Husband Stay (Husband #2)

by Louise Cusack

  By the time the sound of retching and pandemonium had died down and Tug had begun to introduce me, I was completely composed and breathing smoothly. Right up until he said, “…you’ll remember him from last year’s Olympic medal special. And because here on Sunshine we love reunions, we thought we should give Jack the chance to apologize to Angel. After all, his run-in with the wrong medication did ruin her night.”

  For some reason I was looking at Rosie by this time, and her eyes widened as she stared at the side of the stage where I could see movement in my peripheral vision.

  “Thanks Tug, I appreciate the chance.”

  Jack. That’s Jack’s voice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My head moved slowly without my volition, so I could watch Jack walk onto the stage—not wearing a suit as I’d seen him in the past. For some reason his amazing body was encased in jeans, cowboy boots and a western shirt.

  Whatever composure I’d gained evaporated along with any moisture in my mouth. I couldn’t even swallow as he walked straight to me and held out his hand, looking me straight in the eyes. “I wanted to apologize in person, Ms Lata. When they tracked me down and gave me the chance, I knew I had to see you.”

  His back faced the audience, so only I could see the secret meaning in his gaze, the intimacy that said, I want to touch you, any way I can.

  “Thank you,” I said, and made myself shake his hand, well aware that I didn’t want to look ungracious. But Sweet Shiva it was hard to let him go, he felt so warm, so strong, and so completely capable of turning me into a puddle of arousal for millions of viewers to see. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” There was no way I could smile. The tension between us was unbearable, so I aimed for a concerned frown. “As you can see I’m fine.”

  Tug cut in with, “She’s more than fine. She’s totally hot, wouldn’t you agree, Jack?”

  I held Jack’s gaze but could feel my teeth gritting with impotent fury. Sexist pig.

  “She is beautiful,” Jack agreed, still holding my gaze, “But you’re being a sexist arse, as usual, Tug.” He let go my hand and turned back to the presenter who was trying to hold his smug smile, with difficulty now. “She’s not a Barbie doll. She’s a musician, and you brought her onto the show to sing. Let her sing.”

  He swung back to face me as the audience erupted in wild applause accompanied by more whoops and hollers, but my attention was on Jack as he leant forward with a hand over his collar microphone to whisper in my ear. “I’ve always wanted to tell that wanker off.”

  I couldn’t halt a burst of relieved laughter as he pulled back, and when I looked into his eyes again, a wave of tenderness and gratitude swept over me. I wanted to say I love you for doing that because right in that moment, I did. No man in my life had ever stood up for me like he just had, and for a horrible second I thought I was going to cry.

  He smiled as if he understood. Then he mouthed I miss you and captured my good hand and kissed it. The audience applauded again as he walked back to Tug and offered his hand. It would be churlish of Tug to refuse, so he shook Jack’s hand and said, “Never argue with an Olympic shooting champion.” Genuine laughter from the audience then.

  Jack grinned and turned back to watch me sing, and seeing the two men together I could easily understand why people might find Tug more handsome. He was an ex-male model. But to me, Jack was a hundred times more attractive, more desirable, and infinitely sexier from the top of that tangled brown hair to the bottom of those dusty cowboy boots.

  So I couldn’t help myself. When studio band started in on the distinctive R&B opening and I turned back to the audience, I could see Jack in my mind, in my bed, in my body. I barely heard Tug say, “One of Noah Steele’s favorites. A Renee Geyer classic. Angel Lata singing Take me where you took me last night…

  The funky tumble of keyboard and base made me smile, and I knew it was a ‘cat that got the cream’ smile, but I couldn’t help that. I was remembering Jack’s touch, the way he made me laugh and the way he made me moan. I was going to sing to him, and I didn’t need to look at him. I didn’t dare look. But I felt him as the lyrics poured through me about the wonder of lovemaking that turns you inside out, and the longing to have it again and again.

  Part way through the song, my hips started swaying, and before I knew it my shoulders were moving and I could see the audience getting into it. One woman stood up and was dancing in her seat, then five, ten, half the audience was up, dancing in the aisles, laughing, their arms above their heads, sexy dancing along with me, dancing with each other.

  It was magical. I’d never experienced a performance like it. When the song finished—all too soon—I was applauding them and they were applauding me and the segment went overtime as the cameras panned the audience, capturing the moment.

  Finally, Tug cut over the laughter to say, “Do we think Noah got it right? Is she a star?” and the audience went wild. It was so loud they kept filming, panning around until finally Tug had to say, “Do we want her back?” and the sound level rose again. “All right then, and don’t forget you can download this performance on iTunes later today, and the rest of Angel’s debut album later this month.”

  Rosie was grinning at me madly and I had to grin back. Then I glanced at Jack who was smiling at me with what looked like quiet satisfaction. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and kiss him. But instead, I forced myself to smile graciously at Tug as he reached my side. His smile was smug. “That was stunning, Angel. You’ve completely blown me away. Well done.”

  I had no idea whether he was being sincere, but I let him kiss my cheek, then with a wave to the audience, the segment finished and they cut to an ad break.

  I said, with as much civility as I could, “Thanks Tug,” and I set off for Jack, wanting to touch him, talk to him, go and make love with him. Something.

  But Tug dogged my steps. “So the ARIAs next week. Do you have a date?”

  Australian Recording Industry Association awards? I’d never given it a thought. “I don’t…I’ll ask Rosie if—”

  “Angel,” Jack said as we reached him. “That was—”

  Tug muscled in between us and turned to Jack. “How are Belle and the girls doing?”

  Silence settled over the three of us as I blinked in shock, and Jack’s face immediately lost all expression. He turned to face Tug. “That’s not a topic for discussion.”

  “Sorry,” Tug said blithely, and he turned back to me, clearly not sorry at all. He startled prattling about the ARIAs but I wasn’t listening. I was looking at Jack and my brain—dazzled by the success of my song—was slow to catch up. But one thing I registered: he wasn’t meeting my gaze.

  Rosie reached my side as I was replaying Tug’s words: How are Belle and the girls?

  That sounded like…a wife? Children?

  When Jack finally met my horrified gaze, he just stared back at me, saying nothing.

  Finally, when Tug stopped talking, Rosie said, “Angel? Do you want to go?”

  Had she scoped out the tension? All I could do was nod. I suddenly wanted to be far away.

  But Tug seemed oblivious to the silent dialogue between Jack and myself as he leant in far too close, those glittering blue eyes looming large as he said, “I’ll phone you darlin’. We’d make a great couple.” The minty wash of his breath swept over me like an artic breeze, and I had to turn away. I had no manners left in me to respond.

  Rosie took my good arm and led me away, but the moment my back was turned I heard Jack say, “How dare you mention that in front of other people. I told you that was private.”

  He’s married. With children.

  My brain wouldn’t process the fact. It was numb as I rounded the corner where the technician was waiting to take my microphone off, and then Rosie and I were negotiating the cables and duct tape on our way back to the green room, where I suddenly could not go. I couldn’t talk to anyone. We paused at a junction of two corridors and I said, “Can I leave now? Please?”

>   “Absolutely.” Rosie’s voice low and savage. “That fucker is going to have to whistle up a drainpipe to get you back on his show.”

  So she thought I was upset about Tug. That was good. The documentary team came up behind us and Rosie waved them away. After navigating more corridors, we reached a door that led us out into the morning sunlight and Rosie got her phone out. A minute later her black Rolls Royce Phantom came around the corner and the driver hopped out to let us in.

  It was all cream leather and woodgrain inside, so plush and roomy I wanted to curl into it and go to sleep—anything to shut down the ugliness inside me, the horrible feeling of having been tricked. Again. I didn’t care that my dress rode up or that my makeup was dissolving as the tears washed it away.

  Rosie pulled tissues out of the console and handed them to me as she directed the driver back to my apartment. I kicked off my stupid white shoes, then she helped me put my seatbelt on and said, “You were amazing. That poor excuse for a ken doll did everything he could to rattle you, but you shone. Do you hear me? The audience loved you. iTunes is going to go mental with downloads of that song. That’s all that matters.”

  I tried to smile, to reassure her that I was fine, but I wasn’t fine at all. Every bad feeling I’d had in the aftermath of Danny’s betrayal came bubbling back, like evil lava, burning my stomach and making my eyes ache.

  It was all I could do to hold it together until Rosie deposited me on the footpath outside my apartment building. I left my shoes and the white gauze sheath that had hidden my cast in the car, telling her not to walk me in.

  “No recording today,” she said unnecessarily. I was in no fit state to be conscious, let alone record songs. “I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

  I should have been worried about what Rosie was thinking. For all I knew she might be regretting taking me on as a client. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was stopping my heart from breaking.

  I stumbled into the foyer and stabbed the elevator button, trying to hold in my sobs. When it didn’t come quickly enough, I ran up the stairs, desperate to be alone, but even when I’d let myself into my apartment and slammed the door behind me in my haste, I felt no relief. A whirlpool of pain was sucking me down, and I had to do something.

  With my good hand, I fumbled my phone out of my bag and punched the speed dial button for Jill, but after a few rings, it went to her message-bank. I went into the bedroom, shaking in reaction, fumbling to find Finn’s number, but that call went to message-bank as well. Fritha might be working at Bohemian Brew, but I rang her anyway, desperate for solace.

  Her phone clicked straight to message-bank without ringing, and I was so desperate by this point I listened to her message so I could leave one for her. She sounded so cool: Fritha Wynde. I’m probably fucking some guy. Or serving tea. But don’t worry. I wash my hands in between. A few giggles then, and a slap, as if she was in bed. So if you’re trouble, hang up now. But if I like you, leave a message. Cheerio!

  I clutched the phone tighter to my ear, and immediately after it clicked, I blurted, “Fritha, this is Ange.” My voice sounded unnaturally high and croaky, but there was nothing I could do about that. “I’m sad.” I didn’t want her thinking I’d hurt myself or she’d panic. “It’s probably nothing, but… No. Actually that’s bullshit. Another man…” I suddenly remembered. “You’ve met him. Jack. Anyway…” I was rambling, but I wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s complicated and I need poor baby. Please! Please call me.”

  I’d never heard myself sounding so needy, but I was beyond embarrassment. I had to have something to calm the molten pain inside me, and I wasn’t like Jill. I couldn’t drown it in alcohol.

  Although…I’d never tried.

  Maybe I could.

  Did it matter that the idea was ‘out of character’?

  I was desperate.

  But where would I get alcohol at nine in the morning? I didn’t know my new neighborhood very well, and could I even go out? I doubted it.

  I looked around wildly for inspiration and saw my reflection in the beautiful art deco mirrored wardrobe.

  I hate that dress.

  I threw the phone on the bed, and it only took seconds to rip it off over my head one handed. The constricting Spanx I’d worn underneath to keep my silhouette smooth took almost a minute of wriggling and wrenching. “Bloody Martine.” I tossed that at the wall and stood staring at myself, wearing only a G-string.

  Everything jiggled, and as I watched that settle, I had a horrible dislocating feeling that split me in two. On one side was humiliation and betrayal and grief. On the other was Jack’s cheeky smile watching those body parts move. That feeling was arousal and pleasure and…

  Love?

  Was that why this felt like my heart had been stabbed open? Had I fallen in love with Jack? Was I that naïve that I hadn’t been able to separate sex and emotion? Maybe I deserved to be tricked?

  I stared at my reflection, wondering if anything he’d said had been true. Maybe the whole best sex of my life line was simply that, a line he used on gullible women to seduce them. But why was this happening to me? Was there something about me that attracted cheating men? Was I so trusting that they thought they’d get serious mileage out of me before I discovered their duplicity?

  How was I ever going to have children?

  I stopped looking at my body and gazed into my eyes, suddenly sobered. The pain of Jack’s betrayal faded, and in its place, a blanketing numbness settled. The ache in my bones and the burning in my chest disappeared. I felt empty then, and that was even more frightening.

  My phone rang and I picked it up to look at the caller. Jill. I stared at her name and the photo on the screen. It was one of her with her arm around Fritha, but I’d cropped Frith out—all but a swathe of red curls so there was only Jill with her dark Italian eyes, courtesy of her mother, disheveled dark hair and smirking lips.

  I didn’t answer.

  The call went through to my message-bank, which beeped a moment later. I clicked on the link to listen to the call. Missy Diva, I saw you on the teev. You have arrived! Look at you, snuggling up to Tug Dunn, gorgeous hunk of man that he is. And what’s the story with Jack being there, speaking of gorgeous men? Are you two an item? Why did he pretend not to know you? I’m sure all will be revealed when I can grill you. You’re probably at an after-party glamming it up. Call me! Finn sends his love. He’s recorded it for you. I’m off to bridal hell with the florist but I want a debrief when you’re free!

  She sounded so excited, so normal, so…almost married. Almost a mother. I knew these things would follow in quick succession for Jill, if Finn had anything to do with it. Lizzie’s baby would be a blip on the radar of their happily-ever-after, soon forgotten as they created a family of their own.

  And then there was me.

  Sad. Lonely. Gullible. I had all day to find words that would hurt me, words that would punish me for taking a chance with Jack. But did I want to do that?

  I stared at myself, wondering what I could do to shake off this horrible victim feeling. As teenagers, we’d promised ourselves we’d never allow ourselves to feel that way, no matter what. And after Danny had left, I’d worked so hard to avoid it. But now I felt hollow, used. It was hard to stop myself sliding down that slippery slope.

  So I rang Louella.

  It was crazy to imagine any form of sympathy from Louella, but that was actually good. I didn’t want poor baby now. It would only make me feel worse. I needed tough love, and Louella was the only person I knew who wouldn’t feel sorry for me. It might seem self-destructive, but as I pressed the phone to my ear, I was determined.

  “Angela,” she said crisply. “Ringing to berate me for telling you to date Doug?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I know you had my best interests at heart. I wish I had felt something toward him. He’s a decent human being.”

  There was silence for several heartbeats before she said, “You sang beautifully this morning, despite that idiot Du
nn’s provocation.”

  “Thank you.” She said nothing, so I added, “He invited me to the ARIAs as his date.”

  “He’s gay.”

  I blinked at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. “But he flirted with me.” She was silent, and when the pieces fell into place, I stated the obvious, “He was acting to keep his audience.”

  “Correct. He’s a very good actor. I’ve…worked with him on projects.”

  The whole morning—or at least the Tug side of it—was suddenly recast in a new light. But nothing changed my situation with Jack, and that’s why I’d rung her.

  “I’ve got a problem. It’s…a man, and I need to talk it out.”

  “With me?” I didn’t hear obvious skepticism in her voice, but she must have been wondering why I wasn’t speaking to Jill or Fritha. I was about to explain my choice when she added, “Then I assume you want common sense, and not romantic nonsense.”

  “I do.” I wanted to dissect the details and put it all into a basket I could deal with and file away forever. The way I was thinking about my situation made me feel bad, and I knew that was down to my attitude about what had happened. Louella could help me reframe that so I wasn’t the victim in my own mind. I needed that clarity desperately.

  Another silence ensued and I suddenly forgot about myself to wonder where she was, and what I’d interrupted. She must have been watching Sunshine an hour ago, but she could be out of the house by now.

  Finally, she said, “I’ll come to you. Give me the address.”

  “Thank you.”

  By the time I’d put down the phone, I felt better. Not great, but good enough to hit the shower and wash away the makeup and tears so I could change into a green crop top and matching Punjabi pants. It was nice to wear colors again. But when I checked my phone there were four missed calls from Fritha. That warranted a quick text saying I was just tired and overwrought and going to sleep. Not to worry. She texted back a frowny face, but said Sleep Sweet. Then the buzzer sounded and I clicked the door button to let Louella into the building and opened my apartment door to wait for her.