by Rowan Hanlon
And in the middle of the far wall, almost like a shrine of sorts, was an oversized portrait of herself. The portrait was housed between two built-ins and was lit by a small, museum quality bronze light that hung over it just at the top. The portrait was of herself when she was much younger. And she was a beauty, classically blonde with just a slight stony gaze at the camera. The photographer was a young man she’d known in college who’d been madly in love with her. He’d gone on to work for some studio in Hollywood as a cinematographer and was very successful. Celeste paused for a moment, trying to remember his name. Was it Jonathan? Jasper? Gerald? She was struck by how she could not recall his name, though they had been very serious for a time. Then, with a snap of her fingers, she remembered his name—Garth! Right? Yes, that was it.
She immediately dismissed Garth, refusing to even delight in his memory for a moment, and they’d had some fun times. She was like that. Once she was done with something—or in this case, someone—she was done. It wasn’t that she was cold and uncaring and she certainly wasn’t a sociopath, but Celeste never liked to hold on to things, unless, of course, it was some article of clothing or high-end accessory.
On each side of the shrine were shelves which housed her bags, which were arranged by designer. as well as several vintage alligator pieces that could not, ever, be replaced. The bags had been collected over a lifetime and were Celeste’s pride and joy, though she mostly carried her trusty black bag with her every day. The bags were not in their dust bags, as Celeste liked to have them out, looking like the art pieces they were. Some were older ones she’d been given for birthdays and Christmases and some were newer ones she’d been sent by up and comer designers and the like.
She turned to the island which featured built-in drawers. Along the top were slender drawers that housed most all of her jewelry with built-in trays for the rings, earrings, watches, et cetera. Below that were the bigger drawers where she kept her lingerie; below that her t-shirts and silk—only silk—pajamas and below that, her cashmere sweaters. (She only wore cashmere.) After she put on her underwear, she pulled a sweater out in dark blue to match her eyes, and then found her favorite pair of perfectly worn-in jeans. Once she had slipped the outfit on—being careful to hold the neck of the sweater open so it didn’t ruin her makeup—she looked around for the perfect shoe, settling on a black flat. It was the weekend, after all. She stared at the bottom of the shoes for a moment. They needed to be re-soled. They were her favorite pair and she knew she’d never be able to find ones exactly like these. She knew most people would just go buy new ones but she liked these too much and going out and simply buying a new pair, though it might be easy, would not be the same. Besides, why replace something that was perfectly fine? She made a mental note to tell her assistant and then slipped them on.
After a quick grab of her watch and pair of diamond studs from her jewelry tray, she turned to study herself in the oversized full-length mirror that leaned against the wall next to the doors. She looked great. She looked casual and rich and yet, somehow, approachable, though in reality she was far from being approachable. She was thin, she was gorgeous and she was barren. There it was again. It was never far from her mind. The thought of being childless almost made her gag, so she pushed the thought out of her head: No, no, no. She wasn’t about to go down that road again. But then as she looked closer at herself, she began to see the imperfections, like the small bit of fat most all women have on their bellies. She looked down at it and squeezed it, thinking she could get lipo. But she knew that any doctor worth his salt would not operate on her for such a small amount of fat. Maybe she could go out of the country somewhere and get it done. These New York doctors were all sticklers. But then again, what did it matter? What…did…it…matter…?
All of a sudden, Celeste was overcome with emotion. Her mind was spinning, racing with thoughts. She collapsed on the floor and began to cry softy into the rug so no one could hear. She wouldn’t wail or kick anything. She wasn’t that kind of person. She was always in control but she knew the tears were going to come no matter what and it was best to go ahead and get them out of the way this morning. She didn’t want to ruin the day. Now was the time to get it out, get it over and get moving.
In less than five minutes, the same amount of time it took to apply her makeup, Celeste was finished crying. She sat up and wiped at her face, mentally putting all of her emotions back into the box they had spilled out of and adjusted her clothes. She rose and went into the bathroom and washed her face, freeing it from the makeup she’d applied earlier. She looked at herself and decided that today was the day for some injections and that meant she’d have to leave her makeup off anyway. So, she went without. At least that made her smile because she knew that, unlike some women, she could get away with it.
* * * * *
A little later, Celeste was in her kitchen sitting at the island sipping her morning coffee. She looked over the newspaper, scanning it for any interesting news, then remembered she needed to call her doctor. She grabbed her phone and dialed his home number. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Dr. Abrams,” Celeste said. “It’s Celeste. It didn’t work.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that, Celeste,” he said.
“Anyway, I was thinking that I might take another test, just to be sure.”
“Celeste,” he said. “That’s not necessary. Why don’t you take a few weeks off, stop thinking about it and then come back into the office? Our only option is to start over.”
Celeste sighed. “Okay. Good. Well, thank you. Goodbye.”
“Have a good day, Celeste,” he said.
“You, too,” Celeste said and hung up. Just as she did so, her husband, Clifton entered the kitchen in his robe and pajama bottoms. She glanced up at him, at his rugged good looks and his strong shoulders and arms. He was such a manly man and that was one of the main reasons she’d fallen in love with him. He certainly wasn’t like her. He was from a rougher background and he had to work his way through college and then climb the corporate ladder all by himself with no one to help him. He was a fighter and a very good lover. The fact that he now ran his own Wall Street firm made her proud, though she knew he was very proud of her, as she had the more prestigious job, even if he did make more money than she. He never hesitated to brag about her to his colleagues and he never forgot to let her know how special he thought she was. Well, he used to do that a lot. Before all this baby business.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked, scratching his head.
Celeste went back to the paper and replied, “Dr. Abrams.”
“Fuck!” he exclaimed loudly.
Celeste looked up in slight shock.
“Fuck!” he said again, this time more loudly. “Are you fucking kidding me? It didn’t work? Again?”
“No, it did not,” she said. “Please lower your voice.”
“How is that fucking possible?” he asked, almost seething. “We’ve done this like a million times!”
His words infuriated Celeste. “We? We’ve done this? How about me? You’re not the one spread eagle on a fucking table for hours at a time. That’s me! I told you to come with me yesterday!”
“I’m sorry, I had to work!” he half-yelled, then gained his composure. “Sorry, sorry. I just don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“You? What about me?”
“I’m just saying this whole thing is changing us. We don’t have fun anymore. We’ve been trying for years now. And all those fertility drugs you’ve been taking can’t be good for you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Your hair is falling out again,” he said and glanced sideways at her. “I saw it all over the sink. And you’re moody and emotional.”
“That’s because you drive me crazy!” she snapped, almost seething at him. “I need your support or I’ll never get pregnant.”
“Maybe it’s not meant to be.”
“That’s them,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not you.”
“What does that mean?” she snapped.
“You’re not those women, Celeste,” he said.
“What do you mean? I’m a woman! I can have a baby! Everyone else can have a baby, so can I!”
“But that’s just it. Everyone is different. Just because someone you know can have kids at your age doesn’t mean you can.”
“My age? You’re insufferable.” She glared at him, wanting to hit him—hard. How dare he? “So, you just want to give up?” she asked, fuming.
“It’s never going to work,” he told her. “We should have done it when we were younger.”
“But they told me I could wait! Everyone said it. You don’t have to have a baby when you’re young anymore. You can wait!”
Clifton stared at her sadly, almost as if he felt her pain, and shook his head with empathy. “Maybe we waited too long.”
Celeste gasped.
“Don’t get upset. I’m just saying we should explore our options.”
She crossed her arms and said, “And what are our options?”
“Adoption. Maybe a surrogate.”
“But I want to carry the baby,” she said, feeling the tears coming again. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“No, you wanted to be editor-in-chief and you wanted to live in the Upper East Side and you wanted a country house and you—”
“Shut up! Shut up!” she screamed at him and stood. “I’m going to the spa. I won’t be back until later.”
She ignored him as he watched her grab her bag and pull out her sunglasses and put them on. As she did so, he nodded at her and sat down. Just as she started to leave the room he held up one finger.
“What!” she hissed.
“No Botox.”
Celeste stopped and turned to him. “What? I’ve haven’t had any in six months! I’m going to start looking tired!”
“Don’t,” he said firmly. “You don’t know how that stuff could be interfering with all the other drugs in your system”
“It’s not heroin!” she hissed.
“Don’t do it,” he said. “You don’t even need it! Just get a facial or whatever. Oh, we have dinner with the Martins tonight.”
“Well, thanks for telling me.” She shook her head at him.
He just stared back at her then turned to the newspaper then he muttered something.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I said, I sometimes wonder what the hell happened to us,” he replied.
“What happened?” she retorted. “We got old, Clifton, we got old.”
“Speak for yourself,” he said and shook out the newspaper.
“Fuck you,” she seethed.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fuck me.”
She gave him a hellacious look then left the room. Yeah. Fuck him.
The Obelisk
After only a few hours’ sleep, Kael and Nick were up early and cleaning the aftermath of their party. Or, as Kael had joked earlier, “The after-mess.” Nick stuffed trash into large garbage bags while Kael gathered glasses and took them into the kitchen. She set the glasses on the butcher block island and stared out at the living area, which was slowly beginning to look a little more like their loft and less like a crack den. Then something caught her eye. It was a very large and very tall wrapped gift sitting in the corner near the coat rack.
“What’s that?” she asked and pointed.
Nick glanced at it and shrugged. “Oh, Justin brought it.”
“We said no gifts. We said to donate to our charity instead. Why would he do that?”
“You know how he is.”
“Well,” Kael said and crossed the room to the gift. Without a word, she tore the paper off to find a very large obelisk. She stared at it. It was about waist high and the tip of it was very pointy and, when she touched it, it was so sharp, it almost pricked her finger. It was made of some sort of stone gritty material. Soapstone, maybe? Granite? What was it? She didn’t know but she did know she didn’t like it and it had to go. She turned to Nick. “What the fuck is that?”
“An obelisk.”
“Duh,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God, it’s so tacky. What the hell is wrong with him?”
“He works in DC now. That’s why he bought it. You know, they have that big one?”
“Yeah, it’s called the Washington Monument,” she said and rolled her eyes. “It’s gotta go.”
“We can’t just get rid of it!” Nick exclaimed and shook his head.
“The hell we can’t!”
“I like it,” he said.
“You would,” she replied and thought about trying to get him to take it somewhere but she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. After the wedding, she would “disappear” it, just like she had all the other junk he’d insisted on keeping when they moved in together. Yes, there would probably be a fight over it, but she’d give him a good blowjob and he’d be over it. But that tacky thing was going. Damn Justin anyway. If you were going to sneak and buy someone a gift, then buy something worth keeping! Ugh!
Kael sighed with irritation and got back on task, picking up even more glasses and empty bottles of beer. How many people had come to the party anyway? She closed her eyes and thought about it but couldn’t come up with an exact number. While it might have been under a hundred, it seemed more like two hundred because there had been a lot of party crashes and people had been in and out of the loft until the early morning hours. She smiled. She used to crash parties all the time, so more power to them. It was all in good fun, if she hadn’t had to clean up their damn mess.
“I’m going to clean up the bathroom,” Nick said.
She nodded and watched as he grabbed a garbage bag and exited into the bathroom. And she got back to work. A few minutes later, Nick came out holding up the dress she’d worn last night.
“I should probably just trash this, too,” he said and held it up to her.
Kael glanced up, saw the dress and felt her heart drop to her knees. She’d forgotten about that. “Fuck!” she yelled and grabbed it, inspecting the dress and realizing it was beyond repair. “Fuck!” she yelled again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Calm down, please,” Nick said.
“Oh, my God, it’s so gross,” she said and held it out away from her. “Oh, Nick, I am so fucked!”
“It’s just a dress,” he said.
“You are such an asshole!” she hissed and shook her head at his ignorance. “I borrowed this from the closet at work! Celeste is going to kill me!”
“Sorry,” he said and shrugged one shoulder. “You were the one looking all drunk and sexy.”
She eyed him with derision, shook her head at the condition of the dress then sat down on the couch. Nick sighed, threw the garbage bag to the side and stared at Kael.
“Celeste already hates me,” Kael said, staring at the dress. “This will give her even more fuel for her fire.”
“Come on. It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad,” she told him. “This is a really cool dress. I mean, look at all the sequins. I think they might even be hand-sewn.”
“If you ask me, that’s a lot of work for not much dress.”
“Oh, God!” Kael groaned, shaking her head. “You don’t get it. I get that. Fine. But just know that this will be a big fucking deal, Nick.”
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Listen, it’s a stupid dress. Just get it dry-cleaned. She’ll never know.”
Kael thought about that. Maybe that would work. Would it work? It might. She had to try it. She nodded and said, “Okay, you’re right. I can do that.”
“Good,” he said and stood. “And if that doesn’t work, just offer to pay for it.”
Kael s
tared at the dress, knowing how much that would cost and the amount was a bit startling. She sighed and told herself, Never again will I ever borrow anything from that stupid closet! Just then she noticed Nick was headed out of the room. “Where are you going?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m going to go play racquetball.”
She waved her arm around the still messy room. “What about this mess?”
He paused and said, “Just call someone to come clean it up.”
She watched as he gave her a quick nod and retreated into the bedroom, then she looked around at the mess. “Who the fuck am I going to call?!” she yelled.
“Ghostbusters!” he yelled back.
Kael groaned, “You’re such a dork!”
* * * * *
Kael was nervously checking her email on her phone on Monday morning, trying to keep the dress situation contained to the back of her mind. But it was weighing on her. She just hoped the dry cleaner would be able to fix it. She was in the conference room for the weekly staff meeting and was pretty much ignoring everyone. As usual, they were waiting for Celeste to show up so they could start. All the staff members ignored the big plate of bagels—and the cream cheese—but quietly sipped orange juice and coffee as they, too, checked their phones or pored over files. Kael grabbed the iced coffee she’d picked up before work and sipped the remainder out through the straw.
Victoria, who was sitting to Kael’s left, leaned over and whispered, “Did you tell her about the dress yet?”
Kael looked up from her phone and shook her head, whispering, “No, I dropped it off at the dry cleaners, so fingers crossed.”
She crossed her fingers then smiled as Victoria crossed hers. Just then everyone straightened up and quieted down as Celeste entered the room, followed by Amy. Everyone turned their attention to her as she sat at the head of the table and gave her staff a small, unfriendly and slightly pinched smile.
Celeste, not one for formalities, jumped right in with, “So, what have we got?”