by Susan Ward
Flashing snippets of old memories soar through my head. Oh God, she did tell me. I just didn’t understand. I refused to see what Rene could see, but deep down, I think I always knew.
I jump to my feet and run to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Everything is running loose and frantic in me and I can’t bear to look at Rene, not for another moment. I haven’t gotten a single thing in my life right. Every decision I’ve made hasn’t been right or left turns. It’s been right or wrong turns, and the wrong path is the one I invariably take.
I let Alan go, over and over again, and he’s the only man I’ve ever truly loved. That is the truth. Why do I hide from it?
I married Neil and I shouldn’t have. That is the truth and I hid from that as well. That nagging voice deep inside me told me not to do it, I ignored it, and I refused to listen. My life is in shambles, I have no one to blame but me, and I don’t know how to fix any of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The second the cameras stop rolling, I unclip my microphone. I rush from the stage without doing all the post-show pleasantries interviewers expect from their guests.
Four public appearances in a single week. Done. Finished. And hell is going to freeze over before I will ever do this for Neil again.
I focus on keeping my breathing calm as I hurry down the hallway ignoring the people telling me “good show” or simply trying to talk to me. I’ve been just this side of rational since the fucking pictures of me and Neil started flashing on the big screen and monitors.
I hate the montages, the this is your oh-so-perfect married life crap, the image created by the repulsive spin machine, Ernie Levine. My stomach turns since it’s now abundantly clear why everyone managing Neil’s career always pressured me to do those damn couple interviews and photo exposés, and wanted to play up the rock star outsider, happily married family man image.
“It sells records, Chrissie,” Neil would say whenever I balked at doing it. Bullshit, Neil, it hides from your fans you’re gay.
Did they all know? Christ, who else other than Rene knew Neil was gay? His family must have known. The band? I could understand Josh Moss not being honest with me, but Nate Kassel? Wouldn’t Nate have told me?
Oh God, I’m doing it again. Obsessing on the road of who knew. No, Chrissie, you don’t want that answer. Does it even matter now?
I go into a dressing room, thankfully empty, and slam shut the door. I press my brow against the wood. I didn’t fall to pieces while the cameras rolled, I didn’t make any glaring mistakes, and what’s happening in my life is still a private thing.
There’s a knock on the door.
I jerk back. “Yes?”
“Chrissie, it’s me. Let me in.”
Rene says that in a frantic whisper. I open the door just enough for her to slip through and bolt it behind her.
“You were amazing, Chrissie,” she says enthusiastically, her eyes wide and approving. “Not even a hint there’s anything wrong between you and Neil. I don’t know how you do it, carry on a flawless performance of marital bliss standing in a shit storm.”
Managing a slight smile, I run my fingers through my hair, surprised by her latest compliment and simultaneously annoyed with her. Maybe it’s just the strangeness of it all, Rene approving of everything I do. I remind myself that she didn’t mean to say something that would irk me—a flawless performance of marital bliss—she is trying really hard to be supportive, and that I am overly sensitive these days, reacting to small, meaningless nothings. An emotional powder keg.
I don’t want to get irritated with her, not over a handful of clumsy words. Rene has been a really good friend this week. Loyal. Supportive. Clearing her schedule and sticking by my side throughout each appearance I’ve had to make. She’s really come through, been there for me in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe we’ve both grown up a bit from those selfish, foolish girls we were in high school.
I feel drained and drop onto a chair at the makeup station.
“What’s amazing is what you can make yourself do when you have a child.” I feel the tears gathering inside me at the thought of Kaley. “Fuck, I’m not going to be able to keep this private forever. What am I going to do? I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to explain it to Kaley once she’s old enough to understand.”
Rene sits on a stool beside me, turns it to face me, then starts to make little right, left, right, left swivels.
She pauses a moment, as if giving it thought. “You have a long time before you have to think of that. And when the time comes, ignore Kaley’s questions and let Neil explain.” She crinkles her nose. “That’s what my parents did.”
A hard, choking laugh pushes out of me. “Oh, and you worked out so well.”
Rene smiles. “I didn’t say it was a good plan.”
She laughs and I give her a small smile, shaking my head before I rummage through my purse for my mobile phone. I flip it open and scroll through the voice mail messages. My usual daily dose. A dozen or so from Neil. I can’t avoid him forever, but I’m not there yet. I can’t listen to the messages and I am nowhere near ready to talk to him.
I push them from view with my thumb. A message from Jack—his daily status report on Kaley, no doubt. One from Linda. One from Alan.
The only voice mail I’m mildly tempted to listen to is Alan’s, but that’s not a good idea, not with the way I’m feeling.
I’ve entered what Rene has termed the ninth circle of hell of infidelity, when you think the infidelity means there is something wrong with you since you are not the winner in your partner’s heart. Where you make the infidelity all about you. Stupid and a potential death spiral for your self-esteem.
Definitely stupid—Rene is right about that one since my husband wanting a man over me is clear evidence it’s not about me—but the woman deep inside me is feeling miserably defeated.
I shouldn’t feel like a failure as a woman, but I do. I feel broken and worthless and undesirable.
I shake my head, growing impatient with myself. Lame, Chrissie, lame. This isn’t about you. It’s about Neil. I will never be what Neil needs. And he has never been everything I need. We’ve been only almost perfect but not quite enough since the beginning. That’s the truth of your marriage, Chrissie. I can’t even remember the last time I was touched in a way that made my femaleness pulse through my veins.
Unbidden, Alan comes to mind. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. The cells in my body unexpectedly come awake. There is no point in pretending any longer. The last time I felt my body come alive in the way it should was with Alan.
My hunger for him has never gone away, not completely. It’s been there between Neil and me from the start, just as Andy has been between us as well.
Alan has never left my heart, not for a single moment of any day since I met him. I love him. I want him. I don’t have to lie to myself any longer.
I snap shut my phone and stand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sure. What do you want to do?”
“Don’t know yet.”
We’re quiet as we exit the building and cross the lot to my car. I hit the unlock button and open the driver’s side door.
I stare at Rene across the roof. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
Rene’s brows shoot up, surprised. “Sure, I could eat.” Her mouth curls in a pleased smile. “I bet you’re starved. You didn’t even touch your breakfast, and there was no reason not to eat it.” She makes a face at me. “I’m a much better cook than you.”
I roll my eyes, but there is a certain comfort being with someone, while in crisis, who knows you well.
We climb in and pull from the lot.
Once on the road, Rene checks her watch. “It’s only noon and you don’t have to be at The Forum tonight until what? Three? 4 p.m. for sound check? We can eat. Go back to the house. Sleep. And be ready to go by showtime.”
Her efficient, take-charge manner does nothing to diminish the rush of emotionally messy that fol
lows her words. Jesus Christ, I’m on stage with Alan tonight and not at all steady enough for him.
What will it be like to be with him this time? Will it be different now that I know I don’t have to stop myself because of Neil? Not once in the past four years when I am near Alan have I been able to shut off my internal Alan affect. And tonight, I don’t have to fight it.
Shit.
I change lanes, merging onto another freeway.
“Chrissie, where are we going?”
Startled, I look at her. Rene is frowning and then I realize I’m heading toward Malibu.
I shrug. “I thought it would be nice if we ate at the beach today.”
~~~
I sit at the table, moving my food around the plate, and smiling and nodding as Rene babbles on. I picked a restaurant only a handful of minutes away from Alan’s beach house.
I frown. Why did I do that, bring myself within close proximity to Alan? I wonder if he’s in LA yet. I wonder if he’s at the house. Fuck, Chrissie, stop being an idiot. He’s probably at a party or getting drunk with the band or getting laid.
Memories flash through my mind. The glide of Alan’s fingers on my flesh. Those mesmerizing, penetrating black eyes. The way his gaze shimmers when he’s happy Alan. The way it burns when he wants me. His gentleness. His anger. His kindness. Even his meanness.
I stab my enchilada with a fork and force down a bite. God, how is it possible that I am consumed again by the thought of Alan so quickly? There must be something seriously wrong with me that I could lose my husband and become obsessed with a past love in the same week.
I look up from my food.
“What are you thinking about, Chrissie? You have the strangest expression on your face.”
“Nothing.” I look at her plate. “Are you done? Do you want to get out of here?”
She does a dainty dab of her mouth with her napkin and laughs. “I’ve been finished for twenty minutes and watching you sit there, pretending to listen to me and staring off into space.”
I flush. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I’ve just got a lot of decisions to make.”
She nods and pats my hand. “I know. Completely understandable. Don’t apologize. Not to me.”
“Thanks.”
Unexpectedly, she leans across the table, takes my cheeks in her hands and does a fast, hard friendship kiss on my lips. Suddenly she is deadly serious, staring at me, holding my face.
“Whatever you feel like doing is the right response, Chrissie,” she announces out of nowhere, in the medical sort of tone she’s been cultivating since we were in eighth grade. “We all heal in different ways. There are no right or wrong decisions or correct process in this. It’s OK to do what you need to do for you.”
Oh crap, where did that advice come from? A carefully coded message that I think is intended as permission to fuck Alan tonight. How the hell does she know that’s what I’ve been thinking about?
Without waiting for my response, she eases back in her chair and motions for the waitress to bring the check. I watch as she pays. The last five minutes remind me of why we’ve stayed friends all these years. We drift apart and then magically transform into best friends again. She knows and understands me in a way no one else ever will.
At the car I make another snap decision. “Do you mind if we make a stop before we go back to your place?”
Rene’s eyes widen. “No. We can do whatever you want to do.”
I fumble through my bag, looking for my keys. I can feel her watching me and I don’t know what she sees on my face, but she suddenly points at me and says, “You stay sweet.”
Fuck. There are tears burning in my eyes again. I point back. “You stay cute.”
I pull from the parking lot and head north on highway 1. I feel shaky and loose inside and submerged in a strange feeling of déjà vu.
The last time Rene gave me permission to be bad and sealed it with the pact of our stay sweet and cute ritual was before we left for spring break in New York in 1989. I felt exactly like this when we left Hendry’s Beach and I drove to Peppers instead of home to Hope Ranch.
The night I met Neil.
And the night I met Alan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I park in front of the stunning concrete and glass structure hugging the beach. It looks exactly the same as I remember, every detail.
What will it feel like to go inside the house?
I haven’t been here since that day Alan and I fought on the patio and I walked away. The day I jumped a track in my life. The day that put me on a collision course with Neil and where I am today.
I push away the memory of how Alan looked at me as I left him standing there. I should have stayed and fought for him. If I’d fought for him, would we be together today?
The details I missed in the frenzy of that moment I see so clearly now. His posture. His expression. Those great dark eyes as I walked away. Why did I walk away? All Alan wanted from me was the truth. Such a simple thing. I couldn’t do it. I walked away.
Another flashing image breaks free. The fight we had the first time I traveled to be with him here. Elegantly mean Alan, grabbing my chin and forcing me to meet his smoldering stare. Why are you here? I was so frightened, the moment so dangerously serious, and I almost couldn’t find my words in fear that if I answered him wrong we’d be over forever.
The first words in my head were the words I spoke. I’m here because I love you.
“Where are we?” Rene asks.
I startle. For a moment I forgot Rene was with me.
“This is Alan’s beach house. I just wanted to come here today.” I say, struggling to keep my emotions from my face.
She’s staring through the windshield with greater interest now. “There are no cars in the driveway. It looks shut up. Vacant.”
I shrug, pulling my keys from the ignition. “He’s not here. He’s been in New York. He offered me the house to stay in while I was in LA.”
I climb from the car and hurry up the walk, feeling the coolness of the keys in my hand. I still have the key. Why did I keep it? Why didn’t Alan ask for it back? It probably doesn’t even work anymore. He must have had the locks changed. It’s been five years since I’ve needed the key.
In my memory whisper the words the day Alan gave it to me. This can be anything you want it to be. Anything I want to it be, and the only thing I did was love Alan badly.
I pause at the front door, afraid to try the key. Afraid to find the answer. I rub my finger along the jagged edge, reminding myself that even if it doesn’t fit it doesn’t mean anything. It’s been five years.
My heart jumps when it slides in and turns the latch. I hear a beep and hurry to the security alarm wall panel. What if he’s changed that? It would be humiliating to have the police show up to find me with no ready or reasonable explanation in my head as to why I am here. Fuck, how would I explain that one?
A low, raspy voice sounds in my head. Why are you here?
I’m here, Alan, because I love you. Punch. Punch. Punch. My birthday. My eyes widen. Green lights. Beeping silenced.
I hear Rene following behind me as I wander deeper into the house. The sound of the front door closing. I stand in the center of the living room, facing the giant wall of glass looking out at the ocean.
The house is exactly the same. Exactly as I remember. Stylishly turned out in white and black shabby-chic furnishings. The natural wood tables. The boldly colored European Impressionist art encased in glass, floor to ceiling. Everything perfect. Everything the same, and it still holds the feel of having never been lived in.
Only Alan still lives here when he’s in the States. And here we loved each other. It’s almost frozen in time. Unchanged.
I start wandering the room. There are instruments everywhere, personal possessions lightly sprinkled here and there. My eyes hungrily drink in each remembered detail and in surprise I find the few minor Chrissie alterations to Alan’s flawless existence. I spot a picture
of us on a tall, round table. The books I’d forgotten that last day resting beside that Native American bowl on the coffee table. The blanket I love and used to wrap around me before going to sit on the patio on foggy mornings, neatly folded and draped over the back of an overstuffed chair.
Oh God, even that Domenico Montagnana cello he bought as an apology gift and never gave to me, later to be brought here so I would have it if I wanted to play while we shared our moments at the beach.
I crouch down, running an index finger along the smooth surface of the wood. My life with Alan is still here. He never let go of me completely, not really. Whereas I…you, Chrissie, put him in a lockbox and walked away.
“Holy crap! This is sure not what I expected Alan Manzone’s house to look like.” Rene’s voice pulls me from my stupor. I turn. She’s across the room studying the paintings on the wall. “This is a Guillaumin. This is a Cassatt.” She stares at me, arching a brow. “You do realize we’ve just broken in to a house full of millions of dollars of art.”
The way she says that makes me almost laugh. “I told you. He invited me to stay here. We didn’t break in. I have a key.”
She drops down heavily on a couch and starts grabbing things off a table, studying them then setting them back.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Sure, why not? It might make it less creepy to be here.”
The bar is fully stocked. I pour us each a scotch straight up. I set the glasses on the coffee table and sink down to sit on my knees across from Rene.
She lifts her glass. “Scotch, huh? You only drink scotch when you’re trying to work through something, Chrissie.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Why are we here?”
I shake my head, debating whether to discuss this with her. I run my fingers through my hair, frustrated with myself and these odd impulses inside me that flash out of nowhere and can’t be contained.