by Stone, Jean
“I’m catching the four-thirty shuttle,” Meg answered.
Zoe adjusted the limp tea bags on her eyelids and wondered what on earth had prompted her to drink so much wine the night before. What had begun as an evening meant to offer solace to Meg had turned into a night of obsessing over Eric, obsessing as she hadn’t done in years. If only Alissa hadn’t started talking about her old flame, her long-ago lover. If only Alissa hadn’t made her remember. Her head throbbed. If only she hadn’t had so much wine.
“I’m glad I’m not flying today,” she said quietly. “I can’t remember when I’ve been so hungover.”
“I’m sure if you asked, the staff could come up with some surefire cure for a hangover. Something a little more nineties than tea bags.”
Zoe laughed. “I’m an old-fashioned girl. I keep telling you that. What I really need is a little tomato juice and a raw egg, but God knows, they probably don’t have eggs around here. Cholesterol, you know.” Zoe folded her hands across her diminishing stomach, trying to let the atmosphere soothe her. A faint sound of Debussy was blanketed by a warm, closed-in sensation and the hypnotic drone of a water filter.
“Alissa was in fine form last night,” Meg said.
“Mmm. I get the feeling she’s not too happy in her marriage.”
“It was curious, though, what she said about that man. Jay Stockwell. It’s hard to picture her with someone like that.”
“Only because of the way she is now. My guess is he really is the only guy she ever loved. And that maybe she was too scared to stay with him.” Even as Zoe spoke the words, she wondered if she was speaking of Alissa or of herself. Had she been afraid of her love for Eric? He had, after all, been the one who’d left her. But how hard had she tried to find him? She’d made one phone call, nothing more. Had she been so caught up in her stardom that she was afraid if Eric returned she’d lose all that had so miraculously come her way? Zoe squeezed her eyes more tightly. She hated to think she had been that shallow, that self-serving. But if that had been the case, she’d paid dearly, had been paying dearly for her mistake all these years.
“Speaking of our social director,” Meg said, “I wonder where she is this morning.”
“Probably sleeping it off. Which is what I should be doing.”
“It was her idea to come to the pool—a celebratory last farewell before I go back to the city and ‘desert’ you two, I think was her word.”
“But that was after her how-many-eth glass of wine, Meg? She probably forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.” It was Alissa’s voice.
Zoe plucked the tea bags from her eyes. Alissa stood, dressed in an oversize T-shirt of beige cotton, the color which, this morning, emphasized the sallowness of her skin.
“Good morning,” Zoe said. “You don’t look like you’re ready for a swim.”
Alissa sat on the end of Zoe’s lounge chair. “I’m not staying.”
Zoe glanced at Meg. Meg closed her eyes and lay back on her chair. “Why not?” Zoe asked.
“The worst thing about drinking too much isn’t the way you feel the next day. It’s when you remember all the asinine things you said the night before.”
Zoe knew what she meant. She, too, felt foolish for having mentioned Eric. The boy back home. Had she called him by name? Had she let on that her life had been anything but perfect with William?
“Don’t be silly, Alissa. We all have memories we don’t want to forget. Personally, I think those memories are good. Sometimes they’re what keep us going.” Zoe surprised herself when she said that. Surprised herself that she could admit inwardly that it had been Eric, and the way she’d loved him, that had kept her going so many times throughout the difficult days of the past years. That even through her resentment and her anger, it was the memory of Eric that had sustained her so many times. Especially when she looked at Scott, the very image of Eric when they were young and dreaming of their future together.
“Talking about the past is a waste of time.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Zoe said. “It can be cathartic.”
Alissa fumbled in her large bag and withdrew a nail buffer. She quickly began buffing her nails. “Then why don’t you tell us?” she asked.
“Tell you what?”
“About your boy next door.”
Zoe was silent. She pressed her fingertips to her temples and lay back on the lounge. Beside her Meg spoke. “Maybe she doesn’t want to.”
Alissa threw the buffer back into her bag. “See what I mean? It’s embarrassing to talk about the past. It’s humiliating.”
Humiliating? Zoe wondered. Is that what love had to wind up being? Eric’s leaving her. William’s shooting himself. Humiliating? No. More like devastating. “His name was Eric Matthews,” Zoe said. “We grew up together in a small town in northern Minnesota. He was Nordic, like most of the people around there. I was Jewish. As a kid I always felt out of place around all the fair-hairs. Eric made me feel special.” Alissa had bared her soul to them the night before. She had trusted them with her secrets. And if it weren’t for Alissa, Zoe knew she’d probably still be locked away in her west-wing suite, waiting for the days to pass, succumbing to the fear that she would never be able to face the world again, that she had no choice but to return to L.A. and sell Cedar Bluff before she went into default, that a comeback was a ridiculous hope. She would live out the rest of her life fat, unrecognized, and eventually broke. She could tell them about Eric now. Not everything, but some things. Maybe she owed Alissa this much.
She took a deep breath and began. “Eric encouraged my acting. But it was easy for me. See, there was more to being Jewish in Minnesota than being dark-haired. I never felt I belonged. I always felt the other kids looked at me like I was strange. As though they were afraid of me. Anyway”—she sat up in the chair and hugged her arms around her knees—“I guess that’s why acting came so natural to me. I’d been doing it all my life.
“After high school Eric convinced me to head for Hollywood. He wanted to act, too. And he was handsome. God. He had those chiseled cheekbones and those drop-dead blue eyes and that tall, sturdy Nordic build. We spent a few years in L.A., living on macaroni and cheese.” She paused, then laughed. “He cooked. Even back then I was spoiled. Anyway, that’s where I met my friend, Marisol. She lived in the apartment next door. I guess I haven’t told you about Marisol.” Saying her name brought her friend’s image into Zoe’s mind. She realized how much she missed her.
“Then I was discovered. Not by William, but by his partner, Tim Danahy. Things happened so quickly. Before I knew it, I was thrust into the spotlight. I was signed to a three-year contract, while Eric was still standing in cattle calls trying for bit parts. William took over my representation. I started going to parties with him, being seen. He didn’t think it was wise for Eric to come along. He said it would look better to the public if it appeared that I was unattached.”
“I’m sure that didn’t thrill Eric,” Alissa said.
Zoe shook her head. “I was too busy to notice. My wildest dreams were coming true. Anyway, one night I came home and Eric was gone.”
“Ah. Sweet tragedy.”
Zoe stared off across the calm aqua water of the pool. That seemed to be all she needed to say. She didn’t have to tell them the rest.
“Where did he go?”
Zoe shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“You never tried to find him?”
Zoe leaned back. A small catch came into her throat as she realized the words she was about to say were the truth. “I guess I didn’t feel he wanted me anymore.”
“At least it wasn’t your choice,” Alissa added.
“What do you mean?”
“It was my choice to leave Jay. It’s a choice I’ve had to live with. It would have been easier if he’d been the one to leave me. Or if he was dead.” Alissa stood, avoiding Zoe’s eyes. “I’m going to take a sauna.”
They didn’t have a clue how hard it was. Meg, with those
gorgeous looks she’d been born with, that she never had to work at. And her brains. God. Looks and brains and independence. She’d never have to depend on any man. She’d never have to worry about getting older, becoming less desirable.
And Zoe. A full-fledged Hollywood star, who never had to try to get her photo in magazines. It had been there. Everywhere. And it would be again. The American people loved nothing more than one of their idols making a comeback.
They didn’t have a clue.
Alissa tugged her T-shirt over her head and wrapped a thick terry towel around herself. She pulled open the heavy door to the sauna and stepped inside. Her eyes stung. She wasn’t sure if it was from the wine, the heat, or unleashed tears.
She climbed onto a bench and stretched out. She knew she’d blown her chance—there would be no Zoe in her corner, no grand gala to plan. Alissa had made a fool of herself in front of them. God. She couldn’t believe she’d cried. She’d been so busy trying to act like “one of the girls” that her defenses must have slipped. But crying? In front of them? In front of anyone?
She covered her face with her hands. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe she shouldn’t even bother to go home. Her whole life was nothing more than a farce, anyway. Had been nothing but a farce since the day she’d walked away from Jay Stockwell.
She heard the door open.
“Alissa?” It was Zoe. “Alissa, you can’t desert us.”
Meg’s voice came next. “I’m not leaving until this afternoon. I need you to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing until then.’ ”
“Besides,” Zoe continued, “I have a terrible craving for chocolate. I need you to talk me out of it.”
Without removing her hands from her face, Alissa said, “Distract yourself, Zoe. You’re a big girl. Take a walk. Have a cigarette.”
She heard their footsteps move into the sauna, then stop. She assumed they sat down on the bench facing her.
“I can’t smoke,” Zoe said. “Right after Scott was born, I had a stroke.”
The only sound in the sauna was of the slow steam from the coals.
Alissa sat up. Zoe and Meg faced her, toweled just as she was. Three women, so very different, such unlikely friends. But here, in their towels, they were stripped of their differences.
Zoe walked slowly toward a cedar bench and sat down. “It’s a secret that’s been kept under wraps for almost fifteen years.”
Secrets. Thoughts of Robert flashed through Alissa’s mind.
Meg took a seat and crossed her legs. “For a lot of people,” she said, “secrets are a way of life.”
The coals hissed, the women were silent. Then Zoe shook her head. “Some secrets are worth keeping. But one about having a stroke? That was selfish. Today more and more women—famous women who have much more to lose than I ever did—are going public with horrendous stories of cancer, abuse, and all kinds of life-threatening problems that they’ve overcome.” She let out a low, short laugh. “But me? I couldn’t even admit I’d had a stroke. It wasn’t that I was afraid of losing my career. I was afraid people would laugh at me, that they’d think I was weak. Then I wouldn’t fit in. And I’d wind up feeling like the same out-of-place kid who grew up as a Jew in northern Minnesota.”
Alissa swallowed. She suddenly thought of her little-girl friends, preening in mirrors, adorned in Aunt Helma’s fabulous furs. “None of us like to admit our weaknesses,” Alissa said. “Especially to ourselves.” But even as she heard her words, Alissa couldn’t believe they were coming from her. A leftover tear from the night before—the month, the year, before—found its way to the surface. Alissa let it fall.
“My selfishness hurt a lot of people,” Zoe continued. “I pressured William to keep the news of my stroke from the media. He told them I’d gone into seclusion to raise my baby. What they didn’t know was that I was paralyzed on my left side. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t talk. After a couple of years the press finally gave up on me.” She raised her eyes to the dark cedar ceiling. “I’m sure it was awfully hard on William. Not only my illness, but my selfishness. It was hard on Marisol, too. And especially on my baby.”
Alissa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was Zoe making this up to pacify her, to convince her that everyone had problems? That no one was perfect, or led a perfect life? Zoe didn’t seem to be making it up, but still … Alissa studied Zoe’s face. The woman’s skin was flawless, with that dark, creamy texture that God seemed to have saved for the Jewish princesses of the world. It was hard to believe that no words had been uttered from Zoe’s pouty, full lips for two years. Alissa cleared her throat. “You look all right to me.”
“She’s right,” Meg said. “You look fine.”
Zoe shook her head. “I am now. In fact, I have been for about ten years. William hired the most trustworthy, the best, therapists. Marisol was there for me. But for the first two years I refused even to try. I was happier hiding from the world, feeling sorry for myself, I guess.”
“I know what it’s like to hide from the world,” Meg said as she raised her chin and turned her face away—a gesture Alissa recognized as one meant to deflect the pain within. “First,” Meg continued in her deliberate, guarded voice, “you do it because it seems safer.”
“Then,” Zoe interjected, “you do it because it’s a habit you don’t know how to break.”
Closing her eyes, Alissa let the heat envelop her, soothe her. “Or you do what I do,” she said. “You rise to the challenge and show the world who’s boss.” She rested her aching head against the wall, conscious that for once, she didn’t feel like being the boss. She felt defeated, deflated. And replete with the sudden knowledge that, in reality, like Meg and like Zoe, Alissa was alone. After a moment she said softly, “I never should have left him. My happiest days were spent with Jay.”
A silence fell. Meg cleared her throat. “At least the two of you have your children. Families. Friends.”
Alissa opened her eyes. “So you feel the same way—that you shouldn’t have left that man you once loved.”
“The only man I ever loved.”
“And I,” Zoe said, “should never have let Eric go.”
Alissa tightened the towel around her bustline. “What are we saying here, ladies? That we’re all sisters in regret?”
“It’s too late now,” Meg said. “We have to keep on doing what we’ve been doing all these years. We have to get on with our lives.”
Alissa snorted. “Get on with my life? I have no life! My life sucks the big one right now. I get the feeling both of yours do, too. Maybe we ought to do something about it.”
“Like what?” Zoe asked.
“Like I said last night. Let’s find them.”
“What!” Meg exclaimed. “Why? To show them what they missed?”
“Maybe,” Alissa answered quietly, “or to see if the flame is still there.”
“You’re crazy,” Zoe said. “And it’s too hot in here for me. I’m leaving.” She stood up and moved toward the door.
Alissa reached out and put a hand on Zoe’s arm. “Think about it. Say we all go home. Back to our lives. But we have a secret. We won’t tell anyone else. We’ll look for our men, and we’ll find out what kind of lives we might have had. Then we’ll be able to close the book on those memories once and for all.”
“You seem to be forgetting one thing,” Zoe said. “You still have a husband.”
“Believe me,” Alissa said, “he wouldn’t care.”
“And my ‘lost love’ is someone’s husband. He’s not interested in seeing me again,” Meg said as she, too, stood.
“You don’t know that.”
The three women studied each other.
“We’ll never know if we don’t try,” Alissa said. “What have we got to lose?”
6
They sat in the front pew, for the partners were, after all, the closest thing Avery had to family.
Meg knew a hundred pairs of eyes were boring into the back of her head; she’d have given
anything to know if one pair belonged to Steven Riley. She looked to either side of her and noticed that everyone’s head was bowed. She quickly lowered hers.
In the hollowness of the stone cathedral, the drone of the priest’s words was interrupted only by an occasional cough, a foot scuffing the floor, a gentle, sincere-sounding blow of a nose. Most of the people were there only to be seen, Meg knew, but they were there. She briefly wondered how many would be there if the funeral were for her. The partners, of course. Well, maybe the partners; now that Avery was gone, even that was doubtful. Danny Gordon would be there. Janine, the receptionist. Perhaps a few from the clerical pool.
She peeked around at the still-bowed heads. There would hardly be enough mourners to fill two pews if the funeral were for her. She closed her eyes again. Well, maybe the neighbor who took care of Raggedy Man when she was away. That made one more. She wondered if the neighbor would keep Raggedy Man for good.
There was a faint sound of bells, and Meg felt movement stir around her. She raised her head. The priest was sprinkling something over the orchid-draped coffin. Orchids, Meg thought. Danny must have provided them.
Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with Danny? Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with anyone? Had Steven ruined her ability ever to love again? Had he stolen so much of her heart, taken so much of her soul, that nothing was left? What had been so different, so special, about Steven Riley? Meg had told Danny that she was better off alone. But did she really believe that?
The bells sounded again. Meg stiffened. In a moment she would be expected to face people, talk to them, be sociable. In a moment she would know if Steven was there.
A small pool of perspiration formed between her breasts. Damn Alissa Page, Meg thought. And damn Zoe Hartmann. If it hadn’t been for the two of them, she wouldn’t be sitting there dwelling on Steven, or trying her damnedest not to dwell on Steven. She should be mourning Avery. For all their differences, Avery had done something for Meg: he had given her a chance. She folded her arms across her stomach. Those foolish women had stirred up emotions that were best left alone. Then she half smiled. Well, maybe that would be two more to add to the guest list for her funeral.