The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  “I know, me too. My doctor said I need to wait another six weeks. Then everything will be healed up. It’s killing me too.” He was getting impatient, and she’d had to make up a new excuse. She told a lame story about having some cysts removed that necessitated holding off on intercourse. When she’d started to get graphic, he’d put his hands up and told her to stop, that he didn’t need to know the details.

  “Better get dressed, we’ll be late for the play if we don’t start dinner soon,” she said sweetly. Snap out of it, she wanted to say. They had come into New York to see Fiddler on the Roof and were spending the night at his parents’ apartment across from Central Park. Amber had wanted to see Book of Mormon, but when she’d mentioned it, Gregg had said he wasn’t interested in seeing a religious play.

  She’d stupidly agreed to prepare dinner for them before the show—packaged grilled chicken over minute rice and a green salad. Now she was rummaging through cabinets for pots, bowls, and utensils when she felt Gregg bump into her from behind. She turned around and stared at him.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was trying to help you find things.”

  “I’ve found everything I need,” she answered curtly.

  As Amber turned on the faucet to fill the pot, Gregg’s arm reached out in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to help you. I was going to take the pot from you and put it on the stove.”

  “I think I can handle that,” she said, walking to the stove, but Gregg ran ahead of her to turn the burner on, and they collided. The pot bobbled in Amber’s hand, and water flew everywhere, soaking the front of Amber’s dress.

  “Oh my gosh. Are you okay?” Gregg said, grabbing a tea towel and pressing it against Amber’s dress.

  Are you a flipping moron? she almost yelled, but instead smiled thinly and said, “I’m fine. How about you go sit down, and I’ll finish in here?”

  They arrived at the Broadway Theatre in plenty of time, and he went to the bar to get them each a drink. Amber looked around at the magnificent theater while she waited, admiring the grand chandelier in the opulent lobby of red and gold. Gregg returned with their drinks, two glasses of white wine, even though she’d repeatedly told him she preferred red. Did the moron ever listen?

  “I think you’ll be pleased with the seats. Front-row orchestra,” he said, brandishing the tickets with a flourish.

  “Great. A front-row seat to all that singing.” Amber had seen the movie, and she didn’t really get what all the fuss was about. Fiddler was old news as far as she was concerned. These were his parents’ tickets, and apparently even they weren’t interested in going.

  “Have you seen it before?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Seven times. It’s my favorite play. I just love the music.”

  “Wow, seven times. That must be a record,” Amber said, looking distractedly around the lobby.

  Gregg stood up straighter and said with pride, “My family are quite the theater aficionados. Dad buys tickets to all the best shows.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “Yes, it is. He’s a great man.”

  “And what about you?” Amber asked without much interest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you a great man?” she said, playing with him.

  Gregg chuckled. “I will be one day, Amber. I am being groomed right now to be a great man,” he said, looking at her in earnest. “And I hope you will be by my side.”

  Amber controlled the urge to laugh in his face and instead said, “We’ll see, Gregg, we’ll see. Shall we go take our seats now?”

  Amber found she was enjoying the play despite her earlier reservations. Just when she’d begun to think the evening wasn’t such a waste after all, Gregg started tapping his foot in time to the music. Next he was humming along, and the people around them began to look over.

  “Gregg!” she hissed under her breath.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re humming.”

  “Sorry! It’s just so catchy.”

  He quieted down, but then began to bob his head back and forth in time to the music. She wanted to slug him.

  Three hours later, they left the theater. Amber came away with a headache.

  “Feel like a drink?” Gregg asked.

  “I guess.” Anything was better than going straight back to his parents’ apartment and being pawed.

  “How about Cipriani’s?”

  “That sounds fine. Can we grab a cab, though? I don’t want to walk in the rain.”

  “Of course.”

  “I still don’t get what the big deal was when the young daughter married the Russian,” Gregg said as they were seated in the taxi. “I mean, geez, weren’t the Jews complaining about being judged because of their religion, and then Tevye goes and does the same thing.”

  Amber looked at him in astonishment. “You do realize that the Russians were the ones making them leave, right? Also she was marrying outside of her religion.” He had seen this seven times and was still confused?

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. But I’m just saying. It’s not very politically correct. But, whatever, the music sure is great.”

  “Do you mind if we skip drinks? My head is pounding; I really need to just go to sleep.” If she had to spend any more time talking to him tonight, she might have to choke him.

  “Of course, babe.” He gave her a concerned look. “So sorry you don’t feel well.”

  She smiled tightly. “Thanks.”

  When they got back to the apartment, she crawled under the covers and curled into a tight ball. She felt the mattress shift as he lay next to her, pressing his body close.

  “Want me to massage your temples?” he whispered.

  I want you to get lost, she thought. “No. Just let me try and fall asleep.”

  He draped an arm around her waist. “I’m right here if you change your mind.”

  Not for long, Amber thought.

  Thirty-Two

  A bright beam of light peeked through the heavy bedroom curtains of Amber’s room at the Dorchester Hotel, rousing her. She jumped out of bed and pushed back the green drapery to let the full radiance of the sun warm her body. Despite the early hour, there was lots of activity in Hyde Park; joggers, dog walkers, people on their way to work. They’d been in London three glorious days, and Amber was lapping up every minute of it. She was here as Jackson’s assistant, as he had brought along the whole family, and she had her own room just down the hall from the family suite. Jackson and Amber worked during the day while Daphne and the girls went sightseeing.

  On their second night, they all went to St Martin’s Theatre to see The Mousetrap, but last night Daphne had decided to take Tallulah and Bella to the Royal Ballet to see Sleeping Beauty while Jackson and Amber went to a business dinner. The truth was, there was no business dinner. Amber and Jackson had spent those four hours in her room. He was frenzied after not being able to be alone with her for the last three days. He wasn’t used to such long dry spells; she’d made sure of that, and when she had her period she pleased him in other ways. Jackson now stayed at the New York apartment at least three nights a week, and Amber stayed with him. Daphne could reach either one of them by cell phone, so there was no way for her to figure out they were together. On the weekends, Amber was usually hanging at the Parrish house with her good friend Daphne, and on at least two occasions, she and Jackson had had sex in the downstairs bathroom while Daphne was putting the girls to bed. The danger of it had been absolutely thrilling. And they had snuck out of the house late one night after Daphne fell asleep on the couch and gone skinny-dipping in the heated pool, then did it in the gazebo. He couldn’t get enough of her. She had him lassoed, and as soon as she was pregnant, she would tighten the rope.

  Amber draped her leg over Jackson’s body and nestled against his shoulder. “Mmm. I could stay like this forever,” she mumbled sleepily.

  Jackson pulled her closer and stroked her thigh. “
They’ll be back soon. We need to put on our dinner duds and wait for them in the suite.” He rolled over on top of her. “But first . . .”

  * * *

  Amber was meeting Daphne and girls for breakfast in the hotel, and when she walked in, the striking mix of copper, marble, and butterscotch-colored leather filled her senses once again. Daphne and the children were seated with Sabine at a round table near the middle of the restaurant.

  “Good morning,” Amber said as she took a seat. “How was the ballet last night?”

  Before Daphne could say anything, Bella piped up. “Oh, Auntie Amber, you would have loved it. Sleeping Beauty was so beautiful.”

  “I guess that’s why they call her Sleeping Beauty,” Amber said.

  “No, no. They call her that because she fell asleep and no one could wake her up until the prince kissed her.” Bella’s face was flushed with excitement.

  “Aunt Amber was kidding. That was a joke, stupid,” Tallulah said.

  Bella hit the cereal bowl with her spoon. “Mom!”

  “Tallulah, apologize to your sister at once,” Daphne said.

  Tallulah gave her mother a look. “Sorry,” she muttered to Bella.

  “That’s better,” Daphne said. “Sabine, will you take Tallulah and Bella for a walk in the park? The barge down the Thames to Greenwich doesn’t leave until eleven.”

  “Oui.” She pushed her chair out and looked at Bella and Tallulah. “Allez les filles.”

  Daphne was on her second cup of coffee when Amber’s full English breakfast arrived, and she dug into it with gusto.

  “You have quite an appetite this morning,” Daphne commented.

  Amber looked up from her plate. She realized that she and Jackson had never eaten last night. It had been the last thing on their minds.

  “I’m absolutely famished. I hate dinner business meetings. Your food gets cold while you talk, and then it’s completely unappetizing.”

  “I’m sorry you had to work and miss the ballet. It was superb.”

  “Me too. I would much rather have done that.”

  Daphne absently stirred her coffee for a moment before speaking.

  “Amber.” Her voice was low and serious. “I need to talk to you about something that’s been bothering me.”

  Amber put down her knife and fork. “What is it, Daph?”

  “It’s about Jackson.”

  Amber pushed down the panic threatening to rise. “What about Jackson?” she said, her face a mask.

  “I really do think he’s seeing someone.”

  “Did you talk to Bree?”

  “I know it has nothing to do with Bree. She’s gay—I met her partner at a party we attended recently. I’m so glad I never went to the office and accused her. But he’s been very distant lately. He’s spending most of the week at the apartment in New York. He never used to do that. Maybe a night here and there, but it was the exception. Now it seems to be the rule. And even when he’s home, he’s not really there. His mind is always somewhere else.” She put her hand on Amber’s arm. “And we haven’t made love in weeks and weeks.”

  Nothing could have pleased Amber more. So he wasn’t sleeping with Daphne any longer. It didn’t surprise her. She made sure she left him satisfied in every way possible.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” she said, putting her hand on Daphne’s. “He’s closing on that huge project in Hong Kong, and it’s been brutal. Plus, the time difference between here and there has him on calls at all hours. He’s totally exhausted and consumed by it. You have nothing to worry about. As soon as this deal closes, he’ll be back to normal. Trust me.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do.” Amber smiled. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if anything looks suspicious.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I knew I could count on you.”

  * * *

  Amber joined them later on the boat ride down the Thames to Greenwich, and together they wended their way up the big hill to the Royal Observatory. They ate lunch in the town and strolled around most of the afternoon, also visiting the National Maritime Museum. By the time they got back to the hotel, Bella and Tallulah were fading and ready for naps. Amber was feeling like she could use a quick nap too, and they all went to their rooms to rest. Amber was out in seconds, and when she awoke, it was six o’clock. She called the suite to see what the plan was for dinner.

  “Did you get some rest?” Daphne asked when she picked up.

  “I did. How about you?”

  “Yes, we all slept. I’ve been up for a while, but Tallulah and Bella just got up. The girls are eating in tonight.” Daphne’s voice got a little softer. “I think you must be right. Jackson wants a romantic dinner, just the two of us. He apologized for all the nights away and his preoccupation with work. I should have known you were right. Thank you for setting me straight.”

  “You’re welcome.” Amber’s voice was strangled. What the hell was he playing at? A romantic dinner with Daphne? After he had made love to Amber that morning?

  Daphne’s voice startled her. “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”

  Amber put the phone down and sat on the bed, stewing. She was furious. Did he think he could just use her and then run back to Daphne? She heard her mother’s words, repeated so often that Amber remembered wanting to stuff a rag in her mouth. Don’t be someone’s trash can. What a vile admonition, Amber had always thought when she heard her mother say it. But that’s precisely what she felt like now.

  She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when she heard knocking at her door.

  She opened it, and Jackson slid in. He looked at her, a puzzled expression forming.

  “Are you going out?”

  She smiled, put one leg on the bed, pulled up a sheer stocking, and clipped it to her garter.

  “Daphne told me that you had plans, so I called an old friend, and we’re meeting for drinks.”

  “What old friend?”

  She shrugged. “Just an old boyfriend. I called my mom earlier today, and she told me he’d moved here a few years ago with his wife,” she lied.

  Jackson sat on the bed, still looking at her.

  “Poor thing, he just got divorced. I thought he could use some cheering up.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Don’t be silly. He’s ancient history.”

  He grabbed both her hands in his and pushed her backward until she was against the wall. Kissing her hungrily, he moved his body against hers and lifted her skirt above her thighs. Standing up and half undressed, they made love with urgency, and when they were finished, Jackson pulled her to the bed to sit beside him.

  “Cancel on him,” he said.

  “You can’t expect me to sit alone in this hotel room while you’re out with Daphne. Besides, don’t you trust me?”

  He stood from the bed, his face red, his hands balled into fists, and glared at her. “I don’t want you going out with another man.” He pulled a box from his pocket. “This is for you.”

  He handed it to her, and when she opened it, there sat a magnificent diamond bracelet.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Thank you! Will you put it on me?” She gave him a long kiss. “I suppose I could cancel if it bothers you that much. How long will your dinner take?”

  “I’ll make it quick. Meet you back here in two hours.”

  The bracelet was the most amazing piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. And it was hers. All hers. She turned slowly and, never taking her eyes from Jackson, began to undress. When she was finally wearing nothing but the bracelet, she walked over to him and purred, “Hurry back, and then I’ll show you how very grateful your girl is.”

  After he left, she pulled out her phone and took a selfie—a very erotic selfie. She waited an hour, knowing he’d be in the middle of dinner, then texted it to him. That ought to have him calling for the check.

  Thirty-Three
>
  Amber delighted in soaking in Daphne’s bathtub, more often than not with Jackson. She luxuriated in the soft-as-silk sheets as she lay next to Daphne’s husband and drove him mad with lust. And how liberating it was to know that no matter how many towels she used, no matter how mussed the sheets became, no matter how many glasses of wine or dishes of food she consumed, she could walk out the door in the morning and know the maid would have everything spick-and-span when she and Jackson returned in the evening. The doorman nodded politely to her on arrival and departure, a model of discretion, just like the new maid. Matilda, the old one, had been fired. Apparently she’d stolen some of Daphne’s jewelry. The same jewelry that Amber had hocked for a little extra cash.

  The night before, they’d gone to an art opening at a small gallery on Twenty-Fifth Street. The artist, Eric Fury, was one Jackson had discovered a few years ago and had introduced to his collector friends. The moment they’d entered the gallery, they had been surrounded. It’d been clear not only that Jackson was well known but also that people wanted to be in the orbit of his power and charm. Amber had been careful not to put her arm in his or appear too intimate.

  As soon as Eric Fury saw Jackson, he’d rushed over to shake his hand.

  “Jackson. Wonderful to see you.” He swept his arm around to indicate the crowded room. “Isn’t it great?”

  “It is, Eric, and you deserve every bit of it,” Jackson said.

  “It’s all thanks to you. I can never tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Nonsense. I just made the introductions. Your art speaks for itself. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have the talent.”

  Fury turned to Amber. “You must be Daphne.”

  “Actually, this is my assistant, Amber Patterson. Unfortunately, my wife was unable to be here, but she loves your work as much as I do.”

  Amber extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fury. I read recently that you’re moving away from canvas and instead painting on wood you collect from old buildings.”