“What on earth are you doing?” Claire practically snorted.
“I am absolving you.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve dispelled the evil. You may now officially remove that scarlet A from your psyche, hon.”
Claire hung her head back and rested it on the chair. “Ugh. I know. But tell me, oh, Mystic One,” she said, sitting back up. “How do I do this? How the hell do I do this?”
Gail poured them each a cup of coffee. “Good thing I have a little experience in this area. First thing you need to do is call Jack Kaufman. He handled two of my divorces like Tyson on Holyfield, God love him.”
“I’m not looking for blood and carnage. I’m hoping we can do it somewhat amicably. And I don’t know if I want to get that ball rolling just yet.” She thought about Taylor, but didn’t want to share her—what were they, concerns, suspicions?—until she could determine whether they might be somehow relevant, or if the mysterious outbursts were just another side effect of Nick’s TBI.
“Sweetie. Divorce is a tough business, and you need someone tougher and smarter than whomever your husband is going to hire. And I guarantee he’s already choosing his team.” Gail paused and looked around the small apartment again, clearly weighing something troubling.
“What?” Claire asked.
“Are you sure about staying here? You have every right to march right back into your house and unpack, you know. In fact, it might be a good—”
“No,” Claire said, lowering her eyes. “I can’t. It made me feel . . . sick. Being there inside those walls with him felt wrong. It’s crazy, but—” She swallowed another mouthful of the juice, searching for the words and the nerve to say aloud what she had been thinking all night and all morning. “I don’t want to live there anymore,” she finally said, meeting Gail’s eyes. “I want to live with my son, but not there.”
Gail clasped her hand. “That’s okay, honey. I completely understand. So I doubly suggest getting Jack on retainer before Michael does. He will be a great asset. And besides, he’s really a doll to work with.”
“Well, I’ve got Nicky to consider in the way I handle everything, too. And civil would be best. It’s just that”—she pushed slices of pineapple and kiwi around her plate with the edge of her fork—“the thought of spilling all the, um, unpleasant details to some stranger who I need to go out and advocate for me is so humiliating. For all of us.”
“I know this is difficult to process at the moment. But trust me, yours isn’t the first marriage to have gone south because of an affair brought on by”—Gail rolled her eyes and blew out what sounded like some long pent-up disdain for Michael—“well, a host of issues. Not to trivialize your situation, but Jack’s seen it all, and your circumstances aren’t unusual. Think of it like a gyno visit. Yours is just another vagina, hon, over the course of a busy day.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “At least I won’t have to take off my underwear.”
“But Jack will get Michael to bend over.”
“Gail, that’s not my goal. I know he’s hurt and angry with me. But he was acting reasonably pleasant when we were together yesterday. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
Gail looked skeptically down her perfect nose at Claire. “And do you find that interesting?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe nothing at all. But you said he’s been mercurial and emotionally distant, and now he’s suddenly pleasant? I wouldn’t call an hour of allowing you back into your house and acting polite in front of your son pleasant. Good parenting, yes. An understanding of marital property laws, most definitely. But it’s been my experience that a cigar isn’t always just a cigar.”
Claire leaned across the table. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Of course not, hon. I don’t mean to stir the pot. I’m just saying you need to be hyperaware and focused on your best interests right now.”
“I’ve definitely been having a hard time being objective. When I look back on the last year or two, I can’t tell if I’m reading too much into certain comments or behaviors because of where we are now. Or too little. I clearly wasn’t paying close enough attention when I needed to be.”
“Well,” Gail said pointedly, “those distressed comments of his about Nicky’s age strike me as someone who’s feeling old. That’s more of a female vanity thing, but in my not-so-humble opinion, your husband has always been a little too concerned about what people think of him.”
Claire considered this surprising appraisal, doubting its accuracy even as she asked Gail whether she thought Michael could be having his own midlife crisis.
“I’m saying he’s one of those Master of the Universe types who, in spite of his success, is insecure. I’ve watched him at enough cocktail parties, jockeying for praise and respect—in the most charismatic sort of way, mind you—but always setting up the story or the joke to pay off in kudos.” She went on to describe dating someone just like Michael, how he’d subtly swayed her priorities until she’d practically lost herself in the job of making him feel good. Then she reached into her Birkin and pulled out a business card, and pushed it across the table to Claire. “This will be a healthy move for you, Claire. Jack helped me navigate my way through multiple crises.”
“Hmm,” Claire mumbled, convinced that Gail had inserted a little too much of her own baggage into the pile she’d just unloaded. “I’m not sure your assessment is right.”
“Didn’t you tell us yesterday how hard you worked to put such a pretty polish on everything, only to disappear into your role as not-so-happy homemaker?”
Claire nodded slowly.
“Well, our formerly vivacious, happy, unflappable Claire hasn’t come out to play in a helluva long time. And I miss that friend.” Gail lasered in on her with judiciousness reminiscent of Jackie. “You did disappear into that role you were playing. And it didn’t seem to make your husband or your marriage any happier. Did it?”
“No,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
“Look at me, honey,” Gail said, framing her face with jazz hands. “Three divorces, and I’m still optimistic. Don’t panic. Splittsville’s no picnic, but you’ll be okay.”
“I just never imagined giving up, you know? I’m not a giver upper.”
“Hey—letting go and moving forward is not giving up. It’s being strong.”
Claire forced a smile and picked up the business card. Then she entered Jack’s number into her phone.
“You will get through this.” Gail stood and pulled her into a calming hug. “I promise. But in the meantime, you could most definitely do with a diversion. And I could do with several new pieces for spring.”
Claire tried begging off with her plans to see Jackie and Nicholas in the afternoon, along with the unwise nature of a shopping spree given the path she was headed down. But there was no deflecting her friend’s insistence on a couple hours of mindless entertainment, which she was only too happy to supply.
“Hell, this is exactly what you need,” Gail said, pointing a Rouge Noir fingernail right between Claire’s eyes. “Your self-imposed penalty phase is officially over. It’s field-trip time.”
Claire’s thoughts veered to Richard, and what perfect drinking buddies her two persistent pals would make.
Reaching over to the backseat of Gail’s red Jaguar, Claire handed her sister a croissant still neatly wrapped in a napkin, the butter just beginning to seep through the fine linen. “Eat up. You’re going to need sustenance.”
“Thank you for dragging my sister out and for the chauffeured diversion,” Jackie said to Gail. “I’m feeling very civilized back here.” She ran her hand over the Burr walnut trim and the supple leather. “God, I really need to get rid of my minivan.”
Gail eyed her in the rearview mirror. “You don’t strike me as a minivan gal.”
Jackie grimaced. “Yeah, well. One day you’re driving around in a VW Bug with the top down, singing ‘Satisfaction’ at the top of your lungs, and the next thin
g you know you’re scraping fish sticks out of the car seat, then you’re hauling soccer gear and girl scouts, and then you’re in the Chrysler showroom.”
“Aren’t life adjustments strange?” Claire said, not ironically.
“I know, honey. Keep your chin up.” Gail rolled into the valet circle of the Cherry Creek shopping center at about forty and skidded to a stop. “Just last night I was contemplating the pathetically unhip state of my Walgreen’s purchases. In my twenties it was breath mints, condoms, and a Vogue. And now, it’s iron supplements and Monistat.”
Claire gathered her purse from the floor, bracing for the hurricane of spending her pal was about to unleash. “So you’re saying that you’re not still buying condoms?”
Inside Neiman’s, the women gravitated to the Etro scarf display in the accessories area. A purple-and-navy silk paisley stopped them in their tracks, and Gail asked the saleswoman to take it out. She draped it in a loose cowl around Claire’s neck.
“Oh, honey, it just lights up your face.”
“I told you,” Claire said, glancing into the mirror as she unwrapped it. “I’m only here for the entertainment value, with the possible exception of something for Nicky. No goodies for me.”
“But can’t you hear it speaking to you,” Gail asked, putting the scarf up to her ear. “Oh, yes. She says that she eez perfetto for you.”
“Play nicely, Gail. I’m trying to exercise some willpower here.”
“Fiiiine. Have it your way.” Gail waved good-bye to the scarf and their sales associate and motioned toward the escalator. “But this shindig’s just starting, ladies.”
They ascended to the second floor couture department, where an immaculately coiffed woman of about fifty approached them with an enormous smile on her face and an undeniable skip in her step. Claire saw her coming before the others and whispered into Jackie’s ear. “Watch this.”
“Ms. Harrold, it’s so wonderful to see you. You’re here for the trunk show, I presume?” She turned in the direction of a small group of women sipping champagne and nibbling on tea sandwiches near the Chanel department. “I’m so glad you got my message, and I see you’ve brought some guests. I’m just thrilled you’re all here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Sid,” Gail replied. “How’re sales holding up? I imagine it’s been tough getting the crowds in.”
She sighed and leaned in close to Gail. “It’s certainly a blessing to have my regular clients.”
“Hello, Sidney,” Claire said in a measured voice.
The woman had been so busy fawning over Gail that she had failed to really take in Claire and Jackie. “Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, is that you? I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect you, but I’m just thrilled.”
“It’s nice to see you, too. This is my sister, Jackie Morgan.”
“Yes, welcome, welcome. Are you visiting from out of state?”
“Nearly,” Jackie replied. “Just outside of Boulder.”
“Well, it’s thrilling you’re all here.”
“If we have any more thrills here, Sid, we just might faint. What we really need is some bubbly and the large fitting room. And could you bring in the usual staples, the best of the trunk show, and an evening gown or three? But in the next size,” she whispered. “And for my friend here,” she added, indicating Jackie, “we’ll need something fabulously slinky in Cavalli, and”—she paused again to size Jackie up—“also some Stella and Etro.”
“Certainly. And for Mrs. Montgomery? Is there anything I can bring you?”
“Oh, I’m just browsing today, Sidney,” Claire said with a noncommittal smile.
“Ah, yes, of course.” She lowered her voice. “If you’d like, I could bring in pieces from some of the Bridge collections?”
The implication stung Claire, though she pretended not to hear the comment. She imagined Sidney had gotten wind of her marital “situation” from one of her clients and surmised a downturn in her financial wherewithal, among other things.
“That won’t be necessary, Sidney,” Gail broke in. “Bring her something fabulous. And don’t skimp on the champagne.”
The three women headed to the trunk show to browse the full collection, Claire’s already weak enthusiasm for the outing on a rapid wane. When they made their way back to the fitting room, they found a small table set with flutes of champagne, mini cupcakes, and truffles. Checking out the finery arrayed on the rolling rack, Gail picked up a flute and commanded Claire to take off her clothes and put on the Escada evening gown that grazed the floor in a puddle of dazzling velvet and crystals. “The red will be divine on you,” she said with Wintour-ian authority.
“Yes, it’ll go beautifully with the red in my eyes.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Jackie urged. “Let’s have a fashion show. We did come here for some fun.”
“Fine,” Claire relented between sips of champagne. “Why don’t you start with this crazy Cavalli number?” She held a scarf-print slip dress in front of her sister.
“Absolutely,” Gail added. “I see that inner wild child just dying to step out of her minivan and say ciao.”
Jackie licked her lips wickedly until she noticed the label. “Size six? Are you kidding me? That’s not going to work. I keep walking around feeling like someone’s following me, but it’s just my behind.”
“You look amazing,” Gail said, refilling her champagne glass with one hand, and biting into a red velvet cupcake with her other. “But I swear, I’m just one more cupcake away from a ‘before’ picture. Would you look at this bra fat?” She slipped off her tunic and examined her back in the mirror. “I was at the Children’s Hospital Ball in this garnet Dolce number that I hadn’t worn for a while. It was sort of a last-minute effort, and I just squeezed into as best I could. But it was like a tube of toothpaste, and I had to keep my wrap draped around me all night like the Dalai Lama so my tits wouldn’t fall out.”
Claire erupted into laughter, a deep frantic laughter that devolved after several gasps into the crying jag she had badly wanted to avoid. But there was no containing the tears. A failed marriage, Nicky’s encumbered potential, a future of lawyers and forensic accountants and uncertainty, a saleswoman’s careless barb—they were all there, embellished with wild flourishes like the Etro and Cavalli pieces on the rack, and taunting her with their siren call to abandon hope. Gail handed her a wad of tissues and eased her into the love seat in the corner. “I’m sorry,” Claire sniffled. “It’s all just hitting me, AGAIN. And I’m ... I’m kind of at a loss here.” She imagined Michael’s father assessing Nick’s limitations over their lunch together, and being unable to suppress his disappointment.
“It’s okay,” Jackie soothed, “you’re entitled. You’ve had a lot to deal with, and it’s probably going to get harder before it gets better.”
“It’s karma, is what it is, Jax. I fucked up, and I deserve all this, I know. I’ll get through it. But Nicky doesn’t deserve any of this, the damn injustice of it all.”
The uncharacteristic rawness of Claire’s speech stunned everyone into momentary silence, until Jackie knelt down and looked Claire right in her third eye. “You did not consign Nick to some fate. Bad things can sometimes happen to open our eyes to possibility. Try looking at it that way, okay?”
Claire blinked the tears from her lashes. “I just lost sight of so much.”
“Honey, you couldn’t be the person you want or need to be the way things were. That’s pretty apparent. And I’d venture the same is true for Michael, and Nicky, too,” Jackie continued. “Of course, no one’s saying this had to happen in order for things to change. But it did happen, and something good can come of it. The quicker you can accept that, the quicker you’ll be able to heal and realize whatever possibilities are out there for all of you.”
Staring up at the ceiling, Claire wanted with all her heart to believe the uplifting adage.
“What about you, Dalai,” Jackie said, turning to Gail who was biting into another cupcake. “What’s your take?”
&n
bsp; “I ate a bad piece of karma once. Broke a tooth.”
“Okay, okay.” Claire stood, trying to shake off the embers of her flare-up. “I get it. You’ve both had to put up with enough of my hysteria, so let me just apologize and thank you for keeping me in check and cheering me up. And now I’ll shut up.”
“Any time, any place,” Gail said, kissing her cheek. “You just remember what your sister said when there’s some crappy development with the lawyers, and especially when Nicky takes more steps forward. Because he will. There is goodness around the corner, my dear. But for now,” she said, handing the Cavalli dress to Jackie along with a pair of four-inch Louboutins, “let’s get back to business.”
Claire nodded, and Jackie took off her clothes, eased the dress up and the shoes on, and gazed into the mirror with an enormous grin. “Boy, would Steve love to see me in this.” She winked at Claire.
“Bet it wouldn’t stay on long, hon. That dress just oozes sex.”
As Gail slipped in and out of lacy pencils skirts and graphic floral silk caban coats, her black hair electrified and standing on end, and Jackie moved on to a Dolce & Gabbana corset dress, Claire observed the colorful show from the comfort of the love seat. Gail’s “yes” pile grew more substantial by the moment, while Jackie got lost in the sheer joy of playing dress-up.
“Oh my God, Claire, we haven’t done this together in ages. I’d forgotten how much fun we used to have tormenting Mother with my less-than-modest prom dress choices,” Jackie said, standing only in her cotton bikini underwear and looking slightly tipsy.
Seeing her sister’s amused face filled Claire with a blissful sort of satisfaction. She recalled earlier days in that same fitting room when her selections nearly rivaled those of Gail’s. When she needed something for an event, she simply bought it. Just like groceries or towels or soap—stocking her closets like her pantry, with what had over the years become essentials. In her post-college days as a working girl in New York, she’d favored Macy’s and Bloomies, plucking her classics from the sale racks. But with her marriage to Michael, bargains were something for which she no longer needed to hunt, though they still did inspire satisfaction. She knew what she liked and what suited her, and she knew where to find it. And Michael always took great pride in her taste. It had been such a quick transition to the life of moneyed ease, and as she sat there calculating the outrageous values assigned to the sublime articles strewn about, she wondered how the financial piece would play out with Michael. While Gail had guaranteed Jack’s ability to assure Michael’s “fairness,” Claire knew there were no guarantees when it came to her husband’s astute financial provisions and shelters. And the possible return to more moderate circumstances, while poetic—even prophetic in her karmic thinking—still left her feeling slightly anxious. She considered how marketable her skills as a fundraiser or a gallerist might be back in the real world. Because it was always easier to live in oblivion to the fineries of life, than to have enjoyed their six-ply lusciousness and be left with a lingering desire for what many would find absurd.
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