite of Italian noodles in months.

  “He’s so taken by you.” My dad laughed.

  “Dad.”

  “I know, honey, it’s just sweet. That boy would do anything for you.”

  “We’re good friends,” I said quickly.

  “Believe me, Lia. He’s more than captivated by you. Always has been.”

  I swallowed hard and took another bite.

  “Have you ever thought about—”

  “No, Dad,” I said defensively. “End of discussion.”

  “Just a thought.” He shook his head and smiled.

  I knew exactly what my father was thinking. I could marry Robbie for reasons beyond love. Lots of women married for security those days, regardless of romance. But I could never do that to him. And more importantly, I could never do that to myself.

  BY February, I still hadn’t returned to work, but I did manage to resist the temptation to stay cooped up inside. I made plans to meet Robbie for lunch one foggy weekend afternoon. He phoned beforehand and said he’d be stopping by first. I peered out my misty window and saw his black car pull up, rubber tires crunching over the freshly laid gravel. He hopped out of the driver’s seat and looked up at me. He wore a long navy winter coat and slate-gray loafers. I waved as the wind rustled his dark hair and he walked toward the front gates.

  “I thought we could go into the city instead,” he said, grinning, when he got upstairs. “There’s a parade!”

  “No way!”

  “C’mon,” he pleaded. “It’s my turn to choose.”

  I stared at him for the longest time as opposing thoughts warred in my head. But finally, I conceded. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll grab my coat.”

  WE sped over the bridge toward New York City. Robbie turned on the car radio and we hummed along to Bing Crosby’s “Only Forever.” I struggled to sing in key, laughing between each chorus, but Robbie had a perfect voice, honed from years of singing in the school choir. My dad’s words floated through my head every time I looked at my old friend. I turned the music up and tried to drown them out.

  As the song ended, we arrived in Manhattan. I hadn’t been there in months and was happy to be back. There we were, right in the midst of flashy Times Square. Jazz musicians played for tips as hot nuts roasted on street corners. Their spicy-sweet scent flooded my senses as posh couples poured in and out of Macy’s. I looked around the crowded streets and then up at the buildings towering over us.

  “Where’s the parade, Robbie?”

  “It’ll be here,” he said, smiling.

  I watched my breath turn to clouds as chilly urban air blew by. “It’s freezing,” I whispered, immediately regretting not having brought gloves.

  When my icy fingers went numb, Robbie told me to stay put and went to get us some coffee. I breathed into my frozen hands and noticed a little girl in a red dress. Her pigtails flopped around as she played with a shiny blue balloon. I watched in awe as she ran in circles, seemingly without a care in the world. I wished I could feel even a fraction of her whimsy. She jumped up and down between playful giggles as she pointed across the way.

  “Mommy!” She tugged on a woman’s maroon jacket.

  The girl’s mother lit up as soon as she saw what her daughter was pointing to. I wheeled around to witness the spectacle for myself.

  A mass of colorful winter coats was gathering around a small stage. I couldn’t make out any faces as I squinted across the square. Robbie handed me a cup of hot coffee and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Bottoms up,” he said, winking.

  “Thanks,” I said distractedly, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stage.

  More people stared at the stage as hushed voices multiplied across Times Square. I clutched my coffee harder and felt each finger come back to life.

  “It’s her!” the little girl yelled.

  Robbie glanced nervously in my direction as my jaw dropped. It was her. It was Scarlett.

  “Lia, I . . .”

  Robbie’s words faded into the background as I watched her take center stage. Scarlett’s blond hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, with wispy pieces peeking out from underneath her cobalt blue headscarf. She walked effortlessly up the stairs in a pair of stick thin stilettos as her rosy dress billowed in the wind.

  Cameras flashed as news correspondents crowded around the stage. She seemed unfazed, the epitome of a seasoned movie star. I wanted to move closer, but my feet were firmly planted in place. I was standing close enough to see her, but far enough away so that I couldn’t get hurt again.

  A stocky man who I assumed to be her agent scurried up onto the stage behind Scarlett. He whispered something in her left ear; she shooed him away and stepped forward to a wooden podium equipped with microphones, causing a surge of commotion and waving hands.

  “Scarlett!” shouted one newsman. “Are you really getting divorced
?”

  Scarlett opened her mouth as Robbie squeezed my hand.

  “Lia. We can leave—”

  I turned back to the press conference before he could say anything else. Reporters yelled over each other until a distinct question finally emerged from the chaotic mass of voices.

  “Is there anyone new in your life?”

  Scarlett looked down for a moment. I wondered if she was fiddling with her bracelet behind that wooden podium. Then she spoke.

  “There is,” she said confidently.

  Reporters buzzed as gloved hands shot into the frosty city air.

  “I’m in love,” she continued.

  My coffee dropped to the snowy ground. Hot liquid pooled around my penny loafers.

  “With a woman.”

  Stillness inundated the crowd. For a moment, the entire square was silent.

  “But the love of my life is someone I’ve known since I was a girl,” Scarlett said steadily.

  Onlookers murmured to each other as she took off her cat-eye sunglasses.

  “And she needs to know . . . how sorry I am.”

  Caught in a moment of pure and public vulnerability, Scarlett put her sunglasses back on and walked gracefully down the stairs. Reporters swarmed as she descended the stage. I watched in awe as her agent hurried her into a black town car.

  Robbie whispered something to me as spectators resumed their Saturday shopping. But all I heard was the bitter sound of the black car speeding away. I watched it drive off into the blurred distance, disappearing into a haze of rainclouds and February fog.

  Chapter 47

  SCARLETT

  I walk quickly up the steps, one stiletto after the next. This is it. I’m on stage in front of Christ knows how many people. Everyone thinks actors are good public speakers, but it’s quite the opposite. Playing a part is much easier than being yourself.

  Joe tries to change my mind one last time. I hurry him off the platform without a second thought. The crowd swells as I look around for her. I only hope Robbie made good on his promise. Otherwise, this is all for nothing.