Saved by the Celebutante

by Kirsty McManus

  The next stop is the bedroom. I don’t really want to go in there, but I have no choice.

  I brace myself and then yank open the door as if ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Phew. It’s actually pretty good. I can’t believe Corey made the bed. He never did that when I was around. It just goes to show he can be quite a capable person when he wants to be.

  I smooth out the covers anyway, and plump up the pillows. I then check to make sure the closet is presentable.

  Oh. That’s all in decent shape too. Although, it does look like he’s gone out and bought a whole bunch of new clothes. There are at least five new shirts I haven’t seen before, and several pairs of pants. I would have thought he’d be trying to conserve money, now that he’s paying a whole mortgage by himself. I’m starting to wonder if that credit card debt was even real.

  It’s interesting, but he seems to have moved away from his usual style. It’s a lot more preppy than I remember…polo neck shirts, crisp chinos, and even a salmon-colored sweater. Maybe Corey thinks guys will go for that.

  Well. I guess I don’t have much more to do, other than check the bathroom and laundry.

  The laundry is fine, even though it’s full of even more new clothes. I shove them into the washing machine and close the lid to hide them from view.

  I just have the bathroom left, which all looks pretty clean too.

  Except something isn’t quite right.

  There’s an extra toothbrush, a second razor and some cologne on the edge of the basin. Corey hates wearing cologne, so unless he’s had a personality transplant (which isn’t entirely out of the question), it belongs to someone else.

  The realization takes way longer to hit me than it should.

  Corey has moved a guy into our apartment. And judging by the fact that they’re sharing a closet and bathroom, I’d say he’s more than just a roommate.

  I feel sick.

  The doorbell rings.

  Shit. I’m not ready for this. I thrust one of the razors into the cupboard and then go to greet Barb at the door.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling weakly.

  She beams at me. “Hey Chrissie, it’s great to finally meet you in person.”

  She ushers two people in. “Let me introduce you to Molly and Luke Silverstein. If you don’t mind, I’ll just show them through.”

  “No problem,” I say faintly.

  I sit on the couch and half-listen to Barb’s sales spiel, trying to ignore the prickly feeling on my scalp and the sweat breaking out on my forehead.

  “Here we have a lovely combined living and dining that leads through to the ample size kitchen…”

  What is wrong with my husband? He’s been avoiding me for weeks and refuses to sign the divorce paperwork, yet he’s moved someone into our apartment? Who does that?

  I call his number, but it goes to voicemail. As usual. I don’t bother telling him to call me back.

  What if he’s out with him? The thought makes me shiver. And it’s not just because Corey is with a man. I’m pretty sure I would be having the same reaction if it were another woman.

  I lean my head back on the couch cushion and close my eyes.

  Why didn’t he tell me?

  “And here we have a lovely walk-in closet,” Barb continues.

  I wonder who he is. And what he looks like. Does Corey go for the same kind of men as me? I have this bizarre image of us one day in the future meeting up for coffee and checking out the cute guys walking past.

  I can’t believe Corey has moved on. Already! I mean, I know I kissed Brad, and I enjoyed Frank’s flirting, but that’s completely different to having a live-in relationship! For all I know, Corey could have moved him in the day I moved out.

  “Feel free to explore, and let me know if you have any questions,” Barb tells the buyers. She meets me back in the living room.

  “Are you okay, hon? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m just a bit tired today.”

  “A separation is never easy,” she says kindly.

  I snort. “You’ve got that right.”

  “Well, if it helps, I think these people really like the place.”

  “Good. I hope they put in an offer.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  Luke and Molly reappear in the living room. They can barely contain their excitement, but Luke tries to play it cool.

  “Uh, thank you Barb,” he says formally. “We’ll call you later.”

  Barb smiles at them.

  “Sure thing. You have my number.”

  Once they leave, she claps her hands together. “I can almost guarantee you they’ll put in an offer this afternoon. But even if they don’t, you’ll sell quickly. You’re in a great location, it presents well, and it’s not overpriced.”

  “That’s good to know,” I say absently. My brain feels mushy.

  Barb shakes my hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  When she leaves, I finally allow the tears to flow. Fat, angry, despairing tears.

  How could Corey do this to me?

  A surge of anger boils up from my stomach.

  I grab a post-it from the counter and scrawl I KNOW in thick black marker, and stick it on the outside of the front door as I storm out.

  Our relationship is now officially dead, and the sooner we sell the apartment and sort out the divorce, the sooner he’ll be out of my life forever.

  THIRTEEN

  I get home to find Penny waiting impatiently on the doorstep.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, confused. The last thing I feel like doing right now is hanging out with my sister.

  She looks at me like I’m stupid.

  “Um, Jen’s baby shower?”

  I check my watch to confirm today’s date, and my heart sinks. She’s right.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

  “I’m sorry. I did. But I think I might give it a miss anyway. I’ve had a really rough morning.”

  “All the more reason to go out and have some fun. We’ll order a few drinks and laugh at how old everyone looks. Kids do that to you, you know.”

  “Pen, I really don’t think I can handle this at the moment.”

  “Sure you can.” She digs my keys out of my purse, unlocks the front door and physically pulls me into the bedroom.

  “I say we go for sexy,” she says, flinging open my closet. “There’s nothing like being the hottest chick in the room to boost your confidence.”

  I peer doubtfully at my outfits. “Wasn’t it you who said the focus should be on Jen?”

  “In terms of patting her belly, telling her she’s glowing, and playing those hideous baby games, sure. But it’s kind of a high school reunion too, so everyone will be looking at who got fat, who got ugly…”

  “Jeez Penny, you’re so evil.”

  She cackles and holds up a short metallic dress for me to wear.

  I shake my head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want everyone to hate me.”

  I check out her outfit of faux leather pants and rocker shirt. She has biker boots on, and her hair is styled so that the shaved red side is barely visible.

  “Why can’t I be casual like you?”

  She holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine. Wear whatever you like. I’m just trying to help.”

  I compromise and put on my trusty skinny jeans, a tight black top with beaded detailing and some silver heels. I pull my hair into a low side ponytail and touch up my mascara.

  “Okay, let’s do this.”

  On the way there, we quickly stop at a baby boutique so I can buy a gift for Jen. I feel like I should instinctively know what to get, but after looking around helplessly at dozens of carriers and breast pumps, I contact Gia for suggestions.

  “Just keep it simple and buy a few onesies. Don’t get anything with lots of bows or complicated buttons. And if you want extra kudos, buy a few muslin wraps too.”

  “Thank you! I’ll owe you a chamomile tea next time I see you!” I snatch up a couple of plain onesies and a pac
k of pretty wraps. I’m not really sure what they’re used for, but I’ll take Gia’s word for it.

  Fortunately the store offers giftwrapping, so we’re back on the road in no time.

  Just as we arrive at the Fairmont Heritage Place where Jen is holding the baby shower, Penny’s cell rings.

  I try not to listen in, but I can’t help overhearing the conversation.

  Penny gasps. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”

  I try to make eye contact with my sister, but she ignores me.

  “No problem. I’ll leave now.”

  She hangs up the phone and pulls a face.

  “That was Michelle. She was in a car accident.”

  My heart starts pounding and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m worried about Michelle, or excited that I might not have to go to the baby shower. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine, but her car isn’t. And she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere, so I have to go pick her up.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll come with you.”

  “No, you have to go in. I might not be back for ages.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t mind if I miss it.”

  She gives me a hard look.

  “You’re going and that’s final. Here.” She shoves her gift at me, which happens to be an oversized teddy bear. “Send my love to Jen and apologize for me.”

  “I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  “Of course you can. Go on.”

  I hesitate. Penny pushes me up the stairs.

  “Go!”

  I reluctantly head for the lobby, in search of the Mustard Terrace where everyone is meeting. I know I’m going to regret this.

  I’ve never actually been inside this hotel before, despite having lived nearby for most of my life. I must say, it’s very tasteful. I love visiting classy hotels. They normally relax me, but I’m not sure this one is working today.

  I see the sign for the terrace. Mustard. What a funny color choice. If it is in fact named after the color. I wonder if all the fashionable names were taken. Like aqua. Or fuchsia. Mustard is the color of baby poop.

  Agh! Babies! I am about to be surrounded by women talking about babies.

  I catch my reflection in a nearby mirror mounted on the wall and stop to check my makeup.

  My lips could probably do with a quick refresh. I dump the gifts on the ground and scramble around for my Chanel Rouge Coco lipstick.

  I carefully paint on a layer, leaning in really close in order to see properly, but I somehow bump a small vase off the ledge in front of me and it smashes on the floor. The sound is deafening, and everyone in the nearby vicinity turns to stare at me.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I say to the room.

  At that exact moment, a waiter wheeling a trolley walks past. He stops, and it takes a second for me to realize it’s Will.

  Oh God.

  “Uh, hi,” I say awkwardly. “I accidentally knocked a vase off the ledge. I’ll pay for the breakage – just let me know how much I owe.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.” He produces a walkie-talkie from his trolley and calls someone from housekeeping to come and help me.

  “Thank you,” I say gratefully. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Yeah, I sometimes do contract work for a catering firm,” he explains. “Why are you here?”

  I grimace and point to the bear on the floor. “Baby shower.”

  He smirks. “Good luck with that.”

  I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Well, I guess I should go.” I still don’t like Will, despite him helping me out just now. He hasn’t yet clued into the fact I work for Gia, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

  “Cool. See you later.”

  I pick up the gifts. Thankfully the vase didn’t break near them, otherwise I’d be worrying about giving Jen a toy full of broken ceramic shards.

  I take a deep breath. Okay. Showtime.

  Jen chose a very cold September day to hold an outdoor event. I know it’s not her fault, but I’m shivering before I even walk through the doorway. I pause to take in my surroundings.

  Everything is done up in a rather severe red and black color theme with a ladybug motif throughout. An elaborate cake sits on a nearby table and looks like something Dr. Seuss dreamed up. There are two distinct groups of women in attendance – the cool kids, and everyone else. The popular women have commandeered the only source of heat, a fire pit in the center of the terrace. I am so nervous, I can’t even appreciate the stunning view of the bay in front of me.

  I contemplate dumping the gifts and running. But just as I’m trying to work out how to achieve this without anyone seeing me, I hear my name.

  “Chrissie! Sweetie! I’m so glad you could make it!”

  Damn.

  I force myself to smile and greet my old school friend.

  “Jen. Hey. It’s good to see you. Wow, you went all out, didn’t you?”

  She grins, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “I know. It is a bit over the top, isn’t it? I couldn’t talk Debbie into doing anything more low key than this. You should have seen what she originally had planned.”

  Ah. That explains it. Debbie went to school with us, and she was known for being a bit eccentric. She loved painting abstract nudes in art class, and her entire wardrobe consisted of vintage flares and fur coats before it was considered normal to dress that way.

  “So you still see Debbie regularly?” I ask, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Yeah. She lives in LA too. Works at one of the movie studios making props. She’s pretty well known in those circles.”

  “Good for her.” I look around, but can’t see her.

  “She’s just inside telling the kitchen staff to start bringing out food,” Jen says. “Is Penny with you?”

  “Oh. Yeah, she was, but then she had to go rescue her girlfriend. She might be a bit late. But she asked me to give you this.”

  I hand over the gigantic stuffed bear.

  Jen laughs. “What on earth am I going to do with this?”

  “Sorry. I hope this is a bit more practical.” I give her my gift and silently thank Gia for suggesting something that doesn’t make me look like an idiot.

  “Thank you so much. We’ll be opening gifts after the poopy diaper game.”

  The what? I don’t even want to know.

  “I’ll just pop the gifts over on the table,” Jen says. “Why don’t you go and catch up with some of the girls? I’m sure they’d love to hear how you’re doing. You know us mothers…always jealous of successful career women like you.”

  I wince. I know she’s just trying to be nice, but I don’t think she understands how patronizing that sounds.

  “Oh, great,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. Jen leaves me alone and I study the two groups. There are at least thirty women here, and I haven’t seen a single one of them in seventeen years. I notice that most of them seem to be wearing a common uniform of preppy button down shirts with tailored pants and ballet flats. I am the only one wearing black.

  And of course, the place is crawling with babies and toddlers.

  One side effect from the break-up that I hadn’t expected is the level of vulnerability I now feel around other women. I used to have the psychological support of a husband at home, and no matter what happened, I knew he always had my back. But now it feels like high school all over again, where the popular girls had boyfriends and I was stuck hanging out in the library at lunchtime due to an unfortunate overbite that made me look like a chipmunk. I eventually got braces, but they didn’t come off until the end of my senior year.

  It’s even worse now, because the support I thought I had throughout my marriage turned out to be a lie.

  I steel myself for the onslaught and head towards the second group of women. The everyone else group.

  But just as I’m trying to sneak past the cool girls unnoticed, one of them calls out.

  “Oh, look. It’s Chriss
ie! Darling!”

  “Samantha,” I say through gritted teeth. Samantha was the head bitch at school. Why she would even bother acknowledging me is baffling. Unless of course she wants to make my afternoon as hellish as she made my high school years. I shudder involuntarily.

  “It’s so good to see you! It’s been too many years to count. What have you been up to?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Work, life…”

  “Jen was telling me you work in PR?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m Gia King’s publicist.”

  She gives me a pitying look. “Oh, well I guess everyone has to start somewhere.”

  I resist the urge to slap her. “Actually, I’m currently negotiating a movie deal for her with Peter Carson.”

  “Really?” She looks like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Yeah, but you know how long it takes to make a movie. It probably won’t be out at the theaters for a while.”

  Even I hear how lame that sounds. Oh well. It serves me right for taking the bait in the first place.

  Samantha adopts the tone of a preschool teacher. “Well, good for you. I gave up office work yonks ago. Couldn’t stand sitting in front of that dreadful computer all day.”

  Of course she gave up work. And somehow picked up a ridiculous English accent along the way.

  “Have you spent some time in the UK recently?” I enquire.

  She looks disconcerted for a second.

  “Er, no. What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, nothing. I just thought I detected a trace of an accent, that’s all.”

  She lets out a tinkly laugh.

  “No, darling. I don’t know who you’ve been associating with lately, but we don’t all sound like we’re from the suburbs.”

  I sigh. Same as always. I should just walk away. I don’t need this crap. But after the day I’ve had…

  “Actually, you know who doesn’t sound like they’re from the suburbs? Peter Carson. Would you like to talk to him?”

  She gapes at me. “What? How do you propose I do that? I suppose you just happen to have him on speed dial, hmm?”

  “Actually, I do.” I get my phone out of my purse and open up the contacts. I show her Peter’s name on the screen. “I’m sure he’d love to say hi to a fan.”