by Rowan Hanlon
“And that’s what you should do,” Liza told her.
“But I feel so bad,” Kael groaned. “I just want to make amends and close this chapter of my life. I have to have that closure or it will eat at me.”
“Let it eat and it will soon go away,” Liza said.
“Are you seriously saying this to me?” Kael asked.
“I am,” she said. “Learn to live with it. Leave her alone.”
And with that, she exited down the hall without another word. Kael turned to Victoria, who almost cracked up, then stopped herself, then gave into it.
“What is it?” Kael asked, smiling.
“Is it just me or does anyone else see the irony in the way Liza dresses?” she asked. “She is the person behind fashion; she moves it! And she looks like she just rolled out of bed and grabbed whatever!”
“Bless her heart,” Kael said, laughing a little.
“Yeah,” Victoria replied and laughed a little, too, then turned back to Kael. “Anyway, you wanna grab some lunch?”
Kael checked her watch. It was just after eleven. “No, I’m going to go. I need to get this done so I can move on with my life.”
“As your friend and drinking buddy, I highly advise against that.”
“Oh, come on,” Kael said. “What’s she going to do? Hack me up into little pieces and bury me in her yard?”
“She might,” Victoria said. “That fight you two had was insane! And Celeste was so angry! I have never seen anyone so angry in my life. She was so pissed at you.”
Kael shrugged. “She needs to get in line, then, because I always seem to be pissing someone off.”
“Oh, stop it,” she said. “And let’s just go to lunch. I’m starving! It’s Friday! It’s payday! Let’s celebrate with a big Reuben and a cupcake!”
“When do you eat cupcakes?” Kael asked, shaking her head and staring at her thin frame.
“I’ve been known to indulge in a cupcake or two,” Victoria said, smiling slyly.
“I have known you for a while now and I have never once seen you eat a cupcake,” Kael said.
“There’s this new cake shop that opened a few blocks over,” she explained. “I kinda tried one the other day. And… Well, I want more.”
Kael laughed. “They are addicting.”
“But I’m only going to do it on Fridays,” she said. “So, come on! Let’s go eat! I want a cupcake!”
“Raincheck,” Kael said and turned to leave.
“Fine,” Victoria muttered.
“Promise!” Kael said and smiled at her.
“Whatever,” Victoria said then called after her, “Hey, if you don’t make it back, can I have your boyfriend?”
Kael’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”
Victoria grinned, then said, “No! I mean yes! I mean no!”
Kael shook her head but, somehow, this didn’t surprise her or even ruffle her feathers. Women just loved Nick. He was right. He was irresistible. And he’d get a kick out of Victoria saying that. She said, “Well, either way, no you can’t.”
Victoria smiled and shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I think I can,” Kael said, then asked, “What about your boyfriend?”
“He’s expendable,” she said, grinning. “I’m just kidding, you know? Go on. But don’t come crying to me after she’s finished with you.”
“Don’t worry,” Kael said. “I won’t.”
“You better not,” Victoria said. “And don’t eat lunch! We’re going to get a cupcake when you get back.”
“Fine,” Kael said and gave her a wave and headed to the elevators. Once she was on and going down, she took her phone out and dialed Nick’s cell. It went straight into voicemail, so she left him a message just as she was stepping off the elevator and headed through the lobby, “Hey, honey, it’s me. I am going out to Celeste’s country house to apologize. I know you don’t want me to but it’s the right thing to do. Anyway, if I don’t come back, you know where I am. Ha ha!” She paused and smiled to herself. “Oh, I’m going to get the car out of the garage to drive out there. Bye. Love you!”
She was out of the lobby and on the street. She stopped at the curb and waved a taxi down, then told the driver the address of the garage. As the taxi pulled out, she stared at her favorite hotdog stand in front of the building, wishing she’d grabbed one before she’d left.
* * * * *
The thought of a country house implies pine wood floors, flowing white curtains and rustic wood furniture. Not to mention mallards. This was not Celeste’s country house. In fact, her house would have been better suited in a posh neighborhood somewhere else. Or on the side of a bluff overlooking a beach.
Having been built during the boom of the mid-century, the exterior of the house was made completely of glass. It rose two-stories with an endless glass and steel exterior and looked more like a museum of modern art than a home. It was a good thing that the house was set off by itself with its own half-mile long, tree-lined driveway, otherwise the neighbors might have thrown a fit over the ultra modern construction that would surely have clashed with their quaint charmers. The trees that surrounded the house kept it hidden well from the road and lookie-loos who might want to get a look at where she lived.
Celeste had bought the house because she’d needed a space in which to get out of the city, in which to unwind. Clifton had protested, saying they didn’t need it, that it was too expensive, that the taxes were too much. But she hadn’t budged and once the major renovations had been done—out with the shag green carpet and avocado-colored kitchen appliances—the house had turned into a showpiece that not only gave her a sanctuary to retreat to when life became too hectic, but a much-photographed and lauded architectural masterpiece. It was her pride and joy and the place she thought of when she wanted to “get away.” The pool she’d installed in the backyard was as luxurious as one might find at a well-appointed boutique hotel. Too bad it was still chilly outside or she might have gone for a dip.
Celeste had planned on selling the house once she’d had a child and purchasing a beach house in the Hamptons so the boy or girl—preferably the girl—could spend their summers playing in the surf and getting away from the city. She’s imagined barbeques and parties and lots of wicker furniture. She’d imagined reading to the child on a swing on the back porch, listening to the crickets chirp and smiling at the fireflies. She’s imagined the child with an ice cream stained face and sticky fingers, needing to be cleaned and dressed. And loved.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Celeste had called Dr. Abrams right after her blow-up with Kael and he’d more or less told her she was wasting her time with in vitro. He told her if she started right now she could get a surrogate and that might only take a year or so for the baby she wanted. If she didn’t want to go that route, she might be able to adopt a newborn within two years. Either way, she could, possibly, be a mother within the next two years. But that was more time and more effort and, of course, more money. Any why two years? She’d have to wait at least two more years to have a child of her own? Two more years? While it wasn’t that much time in theory, she was already five years in on the fertility treatments. All that work, all that money, all the pain of it… Well, all for nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It wasn’t fair but then again, what was fair? Life wasn’t. Everyone said so.
She’d politely told Dr. Abrams that she was putting all this baby business on the backburner for now. What she didn’t tell him was that she’d lost hope for ever being a mother. And that meant, she was done with it.
But Celeste wasn’t thinking about babies or Dr. Abrams right then. In fact, as she looked out the front window at the trees which surrounded the house, save for a small patch of grass in the front, she wasn’t thinking about much of anything. She sipped the martini she’d just made and pulled her plush white bathrobe tighter. The house was always slightly cold, even though she’d had the heat on high since
she’d arrived late last night.
She’d told Clifton not to bother coming out but she knew that he would as soon as he finished up work. That was fine. He could clean up the mess before the police got there.
Celeste sighed and turned away from the window and made her way towards the first-floor master bedroom, grabbing the martini shaker off the bar. She ignored her expensive furniture, rugs and artwork as she walked slowly and with purpose to her task ahead. She walked through her lavish bedroom and straight into her oversized bathroom. It was large, all white, well-lit and had every beauty product imaginable in it. Because she had even more square footage to work with here than she did in the city, she made it into a bathroom/dressing room combo and it emitted a spa-like feel. Every little detail from the gigantic walk-in shower to the oversized whirlpool tub was painstakingly executed. The vanity with its double sinks was almost ten-foot long. But the beauty of it, the thing that made this bathroom special, was her dressing area. This is where she’d gone all out. There was a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall and in front of it, a long farmers table she’d found at a flea market nearby. The rough texture of the table complimented the stark beauty of the rest of the room and the entire space of the table was covered with massive amounts of beauty supplies. On either side of the farmers table, there were chest of drawers which she’d commissioned to go exactly with the table. It had taken a man nearly six months to duplicate the worn-out wood but it had been well worth the wait and cost. In these drawers were even more beauty supplies. There were drawers dedicated to hair masks alone. This was the dressing area she had wanted when she was growing up instead of the small space on the bathroom vanity her mother had allowed her.
Her mother… What about her mother? Celeste shook thoughts of her mother out of her head and sat down at the table, setting the martini and the shaker down before staring at herself in the mirror. She didn’t really see herself and her eyes had taken on a vacant look as they stared blankly back at her. But then something shifted in her and she got to work. She cleaned her face with cold cream, then wiped it off with tissues. She scrubbed so hard her skin took on a bright red appearance. Once she was done with this, she grabbed the toner, wiped it all over her face with a cotton ball, then off again.
She took a pause to sip her martini, then went back to her task. She glanced at the martini glass, which was almost empty, then poured the remainder in from the shaker, but didn’t stop to drink any of it. Now it was time to do her makeup—concealer, foundation, powder, lipstick. And in that order. Next, she started on her eyes, going all out in a Sophia Loren manner. And then she was done. She looked gorgeous. In fact, she’d never looked better.
The two double doors just opposite of her dressing room led to her gigantic walk-in closet. There she stowed things she didn’t have room for in the city, like the minks she’d gotten as gifts but wouldn’t dare wear publically. The closet looked about like her other in the city, sans the portrait of herself, and had about the same amount of clothes. It didn’t take her any time to pick out her outfit—a pale cream silk button up blouse and pale cream wool slacks and, of course, black stilettos with pointy toes.
Once she was dressed, she headed back to her dressing table and finished her look by pulling her hair in a sleek chignon. This took a few tries as gobs of hair kept falling out. She flippantly discarded it and continued with her task until finished.
After her hair was styled to perfection, she went back into the closet and slipped on a big diamond ring, a gift from Clifton on their tenth wedding anniversary. She held out her hand and wondered if the thing might be a little gaudy. It was rather large. She shrugged and found a pair of big diamond earrings she only wore on special occasions and then the gold watch Clifton had given her after they’d started dating, promising her that there was more “treasures” like that to come. And there had been. He’d been a good, kind and generous husband. Mostly. Sometimes Celeste regretted marrying him. He was a bit rugged and a little coarse whenever he drank too much. He publicly cursed, using words like “fuck” and “shit” to emphasize his frustrations or even joy. “That’s some good fucking shit!” he’d exclaimed once at a party right after they were married. “I gotta get me some of this Scotch!” Celeste had been mortified and had considered giving him a good dressing down for it. But when she tried, he’d shrugged her off and changed the subject. And whenever she’d try to revisit it, he’d do the same thing, perhaps telling her in his own way that he wasn’t going to change. In a way, she didn’t blame him. And she never really wanted to drain him all of his quirks, either, the things that made him the man he was. And she’d loved that man. She’d learned early on to pick her battles with Clifton and that was one she’d never win. She used curse words, too, but mostly when she was angry. And in time, she’d learned to just accept his uncouth mouth mainly because… Well, she loved him.
As Celeste thought of her husband then, she smiled a little. He was nothing like the man she thought she’d eventually marry when she was younger. But there had been something about him that really appealed to her. Perhaps it was his rough edge she liked most, which was completely juxtaposing of her calm façade. He liked to drink too much, he sang in the shower—badly—and he always tried to make her laugh. Well, he used to, before they started trying to have a baby. Once that happened, their marriage had become about the business of baby, how to get it done, planning for the future of their child, what room would be the nursery, how would they transport the child on planes and what kind of nanny to hire. It had been exciting at first but then it had become, more or less, a drag. Like he’d said, they’d stopped having fun. And, in a way, the child that was supposed to solidify their love and commitment to one another did nothing but drive a wedge between them.
What irony, Celeste thought bitterly. And what utter bullshit. She still regretted all the time and effort she’d put into having a child. But that’s what you do, you try and you try some more and soon the trying is what makes everything lose its luster and the trying becomes your life. You dedicate yourself to it, pretending to see a light at the end of the tunnel until it’s too late and you realize you were never in the proverbial tunnel to begin with. You’d, inexplicably, and without even knowing it, taken another route. But you still ended up in the same place and with the same life and with no baby for all your trying. They say that trying doesn’t hurt, but it does it hurt and it hurts to try something over and over and get the same results. It was soul crushing to Celeste to know that she’d failed at this. She’d never failed at anything and failing made her bitter and resentful.
But there was nothing to be done about that now. It was over. Dr. Abrams had said as much. And Celeste took the defeat, though she took it hard. However, there wasn’t much more to say about the matter. And she’d never been one for self-analysis.
A quick glance in the mirror told her she looked perfect, like she was on her way to an important dinner or luncheon. But she wasn’t going to eat. She wasn’t going to socialize. She didn’t smile at herself in the mirror as many women would; she only noticed that there was tiny bit of lint on her pants leg. She plucked it off and then held up her hand, turning it over to study her wrist.
“Now which is it?” she asked herself aloud. “Horizontal or vertical?”
She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror again, then at the scissors on the dressing table. She stared at the blade of the scissors and it seemed to stare back. She held her gaze for a long time, never wavering. The scissors were there. They were ready. They were sharp, heavy things she’d bought to help open packages and she now might use to cut open a wrist. She just had to do it. One slice across her wrist and it would be over. The house was so far out in the country it would take an ambulance forever to get there. So, she couldn’t change her mind. If she did it, if she decided to kill herself now, there was no backing out. And that was the plan. That’s why she’d come all the way out here, just to do this.
Out of nowhere, the doorbel
l rang. Celeste jumped a little and placed her hand over her heart which was already palpating. The doorbell rang again. Without thinking about who it was—surely it was just delivery man or a young girl selling cookies for a good cause or a nosey neighbor wanting to talk to her under the premise of a neighborhood watch or something—she grabbed the scissors and placed them back into a drawer. She then left the room, walking quickly so she get whoever was on the other side of the door out of there so she could finish her task.
As she opened the front door, she almost collapsed when she saw who was on the other side. It wasn’t a delivery man. It wasn’t a cookie salesgirl. And it wasn’t a nosey neighbor. It was Kael. Of all the people in the world, it was Kael who was on the other wide of her front door. She was casually tossing her keys into her bag when Celeste had opened the door. She glanced up and met her eyes for a long moment. As she stared at Kael, it was as though a light bulb went off in her head. Here she was, just like she’d been delivered to her. Contrary to what Kael might have thought, Celeste was, for once, very, very happy to see her.
And it showed on her face.
* * * * *
Kael had been to Celeste’s country house once before. The previous summer, Celeste had invited the entire staff for a barbeque. Kael and Nick had arrived almost an hour late due to traffic, not that Celeste even noticed. She’d been too busy with all her other guests and had mostly ignored them. The food had been catered and was a bit on the fancy side, prompting Kael to smirk, “Some barbeque. Who has Kobe beef sliders at a barbeque? Aren’t you supposed to serve hot dogs and regular hamburgers? Where the hell is the ketchup?” To which Victoria had replied, putting an inflection of snootiness in her voice, “Not if you’re Celeste. It’s caviar and champagne, darling, and no ketchup allowed! Normal barbeques are so pedestrian!” The two young women had laughed while their boyfriends stood by and sipped imported beer and made small talk. Nick had suggested they ditch the party and they found a dive bar on their way back to the city where they drank the afternoon away and ate bar food. They fed an old jukebox countless quarters so they could dance to eighties tunes and walked to a nearby cheap hotel to sleep it off. Kael and Victoria always referred to Celeste’s barbeque as “the best barbeque ever.” It was their private joke and a time they remembered fondly.