Times Like These

by Laura Carter

  Zapping her car to lock, she spoke to Luisa through the intercom, who buzzed her through the front gate. Luisa had worked for her parents since they had lived in the four-story city townhouse – almost six years, Rosalie worked out. Six years of lies.

  Luisa opened the front door in her usual button-up style of dress, with an apron tied around her middle. Rosalie forced herself to give a bright greeting as she stepped inside.

  ‘Such a lovely evening,’ she said. Sniffing, she got the distinct smells of garlic and rosemary. ‘Oh, Luisa, it smells like you’ve been hard at work, as ever. I can’t wait to see what culinary delight you’ve prepared for us tonight.’

  Luisa’s shoulders rose toward her proud smile as she tapped the side of her nose and said, ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘I can’t wait. Are Mom and… Daddy in the lounge?’ Her voice weakened at the thought of coming face to face with her dad, in the presence of her mom.

  On Luisa’s instruction, Rosalie’s pumps tip-tapped against the solid wood floor of the vestibule as she made her way through the bohemian luxe décor, under the crystal chandelier and up the staircase to the second-floor lounge.

  She paused on the landing to consider her mother’s portrait – one of her younger modelling pictures – blown up to six by four feet in a brass frame. In the picture, her mother looked fresh and young. Her now lifeless features had not been ‘enhanced’ and her natural beauty and flawless skin, decorated with strong dark features, were striking and mesmerising. The iconic portrait was one that displayed the very reasons her mother’s services had been in such high demand back then.

  Rosalie scoffed. Perhaps her mother would have been better accepting that lifelong invitation to Hefner’s Playboy Mansion after all. At least then she would have expected that she’d be cheated on.

  ‘Rosalie? Darling? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Mom. I’m just admiring your picture. Have you had it reframed?’ she asked, buying time to compose herself.

  ‘No, darling.’ Her mother appeared from the lounge, stepping onto the landing and coming to stand next to Rosalie to admire her own picture. ‘Though we had the wall paint touched up this week. Can you smell it? Perhaps it has made the brass look brighter.’

  Rosalie nodded. ‘That must be it.’

  Steeling herself, she turned to her mom, who said, ‘Hello my darling, you look wonderful. A little dull perhaps but very pretty.’

  Rosalie had teamed her new Gucci bag with a simple silk wrap dress, which was the same colour as her mood – grey.

  ‘Thank you.’ She took in her mother’s Bardot claret dress and statement bauble necklace. ‘You, too.’

  Then Rosalie threw her arms around her mother and hugged her tightly, all the while feeling a huge wave of sympathy for her poor, unsuspecting mom, who hadn’t done anything to deserve her husband cheating. And thinking, simultaneously, what a farce her life was. The dress-up, the play of happy families and righteousness.

  ‘Now, now, be careful with my hair, darling,’ Loretta said, gently touching her French roll. ‘Giovanni spent two hours pinning me this afternoon. Come now, Luisa has made us a round of dirty martinis.’

  Rosalie followed her mother into the even more opulent lounge, where burgundy leather sofas formed a square around a marble coffee table and above them hung another crystal chandelier. The walls were covered in Versace’s neo-classical style paper and Greek style sculptures stood in the corners of the room. A replica of William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s ‘The Birth of Venus’ hung prominently above a mahogany side-mantel.

  On a gold-rimmed bar table stood a decanter filled with what she knew would be her father’s preferred port and two cocktail glasses that harboured cocktail sticks, each holding three olives.

  She had chosen to drive to her parents’ house on the basis she might want to make a sharp exit but one dirty martini might prove more of a help than a hindrance, she thought, accepting a cocktail from her mother and coming to sit on a sofa.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ she asked, crossing one leg over her other.

  Loretta swallowed a sip of martini before saying, ‘Do I ever know? Likely still at the office. He’s always so hardworking.’

  Rosalie scoffed. ‘Yes, good old Daddy. Ever the upstanding man.’

  In her parents’ home now, she understood it was this that had shattered her heart more than the affair with Andrea itself. It was the thought that Rosalie’s father had fallen from the pedestal he was on and the realisation that the only person who had put him there was Rosalie herself.

  She had always thought that her parents were better than those of Clarissa, Kaitlin, Madeleine and the people she knew in those circles. She had thought, every time they enquired about why she was single and why she hadn’t married, that she was holding out for the real thing, like her parents had. That every time someone broke up with her, it would be fine in the end because she may be alone for a time but then she would find her true Prince Charming. Smart, attractive, hardworking, challenging in the best of ways. Someone to fill her empty days with love, purpose, conversation.

  That was what made her better than those women.

  But it had all been premised on falsity.

  An hour and two dirty martinis passed, with Loretta gossiping about ‘friends’ and affairs and the drug-related death of a man she was once ‘familiar’ with. The entire time, Loretta’s facial expressions did not, or could not, change, Rosalie observed.

  ‘Loretta,’ Luisa said, tentatively, entering the lounge. ‘Dinner is ready. Would you like me to keep it warm or serve?’

  Loretta set down her empty glass and rose to stand in her strappy sandals. ‘Oh, let’s eat. Who knows what time Hunter will make it home.’

  Had it always been this way? Rosalie thought back to the number of family meals they had scheduled when Hunter had turned up late. She had always put her father’s absence down to being busy with work. Had every time been a lie? Had there been other women before Andrea?

  No. She couldn’t believe it.

  Rosalie took a seat in the dining room, at the large, intricately carved walnut dining table. She sat opposite her mother and they left a space at the head of the table for Hunter. It had never bothered her before that her father was the head of the house and the head of the table, even the head of hers and Loretta’s lives. But tonight, her skin prickled with irritation.

  A real role model, she thought.

  As Luisa set down light cheese soufflés in front of the women, Hunter appeared.

  ‘I’m here,’ he announced, floating in, kissing Rosalie on the head and Loretta on the cheek, then taking a seat, setting his two cell phones upside-down on the table next to him.

  Was one a work phone and one an adultery phone?

  ‘Where’ve you been, Daddy?’ Rosalie asked, her tone clipped, unable to be her usual chirpy persona.

  She adored her father and loved seeing him but tonight, she felt nothing toward him except anger, distrust and shame.

  Hunter was clearly taken aback by her tone. ‘At work, darling. You don’t seem happy. What has happened, now?’

  The way he asked her, as if she was some kind of drama queen, irked her. She scowled, trying to decide whether to call him out for romping with her best friend behind her mother’s back. Then she looked at Loretta and knew this wasn’t the right way to go about things.

  Luisa reappeared with a third soufflé and poured Hunter, then Loretta, each a glass of Hunter’s preferred red wine. When she came to fill Rosalie’s glass, Rosalie held her hand over the top.

  ‘No, thank you, Luisa. I’m driving tonight.’

  ‘Driving?’ Hunter asked. ‘Why would you drive? You don’t usually drive.’

  ‘Why would anyone do anything that wasn’t expected of them?’ Rosalie quipped.

  Hunter dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin and set it down on the table, holding Rosalie’s glare.

  ‘I need to speak with you,’ Rosalie said.

  ‘Oh, Rosali
e, if it’s about me gifting you a recording label again, I’ve already told you, no.’

  Rosalie gasped. ‘You didn’t. You said if I got experience I could have a label.’ She scoffed. ‘You never had any intention of following through, did you? Gosh, you really are a liar. You think I’m stupid. Silly Rosalie and her silly ideas.’

  ‘I do not think you’re stupid, Rosalie, though you are being extremely dramatic.’

  ‘Rosalie, what has gotten into you?’ Loretta asked.

  ‘Maybe I’m just finally seeing the sky through the clouds, Mommy. Daddy, I want to speak with you and it isn’t about a recording label, though it is related to your lies and deceit.’

  The response she received – which was Hunter staring knowingly at Rosalie – confirmed what she already knew. But there were more questions and answers she wanted.

  ‘After dinner,’ Hunter said, reaching for his wine.

  The remainder of the three-course meal Luisa had prepared was endured mostly in excruciating silence and partly in painstakingly pointless snippets of conversation led by Loretta.

  When Luisa offered Rosalie after-dinner coffee, Rosalie declined, staring at her father.

  Hunter nodded in understanding, rising from the table. ‘Luisa, I’d like a glass of port in the library.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Luisa said.

  ‘I think he meant to say “please”, Luisa,’ Rosalie said, realising that everything about her father was arrogant and wondering if he had always been this way.

  Rosalie followed Hunter to the third-floor library, which was lit only by lamplight from the desk that sat on a rug in the middle of the dark wood floor, the walls around them full of books.

  Hunter perched on the edge of the desk, facing her. ‘You wanted to talk.’ It was not a question but a statement. It was cold and direct and Rosalie had an insight into his work manner.

  ‘How long?’ she said.

  He unfolded his arms and rested his hands against the edge of the desk either side of him. Confident. Bold. Unafraid.

  ‘How long what?’ he asked.

  His conceit was the final straw. ‘How long have you been fucking Andrea?’

  He wasn’t startled, or affronted, or ashamed. In fact, his demeanour didn’t change at all as he told his daughter. ‘It’s over. It was a mistake and I can understand why you’re upset but I ended it weeks ago. She begged me not to but I did because I knew it was wrong. I knew it would hurt you.’

  Rosalie had known that it was true. Hannah wouldn’t have lied. Yet, her stomach sank. Her dinner was in danger of making a reappearance. The way he spoke told her it had been more than a one-off. And he had ended it. She wasn’t sure what would have been best, that he had ended it, that Andrea had ended it, or that they had mutually decided a onetime mistake should never be repeated.

  What she did know was, her heart broke again, when she thought it was already broken entirely. She shook her head, willing herself to stay strong.

  Hunter stood and walked to his daughter, reaching out to her shoulders.

  Rosalie shrugged him off. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  He dropped his hands. ‘I know you thought she was your friend, Rosalie, but look how she treated you. You just don’t have the best judgement when it comes to people and I’m sorry you had to find out this way.’

  ‘Sorry I had to find out in a certain way or sorry I caught you out at all?’ she snapped. ‘How dare you blame this on my judgement of character? You did this to me, to Mom, to our family.’

  ‘And I ended it, Rosalie. What more do you want?’

  He shook his head as he walked back to the desk. ‘You know, I blame myself for your ignorance. You’ve been too sheltered from real life.’

  ‘Excuse me? Are you really trying to say this is okay? That you lying to us is acceptable?’ She paced the floor with anger that made her hands tremble. ‘You’re not even remorseful, are you?’

  Hunter sighed, as if Rosalie was taking up precious time he couldn’t be bothered to give.

  ‘I’m sorry it was Andrea and I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Rosalie. But you’re a grown woman and it’s about time you stopped being so naïve. Life isn’t all love songs, flowers and chocolates.’

  She stopped pacing and confronted him. ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’ she yelled, unable to contain her temper.

  ‘It’s supposed to mean…’ Rosalie turned to see her mother, moving from the doorway into the library to join them. ‘That your father and I have a very nice life. It works for both of us and it has always worked for you.’

  ‘You knew?’ Rosalie asked, her shock making her words barely more than a whisper.

  ‘I realised it was Andrea the night of the Presley John commemoration concert. I told your father I didn’t approve and that it would hurt you if you found out. He assured me he would end it.’

  Rosalie tried to process what she was being told. ‘I just don’t… I can’t understand this.’

  Loretta moved to Hunter’s side and placed a hand on his forearm. ‘Rosalie, your father and I understand that we both have needs that we can’t meet for each other.’

  ‘Have there… been more women?’ Rosalie asked, terrified of the answer.

  ‘Yes,’ Hunter said. ‘And men,’ he added, inclining his head toward his wife.

  Rosalie stared at her parents, seeing them for the first time in more than thirty years in a completely new light. Naïve indeed. What a fool she had been, always searching for a man like her daddy. Aspiring to have a life like theirs – wealthy, stylish, indulgent, proudly deserved, full of love. The perfect life that ticked every box on her own checklist.

  She looked at them now, the picture of a happily married couple and she had no idea who they were, or who she was.

  With nothing left to say, she turned her back on them and their illusion of a perfect home.

  22

  Hannah

  ‘Have a good day! Be good. Be safe,’ Hannah called down the stairs in response to Luke and Jackson heading out for the school bus.

  She was finishing off the small amount of make-up she ordinarily wore to work and hoping that Rod would leave the house on time, before Hannah was expected to leave the house to drop TJ to nursery on her way to work.

  On the day Andrea fired her, the first thing Hannah should have done was tell Rod. Confess that Andrea had been having an affair with Hunter, that Andrea was pregnant and Hannah was terrified she might get rid of the baby because Hunter had told her to. That she had lost her temper with Rosalie over Rosalie’s stupidity, accused her friend of being racist, which she knew was not true, and taken her anger with Hunter and Andrea out on Rosalie. That she had told Rosalie about the affair and deserved to be fired by Andrea for what she had done.

  But she hadn’t told Rod on the day she was fired and now, days later, she still hadn’t confessed to Rod. Instead, she had been pretending to drop TJ at nursery and go to work. She had been keeping him home from nursery and cancelled the sitter, lying to her children about getting home from work early in the evenings, because she was afraid.

  She was afraid that she had let down Rod and her whole family. They needed her salary to make ends meet. Even keeping TJ out of childcare wouldn’t save them enough money for Hannah to stop working.

  All her adult life, she had strived to be better than her own mother. To put her family and her kids, especially, ahead of everything else. To prove her father, who had wanted to abandon her for having Luke, that he was wrong, that she could take care of her kids on her own.

  Hannah’s family was her primary responsibility and she had failed them.

  Rod came into their bedroom, picking up TJ from where he was lying on his jungle mat on the floor, ready for nursery. He threw the baby three inches into the air and was rewarded with TJ’s high-pitched giggles and limb-flapping as he repeated the move once, twice, three times.

  ‘Okay, okay. Enough, otherwise he’ll throw up,’ Hannah said, unable to help herself laughing at the sound
of TJ’s happiness.

  For that brief moment, she forgot that she was deceiving her husband.

  ‘Rod…’

  He set TJ back on his mat.

  ‘Yeah, babe?’ he said, before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

  How did she begin…? ‘Nothing. Have a good day.’

  He kissed her again and was gone.

  ‘Well, TJ, it’s just you and me again, baby boy. Where should we clean today?’

  * * *

  After two hours of emptying, cleaning and refilling each cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, Hannah’s arms were aching. She was hot and flustered and in need of a coffee.

  She turned to where TJ was in his bouncer chair on the table top, giggling as George the Giraffe swung back and forth from the rail above his head.

  ‘I would have normally had three coffees by now with the girls at work,’ she told her son as she stepped down from the chair she had been using to reach to top cupboards. ‘Today I haven’t even had one.’

  She tugged off her rubber gloves and considered them, then her son. ‘What would you be doing at nursery, bubble? More than watching Mom clean the kitchen, huh?’

  Dropping her gloves into the sink, she said, ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s go out for that coffee, shall we?’

  The summer was upon them when Hannah stepped outside with TJ strapped to her front, legs dangling in his carrier, his soft cap in place atop his increasingly unruly black curls of hair. Hannah had swapped cleaning clothes for a pair of yoga pants and a thin workout top. She walked briskly, happily building her heart rate as she and TJ headed toward the local park, where she knew she would find an exceptional oat milk latte and a fine Italian biscotti.

  She passed other moms with their babies in strollers. Teenagers skated by her on roller blades and skateboards. A woman riding a bike chimed her bell to ask Hannah to step aside as she cycled the narrow pathway that was overhung by full trees.