“Pandas are truly solitary creatures. They prefer to be alone and have to be coerced into mating. Wonky, right?” asked Wesley. “And they eat only bamboo. They consume pounds and pounds of it a year, and you know how difficult it is to procure bamboo? In actuality they should be extinct.”
“Interesting,” said Helen, looking down.
“And even the mother will attack her children, as will the father. Those bloody things mate, and then it’s a delayed conception period—the sperm can just float about in the mother’s uterus for months and they have no idea if she is impregnated. And then when the panda’s born, it’s only four ounces! Can you imagine?”
Wesley was truly amazed. That was Wesley: able to get very focused on something and research it to death until he knew everything about it. He was always finding something new to be fascinated about. Helen usually found this charming or irritating, depending on her general feelings for him at that time. But right now she felt an insurmountable sense of dread and foreboding. Was he trying to tell her something with this panda talk?
“Strange,” murmured Helen.
“Is something wrong with the pasta?” asked Wesley.
Helen looked up. “No, sorry. Just not that hungry.”
Wesley didn’t even comment. He was used to Helen’s odd eating habits. Through the years he’d been subjected to cleansing days, juice weeks, and every popular fad diet from Atkins to the Zone to that bizarre one where you ate only things your ancestors ate. He himself wasn’t much of a foodie the way other people were, but he appreciated a good meal and a nice glass of wine.
“Wesley?” Helen asked suddenly.
“Yes?”
“Why do you love me?” She felt herself redden as she asked it. It was not a question she had ever asked him, and not the type of conversation that Wesley would enjoy engaging in. But she had to know.
“What do you mean? Don’t be silly,” he said, looking confounded.
“No…I mean, I need to know,” she said, persistent. She’d usually let a conversation fall away if Wesley didn’t bite, but this time she wasn’t going to.
“I don’t know—what an odd question. Are you going to one of those mad lectures again?”
“No, Wesley, I just want to know. Do you love me? Was I a trophy wife? What keeps us together?”
“Of course I love you. This is all silly, really,” he said awkwardly. It’s something Helen had noticed about British men. Or at least all of Wesley’s British friends. They detested emotional conversation. They did not want to analyze feelings, opine on matters of the heart. It was both banal and frivolous.
“I need to know why,” she implored.
Wesley looked at her. Then he sighed. “Helen, I don’t know why. I just do.”
“Why did you fall in love with me?”
“I don’t get you, Helen. I just don’t get you,” said Wesley with a smile. Wesley would often say that to Helen. He’d shake his head and declare it not so much as a criticism as a fact, as if he was talking about a movie or a complicated scientific experiment. Helen puzzled him, and that was just their reality. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. And the truth was, Helen didn’t really get her husband. There was an abyss between them. Other couples had it. Some people thought that was exciting, the very essence of their relationship that made it work. It was their dynamic: they liked living with an enigma, finding it complex, titillating. But then there were those other friends, like Eliza and Declan, for whom there were no questions. They knew absolutely everything about each other: how they would react to things such as news, information, and what the other would do. There were never surprises because they told each other everything. Well, except for the Tyler Trask part. But other than that, they were an open book. That was probably why Eliza wanted to try something different. And probably why Helen did also. She wanted someone to get her.
“No, seriously, Wesley. Don’t be vague,” reprimanded Helen. “Why did you fall for me?”
Wesley smiled. “It just happened,” he said with finality. Topic over. Then he motioned for the waiter to bring him more mineral water.
It just happened. So that was it. Just like when she was thirteen and she found in her adoptive father’s closet pornographic magazines with pictures of young Asian girls copulating. It just happened. And then when she fled outside to tell her older brother and he ran across the street to find out what was wrong and got hit and killed by a car. It just happened. And then she ran away from home and lived on the street for three days until her best friend’s father brought her back to Orange County to live with them. It just happened. Dirk died. It just happened. She married Wesley. It just happened. She had Lauren. It just happened. Now she was unfaithful. It just happened. When would they take responsibility for their lives?
•• 34 ••
Christmas and New Year’s came and went. Although Angelinos are confronted with perennial sunshine and not a lick of snow, attempts are made to create some semblance of a festive holiday atmosphere. Christmas tree lights are strewn around town, parties are in abundance, and stores decorate their windows in cheery red and green colors. Some people enjoy the season; others leave town.
Eliza and Declan went to Chicago the day after Christmas and returned the day after New Year’s. Victoria and Justin took the boys to Cabo San Lucas for ten days, including Christmas and New Year’s. Helen and Wesley went to Hawaii for Christmas but came back for New Year’s. Leelee and Brad stayed in Los Angeles the entire time.
Eliza was thrilled to be away from town, anything to get her mind off Tyler Trask. He had left town but now there were traces of him everywhere, as his new movie just opened on Christmas Day and was a blockbuster sensation. She was sure he would roll back into town for press, and although she hadn’t heard from him in a month, she feared that he would try to get in touch. She just wanted him out of her life for good. There wasn’t room for him anymore. She usually had a Christmas party in December, but this year she couldn’t get it together in time. Everything felt like high stress; the last thing she needed was to have to worry about hors d’oeuvres. But when she got back into town, she decided it would be fun to have a party. A cocktail party. Something to break up the monotony and gloom of January. She scheduled it for the fifteenth.
Victoria felt she deserved a much-needed vacation. For the past month she had been busy—yes, very busy indeed. Torturing Wayne Mercer. Her revenge was sweet. Once she showed him that she had possession of the tape, he went into a tailspin. He first threatened her but then begged her. When he ultimately comprehended that he was at her mercy, it was a humiliating experience for him and a moment of euphoria for her. She had wanted to get him at the jugular, so she forced him to do something he absolutely didn’t want to do: part with a client. Justin had long wanted to represent Natalie Maddox, a young Hollywood ingenue, and was furious when Wayne signed her. Because she felt the slightest tinge of repentance toward Justin, she decided to give him Natalie. Well, more accurately, she decided to make Wayne give him Natalie. He refused for weeks, but when he saw her one day at the Ivy, marching over to his boss’s table to greet him, he relented. He told Natalie that Justin would better fulfill her needs. Justin was ecstatic but had no idea it was all his wife’s doing. That was okay, thought Victoria. For now.
Helen had her first real family vacation in years. Sure, she’d been on family vacations, but she hadn’t done anything really to act like a family with Wesley and Lauren. She usually threw Lauren into the kids’ camp and let Wesley take off and golf, and she’d plop herself on a chaise by the pool and read the latest Deepak Chopra. But not this time. It was a metamorphosis. The three of them kayaked, played tennis, went snorkeling, and did everything a normal family would do. And it felt good. This was connecting. This was a normal family. Because that’s what she wanted them to be, that’s what she would make them be.
Leelee remained in town for the first time in years because she thought of it as a last supper in a way. There was no need to go see
family on the East Coast, because in less then three weeks she planned on living on the East Coast permanently. There was so much to be done: she needed to pack without packing, say good-bye to her friends without actually saying good-bye, and extricate herself from her life without letting anyone know. It was tricky and had to be done deftly, but Leelee prided herself on her discretion. There were so many lies in her life these days that she couldn’t even see straight. It wouldn’t matter soon enough.
Another blind item appeared in the Palisades Press over the holidays. It read: A certain dashing young scion of a famous political family has been having relations with one of our own. Problem is, they’re both married. How determined are they to keep their secret? Hopefully enough to put up the money for a wonderful script from a talented new screenwriter. Stay tuned.
•• 35 ••
Imelda felt marvelous. She had spent the morning in tennis clinic, making great improvement to her backhand and securing the attention of the handsome new tennis pro, and she had an afternoon of beauty treatments planned as a reward. Before walking to her car, she decided to cool off a little by proceeding to the playground to perhaps sit on the bench and take in some air. It was there that she saw Leelee Adams poring over a copy of the latest Us Weekly with great intensity.
Imelda watched her for a moment, recollecting how much Anson hated her. Well, all those women, really. He loathed them. Anson had been kind to Imelda, a good friend, and therefore she was inclined to be loyal to him. But she was also beginning to tire of his pettiness, his frequent mood swings, and his infantile behavior. She knew that soon their relationship would come to a conclusion, and she had already lined up a contender for his place, a certain Mr. Sebastian Falk who worked in the business affairs department at HBO. While not very glamorous, at least he held down a reasonable job and was, as far as she could tell, heterosexual.
Imelda entered the playground, her eyes still on Leelee, who had yet to notice her. She was about to sit on the other side of the park, far away from her, when she saw Leelee’s daughter run up to her and whisper something in her mother’s ear. Leelee smiled and patted her on the head, and the child then ran back and resumed her place in the giant fire truck that loomed over the playground. Something about that brief maternal interaction humanized Leelee for Imelda, and she decided to approach her.
“Hello there,” said Imelda cheerily.
Leelee looked up. “Oh, hi, Imelda.”
“What’s this?” asked Imelda, taking Leelee’s magazine out of her hands and studying the cover. Leelee felt disproportionate rage at Imelda’s losing her place.
“You know, crack for adults,” Leelee joked. Now give it back.
“This is so silly. Do you really care about Jessica Simpson?” asked Imelda with a laugh.
“I really do,” said Leelee seriously.
Imelda laughed and handed Leelee the magazine, and then, much to Leelee’s chagrin, sat down next to her. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“Yes,” said Leelee. Ugh, could she not just get fifteen minutes to herself?
“This is such a nice park,” said Imelda.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any fun plans?”
“Not really.” Was there a point to this?
“Listen, Leelee. I don’t know you very well, and I pride myself on not getting involved in other people’s business,” she began with earnestness. She waited for Leelee to concur but proceeded when Leelee remained mute. “You know I adore Anson—we are such special friends—but I fear he’s gotten a little irrational on the topic of you women.”
Her speech sounded rehearsed to Leelee. Who speaks like that? She’d heard that Imelda watched a lot of soap operas in order to speak proper English, and it showed.
“Well, there’s no love lost between me and Anson.”
“I know. He despises you,” Imelda said with a sigh, as if she was very troubled by it.
“That’s too bad.”
“The fact is, we both know that he has incriminating information on you and your friends. And I fear he is prepared to go to your husbands about it. I just thought I should warn you.”
Leelee felt a sudden surge of adrenaline but didn’t want Imelda to know. “I don’t really know what he has on me and my friends. That’s absurd.”
Imelda smiled blankly. Leelee could not tell if she was being patronizing or nice or was just incapable of deep thinking, so she remained expressionless. “Well, my advice to you and your friends is to be charitable. Be kind. It wouldn’t hurt any of you to help Anson with his career. He does have a brilliant screenplay.”
“You’ve read it?” asked Leelee.
“No,” admitted Imelda. “But he’s so witty, I am sure it’s fantastic.”
“Right.”
Imelda looked at her in anticipation. “So?”
“So?”
“You’ll help him with the script?”
“Imelda, I have no Hollywood connections.”
“Ta-ta,” said Imelda, rising and waving her finger to shush Leelee. “I’m certain a smart girl like you can think of something. And you must. You really must before this all gets out of hand.”
“That’s not possible.”
Imelda stopped and stared at Leelee. “He tape-records you, Leelee,” said Imelda with wide eyes. “He listens to you through Victoria’s baby monitor. He knows everything. Be careful.”
Leelee watched as Imelda walked toward the gate in her inappropriately short tennis skirt that showed off her thick legs. Should she trust her? Could it be true? It would explain how he knew so much. Now what? Leelee got out her cell and began to dial Eliza. She had to tell her that Anson knew everything, that they were all in danger. But suddenly she stopped. Who cared? She was out of here in a week. So what if he knew everything? Was it worth the drama? No, but she had to warn the others. It was only fair.
She left a message on Eliza’s voice mail to call her ASAP and sent Victoria a text that Anson had blackmail tapes. Victoria e-mailed back at once, and her reply consoled Leelee: So what? She decided it wasn’t even worth mentioning to Helen, who would get all bent out of shape for nothing.
•• 36 ••
Two days before Eliza’s cocktail party, Helen brought Lauren home from ballet class and found Wesley reclining on the chaise in his office, flipping through a screenplay. Helen’s New Year’s resolution had been to make more of an effort with her daughter and her husband, especially demonstrating interest in things that were of interest to them.
“What are you reading?” said Helen, plopping down on the armchair across from Wesley and curling her legs under her.
Wesley bent down the side of the script and peered at Helen.
“It’s the screenplay you wanted to talk to me about,” he said.
“What?”
“You know, the one by Anson Larrabee.”
“Anson Larrabee?”
“Yes, I ran into him and he said he’d told you all about it and you thought it would be perfect for my next picture. He was surprised you hadn’t mentioned it.”
Helen felt her throat tighten. “Um, I guess I didn’t have a chance.”
“It’s nice of you to take an interest in my work, darling.”
“Yes, of course,” said Helen, nervously twisting her wedding band. “So what do you think?”
“Well, he’s a crap writer and the premise is tawdry as all hell. But if you sift through the rubbish, there are glimmers of truth that could be interesting if given to a better writer,” he said.
“Really?” said Helen, trying to think, think! What to do? Does he know?
“Yes, I can’t imagine Anson’s truly serious about this, though. It’s only thirty pages. Although, perhaps he wants it to be on telly. I don’t know…”
“What’s it called?” asked Helen.
Wesley flipped back to the title page. “‘The Pact,’” he said.
Helen stared at Wesley, whose face was still buried behind the script. “Is there something
you want to tell me?” she asked softly.
Wesley put down the script. “Sorry, I just promised him I’d have a go at this and get back to him tomorrow. I want to get through and then I’m all yours.”
“No, I’m not annoyed you’re reading, I just meant…” She stopped. He didn’t have any idea. “What’s the screenplay about?”
“Four women who agree to cheat on their husbands. Absurd,” he said.
Helen stood up. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Thanks, love,” he said.
“I have to pick up something at the store. I’ll be back,” she said.
She drove quickly to Victoria’s house, dialing Eliza and Leelee along the way and ordering them to meet her there.
“This has to stop. He has to be stopped,” said Helen furiously as she marched past Victoria into the house.
Victoria was in her workout clothes, eating a yogurt. “Anson?”
“Yes, Anson! He gave Wesley his script.”
“Please. He’s a loser.”
Helen stopped and stared at Victoria. “How can you not care? He can destroy us.”
“No, he can’t.”
Helen was irate that Victoria was so dismissive. How could she be so cavalier? “Yes, Victoria, he can. His script is about four women cheating on their husbands.”
Victoria plopped down on her sofa and continued eating her yogurt. Helen was enraged. She was about to tear into her when the doorbell rang and Eliza and Leelee arrived.
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