by Kyra Davis
From the corner of my eye I can see Cathy leaning into another man at her table, bending her head so she can catch whatever whispered words he wants to share.
Travis sees it too.
“You have to tell me,” Jessica pushes. “I simply can’t take another—”
“I. Don’t. Know!”
The entire room falls silent. Everyone turns to our table. Edmund’s smile is frozen on his face as Lander leans back casually in his chair, clearly amused.
“Yes,” Sam Highkin says with a light laugh. “That’s what I was saying. None of us really know what the long-term effects of this new regulation will be. Thank you, Travis, for being so passionate about the subject.”
The room bursts out into uncomfortable laughter. They’re laughing.
They’re laughing at Travis.
And now Travis is positively red.
It’s sorta hard not to rub my hands together in glee. Instead I satisfy myself by studying Travis’s face, relishing the idea that he might be turning red with humiliation. Although now that I look closer I can see that he’s red with rage.
That’s good too.
It’s also true that Cathy has looked over to our table for the first time. And when Travis sees that he goes from red to white. It’s odd, Travis is always so composed, but tonight his face is like one giant mood ring. Whatever effect this woman has on him, it’s powerful.
Edmund, on the other hand, has remained one color. He’s also remained in one position. Since Cathy walked in he’s barely moved a muscle. Unlike Travis, he hasn’t had an outburst, but you can tell that he’s seriously pissed.
I’m having such a good time.
As Highkin launches into another long-winded answer to another overly simplistic question, Edmund leans forward, toward Jessica and Travis, and says in a voice that’s quiet but absolutely impossible to miss, “Pull it together.”
Jessica is staring down into her empty wineglass, her water still untouched. “I can’t take this,” she sobs.
“You will take whatever you need to take!” Edmund replies in the same low voice. “You are the wife of a Gable and you will do what is necessary to keep up appearances.”
“I’m his wife?” Jessica asks as the rest of the room bursts into applause for whatever Highkin just said. “Really? How long will that last? Am I on my way out? Is that what this is about?”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Travis growls.
This is not how Travis talks. He’s losing his cool.
“Is that my replacement?” Jessica asks, the hysteria rising in her voice. “So will you be sending me to the guillotine or will you skip the formalities and go with a sniper?”
“Get your wife in line, Travis.”
“And what line would that be, Edmund?” Jessica demands. “Have I made the Gable family assassination list? Or are you going to have me locked up on trumped-up charges? Or do you have something new planned for me?”
In the background, Highkin is walking away from the podium, and people are getting up from their seats to approach him and mingle.
But at our table the world has stopped.
“You’re being ridiculous, Jessica,” Edmund says, looking surreptitiously over his shoulder.
“Ridiculous? That’s a ridiculous concern? Have you forgotten—”
Edmund slams his hand on the table so hard all our silverware jumps. Again there are looks and whispers around the room, but no one dares get close enough to eavesdrop.
A single sob escapes Jessica’s lips as she grabs her purse. “I can’t take this. I really can’t.” Jumping to her feet, she rushes out of the room. A hundred curious eyes follow her, all wondering what has spurred this rare meltdown of the Gables.
chapter seventeen
* * *
Travis, I demand that you go after her right now and deal with this,” Edmund hisses.
“She’ll be fine,” Travis says distractedly, his eyes on Cathy. “She’ll go to the ladies’ room and take a few Valium to calm herself. Jessica is well versed in the ways of self-medication.”
“People are looking!” Edmund snaps. His hand is shaking and his jaw is tense. “Go after her!”
“I can’t very well follow her into the ladies’ room.”
The look Edmund gives Travis is so vicious it actually pulls his attention away from Cathy.
Slowly and very reluctantly, Travis stands. “Bell,” he says, snapping his fingers in my direction, “I’m going to need your assistance with this.”
“She’s not a dog,” Lander says coolly. “You can’t summon her with the snap of your fingers.”
I turn to look at Lander. He has been enjoying this show every bit as much as I have. I can just sense it. But he hasn’t added his voice to the conversation, until now.
“She’s my employee,” Travis replies, as if that gives him the right to summon me any way he likes.
“Ah.” Lander bows his head and puts his forearms on the table, pretending to ponder his brother’s logic. “Perhaps I should rephrase. If you snap your fingers at her again I will break them.” He looks up at Travis, his gaze unwavering. “I will hold down your hand and pulverize each digit with the pounding of my fist, crushing the bones—”
“Enough!” Edmund growls. “You are men! Stop squabbling like little boys and hysterical women!”
Lander opens his mouth to address his father, but I put my hand over his, gently, calmingly, like a wife. “It’s all right,” I say. “I want to help with Jessica.”
“Then you should do that,” Lander says kindly, raising my hand to his lips for a kiss. “After he apologizes.”
Travis gives him a withering look. “You must be joking.”
“She is not your assistant tonight,” Lander says, turning his attention back to his brother. “She’s my date. If you insult my date, you insult me. An apology is called for.”
“Ah, so long as we know this is about you,” Travis notes, his eyes traveling back to Cathy’s table. “I’m not in an apologetic mood so I suggest you withdraw your request. After all, you should never ask for more than you can get. It makes you look weak.”
“For God’s sake, apologize, Travis, and get your damned wife in hand before she does something even more idiotic than usual!” Edmund demands.
Travis gives his father a poisonous look. “You’re siding with him?”
I press my lips together. He is acting a bit like a little boy.
“I am siding with the Gable name!” Edmund’s voice is trembling slightly as he strains to control his volume. “Considering what the name has done for you, I’d think you would appreciate that!”
Travis stares at him for a beat and then inhales sharply and gives his father an almost imperceptible nod. “Bell, for the sake of my family’s name, I apologize.”
I immediately get to my feet, not wanting to give anyone time to weigh in on whether or not the apology was adequate. “Be back soon,” I call over my shoulder while following Travis as he strides out of the banquet hall.
Once we’re in the wide corridor he stops short in front of the ladies’ room. “She’s in there,” Travis says, with both certainty and irritation. “Get her out and bring her back to the table.”
“You’re not going to wait here?”
“You have your instructions,” he snaps.
I smile obligingly and walk through the door.
Once inside I walk through what is truly a “ladies’ lounge,” crossing the sitting area and heading straight to the sinks and mirrors. That’s where Jessica is, one hand on the counter, an open pill case in the other. My guess is that she’s already taken three or four of whatever those are and is now just waiting for them to kick in.
But what strikes me is the way she’s looking at her reflection. You would think that she was looking at a stranger. I know she’s aware of my presence; my reflection is right there in front of her. But she makes no indication of it.
And then, she smiles. It’s the slow, despairing smile of
a woman who knows her fate has been decided and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.
“You see,” she says as if we’re picking up in the middle of a conversation, “Travis has always been respectful toward me in public. That was important to him. He doesn’t care if he humiliates me in front of the help. But he recognized that our behavior at social gatherings had professional implications.” She reaches for her purse on the counter and starts looking through its contents. “I’ve always liked going out with Travis to these kinds of events, even when things are bad between us. And really, when are they not bad between us? But when we go to these dinners and parties, for the space of a few hours, I can pretend that my life is okay. Can you imagine?”
I don’t respond; I’m not meant to. It’s clear that my role now is to listen.
“At these parties I can pretend that I’m married to a man who values me,” she continues, pausing long enough to drag a lipstick across her mouth. “I can pretend that our marriage is comfortable and decent. And for those few hours I can almost forget that I am, in fact, a prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner—”
“If Cathy’s here, it’s because he invited her. He knows how humiliating that is for me. He knew how I would react. And he did it anyway. He has tossed aside the rules of our little game and suddenly he’s willing to humiliate me in front of everyone. Now, you tell me, why?” She leans closer to the mirror as if the reflection could give her an answer. “Why would he risk a scene? He must have known there would be a scene!” She squeezes her eyes closed, shakes her head. “He’s planning something, that’s why. This is part of a plot. This won’t work out well for me. It never does, you know.”
If Jessica were to say all this to a psychiatrist he might diagnose her as a paranoid schizophrenic. But when you’re married to a Gable, paranoid is just another word for rational.
“Maybe he simply wants to see this woman,” I suggest. “Maybe it’s just an affair, just like any other affair. You said you could withstand that, remember?” I ask, unable to resist throwing that conversation back in her face.
“I can handle him sleeping with other women,” she says steadily. “I’ve made my peace with that. But that is not what this is.” She pauses a moment, then she slips the pill case and the lipstick back into her evening bag, shifts her weight, and makes eye contact with me through the mirror. She smiles a light, casual smile. “You know,” she says, “I once read a news story about this interesting little man from Colombia.”
I blink, momentarily thrown by the non sequitur.
“From what I understand, Colombia is a horrible place, filled with crime and corruption. But this man, he wasn’t corrupt. He served in the army, did all the things he was supposed to do, and then one day, he was approached by members of a notorious and powerful cartel. They had heard about his army training and they wanted him to commit a murder for them. And this man, who had never had any criminal ambitions, realized that now that the cartel had told him what they wanted him to do, he simply had to do it. He had no choice, you see. By asking for his services the cartel had given him information that no one outside of their organization was allowed to have. He was trapped.”
I suck in a deep breath, cross my arms over my chest. “What did he do?”
“He committed the murder, of course!” Jessica retorts. “The man they wanted him to murder wasn’t exactly a pinnacle of morality anyway. He had certainly hurt his share of people. So this man killed him thinking that was it, he was done!”
“Was he?”
Jessica laughs. “Silly! Of course not! Because he would always know too much. The cartel was never going to let him walk away. The little man had no choice, he had to become a member of the cartel family.”
Finally she turns to me. That same sad smile on her face. “It’s a story I relate to.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Bell, you understand perfectly.”
The room goes silent as we hold each other’s gaze.
“You hate me,” she says. “And you have every right to. I’ve insulted you, demeaned you . . . I’ve truly enjoyed the power I’ve had over you. It’s the only power I’m allowed, really. Like I said, I’m not a good person. But still,” she says, stepping forward and putting her lips to my ear, “I may not be guilty in the ways you think I am.”
I don’t move. I can’t. All my muscles have tensed and frozen. Slowly, Jessica pulls away, smiles down at me pityingly. “Depressed, desperate women aren’t fools, Bell,” she says, pronouncing that name with sarcasm. “We’re depressed and desperate because we pay attention.”
I meet her eyes and then, as she moves away from me, through the ladies’ lounge and back out into the outside corridor, I continue to stand there, staring at nothing but my own reflection.
chapter eighteen
* * *
At least two minutes pass before I can move again, and even then I’m only able to slump into one of the overstuffed lounge chairs as I make sense of what just happened. Does Jessica know who I am? It’s certainly not the first time she’s caused me to ask myself that question. It’s funny, but of all the Gables, she’s the one I keep underestimating again and again. Maybe it’s because she allows Travis to treat her the way he does. But then, perhaps she sees that as her penance.
Or, more likely, she truly doesn’t believe that she has a choice. Once the cartel shares its secrets with you, you’re theirs for life.
But if Jessica knows my secret, why hasn’t she told Travis or Edmund? Is she simply biding her time? Waiting to cause maximum damage? I can almost respect that. And as she said, she’s depressed and desperate. She could do anything.
I look down at my silk chiffon dress. I look like an ingenue. It’s laughable really. There are no innocents in this dark fairy tale I seem to be living in.
I take a deep breath, pull myself to my feet, and check my reflection again.
Beautiful.
Just the memory of Lander saying that word is enough to give me a little strength. The truth is that at this moment everything, and I mean pretty much everything, is going my way. Jessica can hint around all she likes, but at this moment Lander and I are still five steps ahead.
With partially rebuilt confidence I leave the ladies’ room and am about to head back into the banquet hall when I hear murmured voices around the corner, not far from the bride’s dressing room. One of the voices sounds like Travis’s.
Quietly I follow the sound, reaching the dressing room and then turning the corner only to find them tucked into an alcove, partially hidden in shadows. Travis and Cathy. I duck back behind the corner and try to quiet my breath, straining to catch every word.
“You’re magnificent,” I hear him say.
“Am I?” she retorts. Even without looking I can tell that she’s preening.
“I can’t believe I’m seeing you again. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Oh, am I supposed to pretend not to know you wanted me here?”
At this I crouch down and dare a peek, praying that the truth of how she got her invitation isn’t revealed.
“No,” Travis says, in a voice that is much too gentle for him. His eyes are on her but she’s turned partially away, staring stubbornly at the wall. “I always want you here.” He reaches forward and takes her hand. “I just can’t believe . . . or I simply didn’t think . . . that is—” He breaks off and laughs ruefully at his own clumsiness. “It’s been hell, Cathy. Not seeing you, not being able to talk to you.” He looks down at her hand in his. “People have always said that I’m heartless and they’re right, but when I lost you . . .” He hesitates and then shakes his head. “Jesus, Cathy, when I lost you I lost my soul.”
Cathy’s body language visibly changes. She seems to sway just slightly, and although I can’t be sure from where I stand, it looks as if she might be holding back tears. He leans in, reaching to pull her closer, but then she suddenly jerks her hand away and takes a step back. “You did
n’t lose me,” she says, wiping impatiently at what must be a tear. “You threw me away. It was you who decided that family loyalty was more important than your soul.”
“It didn’t have to be like this,” Travis says. “I offered—”
“You offered me the chance to be your official mistress. Your kept woman. This is the twenty-first century, Travis. Women are no longer the property of their men. You can’t keep me. You can’t lock me up in some stupid gilded cage and expect me to twiddle my thumbs until you have time for me. I was supposed to be your partner. Do you remember that? Do you remember any of the promises you made to me?”
“Every one.” Travis steps forward again. “Cathy, look at me.” But when she refuses to he sighs and continues. “If there had been a way for me to keep those promises, any way at all, I would have done it. There were no good options. Not for me, not for us.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I told you, one of the main reasons I did what I did was to protect you. To keep you safe.”
“To keep me safe?” Cathy scoffs. “What was it that was supposed to keep me safe? The heartbreak? The loneliness? Watching that bitch get everything that was promised to me? If that’s safety, then no wonder I’ve always craved danger.”
“Cathy.” Travis’s voice has taken on a slightly different tone, one that actually hints at a budding concern. “Look at me.” Her face remains turned toward the wall.
“Cathy,” he says again, a bit more urgently. He reaches forward and takes her chin in his hand, turning her face toward his. “Cathy,” this time with a note of panic, “is there something wrong with your eyes?”
For a moment Cathy seems as thrown as I am. I have no idea what he’s talking about. There is no quick comeback from her. Instead she slowly reaches forward and places her hand gently against his cheek, only to then quickly pull away and turn her back on him. “My eyes are none of your concern,” she snaps, then adds with a bitter laugh, “After all, I only have eyes for my husband now.”